The town of Cat’s Crossing, from Towns of Sundara, is known for the symbiotic relationship the inhabitants have with the many different cats that also live there. The cats sometimes behave in unusual ways, and here are ten strange behaviours travellers may notice from the feline inhabitants of the town.
A cat is sat behind a neat row of dead rodents, which are being examined by another cat that is walking up and down the row.
Bridger stares fiercely at the bridge, almost perfectly still with only the end of his tail twitching. The bridge is currently empty.
Cats are perched on fence posts around the town.
Eight cats are clustered in a circle; all of the cats are facing inwards.
Every cat within earshot cries out at the same time. They do this three times in a row, then stop.
One cat follows a character around perfectly quietly, stopping when they do. This continues until the cat is given a treat they consider appropriate.
Six cats march one behind the other, keeping the same distance apart. They disappear down an alley.
Three cats are carefully examining a newly-arrived visitor from a distance.
Two cats are engaged in what looks like a staged fight as two others sit and watch.
Whenever a character, a cat comes out of it or around from the other side and watches them until they pass, then the cat disappears again.
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Mages’ towers and dwelling places can be full of oddities, and 100 Things to Find in a Mage’s Tower has 100 such for characters to find. Some may be magical, some strange and others could be used as adventure hooks.
Legacy of Flames is a novella based in the Sundara setting. It follows the protagonist, a lizardfolk, as they accompany mercenaries guarding a caravan.
Characters may find strange items knocking around and 100 Knick-knacks for the Rock of Bral has 100 such associated with Bral. They may be oddities or perhaps a source of adventure hooks.
Filler Art – Flowers 2 contains five hand drawn flowers. There are two versions of each image, one on a white background, one on a transparent one, at 300 dpi. The image can be used for personal and commercial uses.
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On Little Cat Feet is a piece of fiction from Cults of Sundara, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.
Raskin Bowers reclined on his couch, a glass of wine in one hand, and his smoldering pipe in the other. A tall man whose thick shoulders and powerful arms were sheathed in a thin layer of recently-acquired fat, the governor had worked hard to raise himself out of the dirt of the common soldier’s lot. Promoted in the field, and then promoted within command, he’d eventually been elected to take charge of a collection of towns that had come under the rule of the Lander’s Guild. An aristocracy in all but name, the guild had deep pockets, but when gold wouldn’t get their way, they weren’t shy about using steel to enforce their will.
Bowers dragged deeply on his pipe, and closed his eyes as the slow-burning leaf filled his lungs. The old ache in his back from his years on the march began to fade, as did the tension in his temples. He blew the smoke out through his nostrils, sipping at his wine.
Despite his admonitions to himself not to take his duties to bed with him, he couldn’t help but think about the reports he’d been getting for a fortnight or more. Strange figures had been seen stalking through the night, vanishing into the surrounding countryside when approached by guild guards. Guild representatives had awoken to find rats with their guts torn out, or birds with their heads twisted off, the bodies left on the representatives’ side tables like presents. Or warnings. Bowers laid his wine glass aside, and put his pipe back to his lips. He had sent orders that these events were not to be discussed. They were petty tricks, and as such they should be ignored. The Lander’s Guild had to be above such things; to act, as Bowers said, as the stewards of those who had proven unable to be their own caretakers.
A breeze ruffled the governor’s hair. He frowned, and glanced at the window. It was open, letting in the night air. He laid his pipe aside, careful to keep the bowl facing upward. He dusted his hands, and crossed the room to the casement. He was sure he’d closed it earlier, after he’d had one too many papers blow off his desk and onto the floor. His legs were a tad unsteady, and he paused for a moment with one hand on the wall, and the other on the window.
That was when the lights went out.
At first, Bowers was sure it was just an errant breeze that had snuffed his candles. That was when he realized the night wind had died. He raised his gaze to the glass, and he saw a figure behind him. Before he could turn, though, he was seized by strong hands. One clamped down hard on the back of his neck, and the other cupped his throat. He felt five, sharp points prick his skin, and a trickle of blood bead down his neck.
“Move, and I will tear out your throat,” a soft voice whispered in his ear. “Do you understand?”
“I don’t know who you think you are-” Bowers snarled, until he felt the points dig into his neck.
“I will not repeat myself,” the voice hissed in his ear.
“Yes,” Bowers said after a moment. “I understand.”
