28

The Bios.............................................................................. 2
Introduction...................................................................... 4
Garo the Mad................................................................... 6
Oracle of Muir................................................................. 12
The Hag............................................................................... 17
The Steadfist God........................................................... 19

1
 The Bios
Casey W. Christofferson
Casey W. Christofferson is an author of fantasy and science
fiction Role Playing Game supplements, and short fiction. Casey
began his career writing for Necromancer Games in 2001 and
has continuously provided content for Frog God Games, Troll
Lord Games, Goodman Games, Kenzer & Co., & 77 Worlds/
Fireside Creations.  Casey has dozens of titles in print or on
digital format including Bard’s Gate, Tome of Horrors Series,
Quests of Doom, City of Brass, The Haunted Highlands RPG
setting, a children’s tale called Tinsel the Christmas Elf and
many more. 
Casey has worked alongside the likes of Bill Webb, Clark
Peterson, James M. Ward, Matthew Finch, and Stephen
Chenault. In 2006 he shared the ENnie for best Adversary/
Monster supplement with Scott Greene for Tome of Horrors
3. His most recent projects include the revised and expanded
version of City of Brass, contributions to the upcoming Lost
Lands Setting, as well as various other adventures for 5th edition
and Swords & Wizardry. In 2018 he agreed to sign on with Frog
God Games as artistic consultant for the fantasy RPG lines.
This may have something to do with the fact that he personally
instructed several of the Frog God Games artists such as Artem
Shukaev, Faith Burgar, and Adrian Landeros while they were
still in high school!

Santa Norvaisaite
Santa Norvaisaite was born and raised in a small city in
Latvia. Her interest in art began at a very young age after
she discovered folders of her mother’s sketches and artwork.
She soon began expressing her imagination through her
own drawings.
A series of life events led Santa and her mother to immigrate
to Canada. There she attended and graduated high school and
worked for a few years while attending a three-year program
of Game Development at George Brown with a focus on 3D
modeling. While there she re-connected with her love and
2
passion for art and soon chose to pursue illustration and concept
art as a career.
She has worked on multiple freelance projects and has done
private commissions throughout the years. Her inspiration and
focus while working on a painting is the atmosphere, light, and
environment surrounding the scene.

Adrian Landeros
Adrian Landeros is a digital and traditional based illustrator
born in Aguascalientes, Mexico. His work allows him to create
and conceptualize ideas from talented authors and art directors
into vivid and creative pieces varying from fantasy and mythic
digital illustrations to the depths of science fiction traditional
ink works. Adrian’s illustrations are currently represented by
Frog God Games, and Planet X Games.
As a student he was recognized in various art competitions for
his pen and ink and digital works of art.
Adrian is influenced by artists such as the masterful Frank
Frazetta and Jose Guadalupe Posada who inspired him to keep
exploring and learning more about the beauty of anatomy,
composition and ink line art. He believes that passion and
true love for creating art is the purest source of greatness and
creativity in any field of art. Raised from humble beginnings he
has been fascinated by art and has been practicing it since his
youth. The drive for improvement, passion, working alongside
creative minds in a professional manner and constant curiosity
within illustration is what keeps him going. Adrian specializes
in very detailed illustrations focusing on light, anatomy and
composition with a unique, defined and dedicated style which
is very flexible to what the author or commissioner requires.
While he also has a classic cross hatching style when it comes to
ink illustrations, He seeks improvement and more knowledge
about illustration and hopes to reach an even higher level of
professionalism and hopes more people will enjoy his work
someday at an international level.

