Fifteen men on a dead man's chest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
The mate was fixed by the bosun's pike
The bosun brained with a marlinspike
And cookey's throat was marked belike
It had been gripped by fingers ten;
And there they lay, all good dead men
Like break o'day in a boozing ken
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
Madmen, Riddles, and Worms
"Aye, I've been to Bloodmaw. Its out in the ocean, and lies right on the Abez-Evetepor trade route. Or at least where the trade route would have been if it wasn't for Bloodmaw. Its this maelstrom, perpetually spinning and swirling, abou' 50 yards across? And the sea around the whole thing is a deep crimson. The color of blood. And around the whole thing is a storm. Some days the Bloodmaw is sated, and isn't as violent. But some days ye can't hope to survive. On bad days it can take a ship that a mile away. Thank the gods that it didn't take me."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub
Deep within the heart of the Great Woses, lies an inland sea that few care to visit. Nevermind the ogre-infested swamps that surround it, the place is just disgusting. While known by many names – the Belching Sea, the Eternal Loogie, Gluumraag's Blessing and sometimes, the Slimy Deep – most simply call it the Sea of Snot.
"Avaricious is a special sort of hell; it's the hell we created ourselves. It is the hell we deserve." - Smythe Voss, crewman of Siren's Laugh
"The shipyards, a good place to move illict cargo or lay low for a while, but that ship yard in Philly, it's not a place you want to frequent, not if you wish to keep yer skin on anyway."
A city location with a slight horror slant, suitable for any modern day horror/action setting.
The Pool of (add the name of the God or Goddess of your choice) is well known as one of the greatest holy places of the world. It is said to be full of piles of gold and jewels, a place where wishes are granted, wounds are healed, prophets have dreams that come true, and suspected criminals are fairly judged. Pilgrims from the other end of the world have been known to travel for more then a year, braving the perils of disease, brigands and bad weather, just to reach it's holy waters.
As the only place of warmth in an otherwise frozen land, the Firehole River is, or was, the central point for life in, on and around it. Sadly, this is starting to change...
The Brande Islands are now a hell on earth for the majority of their inhabitants, but it was not allways that way…
Beachcombing and coast-hugging, fantasy style. Animal, mineral, and vegetable. Sea-Junk. Flotsam and jetsam. Encounters and other oddities.
- "Arrr! What scurvy dog seeks the Davy Jones’ Locker by comin ‘ere?"
- "Oh, shut it, will ya!"
Yar…I do indeed know of Crossbones Isle, stranger. But ye’d be better suited to avoid that place like a widowed wench.
The Dragon Isles consist of no less than thirty or so separate islands, of varying sizes, in a fifty-mile chain running on an approximately north-south line about thirty miles off of the eastern coast.
Beringia, the sinking kingdom.
To be sure, the Dirdums are fair teeming with goblins.
Captain Wandern, ship’s log.
For centuries, sailors have told the tale of this isle’s sole inhabitant, a madman who searches for the solution to an ancient puzzle.
Sometimes, gentlemen, you must find yourself a location beyond the reach of the law. I’m sure you understand. Those dreadful precautions, the endless nagging, sometimes it’s simpler to just do what you need to do.
Sailors long to visit the idyllic islands of the generous Zwitter folk…
Behind the plains, beyond the mountains, and far after many leagus of the sea, is a place like you wouldn’t believe… (STUB)
I tell you, I get this itch on my lip when I think about Sgriob and the waters of the casks…
Captain Wandren, Ship’s logs
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.