Even as humans can be, the Kel'Regar, too, can be touched by madness, and it can drive them to push to ends incomprehensible by the sane. The work of one such, Kararemi'ar'Salm'Torat, the Menangerie of Mad Creation, is a twisted, living structure, tormented by years of loneliness and incomprehensible need.
The Earth shifts, revealing a horror beyond time and reason…
When want and famine stalk the land, a strange tower of ashes appears in the village common, a tower holding the sacrifices of the unworthy. Those who have the courage may reclaim these treasures…
Do you know of the most precious of my stones? You should be familiar with the Jewels of the Jaw, you have several my dear.
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.
On a sprawling mound of steel and rust and hate sits a clockwork castle, the technological dread that is a machineÃ¢??s delusion.
One of the most popular "Quests" in Dream Park for the 2071-72 season, The Red Ghost and the Crypt of the Ebony Princess has been made into a novel (by Elsmyth himself), a full theatre video, expanded into a broadcast series, and a lack luster home game. It is considered Elsmyth’s finest work before his nervous breakdown.
Hidden above an alcove behind a forgotten waterfall could be one of the last intact temples of a long persecuted religious order dedicated to the worship of their water elemental patron.
The dread pirate Corvorane was legendary even after his capture and conversion to a privateer. His secret fortress and hidden treasure are of equal fame. But more than gold lurks in the depths of Corvorane’s Cave.
In the trackless Frozen Waste, at the heart of the Sra lands lies the sacred glacier Ganamed, wherein lies Illyana’s Palace, the great ice necropolis of the Sra tribe.
A long forgotten city, with surprising inhabitants.
Deep below the small, peacful country of Vorbild is a dark, impossible maze filled with the countries bad-eggs.
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.
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
From a low hillock in a vast plain, the entrance to the Noil Ruins is as unobtrusive as it is a gateway to wonder…
Through mud and hate and rain,
Through blood and rot and pain,
The bell tolls for victim next,
To save Saint Ithiel, the Ashfeather Hex
The Lost City of Paldor was never really lost. Everyone knew where it was. However, nobody could get to it. Unknown to most, recent Land-Waves (Earthquakes) have opened up the paths to Paldor.
Nothing but snow, nothing but ice and snow. I fear we will all loose our minds out here. Even the caves have frozen into ice…
from the collected notes of an unknown explorer.
It’s cold up this high, the air is thin and hard to breath. We should find the entrance in the next day or so. I can’t eait to find it, I can’t wait to be out of this wind…
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.
What a narrow street! The bowed windows of the upper floors encroach on the view of the bowed windows opposite, making it all very dark and shady down here in your carriage. You feel it slow down and stop, and there are raised voices outside. Craning your neck out of the door you see a smug cartsman ahead, whose cart is blocking just enough of the narrow street to make your passage impossible. He appears to be waiting for you to move, but your driver is hurling abuse at him and your horses are getting restless...