The first rule of surviving in Leen: Never enter the Old City but in day and with a holy symbol and every talismand you can carry
26/30 Sample Dead Zones to flesh out the wastelands of the Cosmic Era.
Rumors of the closed city are whispered on the mouths of the other races, however no one will ever find a dwarf that will say one word about it.
The empty shrines of a god so old, all but his name is forgotten.
"Where do I live? A simple question that doesn’t have a simple answer. A palace in a place beyond place, built in a time that wasn’t a time. Can’t solve my riddle? Really, it’s for the best. You wouldn’t like where I live."
“There’s something not right, up on that hill. Something about that place makes men go mad. The de Lahsk family never should have built the mansion there. That only made it worse.”
There is a place of mystery and wonder located to the east of the Prosary Midlands. Three towers on a plain of mirror shined obsidian that ring a fourth tower that is entirely supported by nothing more than thin air, above the spires of the other three towers. Volturn’s Towers are considered a magical wonder to behold. Tales of the towers agree on one thing: there’s a lot of strange things happening there!
The Demon gates are all hidden from prying eyes, either under mountains or lost within their vast chasms. In fortresses hidden by magic, or guarded by the unknowing. A single key, if found, will open only a specific gate. However, directions to the gates location are inscribed on each key in a demonic script. Only those loyal to Caedmon, or can understand the ancient written language of the Demon’s are able to read it.
The gates are massive stone doorways standing roughly thirty feet in height and twenty feet wide and made of black granite or onyx, with scenes of a demonic horde flooding through the gate as a wave through a cistern. Horrific images of murder and unspeakable acts toward the mortal races also adorn the doors.
A city lost in time. A city in ruins. Knowledge was they key staple in the city until mortals believed they were smarter than the Gods.
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.
Some say that Darigus was murdered for his treasure. Others say that Darigus’s court magician did away with the nobleman and ran off with his daughter. And some say that Darigus isn’t dead, and took off with his treasure. But no one knows for sure…
It seemed like a great place to camp. The clearing was good sized and sheltered from the wind. The brook just a few feet away. There is a natural hallow to keep the horses.
Then the night came.
It was like it became a different place. The temperature dropped. The wind, which does not seem to disturb cloth, almost cuts through you like an arctic wind. No one can sleep, as the soft ground has turned hard. The horses are uneasy. The Bats are flying over and stopping in the trees.
And then there is the eyes. There are glowing eyes just inside the tree line watching your group. The mages and clerics can detect nothing, but there is still something there.
(yet there is nothing at all... The Darkness will do nothing unless the players do something to it. And even then it will all seem to be a conincidence.)
Of course, in the morning, it all becomes sweet and light.