This adventure is suitable for four 6th to 7th level PC's and may be completed in a single session. Oithois the exceptional ice mephit and his foul underlings have uncovered a powerful relic at the entry to ancient ruins. The monstrous mephits seek to crack a hole between the material plane and their icy home world. Oithois plots to lead an army of elemental lackeys and conquer the civilized outposts of the north. This ice mephit has studied the machine and is confident he can open a gateway to the elemental plane of ice. PCs are approached by a frostbitten traveler, who pleads with them to assault the terrace. The adventurers must mount an attack against the mephits, contend with an unintentionally summoned young white dragon, and defeat Oithois upon the icebound terrace.

This is an adventure for four 6th to 7th level PC's that may be completed in a single session. The Untamed are a street gang in a busy city. A recent change in leadership has transformed the members from pickpockets and second-story thieves into kidnappers for an inter-dimensional aberration named Xlrieh'oc. Their hideout is now a strange and wicked factory, capable of extracting the firm essence from a person; the process leaves the victim partly ethereal and their form no longer casts a shadow. Although most victims die during the procedure, those who survive are conscripted into the gang. The extracted essence is crated and shipped to the aberration's home plane through a breach between worlds in the hideout's backroom.

We saw it—don’t turn your heads. Up near Hilltop Crossroad and the temple. It walked south; the trees fell in its path. Even the moon hid. Gods help Father Dren . . .

"I was taken by the evil dogs while camping near Agav's bog. They dragged me into their lair, and it wasn't until I escaped that I knew the truth of the place: a great and bony wing buried in the side of a hill. They chained me in the dark with a candle made from foul wax and forced me to dig at the marrow. Their bonds were poorly made, and I fled several days later while they slept. What purpose did they have in mining that marrow? I cannot say..." The Marrow Mines are dug in and around the fossilized wing of an unnamed leviathan. A small pack of kobolds lives and works in the mines, which are heavily trapped. The kobolds defend the area fiercely and patrol the region around the mine. At night, a handful of urds make aerial surveys of the territory. The urds live in the deep reaches of the wing's tips.

Suitable for four PCs. Adventure can be finished in one session. Several months back, Dip Halfling-Chewer and his cronies were ejected from a nearby goblin clan for indiscriminate wrestling. Their antics, although hilariously entertaining to themselves, were destructive and dangerous to the rest of the clan. The goblins spent several nights in the wilderness before discovering an abandoned wagon by the side of a trade road. There, the homeless cadre transformed the wagon into distinctly goblinoid fortress. They have had some success in assaulting and looting travelers on the road.

The Claret Wellspring is an adventure for four 4th-5th level PCs. "The first spell cast has not yet finished its work." Strange lights in the desert lead the PCs to a long-forgotten oasis. Travelling towards the lights, the PCs are threatened by magic so old, it defies categorization. Arriving at the withered shore of a blood-colored pool, the PCs discover an ancient dial and three tooth-like columns rising from the ground. Turning the dial results in the water being magically siphoned into the column's hollow cavities. If the pool is emptied, a small door is revealed in the crimson-stained much. They must defeat a blood-infused water elemental before proceeding. Once inside, the PCs share a room with a dark ritual running since the origin of the world. The keeper of the place, an immortal fey inside a powerful suit of armor, offers little explanation as to the nature of the ritual, and he seeks to ensure they tell no one of the Claret Wellspring.

The Vault of Pallon the Pious is an adventure for four 2nd level PCs. A famous pirate captain came to worship a lawful god in his final years. After a lifetime of plundering, pillaging, scuttling, and murdering along the coastline, the fear-inspiring Pallon the Merciless rebranded himself as Pallon the Pious. But, a history of violence is a hard thing to reconcile, and the salty old dog slowly succumbed to madness. His most precious possession was a set of scales that reflected perfectly his own inner conflict. The Scales of Misjudgement are buried deep in the treasure room of his crazed rock-island vault.

Let nothing end the Feast by the River. Let the celebration of our enemy’s vanquishing ring out night and day for eternity. Let the bones of our enemies and our prey mingle below our feet. This is your time, our time, the best time. —Queen Gellao on the eve of her victory over the followers of Dur; decreed at the River’s Bend feast hall

The mountains are the border between our kingdom and the realm of the fire giants. Look far eastward. See how the peaks turn black? Their forges must burn night and day to mark the mountains so. Some mornings, sunrise dims from the smoke and soot. Long have we watched the pass and tallied our fortunes at its stillness. Recently, though, there are signs our luck is turning. Fiery orbs sail through the night skies and land too near these woods. Scouts report deep craters shrouded in smoke and ash. One sits a mere hour’s walk from this outpost. I fear the enemy makes ready some terrible weapon . . .

We’ve been running these fights since before my granddaddy helped drive them gnolls out. We have a proud history of taking care of the animals, too—we get ’em as pups from the dwarves up in Granitehold. Sure it’s bloody, but you’re not in the sot lands of kings and queens anymore, are you. Say, did you hear that?

Once, we were friends. She used her spells to ward our grove against the darkness in the woods. It was the mirror that turned her mind to covetous thoughts; she saw its power and changed. We have kept the mirror safe for an era, but her soldiers grow strong—and now something makes for our tree we cannot repel. If her aberration reaches the grove, the mirror will be hers, and then we will all know what lies at the tip of the wickedest branches.

She lay down her sword and wept; her tears are the water. She lay down her body and slept; her bones are the fountain. Atop the mountain, at the war’s end, a place for gods to wonder.