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?
Trying to find a place for this...
"After the famine hit the land, the priest Galen began religious wanderings, drawing his congregation to follow him. Those who took up with him, began to walk, a great outpouring of energy to this religious pilgrimage, coming from an impoverished nation with no true direction other than to find relief. Galen professed to his followers that they would find great resources set by his God down on Earth for them, enough to nourish and slate their thirst. Those that fell as he took them across the barren plains of the western reaches, rose again to join the lines. When finally all had died, Galen led them further, praising Nuh-Erell for that first city they came upon and a feast of flesh that lay in wait"
The Party has been travelling for two days and havent spotted a thing,suddenly out on the horizon five riders appear,when they get close the group identifies them as orces,the leader is a mean looking one with many scars suddenly he raises his spear.
While travelling near the edge of a forest the air is filled with the wailing of battle horns. Soon a large group of mounted cavalry will gallop by in a panicked rush. Some will spot the party and shout "Flee! Flee for your very lives!"
Several minutes later, hundreds of running infantrymen will be spotted. A large group of white clad knights fiercely chanting a battle song is in full pursuit. One of the white knights carries a banner of a white horse on a black background. The horse is rearing under a gold crown, indicating the presence of the Paladin Prince. As the horrified infantrymen struggle to flee into the forest, the zealots charge into their midst and cut them down by the tens and hundreds.
The Rhenn Plains are serene and peaceful, beautiful, and quiet as if nothing had ever had happened to it, hiding away it's violent present and past. During some time ago, the countries needed land to fight on, for they did not want war to come to their home, so they chose the Rhenn Plains, Armies met there and men died on the lands, so the land has been empty always. But now there has been set an outpost and they are beset by the goverments wanting to keep it free, will the soldiers of the barracks prevail, or fall trying?
The PCs traveling along the road/path/trail begin to hear a low droning sound. As they approach they find their path obstructed by hundred of thousands of droning insects. Locusts swarm though the air, feasting on the grass and plants. Passage will be slowed, but the insects pose no threat to the party, aside from being crunchy and disgusting underfoot, climbing into pouches and eating exposed food goods.
A good camping-place with something extra: a gallows with a hangman, reduced mostly to bones and a few rags. It marrily hovers in the wind. Any manipulation will make it fall apart. An excellent camping place, except for the midnight hours, when ghosts of those executed haunt here. Some wail for their crimes, some re-live their execution over and over, some want to have a talk, and still some others want to scare the Living for fun.
THE GNOMES OF UDNALOR: Part II
Having left the hush of the upper halls, and crossed the depths of the Braeth (an underground river, which is not all that deep because bear in mind we're talking about gnomes here), you would find yourself in Wattling Street, the main road through Udnalor. It's actually a long, well-worn passageway which opens out eventually into the City Centre. The gnome-buildings branch off Wattling Street as small burrows or caverns with boulder-blocked doorways for privacy. You can find armourers and smiths (though their armour tends to be on the small side for humans to buy) and many other types of trader.
There are many streets, ginnels and cooies which run off Wattling Street, the most famous probably being Smell Street, the domain of the infamous gnomish alchemists, the eponymous smell being very distinctive: the stench of cooking fungus, the aroma of subterranean spices, the pungent reek of rotting carcasses (used in some of the more notorious experiments). An encounter with an alchemist can really be spiced up (excuse the pun) if you have a well-stocked herb cupboard, and actually make up the potions, elixirs and draughts as they are ordered by characters.