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 Introduction
Tales from the Roadhouse Volume 1 is a new venture for me in
the realm of writing and publishing. As an author of role playing
games material I have spent much of the last eighteen plus years
creating content in a world of dark fantasy adventure. Working for
Necromancer Games, Troll Lord Games, and most recently Frog
God Games among others I was allowed to bring in my own par-
ticular flavor to worlds such as Aihrde, The Haunted Highlands,
and The Lost Lands.
I developed a repertoire of returning characters who populate
these grim worlds to the delight and terror of my table top gaming
compatriots. Among the fan favorite characters I have created in
these fantastic adventure locales is the baleful primal deity known
as Bowbe. Bowbe is of course modeled after Norse, Finnish, and
Celtic deities, with a splash of R.E. Howard’s Crom for good mea-
sure. Bowbe of course takes his name from the dirtiest word you
can say in the universe according to Harry Harrison’s Bill the Ga-
lactic Hero. Bowbe is a chaotic god worshipped on the fringes of
civilization and the Roadhouse owned by a dimension hopping
barbarian in many ways serves as his great temple.
The Roadhouse is a place where disparate characters from
across the multiverse come to find a bit of safety and rest from the
horrors of the outside world. There they speak on about the gods
and tell tall tales. They imbibe in their whisky and ale and occa-
sionally have a good brawl with one another. It’s as good a setting
as any for the sorts of stories that I like to write.
Unfortunately, I never seem to be able to find the time to bring
most of these short stories to life or find a venue to publish them.
There is always a different deadline for an adventure module or
source book. There are my illustration and design students to at-
tend to during the school year, and there are family matters that
take precedence over everything else! If I wasn’t busy enough I
also took on the role of art director for Frog God Games where I
have been able to combine all of my great loves for pulp adventure,
old school role playing games, and fantasy art under one banner.
While gearing up for the next Humble Bundle I came upon an
idea. Rather than try to write a bunch of short stories on my own,
why not partner with some of my artists to create short works of
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fiction based on their unsold or largely unseen artwork? It would
be an opportunity for me to introduce a larger audience to my
work, and an opportunity for the artists who I have worked with
for some time to gain some recognition as well.
Thus was born the first Volume of Tales from The Roadhouse.
The artists featured within are Adrian Landeros and Santa Nor-
visite. Both are fantastic artists in their own right who have done
amazing work for a slew of upcoming Frog God Games products.
Adrian Landeros was a student of mine who has far exceeded
the master. He is a fantastic artist whose work has been used ex-
tensively by Frog God Games, as well as Planet X games, Uncle
Matt’s RPG studio, and SGP. I wanted to showcase Adrian’s line
art work, and have been telling him since he was a kid that I could
easily write a thousand words or more based on his images.Santa
Norvaisaite was a discovery of mine off of Art Station. So attention
future artists! You can indeed post your art online, have people
enjoy it, and even pay you for your hard work! Santa is amazing
and works very hard on her work. She takes suggestions easily
and has been more than flexible with tiny changes that some cli-
ents require to bring the vision of their product to reality. It has
been my absolute pleasure to work with both of these fine artists
and write stories whose inspiration is drawn from their images.
As to the stories? Most of these stories are further inspired by
my work writing for the Lost Lands Setting as it has grown and
developed over the last eighteen years of my involvement with it.
Hopefully the stories add to the flavor of the Lost Lands and give
fans of that setting a deeper insight into that fantastic world!
As a final word thank you all for your participation in the Hum-
ble Bundle. What a great way to spend some money and help sup-
port charitable causes! Your gift alone makes you heroes worthy
of mention in this collection.
— Casey W. Christofferson,
May 5, 2019

