You can hear the song from miles away. The song is enchanting in a mild way. Even the plants sing this haunting tune all day. This gives you fair warning to be ready to dance to a different tune. You are leaving your country and entering theirs.

From the outlook of my new and inexpensive flat, I could see her. She was kneeling in the graveyard across the cobblestoned way in front of a fresh grave. She was in dark mourning gear, complete with those large black hats that were the fashion. A lost lamb I supposed, recently wed, recently widowed, crying for the loss of a loved one. She had been there two days that I noticed, as well as their nights. She never seemed to move, so locked she was in her grief. As I drank a lonely nightcap, I caught the glimpse that changed me. In the pale moon light, I saw the grave buckle. In a foul corruption of Athenean birth, some spawn sprang forth. Not taking my eyes off the horrid scene, I reached over to the weapon I had been cleaning. Before I could grasp it fully, the petite young widow of my imagination cleared a saber concealed under her over cape and removed its loathsome head. After checking her kill, she looked up at me; backlit I assumed by the lamp in the room. She was not just a simple widow, she was Mourner. I held up my glass in a true salute from one professional to another. At that point I knew two new things: That the Unnatural truly had become more active as I had been hearing in the back alleys and I needed to move far from that graveyard.

In a universe always in need of habitable planets, Partas II had a good location, good resources, and the people about it had a "need". It just had one problem. It wasn't generally habitable. A century ago, the Great Project was undertaken. A century from now, it will be complete. People will stand unaided upon its surface.

As long as nothing goes wrong.

What traditions or habits does your gaming group have?

"Okay, I didn't like Thanger", I thought, "He was a punta of epic proportions, but nobody deserved to die like that." These thoughts were crowding out the screaming in the back of my head that we were all still in danger if we did not move.

I saw Peeth kneel down besides the biggest chunk of remains, where the heart was. He reached in under his leathers and pulled out a piece of jade on a simple chain. He placed it on the remains reverently. It was fitting, Thanger died stepping in to protect Peeth.

"He needs this more than I do. Maybe it will keep him out of The Hells."

I am always giving advice to various gamers on various game forums. I am constantly giving the same advice over and over again (cut/ paste repeat). Once a year I think about the advice and put together The List.

It was quite the odd sight, clusters of people dressed like jesters, or prancing devil, or one group were in badly done Lyran dance costumes, all dancing, running about, making noise or music (well, the music was mostly noise), all on the day after the New Year's Birth. It is quite sobering. I should know. I was there staring out at it from my inn window. I soon got dressed, moved myself slowly downstairs, and made "sophisticated and urbane sounding inquires" (which were neither thanks to the amount of mead the previous night) of the Inn Keeper. He who told me all about this mad tradition of his city's while I had bread and beer for breakfast. Baldius and the Trader's Way Blue Press 1524

I know. I know. It sounds crazy. But look at it! Look at what it is doing. The lightning strikes! Three times right on top of us. The hail. It just struck our car. The Wind hitting the house so hard. It is after us. It wants something. And, if we can figure out what it wants, I say we give it to ... it.

A mayor (from the Latin mâior, meaning "greater") is a modern title used in many countries for the highest ranking officer in a municipal government. In some places The Mayor is the Chief Executive running the city. In others, they are a ceremonial official. No matter what they really are, mayors tend to reflect their cities, and their cities and city administrations tend to reflect them.

It starts on the horizon, creeping over the land. The storm clouds are huge. They fill the sky. They are moving this way; relentless like the tide, faster than they have a right to. They are dark, so dark to be nearly purple. The rain begins to fall near you. You hear it hit the ground. It hits like bullets. The wind gusts; getting in between a person and their warmth. There is thunder that deafens you. It rolls forth like a stampede. The lightning brings the suns brightness for a moment, before plunging you back into the dark.

"What do you do now?"

-Heroes scatter under barrage of grey energy spheres-
"You know kids, you didn't mind when Captain Liberty took you down. He did it with honor, with respect, and followed the rules. Not you kids today. For you, it is all about The Power. Just as soon shoot you as take you in. And really young lady, would your mother approve of that costume? Not that the rest of you dress much better. What standard are you idiots setting for the young kids of today?"
-thwack-
"Get up. Don't you have any pride? A novice should have been able to avoid that attack. You have a total lack of grit. Don't lie there and moan. Get up. And that surprise maneuver you two are attempting. I have to tell you, not so much of a surprise. Now, stop standing there wide eyes and slack jawed. Do something. "

"You are heroes for Gods sake. Start acting like it."

It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.

These specially made candles are favorites of wives, lovers, and mothers who see their loved ones off to battle or to trade in far away lands.

The Dark Kind came to the world as conquerors. They failed. Now they are odd neighbors.

They go together like a horse and carriage.
This I tell you brother, You can't have one without the other.

The yang and yin team of Connor, the Urban Paladin, and Heather, The Mystic Cleric, is very effective as his pragmatism is balance by her optimism, her enthusiasm and idealism are tempered by his cautious paranoia, his wounds are healed by her, and she is kept alive by his sword. This effectiveness aside, Connor and Heather are not your normal adventurous members of The Church. Nor are they a couple.

We were quite the motley band, even for adventuresome sorts. Yet being in a party can bring even the oddest people close. Let me tell you a story.

We were on the road to Maltrell and had been for a week. Tempers were short. We had been thrown together by various guilds, temples, and noble houses, and few of us wanted to be here. We had not come to know each other at this point, let alone trust each other. I personally was thinking about breaking my contract. Then I saw it.

Sitting on a log by the side of the quick camp we had for a break were our two of our oddest members. Ton was a bald holy man of the Ancient Dragon Temple. His ways were odd and nobody truly understood him. He was the only man who could act like a servant, yet still have an imperious superior than thou attitude. Sitting with him was good old Darren. Darren was his opposite. He was a cat folk, and very city, very Parisian, if you know what I mean. He was a total dandy, with tons of clothes, foppish snobby attitude, and pretenses to nobility, honor, and station beyond his station. Gods know, I miss that cat.

Anyways, the two were sitting together, had been for a bit I guess. They seemed to be hitting it off, smiling and talking. I could not see what those two could have in common, the most austere and the most...umm worldly.. of our party. When I came up to ask, "What was so funny"? They both leaned back and showed me their feet, wiggling their toes, though they were wearing something shoe-ish. When I looked at them perplexed like, they both burst into genuine laughter. Darren made some comment about only they wore the finest footwear. There was some joke that I did not know. It annoyed me at the time, but to be honest... it was that laughter that held us together. It showed that even though we did come from different places and had different positions, we had things in common - even if they be shoes- and could be as one. One by one, we came to know each other and realized that, as a party, we could complete our mission.

White Rock is a fishing village just off the main coastal road, not too far from a town and a bit farther from a city. Named for the white boulders that are found around these parts, the village is built on a protected cove that has a small set of streams outletting into it. The weather is a bit cold in the winter, but the summers can be quite pleasant. The fishing is fairly good in these waters. It is on its way to becoming a tiny town.

The Pegorans are an ancient culture of people that have left their unique marks upon the world.

You could only hear the rest of them. And you could only hear them because they didn't mind being heard. Running in the trees they were. We followed the little guy named Dorto. He led us to a spot and said in broken Gallen, "Here is village". There was nothing there I tell you. We looked about and could not see a thing. He smiled and pointed up. You could see it then, the huts and nests and ropes. A bunch of them were just hanging there by their feet looking at us. It was going to be an odd night. Exerpt from A Sailor's Journey, by Ptholus WindRider