“ Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the 'Ash-Wind' comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.”
“ The PC's enter a town amid a giant celebration, the Spring Wedding Festival. Unmarried men and women from all over the provinces gather her every spring to be matched by the most sacred matchmaker ever to live, Holly Lovard. Holly is now ancient and must be carried everywhere she visits and rumors are that this will be her last visit to the Wedding Festival so any matches made this spring will be doubley blessed.
Enter PC's, wrong place at the wrong time. Molly sees one of them, calls him/her out of the crowd and that are unable to resist the push and pull of the mob. Brought in front of Molly Lovard, the PC is declared the lifemate of <insert anybody>.
Could be the king's daughter, a peasant, member of the thieves guild. Could be anything to add a twist to an already building plot, or just throw the characters into an awkward situation.”
“ A massive trebuchet constructed by the reigning tyrant, it can hurl the heaviest loads of any trebuchet to date and is the most destructive, non-magical weapon currently in existance. The Thought of Warwolf setting up on their lawn has quelled many a rebellion.”
