The siege was bad, and with fire decimated a large part of a town. As life returned, several people returned to their roots and prospered.
Oh yes indeed, there was a circus here! Some hundred years ago…. or so the tale goes.
These are the items magic-users and alchymists would be really creating: minor, useful, and easy to sell.
Winter time is a wonderous time for adventure.
Traps gathered from the remains of a dead site. Honour and enjoy what ingenious traps were created by people unknown…
The Darkness is not a group of assassins. They are however, not friendly people.
Beginning adventurers have a hard time to find the right employment… let us try and help them!
The Calm Alley, and a few small insignificant streets nearby have always been calm, some would say boring. There are few people in those narrow passages, and no one looks into your eyes as you pass them…
Books of all kinds and purposes, their short summaries as well as wide descriptions, come and enjoy.
The research reported on in this essay seeks to understand more about the judgment that there is “the time for war” in the belief that only such understanding will enable us to more effectively constrain the use of warfare.
Thinking about my game world and what should happen in it in the not so close future, I came to a simple decision: WAR. This is an article on the topic of war.
Quote from an idea of Strolen: “A series of trees drop super spiny seeds to the ground. Only the most durable shoes can keep the spines from stabbing through.”
Long ago it was the ‘Sleeping Bull’ or something, but everybody calls it The Chimney nowadays. All because of the atmosphere, it is thicker than the soup they serve here, as some patrons like to claim.
If you are into the occult, you should also know the groups that are active in these shadowy parts of magic and reality, whether these are real or only rumours. One somewhat known group is the Cabal. Unlike other cults (if it is a cult), this sect seems to be rather benign, and actually offers useful services, for a price. Some experts mark them as occult freaks that do it only for the show and pretending, nothing more.
The hooded man leaves the tavern. The group had been assembled. They had recieved the map. “Now it begins,” he said. He vanishes.
Traps need to make sense. Somebody must of made it for a specific purpose.
People are often buried with The Monarchs. If the right people are, they can protect him even after death.
"That is one really big door"
The members of this obscure order specialize in growing funghi. Growing, researching and studying many kinds, they even try to create new ones.
Smeer was dragging a cart full of strings. Another cart of another strings, it was heavy, but probably the best job in these works for a weak boy. He brought it to the machine that weawed the ropes; the hands of older boys powered it. They were paid a few coppers more, but could barely move after a whole day of work. Smeer hoped to get older and stronger one day, to help his family out of poverty. Pulling the cart back through the yard, he suddenly noticed something. Does not that pebble look like… a coin? A glistening silver coin?! That would help for a few days! Looking around, he carefully picked it up, and hurried to work to stay unnoticed.
But something has noticed him.
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.