A valiant group of adventurers who work for the crown to protect the peoples of the Northlands from threats that the guard cannot, or will not handle.
Wilhelm the Courageus they used to call him. He used to have it all. People would cheer as he rode down the street, clad in the specialized full-plate armor that the Knights of Trul wore. But no this is no more. Now Wilhelm is a nothing. People would jeer if he walked down the street, which is why Wilhelm waits in the background- until, that is, the day of his plot comes to fruition and his revenge is gained. For Wilhelm has launched a conspiracy to gain the thing that matters most to him, has brought to bear a plot through all of his means, and is a man with a plan.
One dead, one escaped, four captured. After a late-night car chase and shootout, Team A of the CRTF are probably prepared for the interrogation. That's not to say they'll be prepared for what they might learn...
A mighty Kraken, the beloved of Big Red, has been infected by a horrible polar parasite, and the PCs have to find a way to cure her before it is too late...
In a bar not too far off the road, a man walks in. his boots clattering on the wooden floor. The bar is noticeably empty with only a few guys still around either drinking or chatting. Not too surprising since it is already the evening and they probably went home. The smell of smoke and liquor still hangs in the air like a fly caught in a web. The man in the trench coat pulls himself on a stool near the counter. His face covered by a bandanna and the brim of his hat obscuring the view of his eyes. The bartender, who had been cleaning a beer glass, looks up.
"So what'll it be, stranger?"
The man responds in a gruff and tired voice. "Dark and Stormy."
Trapped in a dream, chained by a net of magic, Deneus Betherim, arch mage of Cormalth bleeds magical essence from his fingers, fueling a rift in the fabric of existence; an essence conduit to the realm of elemental earth.
Earth, sand, mud, rocks and clay travel through the rift, and a mountain is being born beneath the feet of the ensorcelled conjuror.
Deneus is the blood of the mountain, fueling the portal, but who is the mastermind behind it all?
Black Christmas. The Elf Kicking Butt and Taking Numbers with Toys and Candy Movie, coming to a game table to you Next Christmas. With a tag line like that, who would not want to play it?
The Right of Revenge, the Law of an eye for an eye, is also known as the Widerdonum, the repayment. Not debt burns as brightly or as painfully as that of vengeance
Two Noble Kinsmen, Two Fair Maidens, Two Mischevious Servants, Two Loyal Handmaids, Two Pompous Dukes, a Clown, a Lion, and a bunch of foolish soldiers, all wandering in the forest. Why, it’s practically Shakespeare!
In the quaint little town known as Golothei, the infamous black legion makes it’s last stand against the mountain tribes of the Ugeroth. On the Asylum River Island the battle rage most intensely, legionary squad mages barely holding their own against the onslaught of chaos worshipping tribal sorcerors. To this location the PCs are destined to travel in search of the powerful artifact known as the Tallow Candle. But not all is as it seems within the halls of the asylum.
At the base of the Cyllerean Mountains a small coven of witches has laired where once was a Temple of Good.
Deep beneath the central tower laid the chambers of the Arcane. This is where the mages, witches and warlocks place those creations they deem to dangerous. The crystal bell Ã?Â Beloth Ã?Â was such a creation. Shortly after it was created by Magnus of Cormalth, it got into the hands of a cunning mercenary captain known as Harlan Marcus. Let’s shorten the tale and just say that the mages in the college valley did not like to have Harlan and his men roaming about the valley, helping themselves to the mages valuables. The bell rendered the college magic useless, and the mages locked themselves in, awaiting Harlan, armed with brooms, pottery and kitchen utensils.
The bell was later recovered, together with Harlan himself, and both were locked away in the chambers of the arcane.
This is the conclusion to the Prophecies of Redemption Campaign. The characters have sojourned through mountains and lowlands to reach the forest in which the entrance to the demon lord’s citadel can be found.
But the Citadel is not what one could expect. Can the PCs find their way in and survive to tell the tale?
When does a boon become a bane? The wise often falter and make foolish mistakes under the guidance of those who are treacherous in design.
Should you wish to pluck a rose, or to caress it, beware its thorns, its dangerous beauty.
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.
Treachery, murder, magic and an army of the dead, all in one rather confusing escapade.
“Return to me,” she said, and as he died, he said: “I shall return”.
And though the years flew like sparrows from disturbed nest, he did return, year after year…
Political ambition, religious confusion, ancient artefacts, and a mad ghost.
A long forgotten atrocity and crime left unsolved.
At what point does the quest for justice become a desire for revenge?
And when does revenge become another atrocity?
Once every decade on the eve of St. Poskov's Day during mid-winter, the coastal city of Tiyabon experiences a horrific event. Quool's Tide rolls in, depositing hundreds of bloated, fish-eaten corpses upon the pebbly shores of Tiyabon's wide bay. This singularity is to this day unexplained, though countless theories abound. It is said for example, that these corpses are not eaten by the myriad fish of the seas completely, due to the fear all creatures of the seas hold for Quool.
Named for Quool, a terrible, antediluvian god of seas and storms, who no longer exists for he has no worshipers, the Tide chokes the beaches and surf with the countless rotting bodies of those who had perished at sea in a violent way.
Almost immediately, the lifeless corpses are fed upon by crabs, gulls, and worse things that await the horrid feast. The townsfolk let nature take it course with disinterested disgust, though lately some enterprising adventurers have taken to searching along the beaches of flesh for former deceased companions, with intentions of raising them again!
Surprisingly no undead ever rise from among the many corpses. This is also a mystery.