The Seven Lords of the Peninsulari each wore a magical signet ring identifying them as a sovereign lord.
Arriving in a small village the adventurering party is drawn into a meeting of the Parish Guild…
Manifold collections of wheels, and gears, springs and coils, all bound by the inexoriable tread of time.
Saint Duncan is dead, and lies in his tomb, but every year thousands will visit it to lay their hands on the cold stone, and whisper a prayer to the patron saint of exorcism.
The chimera is a trifold beast, and the Chimeric ring likewise is a trifold item, both magical, and cursed.
Eyes darkened with kohl, and a long trailing cotehardie, Prince Graeme is a potent sorcerer and eccentric young lord with his eyes set to one goal, the throne of the land.
Nestled among the smaller and less noticed store fronts, hidden among the sundry vendors, and purveyors of beads, cheap jewelry, and meat-on-a-stick products in a small building that smells strongly of hot linen, cotton, soap…and goblin.
Born from the union of a Kirin-Unicorn and a woodland elf, Chary is a dazzling creature, a child of destiny and unblemished femininity…
The Deepening Gloom is an old forest, with deep roots, and deeper memories of the elder days.
How much life can the stroke of a brush place to a canvas? Perhaps art does imitate life, the Artist knows. The Artist is usually looking for new models.
Long ago there was a cult who worshipped Bast, the fickle goddess of Felines. Their temple has fallen, and the cult dispersed and all that remains is a silver wand adorned with the holy symbol of bast, a cat with emeralds for eyes…
Three days from the nearest shore, nestled on top of a small heath island stands the Tower of Thunder and Gold. More than one hundred wizards and sorcerers live here year round, devoted to the continuation of the magical arts. There are many times more students, consors, and things only describable as others
A sage is a well known repository of knowledge, a researcher of ancient lore. But knowledge is power, and a commodity to be brokered and sold to the highest bidder. The meershaum smoking man is such a dealer of antiquities and of lore unknown, but he is wrapped in a shroud of secrecy of his own. Can the PCs divine his ulterior motives, or is he a wizened, albeit elusive, sage?
Where many a woman’s heart is filled with longing for love, or the comfort of the hearth and home, this arrogantly beautiful woman is consumed with but one thing. Ambition. Born without a heart, but with the grace and genteel manners of the aristocracy, she is the iron fist in a lace glove.
An area known for sweeping mountain vistas, and sleepy alpine hamlets has all but exploded with miners, adventurers, and thieves. Dwarves are showing up in troops, while orcs are churning towards the valley. The reason? Simple…
There’s gold in them thar hills!
To refer to Rubens a inn is an insult. There are no battered bars, or heaving bosoms, or the scent of stale beer and tobacco smoke. There are no crowded common rooms, or cheap entertainment. The flooring is plush, the rooms are exquisite, and the bill is out of this world…
A potentially devastating foe with arms, and fists of living stone…
For years trading ships have come to the Islands of Teanoi seeking treasures of gold, pua shell, and exotic herbs and spices. Trade has dwindled, and ships vanish without a trace, but the trade is too valuable to give up, and thus the ships still come. The islands also lay close to a shipping lane, and are a regular stop for ships seeking only to take on fresh supplies of foodstuffs and water.
Soon merchants begin seeking outside aid to protect their ships from the unknown menace that the islanders call Teanoi…
Sometimes a sword’s value is not determined by magical properties, of gilding and jewels. Sometimes it’s value comes from it’s deeds and it’s history
Many of the worlds woes can be laid at the feet of deranged, socially blind, and irresponcible wizards. The doddering old mage locked away in his tower, answerable to no one but himself is a hazard to himself and to those unfortunate enough to live close by. The Upright Society of Civic Mages plan to change this problem…one way or another.
The party has found the source of the strange creatures roaming the countryside. The rift in this reality glows with a silver hue, rippling with the wind but never moving. They step through and are immediately assaulted with the scent of rotting meat, some have to muster all their strength not to vomit. Strange cries similar to the beasts the party had faced before can be heard in the distance. Looking around, they see they are in a forest of grey and red rather than the normal brown and green. The trees are sticky to the touch and writhe, perhaps to get away or perhaps as a warning.
The deeper the party goes, the more the forest seems to slither and move underfoot. The cries get closer and more numerous. Creatures lurk in the shadows, all the same color of their surroundings. Whatever the party came in here for, they had better do it fast.
The forest of flesh is waking up, and it is so very hungry.