In the middle of summer a small town is beset by a blizzard that enshrouds it in a blanket of snow. The cause is unknown and all contact with the town is lost. The player characters are hired to investigate the town and put a stop to the blizzard if at all possible.
(An adventure written in the more rigid and hand holding "old school" style and quality level of original fantasy adventure modules from the early to mid 1980's)
‘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.
An obviously wealthy and beautiful woman contracts the PC’s to solve a missing persons case. The missing person is her younger sibling, a teenage boy.
Lazarus Lightward waits in the town of Lockmour - he desires the Whitebone tomes to study demons and learn their weaknesses. Will the party help him out?
When the barbarian increase their raiding of Tauria, the King of Tauria decides that hiring a couple of lowlife mercenaries (the PCs) is his best option to fix the problem.
"I knew Lwausf would be angry when we banished him, but I didn't see the whole undead-bearman-projectile thing coming. Looking back it was kind of inevitable. "
Prince Gorim, Lord of the Mounatian Hall at Silverspike
side-quest-ish and open-ended to be sure.
"Bavmor could not possibly have known that the flask was incomplete due to the magical method of its creation. Had Bavmor taken an alchemical approach, he would have known that 10 more ingredients have yet to be found."
- Fitchinger the Great
100 word Plot
Zig, zig, zig, Death in a cadence,
Striking with his heel a tomb,
Death at midnight plays a dance-tune,
Zig, zig, zig, on his violin.
"I never want to hear another fiddle for as long as I live!" -Corwin Silvernail
"A demonic plant? Don't be daft, go research something useful to society."
"But-but the p-plant! It's evil! It must be destroyed!"
"Now the flowers bloom all year round thanks to the most holy Spirit of Urban flora. It just takes a little blood."
How hard is it to despatch a troublesome swan? A lot harder then you might think.
Food, fun, and a mummy!
A well-meaning mage has banished darkness from the area, not realizing the downsides of this event.
This random-roll chart is designed for those times when a player unexpectedly misses a game session. What is their character doing while everyone else is out on an adventure?
I’m inviting anyone who has a short plot , set in some sort of wilderness, to post it here.
Buttons, how could you?
A strange group of ghosts plague the grave yard, only seen under the light of the full moon and known to drive most men mad that hear their gibbering speech.
(A simple plug in side-quest with a twist, that is left a little generalized to fit in with any fantasy campaign with minimal prep work by a gm.)
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.