"They said it would bring us a new age of wonder, of exploration, of excitement. I don't think this is what they meant: us scurrying around like rats in our cities of steam and steel, far away from the land and the sun."
When a wizard named Mendalus develops a spell that summons an obedient woman named Catherine--exactly like any other summoning spell--it creates chaos in the wizard-metropolis of Meltheria, as many interested parties struggle to understand the nature (and legality) of the Catherine spell, while vast fortunes hang in the balance.
Lavish glade and lush green field,
Wizen'd oaks; to the blight all yield.
Weeping trees of crimson blood,
the Fields of Flesh turn life to mud.
Will you tread and smile and sleep
where devils dance and angels weep?
A grab-bag of draconic goodness, ready to plug into a variety of settings from Steam-Punk to Modern to Fantasy.
The teeth and fingerbones of holy men and more
"Living in a town that sits on a dimensional nexus can wear thin after a while. It's not so much the crawling shadows, bizarre weather, or late night visitors from places that never existed; but carrying on with your normal life and trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary is going on in your little corner of the world that gets to you."
A small rural town with surreal secrets, that happens to be situated on a dimensional crossroads, suitable for modern day supernatural/mystical/horror campaigns.
Few things shine as bright as the jewels of Hell
"Sivver is the common name given to crystalline parasites, which interact with the nervous systems of carbon based Chordate life forms."
Definition of the word Sivver provided by the Galactic Scouting Guild's Almanac
“The Sivvers are an alien weapon that turns people into murderous glass sweating zombies.”
Uwell Ofmobile, retired Galactic Scout
Busy GMs need help prepping for games faster. And you can create fantastic magic items in just three minutes using my stat block.
"The Circus is in town, Dicurion. Make a donation to the good priests of the Laughing God. See if he won't smile down upon us, and wish our little problem away."
-Olrich van Haarkrom
She left me, I couldn't deal with it. I sat there with the barrel of the gun in my mouth for a long time before I pulled the trigger.
(Graphic Warning: Not for delicate eyes)
Old cultures since the dawn of written time have seen pictures in the night sky and asked questions of them. Who they were, where did they come from, and why do they return? The earliest efforts to distinguish these nightly visitors and give them names and meanings dates back to before the Contention of Aborior. Those first observations were different than what is seen today but most still hold true to their original origins.
From that silent place fear flows in unseen waves, like white fog. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. Through it's frowning walls and dark window openings there's a lantern of the spirit which none see by but those who bear it.
A collection of 30 bardic tales you may hear sung in the local tavern or empresses' court, complete with bardic verse excerpts from all 30 tales themselves.
Many of these tales can also be used as quick plug in adventures for Gm's looking for a side quest. (And let the players exploits be turned into the song by a near by bard perhaps?)
Time is measured for most by the events that are both constant and special. "How many Christmas's ago was that?" It should be no different for Halflings.
Save/Help the Halflings! They offer rewards. Material and otherwise.
From beyond through veils sublime
Pass ghostly, o umbral shine
Illuminate in shadow, fade colors, so fallow
Dark dreaming does bidding thine
A table of possible backgrounds, qualities, or features of a fantasy town or city. A world building tool for getting attention to the details.
Tales grow in the telling and heroes grow in stature, even the tiniest can stand tall among their own.
Treasured texts of the infamous Doctor Alcomb.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman