Scents of ages past and scents of the zeitgeist. A guild of perfumers.
Fewer things under heaven reek
like the lofty spires of Wlatsoom Peak
Vernissage, apprentice bard.
The scent of magic
A slightly atypical stinking swamp festering with goblins
"Aww, dang, did you fart again?" asked the Jordy, The Knight.
"No, screw you! I didn’t fart in the first place!" replied The Scoundrel, Harris. What they didn’t know was that the Smelbinders could hear their every word.
"You shall never catch anything but a whiff of me!" Vaivin yelled, as he ran down the dark tunnel being chased by giant rats. All of a sudden he was gone and all that remained was a cloud of gas.
Half-serious, half-silly, a scroll of cosmetic and related products for the undead amongst you. Use and abuse at your own risk.
This tavern and common house (restaurant) looks like any other quaint building in the area. It is a good sized common house, serving upto 50 people comfortably. The Stinking Rose gets its name by the primary ingredient for its food - Garlic.
The Pcs discover an ancient, dusty oil lamp, somewhere in the bowels of a dungeon. Naturally they "rub it", and out pops a wizened, old djinn. So far so good. Then it speaks...
"Ah at last, at last I am free! Now grant me my wish!"
When the PCs explain that they are the ones that should be granted a wish, the malignant djinn explains to them that his particular oil-lamp has a curse placed upon it. Whomsoever releases the entity inside shall be geased to grant the djinn's wish to the best of their ability.
Groans ensue from the party. The djinn rubs his wrinkled hands, grins, and proceeds to name his wish. What could it be?