Resource harvesting operations in the clouds of gas giant planets
Habitats and stations that float
"Riversheart! Center of Civilization, of the Holy Empire! Long may that City reign supreme!"
Jarden Ruthpole, drunk peddler
An explanation of souls, spirits, and what happens after death. Part of my main setting, first introduced in Primal Essence, Primals, and the Creation of the Realms.
An origin story for the main setting I build in. There are aspects missing, and certain things need proper names. In addition, there are related topics I'll write about in other, related submissions, and the whole setting has a 'phase 2' (or sequel setting) in a hypothetical future where certain, massively world-changing events take place. I'll list related submissions at the bottom, as clickable links.
It was said that the King fell from grace so abruptly that the earth opened up beneath his citadel so he could fall for eternity. This is exactly what happened...
Down it falls, a great concentric castle of dark stone. Cracked and broken, though upright, pieces large and small fall together in concert, frequently dashing against each other, or drawing apart to create wide gulfs to expose the hungry blackness below.
And in this tumbling castle, there sits a king, his head heavy with his crown, his hands clutching his throne in unending terror.
In a time when synth-brewing and artificial concoctions are the norm, Burly Bill's Beautiful Beverages stands out amongst the gleaming storefronts with its dark oak frames around stained glass windows.
A cool, Northern land, populated by the strange Maskenfolk
A Sundered Realm, flotsam of a world.
The fort seemed like every small boys dream, but in fact it was a very well made magical prison, and the young prince only learned the truth when it was too late and the magic sucked him inside, his cries from his now inch high body too quiet to be heard.
"Has he got any magic stuff on him?" the librarian asked. "You know, magic sword or wand or such?"
"Of course," Glacier answered, annoyed at the question. Dragus the Reaving Knight wielded the Black Sword as everybody knew. "What's that got to do with anything?"
The librarian smiled. "Well, that just made finding him much easier, that's all. See, what you need is the Books of the Holders."
Umbra may have trapped Prima's body, but she is free in her village of dreams.
Located in the Eurasian Alliance Balkanistan Principality, Vetmuara BioSciences is the bottom of the barrel for human cloning.
" As long Mriulnarth still stand, damnation will always occur "
- Emperor Averemarn I
Seven wonders of the Dwarven World
"Living in a town that sits on a dimensional nexus can wear thin after a while. It's not so much the crawling shadows, bizarre weather, or late night visitors from places that never existed; but carrying on with your normal life and trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary is going on in your little corner of the world that gets to you."
A small rural town with surreal secrets, that happens to be situated on a dimensional crossroads, suitable for modern day supernatural/mystical/horror campaigns.
A build a mile tall with 50,000 people in has a lot of room for action and intrigue
"Some call it 'the Realm of the Builders' - the Ark refers to it as 'Dius Factorsitius Terravae' or 'The Forge of Worlds.' My opinion? Well, I think it's more of a garden, to be honest."
-Author Dreu, van Heinhelm Household Cleric
A new take on hell that leaves you gasping on the edge of panic.
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.