The Lord has a new girlfriend, and nobody is happy about it.
Savage orcs, intelligent apes, desperate ghosts, and one very lucky little girl.
A curious little side-trek for starting level PCs.
The Empire is growing and demanding more resources. The PCs are hired by local authorities to draw up a map of the nearby mines abandoned by dwarves about two centuries ago.
What would you do if you were offered the chance to be a monster?
The nobleman’s daughter must be escorted from place to place, but her addiction may make the journey far harder than it need be..,
Two characters, one player, and no way to tell which is the real one.
Lying prostrate on the floor, his documents and scrolls strewn beneath him, was Taewoo Kin - clearly dead, with gruesome marks around his neck that suggested strangulation by something of disturbingly inhuman origin…
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…
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.
a clan of Mountain giants believe a human mage can lead them to victory against the slightly superior Mist Giants of a neigboring mountain…their ancient cave drawings (think Bayern Tapestry on cave wall) tell them so…
Jaelric the Black, Shatterer of the Countryside isn’t feeling up to par. And he needs a little bit of help.
When an old map is found in a floating bottle by a fishing ship, and is sent to a mage for solving what the ancient symbols on it mean, the old piece of paper becomes more than a map.
The greedy demon, Shikan, terrorized the countryside of the North, killing whomever and plundering whatever he fancied. No one dared to challenge his might, and his ego and reputation grew bloated and over-ripe…
Bold Adventurers the Fountain of Youth awaits your lips….
The PCs find themselves on a diplomatic mission, to return the Statue of Helce to the country from whom it was stolen long ago. They soon find themselves tied up in conspiracy, guerilla warfare and a surprising amount of molten rock…
A huge castle whose foundations are crumbling…A murderer on the run in the caverns below.
It is extremely cold and snow cover the plains as the heroes notice the dead frozen people hanging from the branches of scattered trees along the road. Ahead they see the local Lords soldiers hanging them up, mercilessly throwing buckets of water on their naked unprotected bodies until they freeze.
A prized possession lost ... easy to hurt, difficult to find, and with a tendency to lose itself again, only a white feather left behind…
On the 6th world, there are a few lands with no dragon-lord to guard them. These lands are called the lost lands and the land and the people within face hard times every day, and winter is no easier…
Sometimes, just sometimes, the best response isn’t to go for your sword first and ask questions afterwards.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman