A huge castle whose foundations are crumbling…A murderer on the run in the caverns below.
Many of the worlds woes can be laid at the feet of deranged, socially blind, and irresponcible wizards. The doddering old mage locked away in his tower, answerable to no one but himself is a hazard to himself and to those unfortunate enough to live close by. The Upright Society of Civic Mages plan to change this problem…one way or another.
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.
Two young nobles, enmity between their families. Where have we seen this before?
The PCs are hired to remove splinters of discontent and desertion from the feet of the Prince’s Army…
Everyone hungers ... and must be fed. But what if the tastes suddenly change?
When the Prince of Thalavor is found dead, floating down the river in a Hero’s Voyage, the King Espegil sends the heroes upriver into unexplored lands to discover the bane that slew him.
The most important horse race of the year is fast approaching, thousands are expected to attend. Too bad that the horse favored to win has gone missing…
A prized possession lost ... easy to hurt, difficult to find, and with a tendency to lose itself again, only a white feather left behind…
The tough, hardy adventurers equip up and go out to kill a pack of goblins terrorising the city. Of course, they succeed without trouble and make their way back but their first encounter with a guard patrol on the way back, tells them something is not right…
The master thief Slith could steal a ring from the finger of an elf or the crown at a king’s coronation. He had stolen the great jewelled idol from the Temple of Imor at the climax of the Festival of Summer. Stealing the Ruby Sceptre from the archmage Bryseis should have posed no trouble to a thief of Slith’s talents. It didn’t: it was only afterwards that the trouble started.
Some things remember well. The stones of the Chambers of Nul soaked up the terror of the encarcerated victims and even now remember it, slowly releasing it like sweat. The buried city of Mastad remembers the cries of its citizens as they were crushed, and still they can be heard on the wind.
So it is with the Bed. Over the centuries it has sat in this room it has been host to some interesting guests, and each has left an…impression. Every sleepless night, every troubled thought: the Bed remembers it all. And if you were to spend a night in its downy pillows, you might remember some of it too…
A druid obsessed with Nature’s cycle of death has created a horrendous spore in a plot to rid the lands of a swiftly growing town that has begun to encroach upon his forest.
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…
You awake in a strange city, with no knowledge of how you got there, only to find that you are not the only one with amnesia
An impious old mariner feels the lure of wanderlust. He leaves his family and home, but have the gods forgiven his blasphemy?
The unicorns are missing from the land of ‘Magical Airs’. Are they lost? Strayed, or stolen?
Sometimes, just sometimes, the best response isn’t to go for your sword first and ask questions afterwards.
Most advenurers have been forced to do a stint as caravan guards at some point in their career, just to see them through hard times. One would hope that they’d learned enough from the experience to pull off a successful raid themselves. The only catch - they mustn’t kill anybody.
A powerful wizard comes to a town to uncover treasure he believes is hiddes there. You must protect it.
The Mad Pope is a wandering mercenary. He is very well deranged as he considers himself to be the pontiff of the dominant faith. His robes are tattered, his mitre has seen better days and there are surely lice in his long ratty beard. What sets him apart from most addle-pated would be holy men is that he has armor under his robes and carries a large crossbow and several one-handed swords. While many would discout him as just another lunatic, for some reason, he inspires others around him and has demonstrated the ability to lay on hands and heal the wounded.