The Regal Tombs of Orbis were the place where the richest of the rich were buried, and Bert was sure that if he could break in to a recent two-month old burial he would be wealthy for at least the rest of the year. Since tomb-robbing could get somebody the gibbet, he had gone alone, and now he cursed as he fought hand to hand with the bulbous, distended, decomposing corpse that had leapt up when he tried to steal the grave goods and now beat and clawed at him and swiped at him with a rapier. Every wound it inflicted on his body, he got a little weaker and to his horror, it grew a little stronger and a little less rotten. Not long afterwards, a seemingly living man left the tomb, leaving the body of a grave robber behind. A body that would soon rise...and walk...
Thirty more nasty, notorious Necromancers to disturb the eternal rest of the Dead.
The spell Animate Dead has existed for a very long time, with many variations. The spell Cadaverous Companion is another such variation, but it is tailored to the animation of companion animals, rather than human corpses
A horrific device only employed by the most black hearted of magic users.
A common tool of necromancers, nether mages, and others who are privvy to the arts of the dead and undead
All Maire wanted was to give her husband a child. She wasn't about to let death stand in the way.
The Noble Expertise of Creating the Remaining Organism is a gentlemen's club. People who don't belong call it the Noble Expertise, or perhaps the Expertise, but the people in the club call themselves necromancers, and the club itself N.E.C.R.O.
Tis but a scratch, send the guards and make sure they capture that joke of an assassin
A key tool of the Necromancers of Light, the Soulbinder eases the difficulty of resurrection.
Crazy old woman, selling pieces of bone and fake charms. The fact that the villagers even tolerate the old eye-roller hag demonstrates a lack of piety to the Faith.
Tucked back in the corner of Kiskedee square, off of Aasvogel, is the Hornless Goat. The tavern is as non-descript and plain as any business can be and still maintain itself in passable fashion. No one notices the patrons of that small overlooked place.
A rough town which is haven for outlaws is a staple of all adventuring genres. In the fantasy genre the town of Crueloar provides places in which you can share a dinner table with a vampire or learn the ways of dark magic.
have made thee as no other. All the treasures of the earth shall lie between thy eyes. Thou shalt cast thy enemies between thy hooves, but thou shalt carry my friends upon they back. Thy saddle shall be the seat of prayers to me. And thou fly without any wings, and conquer without any sword.
Beware this wizardly cadaver! His spells might not kill you, but you will wish they had…
This is a wretched tome of oceanic blasphemy; a foul water-stained, bone-white binder of bitter dead-men’s secrets and a guide to Nautical Necromancy useful in the hands of the young sea-faring necromancer or the Great Lich Umeen herself.
Hazenbrazen & Gribaldy: Two Necromancers taking over the world one corpse at a time.
"Hell hath no fury like MY RIGHT FOOT!" Shardath yelled as he stomped upon the holy ground.
The Obtort Ward is all that remains of what was once an ancient battlefield that was afterwards converted into a mass grave.
Can you think while scared out of your wits? Lets hope your adventurers can…
"He’s dead, Sir Paladin." "... What?" "Hens-bane, my Lord, a false tooth. Not even our best interrogators could get an answer from him now." "Bring the corpse to me. The veil of death will be pierced."
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.