We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. 'Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!' he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.

Stuff happened. Now I have plotting to do.

An unassuming sewing needle, five to six inches long. Certainly nothing out of the ordinary.

Watcher comes now. It comes to set me free

Of its curse of dark and emptiness and endless misery.

Those who turn from the light and find themselves entranced by the lure of necromantic power would heed well the tale of Ilken Lillett; A testament to the sacrifices which must be made to attain such power.

'She sails up'n'down the Tristis River. All them river folk see her an' give her a wide berth. Superstitious lot, them river folk. 'Course, we adventurers kill of monstrous superstitions of the rich type on a daily basis! Who're we ta judge? So's anyways, she is said to only appear when the moon is full and the werewolves howl. And though she's ne'er violent, you can always 'ear a moanin' sound. I got no idea what's aboard that ship, but whate'er it is, I want nothin' to do with it.'

-Old Gerald, man in the pub

The UCC is a medium sized corporation that is slowly but surely growing to become a global powerhouse. It is deeply invested in legal, paramilitary, and criminal activities, and is composed entirely of clones.

The ki-yah and woooooOOOOOoooooo

A suit of dragon scale armor created from and psychically linked to a still-living dragon.

My players continue to do things instead of infiltrating the party...

Sometimes, you just want to accept that something tastes good without knowing how it was made.

I have a group of characters I have started using in my home game, and thought I would share some of them with the Citadel

The swirling snow fell on the soldier's shield,

covering the symbol of Hrothen's Hope.

The swirling snow fell on the dwarf's black beard,

and melted into the darkness.

-opening poem of Hrothen's Curse, a dwarven tale

Things get seedy

A short fiction

The Sperry-Colt 7.5 cm automatic rifle, standard weapon of battlemechs for the Atlantic Federation

Magic, by its very nature, would greatly help not just the PCs, but the masses, too. Here are some magic items that the commoners's use.