Thorin is long dead, but the dogs have continued breeding and residing in the tower. Generations later, the descendants of the original dogs still have the same gifts. The dogs have an extremely limited vocabulary, with words such as ‘Good,’ ‘Bad,’ ‘Dog,’ ‘Cat,’ ‘Me,’ ‘You,’ etc.

Encounters at the Dog Tower

Local farmers complain that wolves have been killing their livestock. The PCs discover the dogs while searching for the wolves, and likely will believe the dogs to be the cause of the problem. The dogs don’t understand the situation and are not responsible for the killings, but their limited intelligence and vocabulary makes this non-obvious. They will not attack the PCs unless provoked, and might even be convinced to help.

The PCs are searching for Thorin’s tower to recover some ritual or artifact, and must convince the dogs to allow them entrance.

Animal
A bear OR
A wolf OR
A deer OR
etc …

Situation
The animal’s leg is caught in a hunter’s trap OR
The animal seems to be moving slowly and limping painfully OR
A large gash in the side of the animals chest bleeds freely

Reaction
The animal seems unaware of the PCs, possibly due to the pain OR
The animal looks at the PCs with sad eyes, beseeching aid from them OR
The animal tries to flee from the PCs, only hurting itself further OR
The animal tries to intimidate the PCs, but knows it’s in no shape for a fight and backs down if approached

The Truth
The animal is actually a were-beast OR
The animal is actually an intelligent beast of some sort OR
The animal is a trap set by enemies of the PCs OR
The animal is actually an enemy of the PCs

Muscovites live in extended families, similar to tribes, and each family controls its own little region of Svalbard. Each of the extended families is composed of multiple smaller families centered around a male patron. The patron leads the family until he passes the honor and responsibility to another in a ceremony called the Skjebdiv. After the Skjebdiv, the former patron acts as an adviser to his successor.

The extended families are ruled by the patron of the most influential nuclear family, given the title of Czartun. There are five of those extended families, and hence there are five Czartuns. One Czartun– called the Czar– rules above all Muscovites; he is chosen by an election held every twelve years, or held sooner if the current Czartun dies. Only the Czartuns may vote in the election, and the Czar may not come from the family of either of the current or former Czars; hence, there are always three candidates.

The Czar remains in the capitol city of Musko, and during his reign he has a trusted agent, usually his brother, remain with the family and act as a sort of proxy Czartun. The Czar’s primary responsibilities are to serve as a mediator between the other families and to coordinate the defense of Svalbard.

Svalbard is rich with coal deposits, though the Muscovites’ mining techniques are rudimentary and inefficient. They make most of their money through mercenary services. Every mother is required to send her first-, third- and fifth-born children to Musko, where they will be trained and then hired out. This mandatory service lasts four years, and in addition to the money it brings in it also helps ensure that the Muscovite army is not only well-trained, but experienced as well.

The Muscovites worship Magdar, the Bearlord. Highly-ranking Muscovites are given panserbjörne, armored bears. The panserbjörne are fearsome in battle and utterly loyal to their handler. The mere sight of a mighty Muscovite astride his terrifying bear is often enough to defuse an altercation before it starts.

Encounters with the Muscovites

When the PCs decide that they need to hire some mercenaries for their latest capers, they end up hiring a young Muscovite fresh out of training. The lad is hardy and brave, but fights poorly, and is very interested in learning from the experienced PCs.

A PC who thoroughly ingratiates himself to a Czartun could be given a panserbjörne as a special reward.

Like many other drakes, sniper drakes can fire gouts of flame. The sniper drake’s is unique, though. Rather than creating a cloud of flame, their breath weapon is extremely focused, cohesive and accurate. Thanks to their excellent eyesight, a sniper drake earns its name by shooting at its prey from dozens of yards away. The effect is achieved with a thick, viscous mucous which ignites when it comes in contact with oxygen. In essence, it’s a biological napalm.

Sniper drakes are not especially intelligent, and can be exceptionally difficult to obtain and rear, but those who take the time and effort find that they are remarkable pets, guardians and allies.

Encounters with Sniper Drakes

Some small cataclysm, such as a drought or plague, has killed much of the local wildlife and driven off many of the survivors. A small flock of sniper drakes still hunts the area, though, and the creatures are driven mad by hunger. They don’t usually attack things larger than a fox or small dog, but in these desperate times the PCs look like the best food source available.

A falconer by the name of Miles Gendrick lays dying, his body consumed by age and disease. He’s already given away the rest of his pets, and is left with just one: a sniper drake named Tizzy. Miles is very protective of Tizzy, even more so than the birds he used to raise, and is actively seeking out anyone who’s both qualified to handle such a creature and who proves that they’re worthy of it. To this end, Miles sends for a PC to offer him Tizzy, but first the PC must pass a test…

Every spring, Quainsbrook throws a celebration known as The Festival of the Half-Hundred Hounds. It is a three day-long festival filled with song, merriment and feasting, where dogs are the guests of honor. Each night is capped off with a simple competition called The Feat of Strength.