5
 Garo the Mad
A voice raised from the mulling crowd who sipped their drinks
and plotted their plots. The blond giant scratched his beard and
called, “Silence! There is one who would tell a tale if my ears have
not failed me!”
The crowd ebbed to a soft murmur as the clear voice spoke
up. It was a grey figure, dappled with the orange light of the fire.
His face hidden, as had been the face of the previous speaker.
His deep baritone cut through the murmur as he leaned in,
clutching a scabbarded sword in one fist like a cane and a
tankard in the other.
“Aye friends,” he began. “Who among you know the tale of Sir
Garo the Mad?”
The murmur of the crowd rose and fell as the speaker prepared
to continue clearing his throat. The host in his bone chair chuckled
and called out loudly. “Boo!”
The story teller went immediately rigid, his fist clutching the
pommel of his sword but the master of the Roadhouse quickly
acquiesced with a sly waive of his hand and bid him, “Continue your
tale my friend, though its telling will no doubt hurt my feelings to
some degree. The Heldring are kinsmen to me…of sorts.”
The speaker nodded and continued. “Sir Garo, a knight of
the orders and defender of the faith patrolled the south of the
Kingdoms of Foere before the barbarians…er the Heldring…um…
took the faith of the true gods…”
Another grumble arose from the crowd followed by a low
chuckle from the master of the Roadhouse but the speaker
continued unabated.
“Sir Garo was tasked by the Cathedral in Trebes with guardianship
of the Eastern reaches of Wildtangle where the little folk still dwelt
in villages along the edges of the forest. He took his job seriously
and with diligence, making close friends with the folk of the wood.
One family even took to adopting the young knight after a fashion,
inviting him to rest in their home when he traveled through their
lands and setting him a good lunch whenever he retook his patrol
of the edge of the woodland.
In turn he would use the powers of the faith to tend to lame
animals of the small folk, to cure their sick children… you know
6
that sort of thing.” The speaker paused to make sure the crowd
understood. With no further interruptions he continued.
“Well in those days’ raiders sometimes slipped past the Helwall
in ships that set out from near Berrohurh. The raiders as often
sought out settlements of Foerdewaith to slaughter and pillage,”
the speaker paused here, knowing he was losing the crowd but
forged forward.
“Some raiders, allegedly of the Heldring raged through the
southeastern forest and came across the village of the small
folk that Garo defended. Not finding a Foerdewaith village they
must have decided to take their vengeance out on the halflings.
When Sir Garo arrived he found the twenty or so small folk of the
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8
village cut to pieces. Their homes were ransacked and depleted
of grains, livestock, coin, and ale. The raiders had taken their
time in their torture. The suffering he observed broke poor Sir
Garo’s heart in two.
Rage filled him as he found the heads of his adoptive family
mounted on spears outside of their home. Grief filled him for days
and slowly turned to rage. He called out to the Holy Twins and
begged guidance in his time of need. Being gods of retribution, the
Twins heard his calls of revenge against the Heldring, but denied
him his prayers for reasons that escaped him and left him further
bewildered and sick within his heart and soul. It is believed that
the Gods sensed evil in his designs and a darkness in his heart
that only purity and penance could provide. Thus they bade him
eschew his shield and armor and tasked him take time upon the
hermit path until he could once again see with a pure eye and
resolute heart.
Their instruction only brought him greater rage. Their holy
words fell upon deaf ears. How could the Gods of Justice and
Retribution deny him his vengeance against the wild horde that
had butchered such small and goodly folk? Where was the justice
that their clergy preached upon? He began to see that all he had
been told before were merely hollow lies. The truth was that the
world was a brutal place whose Lost Lands were soaked in the
blood of innocence. Resolute in his calls for vengeance he turned
his back on the heavens and sought guidance from the lords below.
It was then that Horgrim, a war prince of Hell appeared to him and
answered his dark prayers. Horgrim bade the knight kneel before
him and offered him the sacraments of The prince instructed him
to forge a new weapon from his faith forged blade. Once hammered
into its new unholy countenance he was instructed to temper it
in the blood of his congealed adopted kinsmen. Grimly did he set
about the task, sinking the blade into one and then another of the
corpses of the small folk who had given him so much of their love.
Garo was further trained in grim arts that he had not known.
Horgrim showed him how to dip the heads of his adoptive family
thrice in quicklime and brackish water so that they dried to a
hardened rock. Once finished with these totems of vengeance
Garo affixed them to his harness and set out on the road.
It was in this time that he was forced to tread the roads on
booted feet as his holy steed had long since abandoned him.
No more did he hear the voices of reasoning angels whispering
9
in his ears. Instead his head was filled with dark commands of
vengeance and retribution.
To the south he traveled and everywhere he met the Heldring
he slew them. His new hell blade raised against the horned
Heldring host as he sliced through them all like a scythe cuts
wheat. Limbs, heads, aye even torsos were hacked asunder in
his fury, and naught that the defenders could bring against him
could halt his ferocity. Indeed, the small heads of his adoptive
family encouraged him on as they clacked together like stones
upon his belt. Ever they encouraging him and directed him to
enemy camp after enemy camp.
At last a band of warriors on horseback led by a priest of Thyr
rose against him. They found him not far from the wall, covered in
the blood of villager and warrior alike. Their limbs strewn around
the blood stained yards of cottage and barn. Great was the battle
that was waged as they stood against him ten to one. He nearly
prevailed, carving five of his former order to pieces while he was
pierced by as many lances. When at last he could heave the foul
sword no more the priest cut away the lace of his helm and placed
hands of sacrament upon the once kindly hero separating for a
moment the connection between dark god and its worldly servant.
Aye, it was in that moment that Sir Garo realized true horror.
For the thrice soaked heads of his adoptive kin had led him astray.
He stared through the mist of gore and horror to at last see what
had been wrought. Before him strewn upon the village yard were
none other than innocent folk. Not Heldring at all and certainly
not raiders. Instead they were his kinsmen of Foere, those who
he had once sworn oaths to protect. Murdered by his own bloody
hand and assisted by the wicked hell blade he had forged.
In that moment he nodded and accepted his fate, his soul
swallowed down into Abbadon.
It is said that Prince Horgrim allows his release from the pit from
time to time where he stalks the fringes of the land, laying waste
to villages as he ever seeks vengeance against those who slew his
adoptive family. Perhaps he sits among us at this very hour.

