A festival of settling scores and airing of grievances
'Llaewyn the Fair she was in her youth, in all truth a lover of mine. Though that boast is not mine alone, she was the beloved of many. And joyous, most joyous in form and deed. Till the time of her father's death. She alone sat by the auld king's bed and soothed his fevered brow though ever cruel in life was he. Cruel to all but Llaewyn to whom he gave every comfort and protection his world had to offer. The Fair One walked into the chamber of his last breath and the Black Queen walked out.' -Spectre of the Courtier
Five heirs. Five years. One crown.
While enjoying a meal in the local tavern, the party strikes up a conversation with another customer, who is witty and urbane.
Sometimes you just can't keep a good man down
A bloated corpse shows up downriver from a Taoist monastery. Brought to you by
the words bloat, corpse, redhead, Tao, monastery, murder, underwater treasure,
chains, Wuxia, and romance.
Will players provide their help to a man and his ward when it becomes obvious that they are the targets of a group of hired thugs?
An event that changed the Dragon Empire forever
Something to keep your party on their toes.
"Remember, lad, nothing on this world remains constant, not even the world itself or anything beyond. The only constants ever are the Fabric and time"
Downsit, you, you and you! Story tell of Koboldi rise to Island King!
What once existed is now shards of reality, floating in the sea of conflict...
When the Caliph-Emperor of the Dunes hear about his son's heart attack at the northern front, his rage is unstoppable. For his son was only nineteen years old, and a trained athlete. Grief stricken as only a parent bereft of their child can be, the Emperor finally rouses the Empire into action.
So, when reinforcements finally arrive to the beleaguered veterans at the front, they are accompanied by the the Imperial Necromancers in their gold laced red silken robes, as well as the three old triplet hags of Devananon, seers and prophets who use narcotics to enhance their trance visions.
As the Prince's corpse is carted to the Spires of Devananon, where the necromancers and the triplets will work their magic, the PCs will have to conjure a plan of their own. For they are to blame for the Prince's death.
This plot is set five months after the happenings of "A Dark Moon over Sagranz", but could be adapted by any GM to fit his setting and need.
As long as a hundred spears and longer, the weapon must be hoisted!
It starts on the horizon, creeping over the land. The storm clouds are huge. They fill the sky. They are moving this way; relentless like the tide, faster than they have a right to. They are dark, so dark to be nearly purple. The rain begins to fall near you. You hear it hit the ground. It hits like bullets. The wind gusts; getting in between a person and their warmth. There is thunder that deafens you. It rolls forth like a stampede. The lightning brings the suns brightness for a moment, before plunging you back into the dark.
"What do you do now?"
Do you need a change in your normal gaming pace? Bored or simply needing something different? Then come here.
Inspired by the Five in One challenge, the Emblem of Novercalis is a campaign inspired not by five subs, but by five idea seeds.
The party comes across a magic amulet. This amulet will give each user two wishes, but the wishes almost seem to have a mind of their own.
Witch trials are common enough in the Kingdom and few who stand accused have any hope of escaping the hangman, despite the fact that it is rare for the accused to have any real magical power, malign or otherwise.
One day a a wind begins to blow out of the West. The next day it gets stronger. And stronger still the next few days. Eventually (and fortunately), the speed of the wind tops out at a steady fifty miles an hour, but continues to blow. Soon an entire kingdom is wondering why it's not abating. The weather mages deem it unnatural but can't seem to banish or control it. The priests of various faiths claim it's divine. The End-Of-Days crowd is having a field day with their predictions of doom. No one knows why the gale persists. When inquiring with neighboring kingdoms, it seems they too suffer from a persistent western mistral. Eventually the populace begins to adapt to living with a twenty four hour a day wind. Always from the West, and perpetual. What could be causing this? A raging Elemental king? a curse from the gods? an unearthed artifact? Or has Nature itself gone haywire?