In the Feat of Strength, teams of up to five people take turns playing tug of war with the strongest fifty hounds Quainsbrook has to offer. At first they are pulling against 25 hounds, but every 10 seconds another hound is added until all fifty are pulling, or until the the challengers are defeated.

The only way to actually win the tug of war is to pull a flag, located halfway between the dogs and the challengers, across a line on the ground while all 50 dogs are pulling, and hold it there for one full minute. Nobody’s ever actually won the Feat of Strength, though, for no one has ever lasted long enough to be playing against all fifty dogs.

In the end, the dogs are always crowned the victors of the night, but as a consolation prize the team which pulled against the most dogs before being defeated is given a Quainsbrook hound.

There are three types of Nahua; the Couatls, Ocelotls, and Cipactli.

The Couatls are great feathered serpents with rainbow wings which patrol the skies. Couatls are the mightiest of the Nahuas, and also the least common. They range from 15 to 30 feet long and typically have a wingspawn as long as their bodies. Couatls are universally seen as a sign of good luck, hope, and protection and frequently featured in artwork. Each morning they come down from the clouds, and return back to them when their hunt is over.

The Ocelotls are exceptionally large jaguars, some standing at the shoulder as tall as a man. Their claws are like razors and their teeth daggers; they are canny and cunning hunters and the tribes of the Rathi Basin seek to embody the spirit of the Ocelotls in their hunts. The Ocelotls seems to come from the horizon, and when they depart they just run out of sight.

Finally, the Cipactli are small, but ravenous, alligator-like creatures, each about the size of your arm. Swarms of thousands of Cipactli patrol the waters and coastlines to destroy any evils lurking there. Cipactli embody the spirit of teamwork and cooperation, for even such small animals are capable of battling a megathon if they work in concert.

Stranger still, the very next day the same thing happens. An albatross lands on the deck of the ship, walks around a bit, and dies. Any experienced medics can ascertain that the birds seem to have died of natural causes (i.e. old age). A few hours later, yet another albatross makes the boat its final resting place.

They start becoming more and more frequent until there are literally hundreds of dead birds littering the ship and dozens more arriving every hour. It is at its heaviest two days after the first bird appeared… After that it slowly winds down and they see the last albatross about five days into the ordeal.

Interpretations: I rather like the idea that this is a completely random event, with no real tie to anything (except, perhaps, fate; the albatross was chosen quite intentionally in that regard). Of course, there’s nothing stopping there from being some sort of magical effect, or perhaps a magnetic disturbance affecting the birds’ senses.

Adaptations: You could make the encounter quite different by changing the birds and/or what happens when they reach the ship. Maybe doves arrive (perhaps even doves carrying olive branches!) and stay on the ship a few days before leaving; crows or ravens could send a more ominous message to players who wouldn’t understand the significance of the albatross (if you don’t, read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner).

If the players acknowledge the critter, it will stand up on its hind legs and flash its big, brown eyes at them, while its ears twitch back and forth like a cat’s tail. It is curious about the characters and wants some of their food.

Unless the PCs kill it or treat it exceptionally poorly, the little thing follows them around for the next couple of days. Two days after leaving, the party notices something stalking them in the woods. It is a huge wolf-like beast, the size of a horse, with bristling grey fur. Its long, prehensile ears are powerfully-muscled and sway back and forth menacingly.

The creature is a worbit, and in fact is the mother of the little one that’s been following the PCs. Depending on their temperament, the PCs may try to combat the worbit, or may try to avoid combat with it by offering it food and making a show of giving the young one to her.

Worbits, however, a rare and powerful beasts, highly sought after and a live one is worth a tidy sum. The players would also do well to try and capture it or even to try and tame it.

If the PCs investigate, they discover a lone kobold clinging for dear life from a root poking out of a rocky wall. He’s surrounded by wolves, leaping up at their quarry, and the poor little fellow is fighting for his life. He holds a broken spear in his free hand, jabbing at the wolves and trying to startle them off.

If he sees the characters, he’ll call out to them for help and promise them anything. In reality, he has nothing of value to give, but he’s desperate. The kobold’s name is Meekin, and he was exiled from he ran away from home long ago because he was a runt and was constantly being harassed by the others.

In his time away, he’s actually become a reasonably good survivalist; he knows the lay of the land well, is good at foraging and hunting smaller animals like rabbits and squirrels, and can even perform some very basic medical techniques like making splints. He also knows a lot about the local flora and, like most kobolds, is pretty good at setting traps.

If the players save him, Meekin will do whatever he can to help them. If he made any promises while hanging from the wall which he can’t keep, he will ashamedly admit as much. If the PCs are hostile, Meekin knows he’s no match for them and tries to escape.

Above all, though, Meekin is lonely and if the PCs show him any amount of kindness at all they’ll never be able to get rid of the poor bugger.