Somewhere in the endless deserts of Iuhai, Daazan the Iron Gate and Utheleii the lovelorn Earth Elemental wait for time to end.
3-8 adventures start out on the rural/suburban borderlands of a colapseing empire that’s being invaded by hordes of orks and hobgoblins.
Save/Help the Halflings! They offer rewards. Material and otherwise.
...and walking sticks, and crosiers, and goads, and scepters, but no wands!
Therianthropes? Lycanthropes? Animorphs? Homo-Zoological-Hybrid-Sapiens? Manimals? Take your pick.
30 unique ships, for those times when you need one on the fly. The class or type of each ship is provided. Included are three odd ones from the pages of history.
In the land of Epoa, Cloud Hoppers are some of the craziest people you’ll meet. Cloud Hopping is their job.
*Sphhisshh* *Sphhissh* *Sphhissh*
The Horrors and Wonders of a distant, sun-drenched land. Everything you need to run a desert campaign!
Doomed by the Shadow…
The Swollen Shadow’s magic is such, that anyone transported to its demi-plane, will always first arrive in the somber and hazy Umbral Fens, which surround the City of Shadow. After some searching one may find the Brittle Road, which leads through the shadow-choked swamps, to the City proper.
A Renaissance dawns. A School of Art emerges.
Shadows gather…and linger.
Featured creatures of the Swollen Shadow Codex.
Have you ever looked at a game in progress and wondered, "i dunno wat this is about."
Allow Moonhunter to posit an answer.
Vog’s Children, the Lava-Oil Symbiotes
What initially appears to be another trek through wintry mountain landscapes will be revealed as a true struggle for survival. For the mountain known as the Kiebral is an ancient evil, its secrets are countless and its power is immense. Can the PCs outwit a power from the dawn of time, or will they succumb and be trapped for all eternity?
Come ye who HUNGER!
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.