An item of legend, that may not even exist. But many still desire it, and many fear its possible use.
It is a popular view amongst magic-users, that most members of the Cult of Malidon are just bitter people, blaming magic for their private losses and defeats, often seeking to silence some other qualms with burning witches. For one low cultist at least, this view is completely wrong…
The priest of a deity that never seemed to need one.
To the primitive tribes on the plains of North, life changes rapidly from season to season. In summer, food is abundant. In the winter, death from starving is never far. A natural phenomenon helped one such tribe.
There was He, and there was She. And She was shy of men at first, always being told to distrust them. But He taught Her what love is, and promised Her everything he could. And they lived in happiness, and their love was perfect, for the rest of their lives.
A little prank that has found its uses. Shaving razor.
It is said that there is always night, even during the day it is dark. Undead prowl around freely, and pity to those living that end up there. Still, lucky are those eaten by the hordes, some fools get deeper and their very souls are consumed by the nameless horrors that lurk in some hidden spots. And still more serve as new material for the Necromancers, the only living creatures there, as they say at least…
Getting the favour of a Necromancer, and asking for a magical cloak? Sure, why not.
A strange, mystical box, with many rumours attached, that does not want to reveal its secret…
Most Orbs study humanoids in one way or another. But only one makes this a full-time job, in its own way…
Many people know the Honorable Judge has a little weakness for Elves. Some people know he was raised by Elves. But no one knows about his deep hatred for them…
Place of healing. Place of peace. A place to go if the world has harmed you too much.
The Heart that beats slowly in the dark.
A guaranteed life-saver in some situations, a good armor anytime. Several miraculous death-and-return situations were observed on its wearers, but seldom attributed to the simple leather armor.
A tiny leaf, that can make the smallest animal truly dangerous.
Deep within a strange labyrinth, a book wields the magic of its former master. Illusion becomes reality.
A pilgrim’s protection, an assassin’s friend, a weapon of no great power.
A weapon of surprise.
The finest ring of them all, brings Life wherever it ends up. You may need its powers, but will you accept all that will be drawn to it?
If you helped the Grazuul Tribe, others require similar help. The reward is bigger, as the risks.
To help someone is a good deed. Will you still help, if, well, it is a tribe of Orcs that asks for your help?
One day a a wind begins to blow out of the West. The next day it gets stronger. And stronger still the next few days. Eventually (and fortunately), the speed of the wind tops out at a steady fifty miles an hour, but continues to blow. Soon an entire kingdom is wondering why it's not abating. The weather mages deem it unnatural but can't seem to banish or control it. The priests of various faiths claim it's divine. The End-Of-Days crowd is having a field day with their predictions of doom. No one knows why the gale persists. When inquiring with neighboring kingdoms, it seems they too suffer from a persistent western mistral. Eventually the populace begins to adapt to living with a twenty four hour a day wind. Always from the West, and perpetual. What could be causing this? A raging Elemental king? a curse from the gods? an unearthed artifact? Or has Nature itself gone haywire?