A weary adventurer-turned-lord. His fief is slowly growing, but threatened by growing forces of humanoids… and approaching winter.
A land being plunged into chaotic energies, wild superstition, massive prejudices and distrust. More of a campaign setting than anything else.
This is more of a concept applied to a particular setting than the setting itself, bear this in mind.
A dagger, seemingly crafted from plain oak wood…
Betrothed to Skundaath Lord of Chaos, Celdea lives in perpetual fear of being found and taken to be his bride.
The tale of colourshade of the two-fold, and his reknowned skill of painting.
Cheating death always has a price. For those who don the Shroud of Ster, the price is pain and suffering for ages.
Pembridge Maccadia, the Mindless Ruler, the Crafter of Graf Malin, sacrificed his very life to destroy a nation. A breathing, living machine with the heart of blades, a testament to his loathing of Man. His hatred for his own people…
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…
“Yes, these boots are very fine,” said Smoke’s Empty Lens, “But I do not care for them, nor for you.”
Firefly River wept a single tear and went away…
A legendary relic, suited to base a campaign around, with the power of Creation crystallized in a single milky seed…
High in the Gralbak mountains live the Yale Riders, a reclusive tribe of gnomes who have succeeded in taming the wild yales of the mountains. Skilled riders of their agile beasts they are excellent hunters and warriors, though they do have a firm tradition of hospitality.
A true weapon of Light, crafted by the master craftsman Elriada for the coming of age of Anlara, heir of the forest elves. When rejected by Anlara, Elriada laid his curse upon the Longbow, ensuring that this mighty weapon would be truly valued by its users.
Every now and then someone truly extraordinary is born, even to a race of kobold like creatures.
A mid-sized sailing ship with an embedded Shard of the Storm.
Fallu the Sorceress summoned Smile Frown, the Laughing Demon, who chuckled and said to her…
He is 972 years old and has a wife. He congregates with any good creature and will help any one in need. He is a good black smith and can work with most meterials.
A flamboyant sea captain with a small crew and vessel. He searches the seas for any and all cultural legends, simply out of curiousity.
Fiery-Feathered Phembu, the First Among Pheasants, went to Moeqhu-Qaz, the Leader of the Seven Sand Dragons!
Many men have looked at the birds and envied thier innocent flight, and looked at the fish and envied thier serene swimming. Felonious Twist was a mage that saw a connection.
A mattock created in the age of legends, granted the ability to work marvels in stone…
THE GNOMES OF UDNALOR: Part II
Having left the hush of the upper halls, and crossed the depths of the Braeth (an underground river, which is not all that deep because bear in mind we're talking about gnomes here), you would find yourself in Wattling Street, the main road through Udnalor. It's actually a long, well-worn passageway which opens out eventually into the City Centre. The gnome-buildings branch off Wattling Street as small burrows or caverns with boulder-blocked doorways for privacy. You can find armourers and smiths (though their armour tends to be on the small side for humans to buy) and many other types of trader.
There are many streets, ginnels and cooies which run off Wattling Street, the most famous probably being Smell Street, the domain of the infamous gnomish alchemists, the eponymous smell being very distinctive: the stench of cooking fungus, the aroma of subterranean spices, the pungent reek of rotting carcasses (used in some of the more notorious experiments). An encounter with an alchemist can really be spiced up (excuse the pun) if you have a well-stocked herb cupboard, and actually make up the potions, elixirs and draughts as they are ordered by characters.