Hailing from the giant swamp planet of Acadia, the Leech Lords rule with a mighty will. And slimy green tentacles.
Toltep walked slowly along the avenue, it would have been easier to swim along in the viaduct, but he had made it a point to not do the easy thing. All to often the easy path lead to ruin, and he had not survived so long by taking shortcuts, or the easy road. The market, what was above water, was abuzz with conversation. A large school of blood-crazed lurdi had been diverted into an ambush where the brave people had slaughtered the monsters. There was some worry, Toltep gathered, as a few had escaped.
"I have no love for these aliens."
-Jax the Chronicler
One way of getting here, The Concave, is through conflagration of your Soul. Not a nice way to arrive, but at least you'll have the benefit of a guide, unlike most others.
Death cults, worshipers of dark powers, necromancers, and eaters of the dead. Individually these cults are horrible in society and the repercussions can have lasting effects on those they influence and affect. But what if that not just a small group tried to influence their belief on a people, but an entire people tried to use their belief to take over the world?
The battle between the Daemon and the Styarm was most bloodthirsty. The Daemon battled with fiery rage against the Styarm's thunder and lightning. They clashed and the heavens shook. It was as if the heavens and the molten rock below clashed and bled.
That is a part of the tale of the Untold War. This is the beginning tale of the Kaur.
In a time before time, the creation of Baymaroen was primordial as all worlds are. Forces of energy clashing in a climactic font of brilliance to form the bedrock of the world. Silence issued forth for an eternity but lasting an instant. The appearance of the Firstborn was instantaneous. Life created itself from the cosmic essence left behind by creation. This is the story of the first war, the Untold War.
When a thousand years of dust settled upon the worked stone floor of The Grey Tomb, a new sage was born. A creature, of dust, time, age, wisdom. The dust that was once the bodies of ancient wise men. It coalesced and swirled into being, small and wispy, dry as its home. It mutters words of wisdom for no one to hear. Begging its dark home for a soul to learn from.
The Blood Beast, while originally a construct, has surpassed its beginnings to assume a place of infamy.
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.
When a life is snuffed out through a cause other than old age and natural ailments, the spirit lingers in the Mortal Realm rather than immediately entering the Spiritual World, as is its due. The incorporeal form attached to such a being is what is commonly referred to as a Ghost.
How much hatred does it take to buy revenge?
30 various vampiric varieties
There are a number of ways to reach The Concave; it seems that falling is one of them, but falling from where?
An attempt to gather my thoughts on the cosmology and history of the Locastus setting.
I´m not quite finished with it, but I´m throwing it out there anyway
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.
The excited, almost frantic sound of a mallet instrument erupts from the forest to your left. Within minutes, your party is confronted by a host of short, sprite-like gnomes clad in vivid greens and earthy browns. Attempts to communicate fall flat. The gnomes seem to ignore your words entirely, and you cannot understand the humming/whistling/snapping that apparently makes up their language. Luckily for you and your fellows, however, they don't seem hostile . . .
Hidden in the snowy mountains lies a small settlement. Not unlike others however this village is entirely populated by undead. These undead are atypical.
In the small town of Silver Oak rests a towering Oak flush with silver metallic leaves that chime in the breeze, even during the heart of winter. Its story, and its secrets lie within this humble text...
A magical tree, suitable for any fantasy campaign.
The village sits on the edge of the deep fjord, often engulfed in mist or rain. Its people are fishermen, who work even through the sea-ravaging winter. And they pray to the gods of the deep.
At the beginning of every winter they hold a summoning ceremony. Three boats are taken out into the fjord, a hornsman on each. The mournful horns are blown in the language of the whales, the gods of the deep. The whales sometimes appear in answer to these calls, and it is taken as a good omen when they do.
To a party of PCs wandering the misty hills and valleys nearby however, the doleful whalesong of the horns can be disturbing and misinterpreted...