How many years have passed since these stones were cut? Haw many apprentices have swept these floors? Many, yes. Many.
For a creation of the Black Tide of Acqua,death never truly befalls it. As long as the most vital part of it survives,the foul thing will continue to exist. In a certain sense..
Few in the history of the world have mastered creation of the aspect stones - certainly there is no mortal alive today that could craft one. Few even know of such an items existence. It is said, however, that all legends are derived from truths, and the Aspect stones may be the fact behind many great myths.
“I’ve got to finish it, I’ve got to…”
In a country without real law, the Courthouse, a wondrous ampitheater of death, is the only place the commoners will recognize that disputes are settled permanently.
If the adventurers are smart, they can solve this riddle and get the information they need.
The bureaucrat in the Office of Interior Development expects us to solve a riddle before he will even SEE us? You’re kidding me right? Oh, you’re not kidding…
Grappling hooks have a tendency to miss their targets, or to simply give way. Now both of these problems are solved at once, with a hook that can think for itself!
Lying prostrate on the floor, his documents and scrolls strewn beneath him, was Taewoo Kin - clearly dead, with gruesome marks around his neck that suggested strangulation by something of disturbingly inhuman origin…
Deep within the bowels of the perilous labyrinth, the fearless heroes come upon a grand, ornate chest. Eager for more plunder to line their pockets with, they heave up the lid - to find nothing. A red herring? Maybe not.
It’s no secret that Ogres fight dirty. The slobbering hulks will wield anything they can find in their bloodthirsty rage - which often results in very odd weapons indeed!
Invented by the Pelezians, the ceremonial bowl became a part of the holy tradition, coupled with a most practical purpose.
(Made for religions of agriculture.)
A small weed that rarely grows big enough. Farmers like to remove it from their soil, finding little use for it. A secluded sect of monks living in the same region thinks differently, and bases an important ritual on this plant.
Who says maids can’t use magic?
Life as a street urchin is a pathetic existence indeed - and Me’fiante has it worse than most. In a back-alley underworld filled with trickery and subversion, the ability to sense lies is often more of a curse than a blessing.
Deep in the heart of the primal Slumbering Woods lies a magic-laden swamp, forgotten in the centuries since the first primitive land creatures crawled from its teeming depths.
When one has missed the chance for adventure, one finds it very difficult to get along with one’s heroic peers. Phineas Rowcome, the renowned Halfling scholar, nurses a deep jealousy for those whose lives are filled with excitement…
The air is chilled and causes goosebumps, while not a sound stirs across the glass smooth surface of the water. The Inn rises three stories above the bank of the river, a single lantern lit on the quay.
When does a boon become a bane? The wise often falter and make foolish mistakes under the guidance of those who are treacherous in design.
Your eyes can lie. Blindfolds can slip away. The Dark Latern extinguishes the deception of light and shadow.
These magical boots empower the wearer with several abilities at once. Wondrous leaping, water-walking, and even flying! Yet the boots possess an insidious curse upon them as well. A deep and almost unfathomable (by others) feeling of listlessness, boredom, and even apathy affects the boots' wearer at all times whenever they are donned. Magic will not dispel the effects.
And so while the wearer of the boots can perform great feats of action during combat or at other opportune times and key moments, they'll never really want to do so, complaining "Meh, what's the point of it all anyway?" or "I would fly up and save us all guys, but sigh, maybe uhm, soonish, mkay? Bit bored by this whole burning tower at the moment."
Naturally the boots wearer's fellow PCs will grow quickly frustrated with this arrangement. There have been numerous occasions when one angry PC literally tears off the boots from his companion's feet in anger, and dons them in turn, only to immediately suffer from the same effects.
The solution lies in constantly "motivating" the boots' wearer with successful rolls, involving threats, flattery, fiery speeches, or even bribery.