The players have a chance to cure the plague that has sprouted up upon their travels. Will they choose to do the right thing and help bring health back to the region?
A tough climb for a source of wonderous healing…
"Calm your mind"," the mage said. "I can’t" says Raygar. "It is like my thoughts are echoing in here. It is so loud!" The mage tried to shift the burly bandit, to drag him out of the room. "This is a prayer room, what to ..." The mage practically leapt to the dais. Sitting in the center he sank in a position of reflection and prayed. The mage heard the click. The bandit sighed slightly in the tiniest relief. The mage began to drag the bandit out of the room, heading to and opening one of the doors.
What’s this round thing on the wall…
Spoken only in legends and even then in hushed whispers, PochÃ¢??Agoura is a name that sends children scurrying into their parents beds. Most people do not believe the old legends that the Dread Walker once subjected the entire world to an endless dark, a mindless machine of destruction that corrupted all in his path. But you see there is always a little fact in legends and myths and this is no different.
A simple, effective dungeon trap that satisfies the requirements to be used several times and without decaying.
For three long days the violent storm had ravaged the town of Iolinas, and the townsfolk had begun to wonder if it would ever end. Strangely, towards the end of the third day, the rain stopped suddenly, though the winds still buffetted the town relentlessly; some townsfolk thought it was finally the break in the storm. Others thought it was a portent of worse things to come… These people were correct.
You follow the map your purchased. It is to lead to the lair of Tergars the Dark. You follow through the woods, and find the rocks that lead into the hillside. The troupe creeps inside. Inside you find burned out candles, recent trash, and a few broken kegs. It is not Orc remains… there are funny and obscene things written on the walls with charcoal written in the local tongue. It is strange… unless….
The First Men buried their Kings and “Big People” (Nobles and other Important people) in underhills - tombs made under hills of earth called Barrows. While this custom seems quite common, the First Men were not. The First Men were closer to The Mythics - The Shidhe (Elves) and Dwarves - and The True Dreaming Magics than Modern Men. Thus entering their barrows means you are entering a different world and time.
As with any eco system, there is a pattern of life and death. Unfortunately when there is death, there is often trapped emotions, suffering, and other things that “complicate” the process of transition. Add to this mix the presence of magic and gods and the chances of complications multiply. These complications are known to the mortals as Ghosts, Spectres, and various forms of material Undead.
"The Pegoran saw the circle as the link between this world and the next," the mage said. Before he could pontificate further, "So the door rolled in Raygar to send him to the next?" the rogue blathered, "What a mad peoples!"
Enacted roughly 4 years ago, the Dungeon Preservation act sought to map out and better understand the dungeon ecosystem, and to protect it.
Department of Dungeon Preservation
Many traps are not designed to kill or maim, but more to disgust or annoy, or even to put a smile on the victim’s face… this is a scroll of such traps.
Traps working the good old mechanical way, through levers, ropes and switches. Included are also the beloved pit traps.
Magical implements that trap the unwary.
Traps for the outside. It is not only the dungeons and ancient tombs that are dangerous.
A collection of traps that are located on doors, doorways and portals of all kinds.
Over three hundred years after the destruction of Linnarson, the ruins of Linnarson remain deserted; the warped magical environs inhabited only by the twisted and bizarre creatures that have been created. Amongst it all, however, the Senior Masters remain, continuing their eternal pursuit of knowledge. (UPDATE IN PROGRESS.)
Graves of a small, little known folk, exotic as dangerous.
Maranesh, God of Magic, wearied of the multitudes of humans who came to him, clamouring to be taught the secrets of magic. So it was that he devised a test that would separate the worthy from the unworthy.
The ochre sands stretch for miles around. Something kicks up the dust. It's a yak. A desert-yak. It ambles slowly, nuzzling the ground for the low-growing shrubs. The ranger freezes. "Stay very still," he warns. "Don't move at all."
"What is it?" you ask, breathlessly.
"It's the most dangerous creature in the whole Ocadian desert. And it's about to eat that yak..."