It is extremely cold and snow cover the plains as the heroes notice the dead frozen people hanging from the branches of scattered trees along the road. Ahead they see the local Lords soldiers hanging them up, mercilessly throwing buckets of water on their naked unprotected bodies until they freeze.
Another scary child’s toy…
He had done it a hundred times, taken eyes. It was so easy by now, he rarely used a spoon or knife, but, with his own fingers, would pilfer those beautiful orbs from the skulls of the deceased...
Sometimes locks need that extra sharp fingernail to twist the catch. Sometimes a thief might find himself locked in a prison with a wooden door. The Muzzled Mouse is a hideous little tool which helps one in such situations…
They are two sides of the same coin-either one will kill you, they’ll just think about it differently.
Buttons, how could you?
Through mud and hate and rain,
Through blood and rot and pain,
The bell tolls for victim next,
To save Saint Ithiel, the Ashfeather Hex
At this time an old man, one who told the Prince wondrous tales during his childhood, walked upon the bridge and witnessed the prince commit suicide, saw him fall into the water. “This is the Bridge of Fates. I foresee great sorrow and happiness. This bridge shall never remain neutral, shall know tears of joy and the blood of innocents”.
It was a beautiful thing, a full length mirror in an elaborate gilt frame. But horror and madness followed it.
Forget the rickety, fragile skeletons. Remove all thoughts of the limping, weak zombies. Shrug off thoughts of blood-dependant vampires. Whereas the former are reflections of necromatic magic, the Mogrolyth is a creation derived from the pure essence of unholy power - namely pain.
A vast tome of knowlege that literally gives you the creeps…
They say you give up a few things, chasing a dream. In those mists that's the literal truth, for every dream of yours that comes true, a piece of yourself, mind, body, or soul, gets taken by the mist. Worst part is, you won't even know what the cost of your dreams are until you go to leave, and by then you might not even have a mind left to change...
A fragment of the mists of creation, drawn to those desperate to make their dreams come true. Suitable for any magical fantasy setting.
For three long days the violent storm had ravaged the town of Iolinas, and the townsfolk had begun to wonder if it would ever end. Strangely, towards the end of the third day, the rain stopped suddenly, though the winds still buffetted the town relentlessly; some townsfolk thought it was finally the break in the storm. Others thought it was a portent of worse things to come… These people were correct.
The Waresian Armoire dates back to the height of the kingdom of Waresia, a period known for it’s love of baroque and the macabre
The Diary of young girl who finds herself trapped in purgatory, searching salvation and trying to make sense of that which is deliberatly insane. (A prelude to the entry found in my Chasers submission.)
Ideally the creatures described within this (ongoing) sub will be detailed in turn as their own seperate submissions eventally painting a complete picture of purgatoy.
Jemas Lorne, the most celebrated poet of the age, was found dead, clutching a fragment of verse torn from his journal. The tantalizing fragment spoke of wealth:
Golden sands, empty and cold,
Treasure's crypt, forgotten gold.
Under stone, ancestor's doom,
Noble's prize, troubadour's tomb.
Rumours claim that the poet's father, an eccentric nobleman, had hidden much of his wealth before his death. Perhaps the missing journal has more clues?