As Sir Uthman lay dying, after a long and not allways well-behaved life, his wife placed onto his finger a Ring of Heaven, to ensure that if his soul was indeed dammed, the demons could not take it and instead it would enjoy the blessings of it’s own personal heaven for eternity.
If ever you need a random-roll for what type of knight a character faces in tournament, or just new ideas, what follows is a great big list (some with further descriptions and nicknames) of different sorts of knights.
Some of the names of locations & faiths are from Midian, but these are easily changed to fit different campaign settings.
There are a lot of bad people out there. That is why we must torture you: to keep you safe.
Many and varied are the ways of extracting a confession or ending a criminal’s life, and the one usually follows the other.
Get to it, you mealy boned maggots! That stone isn’t going to cut itself!
Bloody-Beard Borsht
These groups were originally for use with the Project Underworld PBP game, to which I contributed the minor covens.
The crystal dragons of Sogth VII are strange and sinuous beasts, be they stalking across the land on their four legs, and swimming through the ammonia seas.
While magic if full of odd associations, some are quite "pun-ish". By accident or on purpose, slips of the tongue are there.
"How did you lose your arm?"
"Well you see, I fought this one bloke with a bizarre sword…"
A rare and diseased jewel, a canker fallen from the heavens
Not named for an resident beast, but for the multitude of winding, mazelike passages fraught with danger.
The Lairdlands of today are a peaceful seaming region of dairies, sprawling farmlands, and pastures of horses and cattle in the sunlight.
‘The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.’
Princess Leia, Star Wars - 1977
Laser Pistol: "Sears $49.99"
Moonhunter ~ commenting on guns versus swords
From the outlook of my new and inexpensive flat, I could see her. She was kneeling in the graveyard across the cobblestoned way in front of a fresh grave. She was in dark mourning gear, complete with those large black hats that were the fashion. A lost lamb I supposed, recently wed, recently widowed, crying for the loss of a loved one. She had been there two days that I noticed, as well as their nights. She never seemed to move, so locked she was in her grief. As I drank a lonely nightcap, I caught the glimpse that changed me. In the pale moon light, I saw the grave buckle. In a foul corruption of Athenean birth, some spawn sprang forth. Not taking my eyes off the horrid scene, I reached over to the weapon I had been cleaning. Before I could grasp it fully, the petite young widow of my imagination cleared a saber concealed under her over cape and removed its loathsome head. After checking her kill, she looked up at me; backlit I assumed by the lamp in the room. She was not just a simple widow, she was Mourner. I held up my glass in a true salute from one professional to another. At that point I knew two new things: That the Unnatural truly had become more active as I had been hearing in the back alleys and I needed to move far from that graveyard.
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"Is it just me, or is this cave moving?"
- Obin the Spelunker’s last words