"Riversheart! Center of Civilization, of the Holy Empire! Long may that City reign supreme!"
Jarden Ruthpole, drunk peddler
"Who would expect a commoner from a land that had once rejected the Son of the Light and the Holy Empire to become the next heir to the draconic essence of Traghen?"
William Dashaw, Lord Scribe to the Illyrian Court.
The PCs are in a graveyard, when as they are passing a noble tomb with a certain symbol embossed on the door, the magic user in the party hears a voice from being the tomb door begging to be let out. What do the PCs do?
Dedicated to Scras and his Star Whale sub that was my inspiration for setting
The Stolen world is totally wrapped around Scras' Star Whale sub. As I cast about for a direction to go after I ended my very long running Mysantia game. I took the basic concept of the Star Whale and am using as the basis of all the game logic of the setting. What would a world look like that was subjected to regular apocalypses every 1000 years and why is there no information available to the pc's on how to stop them.
A general overview of the Stolen World and a codex of the submissions so far
"I watched my family burn. I kill men with the tools of my father's trade. He created. I destroy. That is a gift the Light chose me to bear. Think well you before you pray to the Light for gifts."
Chosen of the Essence of Traghen, High Lord of Barbarus, Keeper of Sentinel, Wielder of the Soulhammer.
Stronghold made for the liche Haukagaron. He was betrayed at the last and Castle Kaukenn was pulled into the Abyssal realms.
Beware, beware, the hidden snare.
Where the shadows linger, and fiends do fare.
Go on, run, hide and pray.
For the elder crow feasts,
on our souls' decay.
One bad moment left him permanently destitute. Down on his luck, Mark Greaves learns that necessity sometimes brings you to work you never realized you could be good at.
Freya is very tall and thin, you would know her if you saw her, for her eyes are shining from within. her face beautifully adorned teeth razor sharp; her clothes of the softest silk and her voice as soft as a harp. She sways her head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And when you think she's half asleep, she's really wide awake!
Priest of a death goddess
Gives life to the notion of no good deed goes unpunished.
Nod to Gossomer, for her Solomon Grundy forum post, my inspiration
500 Word NPC challange
The dark elf femme fatale Elainuk was the firstborn son of Robert and Lulu Bobblecork. She was born a healthy bouncy baby boy in the shire of Pedstand, which was part of the Cordially Aligned Tetrarchy of Halfling States.
The only true god of the Stolen World.
Sometimes names can be deceptive
Mix and match to your player's horror,the apex predator in the Stolen World
Expertise on a tab? Of course! Sign me up!
In a world without almost any gods ,sometimes you have to take what you get. A tale of the Stolen World
The Advance of Technology seems unstoppable. Some things while possible are probably best not produced...
One of the most common healing devices found in the world of Therafter. Suitable for near future settings.
A new-school fantasy novel based on my Crunalan society of the Dragon Empire setting and various historical characters whose stories have been mangled up by the author’s imagination. Most critical readers welcomed!
One day a a wind begins to blow out of the West. The next day it gets stronger. And stronger still the next few days. Eventually (and fortunately), the speed of the wind tops out at a steady fifty miles an hour, but continues to blow. Soon an entire kingdom is wondering why it's not abating. The weather mages deem it unnatural but can't seem to banish or control it. The priests of various faiths claim it's divine. The End-Of-Days crowd is having a field day with their predictions of doom. No one knows why the gale persists. When inquiring with neighboring kingdoms, it seems they too suffer from a persistent western mistral. Eventually the populace begins to adapt to living with a twenty four hour a day wind. Always from the West, and perpetual. What could be causing this? A raging Elemental king? a curse from the gods? an unearthed artifact? Or has Nature itself gone haywire?