My dark past will never let me rest, the only solace I find is bathed in the light of the moon. Tell me, have you ever danced with a devil in the pale moonlight?
He has a secret that only few know. He is being watched, always, unseen,unheard. This secret is on the priority of global security. If only he knew what he was truely, what his secret is.
The Players are asked to escort a prisoner to a point where he can be exchanged. But first they have to break him out of the dungeon…
Defenceless villagers, highway bandits, and primitive tribesmen.
But who has the magic crystals a young shaman needs?
And how do you get hold of them?
A young warrior turned warlord with a heart to satify his people’s needs. Yet every golden hero has an obsidian heart waiting to be released.
The Grand Arm is a weapon without peer, there is naught a blade nor shield that can withstand it’s mighty blows. This ornate weapon is surely the divine tool of the god of war…
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.
“Hehe, a good prank never hurt anybody. Lets do it anyway”
Nothing comes from nothing, or so they say.
So how do you power those "always on" items?
Many are those who have worn this beautiful golden choker and paid for it with their lives. On the surface it appears to be no more then a very well crafted piece of jewelry.However, once put on it locks around the wearer’s neck and can only be undone with a certain key. When it is put on, a soundless clockwork timer starts.Three hours after it has been put on, a sharp blade comes out of it and slits the wearer’s throat.Attempts to pull or cut it off will also trigger the blade and besides, under a thin golden coating it is made of iron, and so hard to break.
There is a spell which can hold the blade in check for a far longer time, up to a maximum of a week.Another spell can set the blade off early.
The peaceful sounds of mid afternoon were brutaly interupted by the swears and jeers of a fight erupting on the edge of the market near an alleyway. Seeing three armored humans fighting a young boy, the fight seems a bit unfair. Not seeing anyone rushing to the aid of the elf and with no watch in sight, the elf doesn’t seem to have a chance. Cries of thief echo from the lips of the three humans.
(Name translates directly from ancient Egyptian as: Strong Protector, the Hidden One.) A mysterious shaman appearing without regard to wheres and whens, upon the divine bidding of other Realms. An entity of legend, belonging to a legendary and ancient sect.
Built to house riches that never came, the ironically-named Treasure House now lies in tumbling ruin.
Very few carry the griffin tamer bloodline, and those that do, are given a remarkable gift…
Two parts of the same stone that when seperated, tend to exert a slight pull towards one another.
Ppoor little Corticus, born much smaller then the other fauns. Someone needs to help him out, someone needs to build him up…
A magical beacon designed to attract minor spirits to the mundane plane
A set of armour, fashioned out of bone and metal.
Most people wake up in the morning hoping something interesting will happen today, Iziah just hopes to wake up in the morning…
Lying forgotten on the ocean floor by the children of Acqua,reposes the very monument that commemorates the passing of the islands from the hands of the Old Ones into those of their ancestors who sailed out of the mists long ago to claim them for their descendents.
But in a twist of extreme irony,others have come to venerate this creation abandoned by the race of man that built it. They are the Old Ones,the very same race whose defeat this statue is supposed to represent.
In the middle of an unimportant combat with some bandits a burst of wild magic transforms all of the PCs and their opponents in to random animals and monsters. They retain their intelligence (though not, of course, the ability of speech). They can either carry on the combat in their new forms, panic, or otherwise react how they see best. After about an hour, they return, unharmed, to their normal form.