The magical instruments that created the world, long since scattered. Fortunate is the player who finds them, and great is the band that can make them sing again.

A parasitic mold with an unusual lifecycle and powerful mind-control properties.

A series of singers and strummers, summarily simple and sinuous, subsisting with singularly spectacular song-stylings.

I've sat on this one for long enough. Feel free to fill in the gaps.

'And into World they cast him, deep below, beneath stone and water and flame. In World's Heart, doth gape the Peccant Maw, yet starved as the hunger grows unabated. Terror, irony, horror, farce! That which ends all is trapped beneath all.'
-The Tale of the Maw, 'The Enslavement of the Devourer'

An ancient cult, the Vautuans worship their god with zeal. Chaos is their sacrament, death their prayer. Will the followers of the Gaping Maw free their god and destroy the world?

The dread pirate Corvorane was legendary even after his capture and conversion to a privateer. His secret fortress and hidden treasure are of equal fame. But more than gold lurks in the depths of Corvorane’s Cave.

'...and thus it was said that Adaleer the Blest could reflect the true nature of any soul. Now some of his followers believed that his ranger gear, as much a part of him as his faith, was also so blest.'
- Dauneth, Lore Chronicles

Failure. For most, it is an occasional streak of bad luck to be suffered. For others... well, it's a living.

"You shall find my body beneath the steep cliff, where the larch grove grows. Take my skull, and hang it from the old larch tree. And then you shall make of me an instrument: my skull for the box, the tree for the neck, my tail for the strings and bow. Whenever you play it, I shall be with you, for At-Beyi is inseparable."
- The Legend of At-Beyi

'Anyone can draw a map, boy - there's no more difficulty in that than laying brick. What makes maps useful is when they are so proper, so precise, that they are living images of the places they represent. Encompassing knowledge of the geography, and mastery of the very space itself - that, child, is cartogramancy.'

- Sage Pakpao Sasithorn, Chief Lecturer, the Ezagun-Darkbolt College of Cartogramancy

"Why's she want the rings? Heh, ye ain't the first ta ask. Well, why's the wind blow? Why's the shark bite? Trust me, lad, you don' want ta question her nature, jus' as ye wouldn' question mother nature. I say she's lookin fer somethin' - gods save me when she finds it."
- Ben "The Biter" Yardrin, sailor

What appears to be a simple fisherman's basket has a storied past and secret usage.

'Jones, when was the last time ye cleared yer hulls?'
'Mm, a few months back. Why?'
'Yer ship. She's comin' outta the water.'

"Hear, O Servant of the Just One! Hear and stand ye before him, the Celestial Judge! Hear and write: 'Thus speaks the Great Lawgiver, before whom the world shall be tried, the one that is just and righteous beyond all - I am the Law. I am Dalraaen.'"
-The Didache of Law

The worshippers of the Celestial Judge have kept peace and law for a thousand years. When they see great injustice across the Continent, what can they do but fight?

"O Victorious Maul, send down your fury!
O Hammer of Justice, bring Dalraaen's law!
O Weapon of Righteousness, cast out the unlawful!"
- Magistrate Archivinus Kelstori, Ode to the Gavel

With the patronage of Dalraaen, this heavenly mace is the focus of the Magisterium's strongest order. Its darker roots, however, are hidden even to its wielders, and its very existance threatens the world.

Priest of a death goddess

'Dat woman... She was terrible to behold. Terrible but beautiful. She sat on a great throne, surrounded by her gatorfolk servants. She stood and she looked mighty angry. She look down at me an' Tergryn an' de rest, and she yell in some strange tongue - de elf-folk, I tink. She had a fury in her soul, an' I could feel her evil eye on me. Doric - hui, poor Doric! - she had 'er gatorfolk slash his belly wit' his claws and tore out his entrails. De gobbled dem up... Poor Doric...'
- Jorif Grisold, survivor

She is the high priestess of Jampiri, the outcast of the Kanaar, the guardian of the gatorfolk. Swynmoor's resident witch is powerful and knowledgeable, keeping the natural balance in the swamps.

The powerful wizard Sumuho styled himself as a god and was worshipped far and wide. After his fall, his vast temple sank into the desert long ago. What secrets lie in the Sanctuary of Sumuho?

'Bristlebane ale. Tall.'

Mathus looked up. He didn't recognize the man ordering, but he seemed the type: muscles beneath a layer of fat, a snarling expression with most of his teeth missing, fists like summer hams. 'You want it in a bottle?'

'From the tap.'

Mathus nodded. 'This way,' he said, stepping from behind the bar and into the back room, the 'customer' following.

A fresh-faced young man sitting at the bar looked around, confused. 'Bristlebane? Sounds adventurous.'

'You couldn't handle it, son,' an older man said from across the plank bar with a hint of derision. 'It'd right kick your ass.'

Most know the love that goblins have for mushrooms. Few know the lengths they will go to obtain their delicacy.

A common domestic animal in the Siogalish household, the buckfowl isn't much different from a chicken at first. Until you get a look at its head.