Completely isolated from the rest of the world, the House of the Abbot is possibly the most remote location that can be found.
That there is a big gun, partner…
Sure is. Feeling lucky?
Sure, everyone ‘round these parts knows who Dan the Dastardly Dog is. Last I heard the ARC had him cornered up in Demadex Canyon, a little silver mining town in the Arizona territory…
Someone has been raiding the coast. The PC’s are dispatched to help - but can they trust the local authorities?
An angel who sacrificed wings to save the world
He devoted his existance to the destruction of the undead, and the demonic Lord Diavolo in particular. Now, thousands of years later, he must fight himself to fight the darkness.
One of many small artifacts created eons ago, The Sands of Fury is capable of creating massive turmoil and destruction from above.
Who would have thought a key would be this big?
The PC’s are walking along a forest path when they hear the sobbing of a young woman, but when they investigate further…
In the middle of Noplace, which is just a bit south of NoWhere, there is a village. It seems calm, almost deserted. Eventually the furitive glances from boarded windows, people scurrying off the streets, and a few toughs keeping a careful eye on the strangers, will express the tension that can be cut with a knife.
Day in and day out the library and labs Robert was always about. When questioned of his motions, he explained he was fetching his master’s potions, but secretly crafting a wand is what he pained. In the end an ebony wand was made, it would be known later as Trotters Unfair Trade.
A famous hero has died, but his dying request was the be buried beneath the willow, and he has asked the PCs if they will carry his body there and bury him.
a fur coat with interesting properties and penalties
A forest full of danger where the danger is not at all where the PCs expect it to be.
Ghostly flaming apparition of a blade, slayer of spectres and all that is ethereal, wielded by its durable hilt inlaid in gold, silver, ivory and white pearls. It can turn the tide when fighting the intangible.
To many, the clerics of the Gods of Death are reviled as evil monsters, conspirators of demons, and raisers of undead armies. How often is the common perception wrong?
The mentor of one or more (lawfully-inclined, socially ambitious) PCs is vulnerable because of a past action Ã¢â?¬â?? an action that was justifiable at the time. But opponents can now use changing circumstances or new information to discredit or destroy the mentor and damage the PC. The mentor is unwilling/unable either to respond or escape the consequences. The PCs can take action, but not in the open; ‘kill the monsters’ is not likely to solve the problem. Failing to act will doom the mentor and damage the PC; taking action may also doom the PC.
Honor, ethics, morality, civilization, these are mere trappings. Playthings that people use to hide from the world. They’ve all forgotten. No sword is untried by fire, and so it is with man.
I am the fire that will test man.
Khass was one of the greatest friends I ever had. So of course, what choice did I have but to save him?
Dear gods above, what have I done?
Was this to be his last sight, then? These bloody-red gums, these rusty, iron teeth? Where were the Gods to defend him from Bloody Smile?
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.