Born entirely from the Witch Freetext Challenge
‘You are freed from all cares brothers and sisters! All worries! All need to toil and labour for the baron’s taxes, in the guild’s fields and for the peddler’s wares! All the drink you could ever need!’
Final words of an extremely drunk hedge conjurer by name of Oates Greenlock.
One can only defeat so many villains that want to "cover the world in darkness" before one starts to look for a different flavor of horrible.
EVIL JUST GOT EMO!
The lost story of the pommel stones.
This is a study of the effectiveness of not the individual but a group of individuals. This is an Open Ended Plot which will not be fleshed out by a single person but by who ever chooses to add content.
The story of a castle where time and the sound of piano intertwines
More annoying than fairy fire ever was. And much more deadly.
Food, fun, and a mummy!
A well-meaning mage has banished darkness from the area, not realizing the downsides of this event.
A hazardous climb for a wonderous cure
A second chance
The large blades slowly rotate, feeding on the wind, you have seen the image before. But could these be feeding on something more?
A simple mission for a Dragon, but of course, nothing is ever simple with Dragons.
The Great Bell has been rung, and the Tribe of Talna has been summoned. Now someone must discover why random people are suddenly traveling towards an isolated range of mountains.
A wrong turn in an other wise well meaning curse leaves the PC’s in a tight spot…
In the great lake of Ture are hundreds of islands of various sizes, and not all have been completely explored by the Modern Races. One such island, with rough and craggy coastlines discouraging landing, is quite remarkable and worth a visit.
An alliance between bitterest foes in a desperate bid for their survival, thus was the beginning of the Shrew-Wars
Shadows gather…and linger.
The Age of Vog…The Unending Winter of Discontent, The Epoch of Smoke and Ash.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman