Taronia - Land of mystics and sages. Taronia - Land of the Gods. Taronia - Land of Conquerers.
“Please sirs, my grandmother lives just beyond the forest”
We’ve all heard them over the years, and in every story there is a grain of truth…
“While traveling you stumble upon…um…you stumble upon…”
To be a detective is not the fun it seemed.
Sometimes a simple breakdown can lead to all sorts of trouble
There is trouble in the mines, claims your employer. And you are just the people to solve it.
I don’t know if I posted about it before, but I have always wanted to run an adventure set in a library. The following is a sketch of an unusual premise and a possible plot-hook.
In the great lake of Ture are hundreds of islands of various sizes, and not all have been completely explored by the Modern Races. One such island, with rough and craggy coastlines discouraging landing, is quite remarkable and worth a visit.
An alliance between bitterest foes in a desperate bid for their survival, thus was the beginning of the Shrew-Wars
The fine scent of sea, and the less fine smell of the fish… isn’t there something else smelling, too?
The Sneel are causing trouble again.
Not quite Science Fiction…
A mysterious young nobleman is making quite a stir in the court, and not all are pleased about it…
Someone wants Prince Philoj dead. Or?
Intrigues and adventures within the glittering courts of the land’s nobility: A collection of Tales of Adventure
A tree, a length of rope, and a (maybe not so) innocent victim.
Wotcha gonna do?
Here, have a sup, just two piece of silver.
The heroes encounter prisoner-slaves and their masters
Wherever the PCs have gone recently, they have heard the talk. The Doomsday Machine of Toothless Amalgam has stopped spitting out birdseed. The End is nigh.
The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...