A small valley that leads nowhere… why is it so important to the locals?
Residing in the core of this giant black megalithic structure built to resemble a crude representation of a lightning bolt, lies a Shard of the Storm.
And a lot else..
This is a scroll of locations that are somewhat out of the normal.
“The Monarch is Eternal. We care not what he looks like. He gives up himself being himself to be the ruler of the country. “
Chancellor Richelius at the Court of Aldophus IV 1620
A follow up thread to MoonHunter’s NPCs out of History. These are battles out of history that may serve to inspire GMs to create cool battle scenarios or mythical battles / rumours of battles.
One player. One Game Master. Roleplaying in this way is slightly different than with a group.
The spirit which dies with a murderous rage upon it’s conscience cannot rest, and re-inhabits the corpse it once dwelt in, stalking the earth in search of one thing: revenge.
“There shall be among you lying teachers who shall bring in sects of perdition and And the task will be given to you to bring them the truth. If they will not accept what you bring, you must cut off their heads and trample their bodies underfoot, for this is the only way to save your children, and your children’s children, from growing up under false gods and heathen images.” - Excerpt from “Our Cause”
Once a year, Father Olaf delivers presents to all the people of the world in one night.How does he do it? With the help of the Sleigh of the Storm, and the vital Shard of the Storm within it.
Reading through the animal thread and a conversation with Scrasamax lead to the creation of this thread. For the Adventurer with a taste for exotic meals…may I present. "The Official Strolen Citadel Cookbook".
Forget the rickety, fragile skeletons. Remove all thoughts of the limping, weak zombies. Shrug off thoughts of blood-dependant vampires. Whereas the former are reflections of necromatic magic, the Mogrolyth is a creation derived from the pure essence of unholy power - namely pain.
The Cyahoi are horrific undead beings created as powerful servants by the cults of the frightful Lord Sarku, flesh-eating Master of the Living Dead. They are animalistic and violent creatures whose lower, animal souls have been driven wild with spiritual starvation, and whose higher, reasoning souls are held captive in their black hearts.
Some years ago a dark cult was founded in the Forecastle area of Hahvrensburg. The cultists were defeated by a band of heroes. A month after the heroes left the city and went on about their business, something massive came out of the earth.
The Cynocephali are those wretched beings who are cursed to walk the earth after death for the betrayal of those most dear to them. The gods look upon such traitors with terrible anger, and as such, those who do nothing to remedy their betrayal or offset the sin are doomed to an eternal unlife, bearing the head of a dog.
Seemingly lit from within, autumn foliage blazes with color in the late-afternoon sun. Yet, is is spring.
Trodways Known by Ericus Huntcrafter pub 1185 p. 245
The Pelezians, or “clay people” were strongly bound to the earth. In fertile plains and valleys they lived their happy existence, peaceful, yet ever on their guard. Many nomadic attackers they defeated, until a different enemy came; their advanced technology and weapons (and magic) were beyond the skills of defenders. One-by-one their settlements fell, until the clay people were not more.
To the greedy students of the past, their heritage is but not forgotten.
The Sark-Hound is a basic form of Sark which is created for a very specific purpose, to wit, the hunting and killing of the necromancer’s enemies (in Centas, the place of the banal zombie is taken by these creatures).
In the royal year 451, also known as the year of Red Leaves, something strange occured. A star fell blazing from the heavens, in to the Midlands. Imperial Wizardry could be sent to examine the object. However things changed in the area. Royal Viziers were unable to postulate a cause for the matter, but the fact that none of the countyfolk were alive led to the whisper of one, chilling word. Zombie.
There are some men who treat their wives the way they would chattel,that is,with utter control and domination,regarding their spouses not as independent beings entitled to their free will,but as mere objects of theirs,subject to the will of their lords. Such is the nature of those doomed to become the Possessive Ones,upon their death.
The Poison Eaters Tribe dwells deep in the jungle glades of the Ushaika, in the lowest reaches of the undergrowth where no sunlight pierces through the leaves, and where the marshy ground wells up with tea-colored water at the lightest step.