“You will write to your superiors, and tell them they were misinformed,” the voice continued, a single, sharp point running up and down Bowers’ throat, just over his trip-hammering pulse. “The land here is bad, and yields sick crops. There is a blight that will curdle their coffers. Tell them there are creatures in the forests. It doesn’t matter what you say, so long as they understand that holding this place will cost them more than it could ever yield.”
“I can’t do that,” Bowers hissed. “If the guild finds out I lied to them, they’ll kill me.”
The pinpricks at Bowers’ throat grew hot, and dug deeper. The beads of blood on his neck grew to a trickle, and he felt one of the blades press up behind his jaw. He felt hot breath on his ear, and cold sweat on his brow.
“They might kill you, if they find you,” the voice purred. “I will do it here, and now. And I will do it in such a way that no one who hears the tale would ever accept your posting for themselves.”
“All right, all right,” Bowers moaned. “I’ll send the missive.”
“Tonight,” the voice said.
The pressure at Bowers’ throat increased another hair, then something struck the back of his knee. The governor was thrown to the ground, barely getting his hands up in time to stop himself from slamming into the boards. Bowers pushed himself to one side, rolling, snatching his dagger from its sheath as he came up, one arm ready to block a descending blow. All he saw was moonlight streaming in through the open window, and all he heard were the sounds of the night outside. He was alone once more.
Once the governor got his breathing under control he fumbled his way to his desk, and re-lit the taper with a hand sparker. He lifted a small mirror, looking at his throat. Four small punctures stood out clearly on one side of his neck. He dabbed away the blood, and collapsed into his chair. A night breeze made the window creak, and he shuddered.
Bowers drew a fresh sheet of paper from a sheaf. He took up his pen, and stared at his hand until the adrenaline shakes stopped. Once they had, he started writing. Blight had been discovered among the crops, he said, and entire fields had been lost. Worse, the soil had been tainted by something he could not identify. It was for this reason he recommended the Landers’ Guild withdraw their interest. Then, as a postscript, he resigned his commission with the organization. Bowers sealed the missive, stamping the wax before slipping it into an envelope.
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The Sundaran town of Kask, from Towns of Sundara, is known, amongst other things, as a centre for brewing and other fermented drinks. The town was built around the monastery of the Three Sisters, and the monks were known for their brews. Over time, many other brewers and vintners have set up in the town, and this list has ten different drinks to find there.
Blackheart: Blackheart is a thick, black, treacly stout that is so thick it borders on being eaten rather than drunk; it’s not uncommon for a mouthful to need some chewing before it’s swallowed. The stout is so thick and strong that few are capable to stomach it, beyond dwarves, orcs and some Blooded descended from orcs. The drink does have a lot of calories in it and some dwarves have been known to keep going for several days on the stout alone; most other species would have passed out before then. Orcs, though often capable of matching the dwarves drink for drink, are less likely to drink Blackheart to excess.
Bramston’s Cider Beer: This drink is a curious combination of apple cider and beer, but it’s rare to find it outside Kask. Cider Beer doesn’t travel that well as the mixture requires very careful transport and padding, as too much jostling will disrupt the careful balance of the mix. When it is found some distance from Kask, it tends to be either badly damaged by the journey, or expensive due to magical means of transport, which has made it popular with those rich who like to show off how much money they have.
Capathiel Mushroom Ale: An unusual beer crafted by the brewery founded by the Malisus elf Capathiel, it uses the techniques of the Underworld-dwelling Malisus elves combined with those of the surface to craft a beer made from mushrooms. The mere description of it is not to everyone’s taste, yet the end result all would agree is surprisingly good once they’ve been convinced to try it. Mushroom Ale is a very filling drink, containing a lot of the nutritional value of the mushrooms it’s made from, and it can even substitute for food in a pinch.
Clearwater: This beer’s most unusual feature is that it’s completely clear; it looks like slightly effervescent water when poured. The beer is made by a Gard’eri elf brewery in Kask, and is a very light beer, resting easily on the palate. Drinkers say it tastes of rivers running through a forest, even though it is definitely a beer. The alcohol content of Clearwater is, perhaps fortunately as it’s very easy to drink, lower than that of most beers.
Feldspar Rock Biter: The name of this mead has little to do with the drink; it’s just a play on the name of the brewery’s Gannar’Gon dwarf founder. The mead is a strong one, as befits a dwarven drink, though its flavour is not as sweet as mead typically is. The sweetness of the honey the mead is brewed from is cut through with an astringent flavour, lemon to the knowledgeable, that creates a curious dichotomy on the tongue. Trying to make sense of the flavour has caused drinkers to drink one tankard after another until the mead catches up with them.
