A harper is a harper no matter where they are.
Shelandra looks the part of a powerful Necromantic Sorceress. She is tall, pale, and coldly beautiful. She has a castle that always seems to have a storm over it. She has pet monsters. She has a small personal army of Skeletons. She scares the peasants and makes the local nobles uneasy. However, if pressed, nobody can actually recall her doing anything really Evil.
The elven race epitomizes the most noble traits to be found among the children of the gods, in keeping with their mythic status as the first-born and most beloved of the creative forces that gave rise to our world.
So we poor benighted mortals guilessly believe,subjugated by the awe that holds us in thrall of these dazzling beings that exude perfection. But rob an elf of his exquisite beauty,and what do you see in the depths of his soul? Does the inside reflect the unflawed sublimity of the surface? Perhaps not…
History is full of interesting and exotic people who can help to populate your world. They can help illuminate the range of what people think is possible for your world (or you can consider them PCs run by players not in your game).
“Where do they get those marvelous toys” you ask. The other hero smiles, “I guess you have not been hooked up.” He hands you a card.
Maker of Devices for the Discriminating Operative
Hanging on the arm of a wealthy upper crust man, she was the perfect arm charm. But you swear, you have seen her before.
“Beep Click, Identify yourself or be removed.”
Some cities have more spirit than others.
A hypercaffinated ball of technical investigation energy.
He shuffles along in his ragged clothing, mumbling “Leave me alone”.
Fanboy turned expert, Toby is a unlikely contact, but one you want to have.
“Welcome to my place.”
Psychic on Duty is all the aged red neon sign says in the storefront window. It is a small storefront and in a less than great section of town. You don’t expect much.
Old man Hardnan had a farm E-I-E-I-O
And on this farm there was a dragon E-I-E-I-O
Bwah! What kinda farmer has dragons on his farm!
Once a ‘stew-plate’ assassin, Bren Bloodblade has come up swiftly in the underworld, his talents genuinely disturbing to the powers that be…
A mad doctor who dared defy the laws of the natural order, to transcend death itself, and the creature he created.
“Come in, come in. I knew you were coming.
How did I know? Your brother told me.
Yes, yes I know your brother died in the war several years ago, he has told me all about it.”
All know that Elves cannot die, and that Men do. All know that Men go unto the Underworld upon their death, and that the Elves retire unto the Spiritual Elysium. Yet in the Great Scheme, where goes the one with one foot in the Underworld, and one foot in the Realm of Spirit?
When one cannot die, obsession with death is such a natural thing.
This might not be suitable for the squeamish or easily offended.
While traveling trough farm land the PCs come upon a merchant sitting on a wrecked wagon without a mule attached to it, hid face burrowed in his hands. He explains that he was robbed by petty goblins, unable to defend himself he had retreated. He asks the PCs to help him retrieve the mule before the goblins roast it, as a reward they may keep his goods. How hard can it be?