Game Management Tools

The Silent Menagerie is a collection of glass cages hidden beneath the palace, each holding a creature made of shadows, dreams, or vanished songs. When the torches gutter low, their shapes flicker and twist, and faint music drifts through the halls—reminding those above that not all treasures are meant to be seen. The Silent Menagerie is a collection of glass cages hidden beneath the palace, each holding a creature made of shadows, dreams, or vanished songs. When the torches gutter low, their shapes flicker and twist, and faint music drifts through the halls—reminding those above that not all treasures are meant to be seen.

The Alabaster Oracle is a blindfolded child who sits at the heart of the ruined city, her hair drifting in a wind no one else can feel. She speaks only in riddles and palindromes, eyes glazed with visions of futures tangled like fishing nets. The Alabaster Oracle is a blindfolded child who sits at the heart of the ruined city, her hair drifting in a wind no one else can feel. She speaks only in riddles and palindromes, eyes glazed with visions of futures tangled like fishing nets.

The Bloodcairn Throne is a grotesque seat of stone, built atop a mound of skulls in the deepest crypt. Crimson moss creeps over its arms, and anyone foolish enough to sit feels the weight of every betrayal in their lineage, pressed cold and hard against the heart. The Bloodcairn Throne is a grotesque seat of stone, built atop a mound of skulls in the deepest crypt. Crimson moss creeps over its arms, and anyone foolish enough to sit feels the weight of every betrayal in their lineage, pressed cold and hard against the heart.

Moghul the Unburied rises at dusk from a mound of scorched bones, his colossal frame bound by chains that rattle like distant thunder. His molten gaze boils the ground beneath his feet, and his laughter curdles blood. None who enter his lair beneath the shattered amphitheater do so twice, for his hunger is matched only by his hatred for the living. Moghul the Unburied rises at dusk from a mound of scorched bones, his colossal frame bound by chains that rattle like distant thunder. His molten gaze boils the ground beneath his feet, and his laughter curdles blood. None who enter his lair beneath the shattered amphitheater do so twice, for his hunger is matched only by his hatred for the living.

The Luminarch’s Prism is a scepter forged from meteorite and split by seven bands of shimmering light. When wielded, it fractures the air with cascading rainbows that sear the eyes and soul. Legends claim a single incantation can turn day to night or split mountains, but only if sung in harmony with one’s truest regret. The Luminarch’s Prism is a scepter forged from meteorite and split by seven bands of shimmering light. When wielded, it fractures the air with cascading rainbows that sear the eyes and soul. Legends claim a single incantation can turn day to night or split mountains, but only if sung in harmony with one’s truest regret.