'It is a door, a stout wooden door with its frame, just standing there in the middle of the field. Why would someone put it there? And the important question, does it actually open to anything?'

Journal of Thomas Mccannon.

Inspired by Ria Hawk’s Mirror of Doom, this thread is for items that could be found in a Garage Sale from Hell.

Every city (or town or village) expresses its personality (or the cultural personality of its people) and its identity through its buildings, roads, and other pieces of engineering. They are permanent expressions of the local culture.

Despite the name, no metal working is currently done here. It is a restaurant of some repute.

Great drama is at the core of the Gaming Experience. The character's can't be fighting the destruction of the world every session (though that can be fun), but there is great fulfilment in the climatic scenes of a campaign or long term adventure. Every climax is not seen in terms of violence (though it is very common). The personal stories of PC's and NPC's should also have meaningful expression in adventure climaxes. Yet all Climaxes in a campaign have similarities.

I am not a normal fantasy GM. If a player is delving through a dark tomb searching for loot in my campaign, he is probably on a fruitless quest. I dislike the dungeon crawl. I have since the earliest years of DnD. I mean where in Tolkein did they really crawl through a dungeon or other tomb/ place of mystery?

Did you, like me, sit in the cinema thinking 'Now this is what I want to achieve for my campaign climax'? Did you sit around afterwords trying to figure out how? Well I did, and here it is.

"You head down this back alley, and check that last door on the left. If it opens for you, you are in, one of the gang. If not, well you are not ready for the place yet. If you can't see that door on the left, you will never be one of us. " Silverwind, aka Alex O'Tor

It is a nice fluffy pillow, filled with soft down, covered in a soft, nice fabric. It is soooo comfortable. *yawn* You could just nod offffff when layyyying on .......... *snore*

In the north west provinces, the locals used an odd design for their shovels. The blade part is a flat 12' (30 cm) cast iron half circle with a small extension in the back to facilitate mounting on the handles. Like many farming items, they were adapted to be used as weapons by those who had them and had no others.

Elegant weapons from a more elegant age. Their mystic power is woven from the ancient dueling code. While not the most powerful enchantments ever created, they are some of the most respected.

The passenger said, 'It sounds like your wind chime is broken, or at least out of tune.' The first mate just smiled. 'That chime is music to a sailor's ears, it is,' he said. 'We will have smooth sailing this day.'

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.

The Order is about the past. It is a collection of people who love history, ancient times, and artifacts of the past. Only people who are really interested in past should be members. A passing interest is not enough. One must be dedicated to the past to be invited into this organization.

The Omen Plague has other names. It is known as The Star Plague and even The Mundane Plague. It is still with us today, now known by the common name of the Shaking Death. To set the stage, the stars were aligned in all the wrong signs. Everyone new something bad was going to happen. When winter set in hard and early, they thought that was it. They were wrong.

The Lost City of Paldor was never really lost. Everyone knew where it was. However, nobody could get to it. Unknown to most, recent Land-Waves (Earthquakes) have opened up the paths to Paldor.

The Dancing Lights of the Ice Wind are one of the great dangerous in the Land of Snow and Ice.

When looking for an Orc substitute in a campaign, one should think about just a violent ethnic group of people. Huns, Goths, Visigoths, Franks, and Mongols, have all the same campaign effect of Orcs and other “monster races” that fight in large groups/ hordes. And it has the added bonus of people not being able take the moral high ground when they kill an intelligent being… because it is a people… not just a worthless Orc.

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 is a simple book, a codex, a few dozen loose folios bound together. The cover is heavy stock with a simple red hand that one hopes is impressed in red ink rather than blood.