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Those monasteries are located all over at the most inhospitable places of the realm. Nested against hills with no villages in mile, upon a storm-wrecked island or sometimes in a wing of a collapsed and abandoned castle. One visiting the place should take some heed and be braced for the sight that would greet them if they step into one. Only the caretaker of the monastery is alive. Inside, hundreds of skeletal monks, still in their robes, tirelessly makes copies of important treatises, tomes and religious texts. What magic keeps them going? Isn’t anyone particularly concerned about this? Why would adventurers need to go to such a place, anyway?

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In the midst of a vast, sprawling city, its architecture dating back to years long ago and showing distictinve heritage of different empires, are ruins where squatters dwelled. And within the ruins, is a long untended gardens, it’s hedge wall overgrown, the smell of rotten fruits spreading from within, and the pavements leading to it cracked and broken apart by weeds and grasses.

No man, it is said, set foot within the garden and goes  into the depth and had emerged alive.

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A kingdom is falling apart because of a prophecy. Ancient ruling houses have began to war with each other. The sons of the king began to plot to overthrow their father, but first have to deal with each other. Meanwhile, merchant houses secretly began a covert war through the use of spies, assassins and adventurers. All are determined that they are destined to stop an ancient evil, become a glorious ruler and other grandiose dreams. What madness have stricken those people?

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The night before, there was a thick mist, a rolling fog that covered the entire dockside. The next day when the sun is out, a large ship, its kind never seen before, is out in the bay, it’s masts broken, its sail tattered, its hull encrusted with ice. A dead ship appearing at the bay, out of nowhere. Where did it come from, what is on it, and what does this portends? No one is willing to go near to the ship, and the adventurers are dispatched to find out what is it and to ensure that it is safe to approach it and towed it away.

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It is well known that the forests and hills of Sandhornvale are haunted; the small folk called them ‘spirit lights’ and they appear as small orbs of pale white lights. They danced at various spots and landmarks when midnight comes, and lingers for an hour before disappearing. A few believe they were ghosts or spirits that did not passed over to the after-world, while sages and sorcerers believed that there’s nothing supernatural about those lights at all – they are the creations of sorcery. What are those lights, exactly?

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When is the last time you have a 100% in character role-playing session? Is that a myth, like the unicorns or the GM who makes profit from doing professional GameMastering? In more than a decade of game-mastering, I can count with one hand the number of sessions which can be described as “immersive and in-character”. It’s not just the out-of-character jokes; it’s more than that. I always find that most of my friends are usually playing caricatures of the archetype they have chosen or an extreme on the spectrum.

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It is the most disorganized, unruly and unprofessional convoy the adventurers have ever seemed. There are no forward scouts, the guards look ill at ease with their weapons and the route includes narrow valleys, thick forests and hilly paths. The leader of the caravan doesn’t seem to mind all these and jokingly dismiss any concerns the adventurers may bring up. And when the brigands attack, the order given is immediate. “Flee for your life!”

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Back in the time of yore, when one must colour his own D20 and Elf is a class in D&D, the assumed motivation for entering a dungeon is gold, treasure and magical power. More than 20 years later, this assumption has changed slightly, but it is still mostly centred on gold, magical items and experience points. Why not add something to this mix? Social status and recognition.

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It is said that in the remote regions of the kingdom, there is a minor lord who is gracious and welcoming, and would offer solace for wandering travelers, priests and adventurers. He has several guest-houses constructed in his large estate, and would entertain and house them up for several days. However, the servants would always warn the guests – anytime past midnight, if you hear anything, see anything or sense anything, do not come out. On one such night past the stroke of midnight, the adventurers are guesting there when a tempting aroma drifts through the windows…it smelt of roasted boar and grilled fishes. Who have came to feast?

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Towns and villages have came down with all sort of minor illness – coughing fits, flu and the fever, but nothing fatal. Doctors and healers suspect a plague of some sort is sweeping the lands, but this is one plague that must not be stopped. If the adventurers attempted to track down the cause of the plague, they encounter numerous resistances from unexpected quarters.

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