Hardbottle Double Bite: Double Bite is a cider that has a deceptively smooth taste to it, thanks to the filtering process used. Deceptively, because the cider is unusually strong; the process presses the apples twice when extracting the juice, then greatly reduces the water content on fermentation. Those unfamiliar with the cider’s strength risk making a fool of themselves if they drunk too many bottles of the drink, and too many is a lower number than might be expected.
Lavender Kiss: This is a pale purple spirit brewed by a Gard’eri elf, one of a number of flower-derived drinks that the small brewery produces. The spirit is created from lavender flowers and both smells and tastes of lavender, something that is not appealing to everyone, being most popular with the Gard’eri elves and the Ferruna orcs. The taste is quite delicate, but definitely there, and the spirit is only drunk in small quantities, as it possesses a kick that isn’t easy to notice.
Midnight Wine: A wine of a definitely black colour, that almost seems like liquid night. It is unusually viscous for a wine, seeming to flow sluggishly from the bottle when poured. It’s said that Midnight Wine should only be drunk at night, but this is just a tale told, possibly to sell more of the wine. To go with its viscous nature, the wine is also full-bodied, far more so than even some reds. The Kask microbrewery it comes from uses a type of grape that they won’t tell anyone else about.
Pale Green: Brewed from cabbages, this is a wine with a pale green tinge to it. The wine has a distinctive taste, and smell, of cabbages to it, and it’s rare for anyone other than a Ferruna orc to consider the wine to be particularly drinkable. Not because it tastes that bad; it just tastes a little too vegetative for the tastes of most drinkers. Outside of the Ferruna and others the wine appeals to, it is most commonly used in cooking, as it has been proven to be a good base for various vegetable-based dishes and soups.
Strawberry Ale: This beer from the Three Sisters monastery has a curiously fruity taste, that of the strawberry in the name. It’s a very sweet beer, and it is definitely a beer, not a fruit cider, that is used in place of a dessert wine by those who prefer beer to wine, or simply can’t afford a dessert wine on a regular basis. The process by which the beer gets its taste is naturally not known, but it certainly doesn’t have any strawberries in it.
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Cults are considered to be comparatively small groups with practices that others might consider strange or unusual. Cults of Sundara (5E) has ten cults for the Sundara setting, together with new items for each cult.
Cults of Sundara (PFRPG) is the above supplement converted for use with the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game.
D66 Paradise Valley Encounters has 36 encounters characters could have in the Paradise Valley area of Mutant: Year Zero. They include watchers, animals and other sentients.
Colour Filler Art – Mixed Coins in Sand has platinum, gold, electrum, silver and copper coins partially buried in sand. There is a single image on a transparent background, at 300 dpi. The image can be used for personal and commercial uses.
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Long Roads and Short Tempers Part II is a piece of fiction for Species of Sundara: Elves, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.
Valo stalked closer to the dark-haired elf, who had his back against the bar, his elbows resting on the dark wood. The elf took a last sip from his glass before he spoke.
“I will give you a single strike,” he said. “Make the most of it.”
Valo hesitated for just a moment. The elf’s steady gaze was placid as he waited. Then Valo shifted, and lunged forward. The knife was a blur as it streaked forward, but the elf tilted his head to one side. Rather than the butcher’s strike taking the elf through the eye, the blade barely grazed his cheek as it went past, leaving the butcher off-balance.
If Valo’s strike had been fast, what the elf did next happened quickly enough that none could say they saw it happen. The elf’s arm shot out, and his glass exploded against the side of Valo’s face. Before the butcher could pull away, the elf snaked his arm around Valo’s, and twisted. A loud snap could be heard. Valo opened his mouth to scream, but the elf struck him in the throat. Gagging, blinded by broken glass and wine, and barely able to breathe, Valo stumbled, and fell to the floor of the tavern.
The men who had come into the room with Valo stepped forward, but when the elf raised his head they stopped as one. A trickle of black blood had oozed down his cheek from the wound Valo had dealt, but it had already stopped. They had assumed Arumil’s companion was another of the Rhodann; a traveler and a wanderer. They had learned too late that was not the case. The elf with the gray eyes picked up Valo’s knife, and idly flipped it in the air, catching it by the blade.
