Glass Bird Games

Road, Ivan Shishkin The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can. I have been on a journey. I have walked the road, first one foot and then the other. Through chilling wind and snow, down many errant trails, and o'er the most treacherous peaks I have taken my way. And though my destination still awaits me many, many miles down the track, I am here . On the path that is every path and no path, the grand river delta of earth and stone and root that branched out from my front door the day I took my first step. I cannot return to that home. None of us can. But there are homely places on the path, and a home at the end of every branch. I am not ready to rest my weary feet. I will keep walking. Packing  is key. Now, I'm hardly a roadly expert of any note, but I do know that if you're a halfling of any sense you'll need the following on your travels, at the very least: A solid walking stick (4d4)...

Boat by the Shore (1888), Torsten Wasastjerna  Death is common in most fantasy games. Whether the PCs are in danger of crossing the veil or are regularly sending the deserving (🙄) monsters of the world to meet their maker, Death is a presence. A character in and of itself, especially when we decide to anthropomorphize it. Gods of death are numerous, and generally of a familiar vein. They are evil, spooky, loaded down with skulls and crows and other on-the-nose paraphernalia. Or they're cosmic and unknowable, dark and empty and unyielding, just barely recognizable as something intelligent. The ultimate void. But death is not an enigma. Not really. It's something, someone who we all know to some degree. Who we will all know intimately, one day. So why should they be sinister, or terrifying? Death is an old friend, awaiting our return to their quiet company. That's why my Death is different.