- "Arrr! What scurvy dog seeks the Davy Jones’ Locker by comin ‘ere?"
- "Oh, shut it, will ya!"
Home of the Krylastys. Visitors allowed in the neutral zone only.
Behind the plains, beyond the mountains, and far after many leagus of the sea, is a place like you wouldn’t believe… (STUB)
Some places are too dangerous to enter, even approaching them can mean adventure. What is forbidden is forbidden for a reason.
These are the worlds and planets encountered by daring space explorers.
A small valley that leads nowhere… why is it so important to the locals?
This is a scroll of locations that are somewhat out of the normal.
Settled two hundred years before, the people were fleeing war and tyranny. Establishing a comfortable existence in the fertile, but empty valleys, they soon learned who the lands belong to. A mighty dragon called only Death, came and burned the city to the ground, and later again, and again, sending with fire also his (hers?) evil laughter and shouts of pleasure at the destruction. The survivors did not wish to leave, and decided for a new strategy.
It was some sixty years ago, a great flood on the river caused a lot of damage. The baron ordered masive works to be undertaken, to widen the river’s channel above its usual level. The “over-channel” spreads a few hundred yards on both shores of the river. This was to be a sufficient safeguard against any flood.
Finghaart’s sausages hasn’t moved since its founding. For all its reknown, it is quite a poor neighborhood.
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.
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…
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.
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.
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…
While traveling trough farm land the PCs come upon a merchant sitting on a wrecked wagon without a mule attached to it, hid face burrowed in his hands. He explains that he was robbed by petty goblins, unable to defend himself he had retreated. He asks the PCs to help him retrieve the mule before the goblins roast it, as a reward they may keep his goods. How hard can it be?