Half hour off the Harrow Road you find it, Fool's Grave. Amid an overgrown garden sits a single tombstone. Carved neatly into the weathered slab is the word "Fool," with a symbol underneath matching the signet ring you found.
Whale's Jaw is a crumbling stone monument that was once in the form of a skeletal whale. Many years have past since the construction of Whale's Jaw and these days all that can be seen in the "jaw" jutting from the earth as if it is yearning for a final glimpse of sunlight before taking a plunge into the earth.
All around The Jaw are remains of oddly formed and weathered structures. They seem to have been smoothed and tumbled by severe rain or ocean currents. Most say it is just another Wonder of The World, a mystery we will never know the answer to, but some know differently... I know differently...
The spellbook of a long dead wizard that has gained the ability to read itself and cast spells from itself. If could be amazingly powerful as an ally, or use its magic to manipulate and rule a kingdom.
Shadows, Mirrors and Flames. Three things we have all seen and not given much thought to. What if in each of these things you could find entire alternate planes of existance? Shadows move but what they are shadowing does not. Mirrors show us what others can easily see. Flames dance and twirl inviting you to dance only to scorch you when you get close. These three things hold much mystery. What if you could harness their powers? Heh...
In the middle of the sky over the land of Dankij there is a door. The door is fixed in an upright position and appears to be fastened to the very sky itself. Worldwide rumors say it has been there since The Creation. What could be behind this door?
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