Breakdown of large civilian craft in the Cosmic Era
The Admiral of the Fleet, an exemplary commander, peerless in skill, ruthless in execution.
Also happens to be a 14 year old girl.
It's always the creepy little kids
A mad scientist, a cyborg, a visionary, a man of god
The legacies of a pre-human civilization in the Cosmic Era
The Glassenheim Foundation is a relict of the Petroleum Era, a technological hold out and a holder of terrible secrets.
Over the course of my time as an operative I have developed relationships with several individuals in an effort to diversify the skills available to me. Some in my profession call them assets, I prefer to think of them as associates.
The Sea hides many secrets in its depths, here are 30.
Starting at the end, part of a seven section submission series.
A piece of an ancient way of life, a tool for a consummate hunter.
Five heirs. Five years. One crown.
The team is the functional core of a story, and as such, team building is vital to the flow of the story.
It lies nestled deep in the wooded hills surrounding Craeger’s Crossing, carved from the living rock of the outcroppings which dot the landscape. Evil may not enter. The living may not enter. None who have sought the remains of Sir Valyrian and the Mirror of the Zealot have ever returned. Now it is your chance to perish.
Necropolis is a self-contained role-playing puzzle adventure for three players. Heavily influenced by Dungeon & Dragons and the Tomb of Horrors, this adventure is specifically designed to strip away all of the extra fluff and focus on puzzle solving and sweet, sweet, horror.
A bag of enchanted beans. Dare you plant them?
Aerospace Capitol Ships of the Atlantic Federation
The dark side of the ubiquitous skeletron, corrupted from within by it's own basic technology.
In the years before the advent of arcanotechnology and dimensional fatigue events, teratology was the study of abnormalities and biological deformations. In the wake of the second renaissance, it became the study of exomorphs, extradimensional entities, and most prominently, teratomorphs, more commonly and vulgarly known as kaiju.
The warrior's footfalls echoed on the cobbles. His breath steamed in the cold, frosty air. He heard the frantic movement of assailants in the shadowed alley shuffling to surround him.
The warrior laughed. It was a bitter, dry laugh. "It won't do you any good. I feel no pain. Prepare to meet Balor."
Normal punishments tend to involve either fines, imprisonment, amputation or execution, but not all crimes are going to be bad enough to be executed for, and imprisonment is often a waste of resources. Here are thirty punishments for those who get out of line and get caught and convicted.
The 228th Mountain Lion battalion faced a situation not entirely unlike General Custer some 500 years before. Like Custer's men, the 228th was almost completely destroyed, despite their laser cannons and drop ships.
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.