This enormous blade is capable of leveling more than just men.
It sees you, can you see it? Even when the room is lit?
Funny how those shadows twist, as though the room were filled with mist.
But theres no mist, the room is clear! About now, you should start to fear.
clear your mind, take a last breath. For in a second, you’ll meet with death.
A set of land, roughly six hundred meters squared, which has JUST not enough trees to be called woodlands. Though there IS something most curious about these lands. Perhaps the fact it is pure glass.
The tale of King Shorthold and The Window of the Mind
This discreet and stylishly concealable weapon is quite capable of cleaning up its own mess.
A weary adventurer-turned-lord. His fief is slowly growing, but threatened by growing forces of humanoids… and approaching winter.
A land being plunged into chaotic energies, wild superstition, massive prejudices and distrust. More of a campaign setting than anything else.
This is more of a concept applied to a particular setting than the setting itself, bear this in mind.
A dagger, seemingly crafted from plain oak wood…
Betrothed to Skundaath Lord of Chaos, Celdea lives in perpetual fear of being found and taken to be his bride.
The tale of colourshade of the two-fold, and his reknowned skill of painting.
Cheating death always has a price. For those who don the Shroud of Ster, the price is pain and suffering for ages.
Pembridge Maccadia, the Mindless Ruler, the Crafter of Graf Malin, sacrificed his very life to destroy a nation. A breathing, living machine with the heart of blades, a testament to his loathing of Man. His hatred for his own people…
Some things remember well. The stones of the Chambers of Nul soaked up the terror of the encarcerated victims and even now remember it, slowly releasing it like sweat. The buried city of Mastad remembers the cries of its citizens as they were crushed, and still they can be heard on the wind.
So it is with the Bed. Over the centuries it has sat in this room it has been host to some interesting guests, and each has left an…impression. Every sleepless night, every troubled thought: the Bed remembers it all. And if you were to spend a night in its downy pillows, you might remember some of it too…
“Yes, these boots are very fine,” said Smoke’s Empty Lens, “But I do not care for them, nor for you.”
Firefly River wept a single tear and went away…
A legendary relic, suited to base a campaign around, with the power of Creation crystallized in a single milky seed…
High in the Gralbak mountains live the Yale Riders, a reclusive tribe of gnomes who have succeeded in taming the wild yales of the mountains. Skilled riders of their agile beasts they are excellent hunters and warriors, though they do have a firm tradition of hospitality.
A true weapon of Light, crafted by the master craftsman Elriada for the coming of age of Anlara, heir of the forest elves. When rejected by Anlara, Elriada laid his curse upon the Longbow, ensuring that this mighty weapon would be truly valued by its users.
Every now and then someone truly extraordinary is born, even to a race of kobold like creatures.
A mid-sized sailing ship with an embedded Shard of the Storm.
Fallu the Sorceress summoned Smile Frown, the Laughing Demon, who chuckled and said to her…
The old clock tower stands tall, but the bulk of the uppermost storey is crumbling and unsafe, with gaping cracks in the walls. The metal struts and girders supporting the great bronze bells are still intact, though, and the bells survive. The grotesque gargoyles and arabesques which decorated the original design have either fallen into the street (once or twice a year more bricks fall from the tower, prompting calls for its demolition) or have been defaced, but the main doors to the clock tower are still intact and show signs of being kept in working order. This is the home of The Captains, clad in raggedy clothes, with sooty faces, and perpetually runny noses. But behind each set of eyes is the look of a survivor. They live to stick together and make it through each day. Older than their years in many ways, the friendship they share with each other and Wims ghost keeps the core of a childs innocence and hope alive in each. But they are still very suspicious of outsiders. They are a group of street children who live in the clock tower. Some are orphans, some runaways, and some nomads who occasionally return to their homes. But they’re all poor, dirty and perpetually hungry, as well as being wily, unscrupulous and mischievous in a fairly brutal way. Enough of them have suffered at the hands of adults for all of them to be wary of any grown-ups, particularly ones who ask too many questions, although with hard work and a lot of food it might be possible to win the confidence or even the trust of a few of them.