God has been slayed by a mortal man and his head is now worshipped and put on a pedestal. The PCs are hired to steal the head and bring it to a mystic that claims to have the power to revive God.
The old hermit living outside the village is rumoured to have a small rusty tin spoon that seems disturbingly ordinary but in reality is a magic spoon. If someone puts the spoon in their mouth will taste food. It can be any type of food, grilled meats, cheese, strawberry, bread and so on. The real bonus is that the food is real and with enough tastings can fill a hungry belly.
It is rumoured that a sort of little people living deep in the green woods have magic acorns. If they throw and hit someone with by one of these acorns the victim will experience temporary madness for a small duration of time, making the babbling victim easy to capture of kill.
Serpens Necto is a mask made of snake skins stitched together and crudely painted in white. With this on a person can bind people to their will under the right conditions. In darkness the effect of the mask is greatly enchanced by illumination from under by a candle.
When the campfires grow dim, stories are told. Stories of lost cities, great heroes and legends of old. One of these is the story of Knurlheim. Once the proud capital of the Dwarfs, now a ruin- abandoned long ago. Filled with vast riches and treasure. It’s secrets forgotten with the decline of the Dwarfs, long ago. No one knows is certain if it ever exsisted at all.
Inside a mad scientists laboratory the PCs find a short creature with smooth, oily and whale like skin. The head is faceless and smooth also. But hundreds of white eyes on the PCs from the fat belly of this creature. The PCs are about to kill it as it speaks to them in a feeble but intelligent voice, asking them to pour the contents of a green vial on it. Will they do so? And if so, what will happen?
Hate and vengeance are powerful forces. They dull the inhibitions, cloud the thoughts, and drive people to commit unspeakable acts. There are demons that reflect intense human emotion, taking shapes that best reflect the desire and experiences of their victims.
There are reports of a monster that lurks in the tops of trees and drops down on unsuspecting people. It causes them no damage but it frightens them with a hide-like face with big dead eyes, drooling and barking like a dog while unsuccessfully attempting to have intercourse. The PCs investigate and find that it is the local village moron that is doing the spelunking in the woods. How can they explain this otherwise pleasant and merry man that it is wrong to put on a mask, drop down from trees and attempt intercourse with relatives and neighbours.
The nations of the Kolm surpasses all other barbarians in their wilderness of life. Thoug they do just bear the likeness of men, of a very ugly pattern, they are so little advanced in civilization that they make no use of fire, nor any kind of relish, in the preparation of their food, but feed upon the roots which they find in the fields, and the half-raw flesh of any sort of animal. I say half-raw, because they give it a kind of cooking by placing it between their own thighs and the back of their horses. They fight in no regular order of battle but by being extremely swift and sudden in their movements, they disperse, and hen rapidly come toghether in loose array. They spread havoc over the vast plains and flying over the ramparts, they pillage the camp of their enemy almost before he has become aware of their approach. They are the most terrible warriors for when in close combat with swords and flails they fight without regard to their own safety, and while their enemy is intent upon parrying the thrust of the swords, they will entangle him with their chains so that he loses all power of walking or riding.
Excerpt from "The peoples of the world" By Taklamarian court-scholar Guliman Amon.
The PCs find a small green glass bottle, something can be seen writhing within the smoked glass. If the PCs open the bottle a repulsing form of life will pour forth and grow in size. A genderless beings of soft pliable purple flesh towers before the PCs, it has no detail, no distinguishing characteristics except for a narrow slit for a mouth that holds rows of inwardly curving teeth.
The babies of a small village has been disappearing lately, rumour has it that a demon living in the forest has taken them. The monster has the appearance of a shriveled old woman. A hag, disheveled, with maniacal appearance, wild-looking hair, and an oversized gaping mouth. Long pendelous breasts. The villagers say she eats the newborns and has sharp claws that are created for mangling. No one dears to challenge her, enter the PCs.
During a storm the PCs come upon a little boy that plays in the rain. Upon further inspection they discover that he has one eye and a long tongue lolling in its mouth. Spit dripping. It is a demon from beyond that can access our realm during storms, it eats all heads that are not its own, living and dead.
The Petty Kingdoms is a region consisting of hundreds of small states. Some are kingdoms, some are city states, some are large farming communities, some are duchesses and baronies and so on and so forth. Within a few miles the PCs might reach a new "country" with completely different rules and norms than the one they left behind. "What do you eat here? Humans ye say? Lets turn around fellas."
