Ora Nightstealer, also known as “the Puppetmistress” for her delight in manipulating people to do her bidding, is one of the more powerful night hags from the Grey Waste of Hades. She was a renowned wheeler and dealer in souls, amassing immense power by trading for favors with some of the most vile evil creatures on both sides of the Blood War. When she is not hard at this gruesome work, Ora is known to be a lover of illusions, often using particularly devilish ones as a form of gatekeeper – ensuring that only visitors she finds sufficiently interesting are allowed to meet her.

Legend has it, however, that she is also deeply unhappy.

The tale goes that, while pursuing her own goals on the prime material plane, Ora encountered a princeling from a noble house. Whether she was on that plane on a mission to steal souls or simply for her own amusement, the troubadours do not record. But as night hags can easily assume any shape they please, Ora appeared there as a comely maiden. And, for reasons that remain obscure, she fell in love with the princeling, and he loved her in return, so far as anyone could see.

And then, Oda chose to reveal herself to her lover in her true form as a night hag. Horrified, he turned her away. While most night hags would have strangled a mortal to death for such a transgression, by all accounts Oda left the princeling alive. But the experience broke her heart, and tens of thousands of mortals owe centuries of torment to her shattered feelings.

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The college administration building was a tower, ten stories tall but rather narrow. The base was concave, giving the whole first floor a strange recessed affect not unlike the inside lip of a frisbee. The design made sense in the 60s, I’m sure, but now it’s known more for its odd appearance and echoing effects than anything.

That must be why the school orchestra started playing there. By spacing the members out and playing, the echo effect made for a rich, resonant, and loud experience. But they were quickly taken in by the echoes and fell out of sync with one another. There’d be a moment of harmony as you walked by, a violinist playing in tune with the echoes you could hear, but it quickly fell to dissonance as the sonics fell off.

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Flourish

Black science and technology
Nano elastic material
Amazing nano rubber pad

US Amazing Nano rubber pad
Strong adsorption ability
Everything can stick
Without any vestige when remove it.

Easy to use
Toss lightly, It goes to wall easily
Pull whatever you like

The thing you can not hang
on the wall in your life
It can be absorbed easily
Even the small stereo also can be
go to the wall easily

Just remove it, when do not want to use
Also can reuse
How to solve when meet dust,
Rinse with water for a second
will be a new one.

Origin: US Michigan

Taken from the packaging for this.

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“Who are you?”

“I am a dreamstalker. Once your dream here has ended, I will slay your mortal form from where I sit crouched over it.”

“What?”

“You may wonder why I do not simply kill you now. The truth is, I gain sustenance from the mortal dreams I invade. Sustenance and amusement.”

“This has got to be part of the dream.”

“But when it ends, you will die! Perhaps not be too hasty about waking then, eh?”

“It’s a nightmare!”

“For you, perhaps, it will be upon waking. But for now, the dream is long and deep. Let us explore it, eh?”

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It is a magpie like no other, for its existence is mostly in the mental realm. Rather than shiny baubles to decorate its nest, it will steal thoughts, memories, and even skills from the minds of the unguarded. It will arrange its trifles in its nest, and if pushed will defend itself using them. More than once, the magpie has plucked a memorized spell from the head of a wizard, only to cast it to devastating effect upon intruders.

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“They say it protects them,” said Det. Kuzemchenko. He stabbed a smouldering butt into his ashtray for emphasis.

Sgt. Davis sipped incredulously at his cold coffee, the undissolved creamer gritting against his teeth. “Ridiculous. Those shambling corpses haven’t an ounce of self-awareness left.”

“They still say that this other undead protects them. Chases away folks out to burst braincases. It’s killed more than one of them, and it seems to have a lot more dexterity and skill than the others we’ve seen rising lately, especially with all the new wards.” Kuzemchenko tapped his computer screen. “We’ve got witnesses and statements.”

“So what’s that mean to you, then?” said Davis.

“I think we’ve got an undead vigilante on our hands. And I’m not quite sure what to do about it.”

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The Riddle Project believed that knowledge must be earned, but also believed that it must be preserved. The death of Sage Goris, the last being that knew the art of bibliomantica carceri, was their example. While the knowledge he possessed was priceless and was extinct upon his death, he has also used it selfishly and for ill ends.

Riddlemancers of the Riddle Project devoted themselves to preserving knowledge behind a series of riddles, puzzles, and other wards that would root out the unworthy. By the time someone had come to the wisdom needed to solve said conundrums, they would be worthy enough to wield it. Even allowing for dedicated students of evil, it was thought that theirs would at least be a subtle and long-gestating evil, the sort that builds empires, rather than the monomania that came so often with giving power to those with no experience of want.

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