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.
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.
A grab-bag of draconic goodness, ready to plug into a variety of settings from Steam-Punk to Modern to Fantasy.
All dwarves in the Ven mountains are familiar with this simple game. Though elaborate and colorful game board have been craft, the game is simple enough that you could out line a board in the dirt and play with four handfuls of stones.
Everyone had the nerve to look surprised when the androids starting forming their own society, and started telling humans to stick it, including calling them 'false men'.
After the sorceress Rigalene died, those going through her estate were puzzled. Where were all her books? And how would they find homes for all these cats?
I have heard it all my life,
A voice calling a name I recognized as my own.
A tree that sends roaming fruit on a singular quest.
An underground club, meeting place, and fortress
A certain culture has a curious pass-time- muscle art.
Muscle artists (who are called by a special name) work hard to sculpt their bodies, trying to become as muscular and buff as possible. The best among muscle artists look almost grotesque in their amazing muscularity, Atlas-like giants with shiny, oiled iron arms and legs.
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"I will give man his threescore and ten, and then give him more. Death himself will fall before me."