The city that many adventurers seek to drink from the Fountain of Youth…..
Bold Adventurers the Fountain of Youth awaits your lips….
The wall unsealed, Mirror Serpent peered inside, ready to gaze upon the riches within. But he recoiled. There was only a withered corpse, and in its hands, a flickering lantern…
“Clear glacial water, spring barley, winter wheat and summer hops are what good ales are known for. The ale should not be too old or it will be stale or bitter, it must breath or the favor won’t be just right, and most importantly it should be chilled to just a hair above freezing, so the taste is sharp and crisp” ~ Taliwar Jil - Master Brewer, Far Doman
The shield of the gods forged from the sun by Apollo himself but how can it be…...........
Always on the cutting edge of fashion and the talk of the courts, Mialee the Beautiful is the supermodel of the fantastic world…
Once Vandersil was a rich city. Too rich for it’s own good. It was born when gold was struck in the Northern Polar Mountians. The gold ran out within a few years but veins of other minerals both common and rare were discovered. Coal, silver, star stones. The city grew rich through trade and the streets were paved with bronze, at least, in the richer areas of the city. And then it fell into captivity because it neglected it’s defences…
quick of wit, strong of sword arm, and irresistable to the ladies, Redgar the valiant is the epitome of the heroic warrior.
Most unexpectedly, an omen of fire appears in the sky, bright in the darkness, visible during the day, panic ensues…
The Seven Lords of the Peninsulari each wore a magical signet ring identifying them as a sovereign lord.
Arriving in a small village the adventurering party is drawn into a meeting of the Parish Guild…
“Wolf, have you not heard, Red Riding left to college years ago and is married with 2 kids of her own, she has not come to Grandmother’s house for 5 years now. What have you done with Grandma, for if it is murder, the axe you will have.”
Dracia Eldren was a sharp featured woman. Her long greying hair was pulled back into a severe coif. Narrowed black eyes studied the potential Princess stand-ins. Darcia was well schooled in the ways of ettiquette. She was a seasoned Mistress. Her name was well known about the different Kingdoms and Queendoms.
She was the woman you contacted when you wanted your daughter to become the well cultured and well taught pillar of nobility. She was the woman who schooled young princesses on the fine art of being noble. Dracia was as strict as they come. Years of practice allowed her to use a switch upon her subject without leaving any marks. Only a sharp stinging pain as a reminder of their failures. She lives for her work.
If you wanted to infiltrate a kingdom with a doppleganger…you needed the help of a professional. One who knew all the ends and outs of Princess behavior.
Her dark grey coat hardly never touched the ground as she walked. Her back arched and her head held up proudly. Darcia fingered the switch at her side as she studied these potentials. These potentials were of poor condition. Some of them were farmer’s daughters. Pathetic. She had her work cut out for her. At all times there would need to be at least three princess replacements in training. They would have to learn together. Eat together and train together. Every movement would have to be perfect. And she only tolerated perfection.
Worldly girl from a small northern berg, who likes to get in trouble.
“Odd style, you present yourself with.”
“Yes indeed, it suits me well enough.”
::lunge:: ::parry:: ::cross:: ::reposte:: ::parry::
“Strange you lead with your dagger, yet you attack in defend with your right…”
“I’d honor you with a flourish from my left but that would hardly be fair…”
“First blood it is, on guard!”
Manifold collections of wheels, and gears, springs and coils, all bound by the inexoriable tread of time.
Once trod upon, now brightly shines, a mage fed by what to death declines…
Cold to the core, he is a rather young drow who has no friends and is very quiet and keeps to himself
“Made on a small island in the Black Sea, it has the power to make a person invinsible in magical concerns, but people should be warned, it has never brought luck to it’s wielders.” Conan Highblade, High Seer of Abasil
“A brand forged in the dying embers of the old gods, such that a pact was formed in the light of the new era. The birthing gods of the lands would attribute to man his due accord or be unmade from the power that bore them. So it came that man was able to vanquish the tribulations that followed.” ~ Caeracyn folklore.
In a crowded marketplace, a man is standing on a soapbox, orating. Some of the crowd are cheering, some hissing, some standing around saying "I can't hear a bl**dy word he's saying". It's a hustings for an election. The PCs can either leave, or stay and listen. If they do the latter, then they can vote too, and they might get quite involved in the cheering. Depending on who wins they might get quite involved in the post-election brawl too...
There are numerous possibilities with this encounter: the PCs might end up talking to one of the nervous candidates before their speech, and offer encouragement and support. Of course this candidate may well turn out to be someone with outspokenly unorthodox views, and the crowd don't take kindly to s/his supporters. Or maybe the seemingly innocuous candidate turns out to be a complete racist, and the PCs wander off embarrassedly, pretending they weren't talking to this person five minutes ago.