The adventurers are approached in some public yet semi-private place by a lean dwarf, wearing a colorful cape with black feathers rim wrapped tightly around him. What will come of this?

30 villages ready at the disposal of the Gamemaster.

Bells tolled continually, announcing new deaths.

A spear that reflects the life of it's owner trough small Haiku like poems. As the soldier lives his life the spear casts a shadow of his great exploits. Small runes are carefully etched in the ash shaft after a great battle or another important event in the warriors life.

It is extremely cold and snow cover the plains as the heroes notice the dead frozen people hanging from the branches of scattered trees along the road. Ahead they see the local Lords soldiers hanging them up, mercilessly throwing buckets of water on their naked unprotected bodies until they freeze.

Within this ancient tome are 30 companion spirits for wizards and their ilk.

These are not ordinary gems, these are Thrar Stones. They are rocks that have been caught in the trunks of growing trees. Over thousands of years they are forged from stone to gem.

In the vast Sun-Ocean lies spots of perfect green. The Ankorillian Islands. The 'Jewels of the Blue'.
The natives there are strange and wild looking.
Here is the only existing work on how they live, their customs, beliefs and rituals.

Plagues and other great diseases are important parts of history and some settings. They defy man and may even defy God in their swift and terrible punishment upon the body of society.

They march, march forever. Eerie chanting fill the air. Death Cometh.

A Vampire hunter.

An article for GM's and players alike upon the matter of the family and friends of the players.

This is where the citadellians share and collect our tales of playtesting each others submissions.

Here is a list of those not-so-attractive treasures that the PC's might find on their quests.

Deep in the Ankorillian jungles grows the Corpse Flower. A dreaded plant that can entangle and poison you silently.
Hours later your companions notice your absence,
turn and search for you.
As they backtrack they unknowingly pass your last resting place.
A rather smelly, orange plant.

Farmers believe that once a crop has been harvested the corn spirits are homeless, and will leave the field to search for a new home. The Scarecrow will remain in the fields during winter, providing a refuge for the corn spirit until the new harvest is planted in spring.

The landscape is a product of nature's own processes and humanoid activities troughout centuries or millenia.
How can we capture this in our stories, and deliver vivid and semi authentic descriptions?

Every item does not need to be POWERFUL... EXOTIC... MYTHIC, but it does need to be interesting or useful. After all, if the item is not useful in some way.... why did anyone take the time and materials to make it?

When did it all start? He would never know for sure, although he traces it, like a finger on a map following the broad river back to the invisible thread of the beginnings, to one evening early winter.

From that silent place fear flows in unseen waves, like white fog. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. Through it's frowning walls and dark window openings there's a lantern of the spirit which none see by but those who bear it.