"Few left know these Secrets. And those who do must Be careful. Those in Power will Silence Us if They knew!"
First Keeper Solaron Calo
“A kill within every ten steps,
Not leaving traces within a thousand miles,
Dusting off one’s clothes and leaving after the deed,
Hiding one’s presence and name deep.”
~ Excerpt from Li Bai’s “The Verse of the Wandering Swordsman”
"Riversheart! Center of Civilization, of the Holy Empire! Long may that City reign supreme!"
Jarden Ruthpole, drunk peddler
"Who would expect a commoner from a land that had once rejected the Son of the Light and the Holy Empire to become the next heir to the draconic essence of Traghen?"
William Dashaw, Lord Scribe to the Illyrian Court.
The PCs are in a graveyard, when as they are passing a noble tomb with a certain symbol embossed on the door, the magic user in the party hears a voice from being the tomb door begging to be let out. What do the PCs do?
Dedicated to Scras and his Star Whale sub that was my inspiration for setting
The Stolen world is totally wrapped around Scras' Star Whale sub. As I cast about for a direction to go after I ended my very long running Mysantia game. I took the basic concept of the Star Whale and am using as the basis of all the game logic of the setting. What would a world look like that was subjected to regular apocalypses every 1000 years and why is there no information available to the pc's on how to stop them.
A general overview of the Stolen World and a codex of the submissions so far
"I watched my family burn. I kill men with the tools of my father's trade. He created. I destroy. That is a gift the Light chose me to bear. Think well you before you pray to the Light for gifts."
Solomon Soulhammer,
Chosen of the Essence of Traghen, High Lord of Barbarus, Keeper of Sentinel, Wielder of the Soulhammer.
They come, they destroy, they feed. Oh, and watch out for clowns and cheerleaders...
Stronghold made for the liche Haukagaron. He was betrayed at the last and Castle Kaukenn was pulled into the Abyssal realms.
Beware, beware, the hidden snare.
Where the shadows linger, and fiends do fare.
Go on, run, hide and pray.
For the elder crow feasts,
on our souls' decay.
One bad moment left him permanently destitute. Down on his luck, Mark Greaves learns that necessity sometimes brings you to work you never realized you could be good at.
Freya is very tall and thin, you would know her if you saw her, for her eyes are shining from within. her face beautifully adorned teeth razor sharp; her clothes of the softest silk and her voice as soft as a harp. She sways her head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And when you think she's half asleep, she's really wide awake!
Gives life to the notion of no good deed goes unpunished.
Nod to Gossomer, for her Solomon Grundy forum post, my inspiration
500 Word NPC challange
The dark elf femme fatale Elainuk was the firstborn son of Robert and Lulu Bobblecork. She was born a healthy bouncy baby boy in the shire of Pedstand, which was part of the Cordially Aligned Tetrarchy of Halfling States.
The only true god of the Stolen World.
Sometimes names can be deceptive
Mix and match to your player's horror,the apex predator in the Stolen World
A society in which people believe that the hundreds of stars that dot the sky are the dreams of the sleeping. When the sun goes down, and the people of the world rest, the dreams begin to seed the sky, disappearing in the morning as the populace awakes once more. It could be just a folk tale, or it could be real...
1xp
New Submissions
“Top, my name is Brock Figglewater, I knew your aunt. I tap a piece of pillow that belonged to your aunt, and I jump belongs to you now. You see, I just bought this Stimech, and I jump it was stolen by a bruce named Horace. Horace was a pream tattle of mine. Three weeks ago, I let Horace take out my pream stimech to go bounce along the billibong looking for bubblely-bobs to bring to the spitter’s patch. Horace says he ran into some boom sauce and had to hop out of the stimech in just a tater sack. I cannot jump that Hoarace bounced 5 kims across the pillow in a tater sack. I have tapped spitter dops on the Big Under pillow for years, I ain’t no trainer. I ain’t rigged to swallow dry sand, and I washed Hoarace. But I need my stimech back, and I ain’t got the press to go all over the Big Under boiling Hoarce’s peals of truth. I need your help.”