The wind picked up to the point where it sounded like a chorus of a hundred howling banshees. Even deep in the cave, we all felt the temperature drop even further as the Chill Squall moved through; snatches of wind fingering in as if it was trying to pluck us out of our hole.
Zig, zig, zig, Death in a cadence,
Striking with his heel a tomb,
Death at midnight plays a dance-tune,
Zig, zig, zig, on his violin.
"I never want to hear another fiddle for as long as I live!" -Corwin Silvernail
Food, fun, and a mummy!
"Did you remember to wash behind your ears?"
Remember Harold and his purple crayon?
You’ll never eat in this town again.
Temple of some malign being invites you warmly and offers help (curing,needed spell etc) for some minor sacrifice . Sacrifices must be everytime bigger to work - up to living inteligent creatures. Maybe you pay some other price,too...
Ideas ( Plots ) | January 7, 2002 |