:: Random Location—Benchford, Grassland Thorp ::

Waves of heat rise up from the plain, taking entire clouds worth of moisture with them. It is stifling to say the least. The trail leads straight over a short but cavernous crack in the ground, spanned at the narrowest pinch by a bridge of stone. The height is daunting, but the trip to the other side is a brief one.

The thorp begins almost immediately on the other side of the chasm, a prominent selling-house advertising "ravine tours" on a sign that swings from the porch. This house, though old, is well lit and clean. The rest of the thorp, however, is positively ancient by comparison. As you emerge into the center of the place you see a crude stone bench—dew-dappled and moss-covered—surrounded by a circular garden with flowers of cobalt blue.

By necessity, each of the few dwellings that circle the bench is also tasked for selling the goods and services of those who live there. The trail continues on the other side of the bench, between "Frida's Belladonnas" and "Benchford General Goods", and out into the wide world once again. From that direction also comes the bleating of sheep, followed quickly by the sheep themselves, led by one shepherd and trailed by another.

:: Random Item—Brick of Invisibility ::

There are few times when genius can present itself quite like a moment of need. I'm certain you are already informed, but there are a good many unexpected things in this world, and a brick with the power of invisibility happens to be just one of them. You've probably already heard this story, but suffer me to tell it again, if you will.

:: Random Item—Luz Roxa's Roux of Revelation ::

Luz Roxa’s Roux of Revelation

by Wm Jay Carter III, 6/12/15

a ranai bulb-lantern bearer

Edibles: Peanuts

Culture: Ranai

Condition: Hot, Wet

Color: Violet

Keyword: Paradigm

The ranai exemplar beckons you to sit beside her at the fire. She reaches into her pack and produces a small flat tin. Opening it, she waves it under her nostrils; you see a brown mashed paste and catch a waft of the nutty scent. Satisfied with the smell, she scoops the tin’s contents into the pot on the fire and quickly adds several violet petals, stirring vigorously.
Invoking the name of her patron, the ranai whispers a few words and there is a poof! as a cloud of smoke rises from the pot. Scooping out a spoonful of the nutty roux—now a deep purple—she offers it to you. The moment it touches your tongue, the world lights up with a network of violet lines—the veins of the leaves on the trees, the veins pulsing through the ranai exemplar, and, you notice with a giddy feeling, the veins in your own body.