“Arumil is a creature made of honor, and mercy,” the dark-haired elf said, and though he was looking down at Valo, he was clearly speaking to the room. With a flick of his wrist he flung the knife into the floor hard enough that it quivered. “I am not. It is only because my love has interceded on your behalf that you still draw breath.”
“Shan, please, no more,” Arumil said, stepping between the dark-haired elf and Valo. He put a hand to Shan’s wounded cheek, and turned his face to him. Shan pressed his forehead to Arumil’s for a moment, before raising his head to look at the room.
“Either take your friend away, or take up the knife,” Shan said.
The men around the room exchanged glances. They’d all seen the same thing. One by one they eased their hands away from their weapons, and approached the two elves the way they might approach a bear’s den. Two of them lifted Valo, careful of his dislocated arm, and stumbled with him out the door. The others followed one after another, walking backwards out of the tavern so they never took their eyes off of Shan. When they were all gone, the knife remained.
Shan patted Arumil on the shoulder, and then resumed his place at the bar. The room let out the breath it had been collectively holding. Shan smiled, and gestured with two fingers at Arumil.
“Go on,” he said. “You were just getting to the good part of the story.”
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This provides game stats for one of the items worn by the Rhodann from the 5thb Edition version of Species of Sundara: Elves.
The Rhodann are known for their colourful patchwork cloaks, but some also make patchwork cloaks that are intended to blend in with the terrain. These cloaks are not magical in nature, but do provide a benefit to the wearer.
Each cloak is designed for a specific sort of terrain, and will only provide a bonus in that terrain. Example terrains would be mountains, snow, desert or woods; the GM, or player, should determine what terrain a specific cloak provides a bonus in.
When a cloak of the Rhodann is worn in the terrain for which it’s designed, the wearer gains a +2 bonus on Dexterity (Stealth) checks done in that terrain.
Cost: 40 gp Weight: 1/2 lb
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Long Roads and Short Tempers Part I is a piece of fiction for Species of Sundara: Elves, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.
Arumil was holding court from atop his bar stool, gesturing languidly with one hand while he told the tales of his travels since he’d last been through the town of Barstock nestled in the foothills of the northern mountains. Though he’d slept beneath the stars and walked into the wind near every day since he’d last departed, the Rhodann had all the grace and poise of a king on his throne, rather than the look of a road weary traveler.
He was just getting to the climax of his tale about a mysterious door he’d found while taking shelter in a cave one night, when the door of the tavern opened. Half a dozen men stepped out of the night, entering one after another. They fanned out through the tavern, cutting off escape routes and positioning themselves near doors and windows. Every man wore a blade at his belt, and many carried heavy, iron-shod cudgels. Each wore a look of grim determination, and some emotion hotter than anger burned in their eyes.
The quiet buzz of conversation that had filled the tavern went still. Arumil kept talking, however, as if he were unaware of the tension pouring into the room. His bright green eyes noted the men and their arms, however. Once they were in place, a larger man strode toward where the elf had been telling his tale. This man was thick-shouldered and barrel chested, with the calloused hands of a butcher and the crooked nose of a brawler. His boots rang hard on the floorboards, and he had his hand wrapped around the hilt of the dagger at his side.
“Ah, Valo,” Arumil said, raising a hand in greeting as if he’d just noticed the hulking man. “It has been some time. My apologies, you’ve missed the best part of the tale. Pour yourself a glass and sit a spell, though, and I could spin another should you wish.”
“Where is she?” Valo said.
“She who?” Arumil asked. He took a sip of wine, and set his glass on the bar. “It’s been several years, Valo.”
“You know who I mean,” Valo snarled, taking a threatening step closer. His knuckles were white on his knife. “My Drucilla. You took her. Tell me where, and maybe I’ll let you walk out of here with both those pointy ears still attached to your head.”
Arumil had his mouth open to respond, one open hand held up as if to forestall violence. That was when his companion, who had not spoken a word since the two of them had entered the tavern hours ago, opened his mouth.
“Was that the name of the woman whose husband tried to kill her because he was sure she’d lain with you?” the dark-haired elf asked, his steel gray eyes on Valo. “The one you brought to a new home where she’d be safe, and could raise her daughter in peace?”
If the room had been quiet before, it was silent now. The townsfolk sat there, mugs and cups hovering in midair, as if they were afraid to move. The men standing around the walls all looked to Valo. The big man’s face was turning red, veins throbbing at his temples. The second elf merely sipped from his own glass, his unblinking gaze fixed on Valo. Valo took a step closer, drawing his knife from its sheath.
