There are a number of ways to reach The Concave; it seems that falling is one of them, but falling from where?

From that silent place fear flows in unseen waves, like white fog. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. Through it's frowning walls and dark window openings there's a lantern of the spirit which none see by but those who bear it.

*In work*

An attempt to gather my thoughts on the cosmology and history of the Locastus setting.

I´m not quite finished with it, but I´m throwing it out there anyway

Inspired by # 16 on Cheka's 30 Lizard-man Gifts in-work and Coley's Chart of O' Bashing Death. A gift from the lizard-men. A pet crocodile, as loyal as a dog.

A collection of 30 bardic tales you may hear sung in the local tavern or empresses' court, complete with bardic verse excerpts from all 30 tales themselves.

Many of these tales can also be used as quick plug in adventures for Gm's looking for a side quest. (And let the players exploits be turned into the song by a near by bard perhaps?)

Once one of their number, the eternal outcast wishes to take from the Elves what they hold dearest - their dreams, their past, their future.

His faithful will devour the world

The excited, almost frantic sound of a mallet instrument erupts from the forest to your left. Within minutes, your party is confronted by a host of short, sprite-like gnomes clad in vivid greens and earthy browns. Attempts to communicate fall flat. The gnomes seem to ignore your words entirely, and you cannot understand the humming/whistling/snapping that apparently makes up their language. Luckily for you and your fellows, however, they don't seem hostile . . .

'Drinks or info chummer, both cost. One costs cred and the other costs favors. Too much of the former will give you a killer hangover, and too much of the latter might just kill you altogether.'

A bartender contact/info broker for the Shadowrun rpg setting, can be easily adapted to any cyberpunk or other high tech campaign.

In the small town of Silver Oak rests a towering Oak flush with silver metallic leaves that chime in the breeze, even during the heart of winter. Its story, and its secrets lie within this humble text...

A magical tree, suitable for any fantasy campaign.

"Are you lost in the frost?" A lone giant speaks, a cloud of chill air escaping his blue-lipped mouth.

In the distance, through a thick fog, you can see more of them coming out a cave lit by blue light. Almost like a portal to the netherworld is it’s eerie glow. You can feel fear growing in your belly. These aren’t normal giants. Their skin is blue, their hair and eyes silver. Stone jewelry hangs about their bodies making them look like brickwork monsters.

"Tiny man," The leader speaks, icicles breaking and falling from his jowls. "What brings you so far north?"

Its old and battered exterior hides a subtle, and finicky, magic.

The crafty Murdholm Dwarf had not seen these new shields. Fools, he though, bigger shields won't help you when you swing like a bear.

*Thrust*

He felt the spear being yanked from his grasp. Before he knew it, his own spear slipped back to him, into him, point first.

It's hiding in the dark, it's teeth are razor sharp
There's no escape for me, it wants my soul, it wants my heart
No one can hear me scream, maybe it's just a dream
Maybe it's inside of me, stop this monster

Skillet ~ Monster

The failed prototype of the artificial race, the Oraki, it was Kain's misfortune to be found, and resurrected by those who bore a special hatred for his kind. Twisted now in mind and body, this monstrous man machine haunts both its kin and its former captors.

Beau yet alien, the soldier-concubines of Aerazad, the Returned King, are a glowing reminder that a new order reigns in Eversea.

The Dwarves are often thought to be a greedy and miserly race, but there are times when they will give rewards to those who have genuinely earned them.

(OOC-I added the names of all those who did submissions but only mine has shown up, for some reason. The others are the following; axlerowes, Echomirage, Ancient Gamer ,Dossta , Pariah.)

"Prophecy today is hardly the romantic business that it used to be. The old tools of the trade, like the sword, the hair shirt, and the long fast in the wilderness, have given way to more contemporary, mundane instruments of doom --the book, the picket and the petition, the sit-in at City Hall."

- Jane Kramer

The Red-Wind Rag; Trappings of a Bloody Death; A Malevolent Sheet of Scarlet and Ichor.