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.
The question was asked about how you run a high level campaign. While this is a simple question it is not very simple to answer. Anyone who is an experienced DM will tell you that, especially for a beginner. In order to answer this I began thinking backwards.
Ok, there is no real place to put this but I think it needs to be said and put up here for everyone to view. This is not for gaming terms, it is not how to view rules or your gamers better. But it is an idea on how to respect your fellow Strolenites.
If you follow this advice you will be able to get the best out of this site that it can offer you and you might make some new friends too.
Some sovereigns prefer a different sort of tax from their subjects - whether freely given, or taken by force.
[Darn. Missed deleting this one. All better now.]
"This sword! It's helping me connect all the dots!"
"Yeah, even the dots that don't exist!"
A Five Room Dungeon about finding the Imperial city of The Lost Empire.
Despite becoming the god of creation later in life, Corran was renowned as being a master craftsman first, and possibly the worst cook to ever live second. This cooking set changed all that.
High above the lands of the living, where frost and howling of the wind reign, the morbid monument to a faith long dead calls the deceased on a last pilgrimage.
Entering a new city there are street urchins, hustlers, con men, kidnappers, thieves and burglars looking to make their day’s prophet. The victim, in many cases the PC, is known as the mark and is the target of whatever kind of hustle they have planned. These hustlers are always on the lookout for easy pickings.
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.
Inspired by # 16 on Cheka's 30 Lizard-man Gifts in-work and Coley's Chart of O' Bashing Death. A gift from the lizard-men. A pet crocodile, as loyal as a dog.
Cramped crawl spaces, virtually all starships have them, and usually most players ignore them. Unless a nasty alien gets loose inside the ship, even many Gms don't give them a second thought..
Here are 30 other issues that could require some crawl space access and provide an interesting sub plot.
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?)
They say you give up a few things, chasing a dream. In those mists that's the literal truth, for every dream of yours that comes true, a piece of yourself, mind, body, or soul, gets taken by the mist. Worst part is, you won't even know what the cost of your dreams are until you go to leave, and by then you might not even have a mind left to change...
A fragment of the mists of creation, drawn to those desperate to make their dreams come true. Suitable for any magical fantasy setting.
"Prophecy today is hardly the romantic business that it used to be. The old tools of the trade, like the sword, the hair shirt, and the long fast in the wilderness, have given way to more contemporary, mundane instruments of doom --the book, the picket and the petition, the sit-in at City Hall."
- Jane Kramer
The adventurer rode into the golden-hued glade, looking around. If the tribesman he had 'persuaded' to help him hadn't been lying, it should be here. Ah, there it is, he thought. A small pool, with no inlet or outlet. Dismounting, he looked into the crystal-clear water. He could see goldfish swimming around, and beneath them the bottom was covered with golden statues of men and women, mostly nude but some with a kilt or loincloth.
“I'm rich,” he exulted. “That damn tribesman didn't die in vain!” He stripped off his clothes and armor, noting in passing that the ground was mounded, here and there, with weapons, armor, and other items, mostly rusted or rotted by time, and dove into the pool to begin gathering up his wealth.
Silence fell over the glade as the new statue settled onto the others littering the bottom.