“Don’t,” Arumil whispered. But he said it to his companion, rather than to the man with steel in his hand, and murder in his heart.
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This provides game stats for one of the items worn by the Rhodann from the Pathfinder version of Species of Sundara: Elves.
The Rhodann are known for their colourful patchwork cloaks, but some also make patchwork cloaks that are intended to blend in with the terrain. These cloaks are not magical in nature, but do provide a benefit to the wearer.
Each cloak is designed for a specific sort of terrain, and will only provide a bonus in that terrain. Example terrains would be mountains, snow, desert or woods; the GM, or player, should determine what terrain a specific cloak provides a bonus in.
When a cloak of the Rhodann is worn in the terrain for which it’s designed, the wearer gains a +2 circumstance bonus on Stealth checks done in that terrain.
Cost: 40 gp Weight: 1/2 lb
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Where The Roads Go is a piece of fiction from Towns of Sundara, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara..
“I don’t know much, my friend, but this I can say of a certain,” Jengwaith said, dropping a wink before returning his eyes to the road before him and giving the reins a small tug. “This world is full of great cities. I’ve seen the toiling dead of Moüd, breathed the thin air atop Hoardreach, walked the streets of Ironfire and even seen the wonders of Silkgift. But it’s the places in between, the places most folks tend to be too eager to forget, that always have the most to offer.”
Arand frowned at his traveling companion. The Rhodann elf had offered the young man the passenger seat on his wagon two days back, and he’d proven an interesting enough fellow to ride with. While it was impossible to tell how many years the soft, gray eyes looking out from his nut-brown face had seen, Jengwaith was engaging, curious and always seemed to have another story to tell about the sights they’d seen on the road. This piece of traveler’s wisdom, though, was too much for Arand to simply swallow without chewing at least a little.
“I may not know much either, but I grew up in one of those between places you’re talking about,” he said. “And I don’t recall much to recommend it.”
Jengwaith gave Arand a smile that he’d come to know well, even on relatively short acquaintance. It was a slightly mischievous expression that reminded him of his grandfather when he snuck an extra sweet to one of his grandbabes. Jengwaith drew out a pipe and a small sack of smokeweed, long fingers filling and packing the bowl with an ease borne of long practice.
“One’s home is a curious thing,” the Rhodann said, snapping their fingers and summoning a tiny flame to light the pipe. They puffed at it thoughtfully, the smile in their eyes more than on their mouth. “Because you know it so well, it loses some of its wonder for you. You find yourself looking past the small beauties, and taking for granted its little secrets. To you they are common, but to those who have never seen them before they can be wonderful things. The sorts of small joys that stick with them for years after, and that they’ll tell traveling companions on roads miles and miles from that little corner of the world.”
They rode on in silence for a time, nothing but the sound of the two horses’ hooves on the dirt highway and the chirps of the birds in the trees to disturb the calm of the day. Jengwaith’s pipe burned nearly as thick as incense, but they puffed contentedly on the stem. Arand rolled the elf’s words around in his head for a moment, mulling them over.
“You would truly rather head toward some tiny town than you would any of those cities you named?” Arand finally asked.
“I’ve been to enough places that I feel confident in saying this,” Jengwaith said, raising a finger like a professor making a point to a lecture hall. “Big cities have big sights, big personalities and big opportunities. They’ve got their own secret spots, sure enough, but not as many as most think. It’s the small places, the overlooked places, that often hold treasures unknown to those who don’t live there. What makes them best of all, though, is that you aren’t fighting with every other pilgrim flocking to their big city business. And for every one of those cities, there’s a dozen small towns that you can find, each with their own stories to tell.”
They rode on for a time, the wagon wheel bouncing over a small stone. Arand took a swallow of water from a jug, and then offered it to Jengwaith. The elf tapped their ashes out onto the road, and had a drink as well. When they re-corked the jug, they favored Arand with that knowing smile again.
“I can see you still don’t believe me,” Jengwaith said, giving the reins a small flick. “So let me prove it to you. Tell me about where you come from.”
Arand frowned, and folded his arms. He leaned back against the wagon, and glared out at the road beyond the horses. He was quiet for several moments, just letting the cart bounce and sway. Jengwaith was quiet as well, just listening to the birds and the breeze. Finally, Arand sighed. Why not? There were miles to get yet before they saw anything more than forest or dale.
“So, let me tell you about Kask…”
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