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.

Here am I, floating in a tin can, far above the moon, Planet Earth is blue, and there's nothing I can doo.

Do you need a change in your normal gaming pace? Bored or simply needing something different? Then come here.

Tired of giving your players a cache of non-descript diamonds, plain amethysts, and simple sapphires?

A two-woman rock band of the future, Seh’Ahna and Tara Watt are well known for their vividly suggestive music and for the riots they tend to leave behind.

Bringing more fantastic elements to the old classic.

The susurrating death-bringer of the Northern Moors.

"What does this marveous ointment do you ask? It's easily worth the 50 gold an ounce I'm selling it to you for my friend, I can promise you that. ... You still want to know what it does? Well, it ... it sorta ... and then it ... Here! Just try a sample here and see!"

This relic, while of little value against the living, is a formidable tool against the beasts from beyond.

A fey kingdom fallen, with winter triumphant. A dream frozen, to be thawed by might and heroic deed.

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

Hazenbrazen & Gribaldy: Two Necromancers taking over the world one corpse at a time.

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.

Most know the love that goblins have for mushrooms. Few know the lengths they will go to obtain their delicacy.

"Though they walk as men and grow as weeds, they are neither; the angry dead, feeding the green with the rage until they walk again, yellowing bones bound by the twining green."

Pitiable creatures, wandering forever in search of that denied them, unable to rest even as they crumble away to little more than crawling wrecks of bones.

"My god, what is that?"
"Orcweed, sir. Never need a wall with this growing."

The races of Kuramen are a strange lot, descending down a long lineage from the First Race; prone to dramatic evolutions and born to a world divided, each does the best it can to survive.

Who would want to make food you can’t eat? What purpose does this insane oven exist for?