The Proposition

The days passed. The wounds healed. The headaches slowly subsided. Mossbeard saved you from those horrible green hell spawn. He also saved your leg from the rot. Goblins were disgusting creatures, and a bite from one carried more then a mouth full of serrated daggers. It carried disease, infection, more often then not amputation. Fortunately

Safe and Sound

It had been nearly a month since you had awoken battered and lost on that icy stretch of cobblestone. Greyhawk had proven a harsh mistress. A city of vile patronage. A poor damn fool that couldn’t even remember their own name was an easy mark. Even for a fairly inexperienced con-man. For three and a

Moss Bearded Giver Of Life

He places paint to pallette. He feels the power rising as he briskly turns the pigment. Folding the colors into a blend of custom magic. Stirring and applying Earth’s crystal clear liquid essence to the mix until it becomes a velvety pool of mystic life granting slime. The peculiar short, stout figure stops stirring. He

The Forgotten One

You sway on the murky sea. Drifting to and fro. You stir and shift uncomfortably. At times it feels as if you are falling. Or is it flying? It’s hard to tell the difference. You open your eyes to see what has happened. Where you are. The smoke billows into the coal night sky. You

Welcome Traveler…

Down the winding path you stumble on. The night so thick that it strangles the light from the moon. Encasing it in a fog of gray cloudy plumes that drift slowly across the blackness of the starless midnight sky. Thick as the smoke of a dieing funeral pire. You hold your lantern out to greet