10
11
 Oracle of Muir
“I once sailed the wide blue ocean to the Sangre Sea. It is the land
of the Alcadar,” a cloaked mercenary said from among the throng.
The crowd murmured a bit but settled down to hear his telling of
the lands of far of Libynos.
Upon arrival I learned quickly that the rules are strict among the
Alcadar and their crusaders for they only accept the Holy Twins as
gods and foreswear all others, including those of friendly faiths. In
their land the Holy Sister is considered the highest of all gods, with
her brother, the keeper of law being second. I would not speak of
faith and such things had I not seen how rigid their structure and
how the desire to spread their faith seems at odds with the ways
in which they are practiced in the West, amongst the Foerdwaith
of Akados.
A voice from the crowd grunted. “Get to the point man. Is this a
tale or a sermon?”
“All sermons are tales friend,” the stranger replied as he
continued. “As some of you know, the royal family of the Alcaldar
have taken possession of the Channel Lakes of far off Lybnos and
built the Holy City of San Caseo there. From this ecclesiastical
kingdom they wage war against those natives who do not accept
the faith of the Holy Twins. Ever do they expand their empire
and their inquisition against all that their particular version of
the gospel as the true faith. It is not a land to find oneself accused
of heresy.
“I was in the service of the Blackfinger’s Brigade. We were hired
by their queen to prevent an insurrection in lands previously
conquered by her knights. It was rumored that the land we were
being deployed to was haunted by demons and had once been
ruled by those in the western empires call Oni, and the Foerdwaith
call Ogre Mages. When I asked about recruiting mages or priests
to handle the supposed threat I was first met with scowls and
admonishment by our hosts who directed me the Holy Temple
of San Caseo where I was further instructed to take a pilgrimage
where my answers would be found.
In the center of Lake Cardona in the interior of their holdings
is a hidden isle where dwells their Oracle. The Oracle of the Holy
Sister in this land is possibly the most powerful woman in all the
12
realm beside the Holy Queen in San Caseo herself. Those who
would seek wisdom and knowledge from their goddess must
make a pilgrimage on barges of cypress to her holy island.
From the landing on the island we were brought horses and
bid ride along the shores of the lake to a strange ruin of a gate
made from unearthly materials that is referred to by the locals
as the Gates of Heaven. I would question what heaven they refer
to as the ground around the gate glows with a hellish fire. The
guides for the pilgrimage stop at this spot yet urge seekers
forward insisting that they will await your return for one day. If
you do not return they can assume that you were unworthy of
the knowledge of the goddess.
When we asked about the flames, the guides merely insisted
that the flames are there to burn away any impurities that may
remain within one who seeks audience with the oracle. We girded
ourselves and pushed forward. The flames were hot as any fire
I have encountered, and the horses were unfazed. One among
our party was purified, for he began to scream as we crossed the
threshold and burst into hot ash and was no more. The horse
was unmarked.” The speaker shuddered a bit at this retelling but
continued his tale.
“At last we arrived at the temple tower which is carved from
the plundered stones of the other temples that the Alcaldar have
thrown down in the name of the goddess. It is a tall tower structure
unlike any other to have been built in her name so far to the east
that is still standing. The outer walls are are carved with images of
13
the Blessed Avenger who with her brother once cast the fallen one
into the Abyss and ended the ancient war of the gods that shaped
these Lost Lands.
The inside of the temple is dark and illuminated only by the light
of many white candles. The candles cover almost every surface
and their wax pours freely to the floor. They are in alcoves and
at the foundations of the pillars which hold up the great ceiling
of the marble dome whose oculus reveals the firmament of the
heavens above.
Visitors to the oracle are stopped outside of the place by a priest
who is attended by what I assume were holy paladins sworn
to oaths of silence. Here pilgrims are expected to strip down to
simple robes as are worn by the hermits of Thyr and hand over a
donation to the upkeep and construction of the temple. Odd that
gods need gold is it not? No matter.
Once inside we were told to crawl on our hands and knees across
the length of the nave and prostrate ourselves before the oracle
who crouched at the sanctuary where she speaks in tongues and
mumbles her strange prophecies. The oracle is a young woman
no more than twenty and bears a striking resemblance to the
Holy Queen of San Caseo and was like as not the model for the
many statues of the Blessed Avenger which adorn the sanctuary.
She is flanked by a pair of guardians girded in thick steel. Each