The old clock tower stands tall, but the bulk of the uppermost storey is crumbling and unsafe, with gaping cracks in the walls. The metal struts and girders supporting the great bronze bells are still intact, though, and the bells survive. The grotesque gargoyles and arabesques which decorated the original design have either fallen into the street (once or twice a year more bricks fall from the tower, prompting calls for its demolition) or have been defaced, but the main doors to the clock tower are still intact and show signs of being kept in working order. This is the home of The Captains, clad in raggedy clothes, with sooty faces, and perpetually runny noses. But behind each set of eyes is the look of a survivor. They live to stick together and make it through each day. Older than their years in many ways, the friendship they share with each other and Wims ghost keeps the core of a childs innocence and hope alive in each. But they are still very suspicious of outsiders. They are a group of street children who live in the clock tower. Some are orphans, some runaways, and some nomads who occasionally return to their homes. But they’re all poor, dirty and perpetually hungry, as well as being wily, unscrupulous and mischievous in a fairly brutal way. Enough of them have suffered at the hands of adults for all of them to be wary of any grown-ups, particularly ones who ask too many questions, although with hard work and a lot of food it might be possible to win the confidence or even the trust of a few of them.
Moonlight shines down on the tranquil scene of a slumbering inn along one of the many roads that cross the land. Trees sway gently in the night air, and the stars twinkle brightly. All is quiet as the PCs snore away, a fine tendril of smoke curlsrnunder their door. The tavern is on fire! This is particularly bad news if the PCs own any horses - the screaming they hear is probably from their mounts! Panicky people are rushing about with buckets of water, trying to tame the flames. The fire fighting effort is not very coordinated as everybody is either hungover or still drunk, including the PCs. Hurry!
A golden skull contains the spirit of a person who has been magically entrapped in an ethereal undead status by an ancient ritual. The person was boiled alive in a golden mixture until nothing remained of him except the bones, now covered by a golden layer. Whoever has these golden bones, controls the spirit and can command it. It can assault the living with wind and storm. Manipulate objects and communicate with the living. (Inspired by Anne Rice, Servant of the Bones)
While traveling trough farm land the PCs come upon a merchant sitting on a wrecked wagon without a mule attached to it, hid face burrowed in his hands. He explains that he was robbed by petty goblins, unable to defend himself he had retreated. He asks the PCs to help him retrieve the mule before the goblins roast it, as a reward they may keep his goods. How hard can it be?
Whilst exploring underground the PCs discover tube like tunnels stretching for miles, upon further inspection the strange tunnels seem to connect all major cities in the are, what is their purpose?
A floating city hovers over the capital, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Its spires are blinking in the morning sun, revealing alien architecture. What will happen next? Rumours spread like wildfire that this is the ancient city that once stood at this very spot. Mystics proclaim that it will take root here once again, crushing the capital under it. Somebody needs to get up there and investigate.
A legend tells of a people living deep in the desert, they appear at first as ordinary human beings, sometimes impersonating someone familiar to the PCs, before causing their features to disappear, leaving a blank, smooth sheet of skin where their face should be.
Among the assortment of organized criminals who live in the great city, few command greater fear the Moonbeard Order.
They of course do not call themselves that, but have earned the moniker from their fashion of dying their large beards with lye to produce a distinctive crescent shape running from earlobe to earlobe. This is meant as a taunt for their enemies, for it clearly outlines their throats.
They also wear garb similar to the northern tribesman, carefully tooled leather and showing multiple, colourful glyphs.
They are feared due to the intense discipline that their group maintains, due to their origins as a warrior-sect.
They serve as paid thugs, enforcers and assassins within the city, with the client simply ordering a service from the organization, not hiring an individual. Apart from making the request and providing payment in full in advance, the order completes the assignment themselves.
Their order has many moles through the organizations of the city, and more than a couple of nobles. As such, no organized move has been made against them since their chief activity is directed against other members of the crime world. It is said that their services have been useful for those in power as well, further protecting them from persecution.
Their religion holds that their time in this world is vanishingly brief, and largely unimportant except as training for the Great Battle.
The order is very utilitarian with weapons choice - they simply use the tool needed for the occasion, though not without having trained extensively with it beforehand. Daggers, garrottes, swords, bows, battle axes, polearms, wagons, even siege engines have been used to carry out their contracts.