Many traps are not designed to kill or maim, but more to disgust or annoy, or even to put a smile on the victim's face... this is a scroll of such traps.

A wizard forced to rule over others, now deceased.

One player. One Game Master. Roleplaying in this way is slightly different than with a group.

Of fire, but not elementals. Short-lived, yet intelligent. Bound to this world they are, more than most of its mortal inhabitants.

The simple graves of a folk long gone, these are still favoured by graverobbers.

"That book?" sighed the librarian. "That one is hard to find. The priests say it is heretical. But," he continued more quietly "word is they have a few copies, and study them very carefully. That even they consider it true."

In a fantastic world of magic, it can be assumed magic is in all living creatures to some degree, and a part of it is with concentration usable for magical purposes - humanoids are typically such users.

It is only logical, that for instance animals should have this magic, too.

"Never forget the season if you want to defeat the plainsfolk."

Where will we be one day, and what will we believe? How will we consider the world around us, and the people? How will we treat the known and the unknown, and possibly other intelligent lifeforms?

Whether close or distant future, something will be similar, and something... is very likely to be different.

The sum of all spellcasting traditions of one world - or most of them - in one place.

- "Course heading, Captain?"
- "Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning."

To the primitive tribes on the plains of North, life changes rapidly from season to season. In summer, food is abundant. In the winter, death from starving is never far. A natural phenomenon helped one such tribe.

The most disgusting fungus in the world.

Men of wisdom, gathering lore of ways to heal the sick and suffering, these monks are not really different from other orders of the same religion.

Except for their thing with drug-addicts and similar hopeless existences.

Globs are a partially amorphous life-form of the shape-changing kind.

This tree has a somewhat unclear bush-like appearance. But so far, nothing special. The actual reason why is it called after medusas, is his power to deter any hostile creatures, and to be sure, all creatures

The many ways of the Citadel to bind ideas together.

One of the things you always carry around, and never give it a second look. But even a second look would not help to reveal this one.

Finghaart's sausages hasn't moved since its founding. For all its reknown, it is quite a poor neighborhood.

Graves of a small, little known folk, exotic as dangerous.