The Pendulum Puzzle is a simple ordering challenge backed up by a neat rhyme. Ready to be inserted into pretty much any dungeon or setting.
"We followed the map as best we could, periodically checking our bearings using the chronograph and the sextants that the seer had given us. Eventually we found the deserted location that corresponded to the coordinates on the rapidly disintegrating map. And we began digging...
"We started a trench that went down about fifteen feet into the baking sand and headed due South. After a few hours our spades rang with the sound of steel on stone and as it did so the group gathered round to see what we had hit. Some hand digging revealed a dark black stone that had been carved with a strange texture on it's surface like a series of overlapping layers of petrified tendrils frozen for perhaps a thousand years. It looked and felt utterly alien, and yet our goal lay in the centre of this forbidding artefact.
"Don't just laze about! Help with the seating arrangement! The guests will be here any minute, and the king said everything must be perfect tonight or heads will roll! Now remember, the King must sit at the head of the table with her majesty at his side. Lord and Lady Pemberton must sit next to each other but not next to either the Knight-Commander Gren or his wife.. The Priest Lenard mustn't sit next to any of the attractive Ladies, and the Matriarch will certainly cause a ruckus if not placed in a respectable seat, but don't put her near the wine fountain either. Also, the Ladies...."
Painted walls and a shadowy figure ... how can these insubstantial elements open that all-too-solid door? A locked-room puzzle with multiple solutions!
A local Wizard, rumored to have lost his mind, like he has his hand, Has issued a Challenge and a prize for all. Simple-Enter his tower and find him to claim your prize.
Maranesh, God of Magic, wearied of the multitudes of humans who came to him, clamouring to be taught the secrets of magic. So it was that he devised a test that would separate the worthy from the unworthy.
You have all chosen to follow the Path of the Philosopher. Not for you the warrior Path of the Battlemage, fighter for justice, nor the Path of the Healer, worthy though it may be to heal the sick. Equally you have rejected the Path of the Artificer, the tinkerers, who work on devices and techniques, as well as the Path of the Loremaster, who merely delves and catalogues the knowledge of the past. No, you have decided upon the Path of the Philosopher, the highest calling, the way of true enquiry, where you will probe the realms of higher mathematics, ponder the meaning of truth itself and tease out the deepest secrets of nature and the workings of the world.
A Magical Puzzle Key for opening a door. Innocuous, somewhat simple, but fun to solve, if you like puzzles.
A magical barrier of acid blocks your path. Solve the puzzle to unlock the door.
A combination lock, possibly to open a chest or door or other entry point. A magical puzzle, for those interested.
Checkerboards on floors of dungeons… is there any greater bane to adventurers?
If the adventurers are smart, they can solve this riddle and get the information they need.
Then suddenly all your body paralizes and you hear a voice echoing in the distance "seems like another rat has been lured to my maze," this voice was terribly cold but playfull, "come on you are not already planning on leaving, the fun has only begun."
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.