14
15
has a candle affixed to the top of his helm, and like the statuary
and the bases of the columns they are covered in rivers of wax
that has poured down them. The guardians stand unmoving, like
statues themselves leaning on their great swords in a state of
guarded readiness.
I chanced to glance up at her and saw that her eyes seemed
to dart about in her head, and that her pupils were so wide you
could not tell for the life of you if there was any color in them at
all. I quickly averted my gaze from hers lest she decide that I had
offended the purity of our meeting in some manner.”
“What question did you ask of the goddess,” asked the host,
leaning forward in his chair of skins and bones, his grizzled chin
against his fist.
“I asked her if we would need arcanists to defeat the demon
haunted lands of the Ogre Magi. He moaned and shifted on her
feet as she crouched. Her guardians like statues did not move.
You could hear the wax running down their cased armor as they
stood and she wailed before finally she replied that we would be
defeated. Not because we needed arcanists to fight on our behalf,
but because our resolve was weak, and that we had not been
baptized in the faith. She told me that I would see a sign in the
midst of battle and by following the sign I would survive and rescue
half of my own troops, but I would retire from the battlefield in
defeat. I asked her what this sign would be, and she told me that If
I uttered a prayer to the avenging angel that it would be answered
and only then would I understand the power of the goddess in this
hell torn land.
I was taken aback by the prophecy but again, I was unsure of what
to believe. Religious zealotry is a powerful tool for controlling both
mind, body and spirit. I bid my thanks to the oracle and backed out
of the room as I was told and we returned to our boat and I set to
organizing my troops for the coming invasion of the ogre lands. “
“And her vision?”
“She was right you know. The ogre magi were thick with trolls and
lesser ogres of a sort unique to the continent of Libynos. Thinner
and more agile, more heavily armored than those of Akados were
these. Better marshalled due to the enchanters’ power of the
Ogre Magi who commanded them. Our superior numbers meant
nothing. When my troop was about to be over-run I did as I had
been told and held my men by their shoulders and called upon the
avenging angels.
16
 Almost instantly a female figure of fire and light appeared
upon the battlefield and began carving into the enemies who
surrounded us. Another appeared to our rear and cleared a path
for our retreat. Their sizzling blades cut to and fro laying low the
lithe ogres and rending their armor asunder with each swing of
their flaming blades. To this day I do not know if they truly were
angels, or devils summoned from the pits of hell. It matters not.
Some of my men survived.
The queen of San Caseo’s own troops eventually took the day,
though at great loss to their own order.
I was branded by the inquisition of San Caseo and deemed a
coward. We were put aboard a vessel and dropped off on these
shores. I thank the true gods that I am alive. That I know. What I
do know is that it is no part of cowardice on my behalf, but I do not
wish to visit the lands of the Zealot Queen again.”
“Indeed,” nodded the host. “Sorcery and the play of the gods
may often steal the day, or save it. If you survived the battle
count yourself a victor, even if it was not your company that
won the banner from the opposing host. Luckily there is no
inquisition here. Only drink, meat, and good company. Thank
you for your tale.”
The speaker nodded, his eyes haunted by the telling of his tale,
he took his seat, and with it a deep draft from his flagon.

