Ma-O was a major God once, or so it is said,and whilst most of his worshippers ceased to worship him after his fall from grace, a very few remain, and can and do cause trouble out of all proportion to their numbers...

Once Ma-O was a god in his own right, now he is the most reviled of all Infernal Beings, held responsible for so much of the death and destruction that happens on Acqua...

Powlgraff, The Fowl City.

It's cold up this high, the air is thin and hard to breath. We should find the entrance in the next day or so. I can't eait to find it, I can't wait to be out of this wind...

Few would guess that this kindly old man with the uncombed hair was the willing accomplice in many of the assassinations in the last two decades.

A crude and appearently worthless trinket, this tawdry bit of finery would attract no notice at all, disregarded as as just foolish vanity on the part of an improvished peasant or labourer.

But mind you don't lose one of these when you're on the errand of some powerful guild leader. He'll be sure to skin you for that.

Milord I do present a uniquely industrious city located on the periphery of the Sea of Grass and the bawn of the Ganhojol Forest.

The point of the submission is quite simple: man vs nature is a common conflict in fiction, but not so much in gaming, this submission is a step to correct that.

The Purple Bowl is a very nice place in a very bad part of town. From the outside, it seems like nothing but a grungy tavern. The inside reveals much more.

He was frantically pointing towards the glowing mountain. 'We need to cast The Spell!', Bothar screamed!

I held up the scroll we all had risked our lives to get. 'Nobody can cast this spell without a prepared mystic space and ritual equipment. It would be suicide,' I said. 'Not even him,' I jerked my thumb towards the Magi who smiled slyly.

Silently, he unstrapped that bolt of cloth he had been carrying since I had known him. He unfurled it, tamped it down, with small spikes, pulled a small apothecary chest out, placed and lit four candles on the cloth, drew some lines with some handy chalk, unpacked his remaining tools, then he held his hand out expectantly for the scroll. It took a fraction of a candle mark.

'Solomontic Rug,' he said quietly. 'The key to mastery is knowing and having the right tools, be they physical, mental, or magical, and having them ready when you need them.'

This acting troupe travels across Calcobrina, delivering their own interpretation of popular plays, almost always to a standing room only crowd.

The endless dark of the depths, the strength of the tsunami, the drowning embrace of the cold, these are the

If you had an unusual amount of gold and silver at your disposal, where would you put it? Would the fear of the night stalkers run the risk of hiring to many inept gaurds to patrol your home to keep your coins safe? Would the gardener that you have known for years now look suspicious because he asked how your business was doing? Look no further, let the Coinlenders Guild protect your coins and wipe your worries away.

- Coinlenders Guild Advertizment.

A thief's invaluble companion, this little invertebrate is a must-have among burglars determined to pull off an extremely difficulte heist.

As long as the thief in question, isn't too squemish about what his little accquisition feeds on..

What thieves convention can be complete without the ubiquitous Black Market! The specifics can obviously be as varied as one's imagination. In fact, please consider this as the scroll it's intended to be. The more stalls and booths the merrier!! Scras and I would like to see forty or so by next years convention. These are just twelve random ones we came up with. Some are quite standard, while others slightly more unorthodox. Maggot, your 'thief bugs' & their insidious proprietor go here.

Once a year, and each year in a different place, the wandering bazaar and social gala that is the Thieves Convention is held. Invitations Only!

A dark dagger of song, forged for vengance. It shall have that vengance.

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.'

It was a fine harness and reins. The leather was soft and well tooled. The bit was so shiney one thought it could be silver. It looked like no bit and bridle that he had ever seen. Yet, it seemed familiar, like he had heard stories about this before.

"A-Wan, A-Wan, A-Wan". Awanggis is an unassuming place blessed with good clean water from a subterranean source.