"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...."
Mondaloa is a name shared by both a city and a deity. Mondaloa, the city, is built on layers of crypts and tombs that are far more opulent and majestic than the city that covers them. Mondaloa, the deity, is the god of rest, peace, and death. There is nothing Mondaloa desires more than to see the dead buried deep in their tombs where they can rest in honor and peace. But there is trouble: something is torturing the dead of the city, and driving them to madness and rage. Now, 500 years of honored ancestors are trickling into the city above, seeking blood and pain and death.
A big flock can suck a cow bloodless in a few minutes, yet your doctor shows up carrying one around a small birdcage in the tip of his staff. Maybe you're better off just learning to live with the kidney stones. . .
Lady Evica is one of the prides of the Hesayan Church--it shows that even monstrous, overtly sexual, colossal mermaids can be brought to worship in Iasu's light. Except not really.
One of the strangest weapons deployed by Z'pl'rt the Mad
Few things shine as bright as the jewels of Hell
The faded, yet oddly pristine robes of an ancient healer, this cloth radiates a palpable sense of comfort, of wholeness.
Sometimes life as you know it has to nearly end for you to find your true calling. By "end" I mean the everything you knew, loved, and held dear ripped away, your life torn down to the bloody roots and dragged over broken glass until the future yawns like a great big empty pit that threatens to swallow you whole type of ending.
The new you, the one that's left after such a sundering, is someone the old you would probably put a bullet in the brain pan of out of sheer mercy. Problem is, the old you is no longer around, and the new you likely doesn't have anyone left that cares enough to administer that hollow point piece of mercy.
An ex-cop vigilante, suitable for modern day supernatural horror settings.
After waking up groggily in the middle of a floating wizard's tower, the players must find some way to escape before being slain by the beast that stalks them. Time is ticking and the cat is always watching . . .
Deep within the heart of the Great Woses, lies an inland sea that few care to visit. Nevermind the ogre-infested swamps that surround it, the place is just disgusting. While known by many names – the Belching Sea, the Eternal Loogie, Gluumraag's Blessing and sometimes, the Slimy Deep – most simply call it the Sea of Snot.
Not all of the mermaids and sea sirens are half fish, there are other things that live in the sea
"Ye thought the orbital penitentiary around Venus was hard ta endure? That place is a vacation spot compared to Davy's Lockdown! If the guard borgs can't find an excuse ta peel the skin off yer bones and the inmates don't use ya for their bettin pool, the pressures o' bein that far beneath the waves will drive ya to the brink, mark my words!"
An underwater prison with a dark past, suitable for any sci-fi, neo-dystopian, or cyber punk setting.
As you are traveling through the forest you stumble accross a poor peasent, who begs you to help his village.
A subterranean prison complex, meant to incarcerate those who need to be removed from society.
A realm of unending darkness, pitch blackness, where even light refuses to shine.
So you want to rub a lamp, do you? Here are many mighty Genies, beings of great magic who might turn out to be your greatest boon or your greatest bane.
They should have spoken up sooner and saved poor Harold from certain embarrassment.
One thing holds consistent across the numerous worlds of science fiction and fantasy: everyone speaks the same language. Whether it's Lojban, English, Common, or the High Tongue of the Autumn Empire; there's one language that everyone knows, unless plot demands otherwise.
Once the source of power for a cult now scattered, this item acts as both sacrificial altar and food grill.
Viva la Musca!
30+ slightly-off or downright demented flies for your campaign.
What if dragon-sightings and evidence of such was treated with the same skepticism and mockery as modern UFO sightings? More for a low magic world where dragons 'dont' exist.