All living things must strive. Nature knows no harmony, only war for the privilege to exist. Maug of the Bitter Spirit, the Albatross God, promises no intervention nor advice to His worshippers, just a silent approval of those of you strong enough to help themselves…
The Book of Salts, Ch. 7, verse 12
If ever you need a random-roll for what type of knight a character faces in tournament, or just new ideas, what follows is a great big list (some with further descriptions and nicknames) of different sorts of knights.
Some of the names of locations & faiths are from Midian, but these are easily changed to fit different campaign settings.
These groups were originally for use with the Project Underworld PBP game, to which I contributed the minor covens.
‘The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.’
Princess Leia, Star Wars - 1977
From the outlook of my new and inexpensive flat, I could see her. She was kneeling in the graveyard across the cobblestoned way in front of a fresh grave. She was in dark mourning gear, complete with those large black hats that were the fashion. A lost lamb I supposed, recently wed, recently widowed, crying for the loss of a loved one. She had been there two days that I noticed, as well as their nights. She never seemed to move, so locked she was in her grief. As I drank a lonely nightcap, I caught the glimpse that changed me. In the pale moon light, I saw the grave buckle. In a foul corruption of Athenean birth, some spawn sprang forth. Not taking my eyes off the horrid scene, I reached over to the weapon I had been cleaning. Before I could grasp it fully, the petite young widow of my imagination cleared a saber concealed under her over cape and removed its loathsome head. After checking her kill, she looked up at me; backlit I assumed by the lamp in the room. She was not just a simple widow, she was Mourner. I held up my glass in a true salute from one professional to another. At that point I knew two new things: That the Unnatural truly had become more active as I had been hearing in the back alleys and I needed to move far from that graveyard.
Give me your greenskins, your mobz, and your grunts
There were rumours spreading around the newspaper office about a "Press Gang" that would protect reporters. But only the owner and editor knew the true purpose of the Gang.
The beast within became the beast without; ferocity and might blossoming in corpore upon the flesh.
"Men? They send men to repel us? Humans…"
Sing a song of sixpence
Pocketful of rye
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie
The twin goddesses of the Medusan race, Gethserath and Amarane.
Come one, come all to the greatest show in the world!
Suffering from an ancient curse, the Medusan race is slowly dying.
Fearsome horsemen from the plains, they raid, trade, and run.
Most know the love that goblins have for mushrooms. Few know the lengths they will go to obtain their delicacy.
Some of the more bizarre cults which could conceivably be found in a post apocalyptic setting
The Pegorans are an ancient culture of people that have left their unique marks upon the world.
Pardon them, they are barbarians, and think that the customs of their tribe and river are the laws of nature.
Lord Bertrand of Shawstrope
These Trolls travel land and sea in an eternal search for their next war. The Host of Battle—for they have no other name for themselves—is part mercenary army, part ethnicity.
A hybrid of man and animal, bred to serve and now free to live.
The party comes across a nice hermit in the woods. He gives them food and lodging for the night. They awaken to his terrified screams. "East! It's east! Stop it! It'll kill us all!" The poor horror-stricken hermit dies thrashing in agony, one boney arm outstretched, his finger pointing to the east.