Created ages ago, the Tower of Malice is a repository of evil, cursed artifacts, and the souls of the wicked
Far over the misty mountains cold, To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away ere break of day, to find our long forgotten gold
Seven twisty canyons for the PCs to pass through and explore on their way to carry out their main quest.
The road ahead is of the dead
So travelers take heed
And lightly tread o'er those that bled
For lands and kings and greed.
The victor spared no man that dared
To try and take his throne.
So thus he paved a road that's made
Of vanquished soldiers' bones.
The road ahead is full of dread
So travelers beware
And tarry not lest you be caught
By the echoes of despair.
For the road beneath your wandering feet
Of dead men once so brave,
Will clutch and grab and wrench and drag
You to an early grave.
Efeterthrop is one of those places that may well be a bottomless pit of sin and squalor to most who speak of it, but to those that live and raise their own there they can see no freer place in existence. Ironically, cloaked behind a fierce sense of freedom is a strict social code none break thoughtlessly.
The Dragon Mines are a place for a free man to gain riches through a hard life and a place to hide those that defy the King, the laws or the Shan.
The People of the pocket realm of Brocschtal are simple folk who live as they have for thousands of years. Farming the land, raising sheep, getting in the occasional brawl. And fighting off the infernal attacks of ghouls.
They should have spoken up sooner and saved poor Harold from certain embarrassment.
A 100 word Location
Azaughos was a beautiful city once, a jewel nestled in the mountains. It was a city that was built on an idea, and built with wealth, and great royal pride.
Also called the "Banshee Veins" or "Wailing Digs" the term "Singing Mine" refers to the Vibrosteel mines found predominantly in Sahar and Orientalis.
A man-made bridge between two tall hills that began as a wonder to an ancient empire and now is turned into the final stand of a desperate kingdom.
Three cities that come and go, yet never see the shining sun.
We charged their walls but the defenses held us off, hidden bunkers sprang out of nowhere and turrets wreaked havoc on our forces. Gun pits blasted our army to pieces and we pulled back a shell came out of the sky and destroyed several siege towers, we where finished.
Existing at once in the mortal plane and upon the plane of Fire, the Grand Pyre of the Phoenix is the ultimate testament to the power of the Lord Zevarith.
To be “On the road to Shambala” is a metaphor for seeking redemption, purification of spirit, and seeking The Great Divine. It is found in teachings of several faiths of The Great Divine and in the writings of many prophets and philosophers. It is not just a metaphor. There truly is a road to Shambala.
Deep in the remote Storm Horns lies an ancient and deserted city of giants.
Deep in the rugged Thunderhead mountain range lies the valley of Akelor, once a paradise, now a battleground where reality itself struggles to contain an alien, evil infestation
An adventure, Sourcebook and Monster Compendium set in the Locastus universe
The forgotten realm
Capital city of the Coalition.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.