Small wooden discs about 2 1/4 inches in diameter and between 5 and 10mm thick (see below). They are rumoured to be made from the roots of the great tree Unity that supports the centre of the world.

The master thief Slith could steal a ring from the finger of an elf or the crown at a king's coronation. He had stolen the great jewelled idol from the Temple of Imor at the climax of the Festival of Summer. Stealing the Ruby Sceptre from the archmage Bryseis should have posed no trouble to a thief of Slith's talents. It didn't: it was only afterwards that the trouble started.

Most feared of the Regalia of Dominion, the Ruby Sceptre is a terrifying weapon in the hands of a skilled fire mage.

A set of mighty jewelled artefacts, each keyed to one of the eight domains of magic. Once wielded by the Lords of the High Council of Linnarson, today they have been scattered to the four winds: some lost, some destroyed, and some in the hands of the mighty.

High in the Gralbak mountains live the Yale Riders, a reclusive tribe of gnomes who have succeeded in taming the wild yales of the mountains. Skilled riders of their agile beasts they are excellent hunters and warriors, though they do have a firm tradition of hospitality.

A true weapon of Light, crafted by the master craftsman Elriada for the coming of age of Anlara, heir of the forest elves. When rejected by Anlara, Elriada laid his curse upon the Longbow, ensuring that this mighty weapon would be truly valued by its users.

Over three hundred years after the destruction of Linnarson, the ruins of Linnarson remain deserted; the warped magical environs inhabited only by the twisted and bizarre creatures that have been created. Amongst it all, however, the Senior Masters remain, continuing their eternal pursuit of knowledge.

Sometimes, just sometimes, the best response isn't to go for your sword first and ask questions afterwards.

...In the hallowed halls of the University of Linnarson a glimpse may sometimes be caught of the Senior Masters, learned sages and masters of knowledge. They seldom leave their dusty studies full of learned tomes, other than to dine - each evening they will be found shuffling down the dimly lit corridors to the dark and shuttered Great Hall. After feasting at high table by candlelight they will be gone, returning once more to their studies. None but they know of their pact with death, how they have willingly embraced an eternal undeath in which to pursue knowledge, yet this is the reason for the darkened corridors and the shuttered hall, for those who are undead cannot abide the light of the sun...

Most advenurers have been forced to do a stint as caravan guards at some point in their career, just to see them through hard times. One would hope that they'd learned enough from the experience to pull off a successful raid themselves. The only catch - they mustn't kill anybody.

A mighty warrior who seized power in Torridon, leading it to victory against its enemies. Now he seems to be slipping in to madness, though none know the cause.

What do you do if your employer begins to go mad? Particularly if you've managed to build up a long tradition of working for him.

Even the most useless of items can become something more if a legendary mage carries it around for a couple of centuries.

The home of the reclusive Monk-Smiths of Moldan, unparalleled practitioners of the art of smithing.

The dwarfs of Thodar created a weapon of might and power - but how much is the wielder prepared to sacrifice to gain prowess in battle?