The Deepening Gloom is an old forest, with deep roots, and deeper memories of the elder days.
After an age of war against the enchanted Fay a dark demi realm of chaos was created, Inhabited by twisted insane denizens with the increasingly rare bastion of sanity, A place to truly frighten an bewilder any unwary adventurer
Far to the north, past the cold, vast plains and tangles ancient forests, past even the brooding Deadfire Mountains, lies a real of ice and bitter cold. Barren and stark, few have ventured in to this icy realm. Hunting here is scarce and the wind seems to howl with the voices of demons. Yet there are rumors of a citadel in the heart of the ice field, rising above the wind-swept whiteness and glittering in the pale sunlight. Some say that the citadel was built of block of ice by giants. Others claim that some wild magic caused the structure to grow from the very ice. Yet others state in low voices that it is not ice that shines so, but a fortress of diamonds, built in ages past to guard the most powerful of magics in the world.
Being an artisan first and a merchant second afford Astria a measure of wealth and independence. She specializes in creating jewelry and art pieces with semi-precious/precious stones and metals. Most of her income comes from works commissioned by the wealthy denizens of Widow’s Edge and the surrounding towns. She also owns and operations a little curio shop.
At first glance Astria appears to be just what she projects the artsy shop owner with a hello and smile for all that she encounter. If one were to look closer they would see the energy that pulses around her, the alertness in eyes, the readiness to act at a moments notice. Astria is more than a mere shop owner; she really returned to Widow’s Edge to investigate the attacks on the towns that started when she was a child and claimed the life of her father. During the daylight hours she works as jewelry/art maker but when darkness falls she slides into the night like others slide into clothes. Astria’s mode of dress when doing her nightly patrols is a black shirt, black pants and black suede boots. She also wears a black scarf and veil to hide her hair and face. Her weapons of choice is the katana sword, which she wears, strapped to her back and a set of seven throwing knives that are secured to her upper right thigh by a leather strap. During the daylight hours the weapons are cleverly hidden under her clothes.
Charles Champagne is most likely to be encountered as an invaluable friend to the heroes, or at the worst a charming diversion. After all he is essentially a force for good, with one very disturbing exception…
How much life can the stroke of a brush place to a canvas? Perhaps art does imitate life, the Artist knows. The Artist is usually looking for new models.
Long ago there was a cult who worshipped Bast, the fickle goddess of Felines. Their temple has fallen, and the cult dispersed and all that remains is a silver wand adorned with the holy symbol of bast, a cat with emeralds for eyes…
A sentient machine which churns out useless items, but may have a more important task. (actually an It).
A dangerous book of maps…
An item of clothing designed to let librarians reach those books which everyone wants to borrow and are therefore left on the highest shelf.
A magical ring that makes you… huh, was I talking to someone?
This large blue fruit’s pit holds a polarized electrical charge
A devoted and zealous priest of the Ice, Irad nevertheless is troubled by the brutal and vicious ways of those who worship it. Rather than crush and destroy the civilized folk of the South in its name, he would rather they be converted to the faith of his people and worship the Ice as their master. This he feels, can only be acomplished if they are encouraged to revere it rather than loathe it. It is indeed ironic that such a gentle and wise man serves the twisted Ice Lord..
Three days from the nearest shore, nestled on top of a small heath island stands the Tower of Thunder and Gold. More than one hundred wizards and sorcerers live here year round, devoted to the continuation of the magical arts. There are many times more students, consors, and things only describable as others
A lovable old traveller with a voice that can make stories come alive.
A sage is a well known repository of knowledge, a researcher of ancient lore. But knowledge is power, and a commodity to be brokered and sold to the highest bidder. The meershaum smoking man is such a dealer of antiquities and of lore unknown, but he is wrapped in a shroud of secrecy of his own. Can the PCs divine his ulterior motives, or is he a wizened, albeit elusive, sage?
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…
The ice lands…. A place where the forces of ice and frost hold power eternal over the lands,a place where the life giving rays of the sun are smothered and mocked by an eldritch ice mist.. For these desolate,frozen plains are home to the dread Ice Worshippers,a race of savage and feared nomads who are as merciless and relentless as the sinister ice that dominates their lands,the same ice they revere and hold in awe. Held in terror and loathing by the folk of the fair south,they eagerly await the day the ice sends them forth to unleash upon the civilized lands, a demon winter that yearns to consume all life..
Nadia, a sixteen year-old noble lady, is put up to the challenge of surviving when her panpered lifestyle is abrubtly shattered.
Where many a woman’s heart is filled with longing for love, or the comfort of the hearth and home, this arrogantly beautiful woman is consumed with but one thing. Ambition. Born without a heart, but with the grace and genteel manners of the aristocracy, she is the iron fist in a lace glove.
A desolate region is almost entirely without normal vegetation. Local plants are able to unroot themselves and crawl along the ground in search of water and fertile soil. The inhabitants fence their crops in to keep them from wandering off and put heavy stone thresholds in the doorways of their huts to keep wayward plants out.
The plants sense by chemical cues, lacking sight or hearing, and tend to avoid herbivores or anything that smells of "dead plants". Characters with horses are likely to be unwelcome among the locals.