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?
Captain Blackthorn grimaced against the salt air that sandblasted his face. His men were weary, his ship was falling apart and the hold was replete with treasures beyond counting. It was time to head home and enjoy the bounty that years at sea had brought them. As he braced himself against the pressing squall he considered the conundrum of converting said bounty into a transferable asset that could easily be spent without arousing suspicion of the local militia or the jealousy of rival pirates. If only large amounts of wealth could be represented on something as light and unobtrusive as a piece of paper. But then Blackthorn had a idea:
"I know what we'll do! We'll bury it!…"
Not all magic items are for humans. Rewrite of my original and premiere submission, Horse Brass
"We're nothing new. We've always been here. YOU're the newcomers. You're the animal that forgot that it was a man. Stop crying, you animal, you sleepwalker! If you opened your eyes for only an instant you would see that. You're a race of amnesiacs, of dreaming children. I said STOP CRYING! You disgust me. That's why I'm not going to explain anything else. That's why you will die--screaming--without ever having truly woken up. I will paint every inch of this floor with your blood."
-An Awakened, formerly Ms. Albright, speaking to Albert Frond, immediately before his murder
"I take it ye've ne'er fought a Semblance. Nasty undead fiends they be. 'course, they don't look undead. They don't have gleamin' bones, or rottin' flesh. No, sir! The Semblance looks just like you or me. Except for when its tryin' ta get you. I take it ye've ne'er fought a Semblance. If you had, you'd be dead."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub
In which more methods are expounded by which one may refine a dungeon to more sublime levels of confusion.
This isn't nonsense--this is logic!
We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. "Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!" he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.
A sword with a mission
Dwarven beards are rich habitats for the enterprising critter.
You need a job, you need to find someone or something, or you need to lay low or need to sell something, you need a good fixer.
"I will give man his threescore and ten, and then give him more. Death himself will fall before me."
Seven wonders of the Dwarven World
Patron deity of the Cult of Done, Othamm is always working to counter Mathom's influence.
A story about a young Dwarf, the girl he met and the Goddess he insulted.
side-quest-ish and open-ended to be sure.
Pets mind you. Not exotic monster companions. No saddled dire-boars to be found here. No purple worm caravans.
A set of 30 Dwarven Treasures, for finding, or stealing.
...And 'lo, the days of Bennu drew to a close, and he built himself a pyre from which to be reborn in cleansing fire. But trickery snared his form, blackening radiant feathers to twilight...
Damn 'ol thing it tis. Itches like nuthin I e'er felt. Stupid bugs, your the Poosker ye fool. Help me get rid o' these damnable things.
I hate to tell you this but you have what we liked to call, "Puces Barbe Morts", or undead beard fleas. And the only way to be rid of them is to cut off your beard and then burn the hair.
No! Just kill me it's less painful that way.
Beard grooming is a life-long process divided between two schools of thought: harsh mineral treatments or more the natural approach. The popular naturalist approach requires beard-spiders that live off lice, fleas and other small insects.
Arune Spheres are hollow, blue reflective metallic spheres about 25 cm/ 10" in diameter (though some are larger). They are made of a thickish glass mirrored on the inside. When magical energies are flowed through the sphere, it produces a haunting tone, which can be varied by the type, intensity, and harmonics of energies passed through it. (It sounds like an electronic organ.) If multiple energy flows are generated, multiple sounds can be generated, some of which sound like mundane instruments. Masters of The Craft can replicate almost any sound in their memory with one. Though originally used as a training tools for those with The Power, it has been adapted to be a musical instrument. All it takes is someone with patience, medative training, and a touch of the Power, to use it. (Thus becoming the favorite instrument of anyone who was tested to the first level of the Craft, but failed to advance).