17
 The Hag
The gruff straw haired giant behind the bar looked out at the folk
gathered around log pit of the long house. Night had settled in and
the slit hole in the sky showed a glimpse of starlight and the glow
of the moons as its backdrop. Mercenaries, wheelwrights, and
others pulled deeply from their mugs or puffed absently at their
pipes, their faces glowing red as the embers of the fire. He caught
his doorman’s gaze and the cruel faced fellow stepped outside to
check the gates and secure the compound for the night.
He poured several flagons of ale for the girls to pass out among
the guests and turned the bar over to a dwarf who stepped out of
the kitchen, and with a jug of black lightning for himself he moved
to his chair of skin and bones at the head of the fire and sat down.
“My friend,” he said, his voice deep and mirthful. “Tis a beautiful
night out here on the edge of the Abyss. Please sir regale us with
a tale.”
A figure seated in shadow to the left of the host, strummed a
lute, tuning as he did. A sliver of moonlight lit through the smoke
slit in the roof as he cleared his throat lighting his green eyes like a
cat in the night. The crowd turned their heads to his corner of the
hall as he began to speak.

18
 ***
Deep in the forest there dwells an old crone. Her cottage in
darkness is made of mossy green stone. Her weed covered yard
is surrounded by a fence made of bones. The cottage itself has
a roof made of thatch. Smoke rising from the stone chimney is
putrid and black. The filthy old house sits next to an old well
with water so deep that it runs straight to hell. The water is icy
and tastes just like blood. A single coppery sip creates quite a
stir for the drinker soon forgets who they were.
Within the strange cottage a cauldron does bubble, and
stirring the pot stands the crone with her chin full of stubble.
Behind her on a rope hang the hands of the dead, murderers,
politicians, and thieves it is said. All around her are shelves
filled with bottles of potions and heads in large jars.
Candles are lit as she croons her devotions. To dark gods and
demons, and devils, and fiends. Your heart fills with ice at the
sight of this scene.
As the pot boils the crone she does churn, stirring in batwings
and unguents as the holly logs burn. Her fingers are clawed and
her spine is all bent. Her warty nose bends to the brew and
takes up its scent. With a grin she pours forth something new
in to her stew, your hair stands on end as her yellow eyes turn
to you.
“Welcome,” she says, “To the house of the crone. My fence
needs mended and I could use some of your bones. Shall I take
a leg or an arm to shore up my gate? Grant me a choice, can you
lend me your hand? Your brain or your heart may provide meat
for my stew. It tastes somewhat bland but I’m a fair old hag so
the choice is up to you.
Now don’t bother to run, you know It’s too late. When you
entered my yard you sealed your own fate. A cackling laugh
then slipped from her lips as she hissed, “Come now my dear,
come give us a kiss!”
And there you fell dead, wrapped in death’s wedded bliss.
So beware you travelers in the forests at night, if you find the
old cottage run for your life. Dare not look back if you feel the
hound’s breath at your neck, just run even harder to escape
unholy death. Find safe harbor however you may, let the star
of Arialee light your way. Keep your feet moving quick till you
get to a door with a silvered lintel to keep her at bay. With four

19
walls around you stay awake until dawn, and pray to your gods
that the Hag and her host are long gone.
Now drink deeply my friends this is all but a tale. At the
Roadhouse there are many to enjoy with your ale. With that
I pass my oration time to another. A different story perhaps?
Something funny or clever?

20
The Steadfast God
Another of the crowd spoke up then. A pious man dressed
in the robes and adorned with the markings of a traveling
war-priest. His tabard was of simple linen, with spear cased
in lightning embroidered upon his breast. The chain hauberk
beneath that tabard was well oiled and utilitarian.
“If we are all going to tell our tales of gods and men, let us not
forget the War of the Gods which shaped these lands and left
behind so many gates to the underworld from which so much
evil tends to creep.”
“Preach on, your holiness,” said the host. “For though my own
patron is a dismissive and lustful god, I have fought alongside the
followers of yours and I have been humbled by their bravery.”
So the speaker began.
“Lo how the master of the unclaimed dead and his conspirator
did convince dark hearted Hades the Uncaring to pierce the
veil between the mortal realm and the Abyss, for only one as
powerful of one of the true ancients could do so. What promises
they made to the god of the underworld is unknown, but open
the portal he did.
Through the rift poured hordes of demons. At first they
appeared as no more than a massive howling blob of putrid

21
flesh. From this mass leapt things of nightmare. First flew forth
things that crawled and flew with wings and legs of buzzing
insects, dripping venom and raw hatred. Next were things
that seemed mixed with serpents and the forms of men as
well as rawboned forms of the truly wretched souls that had
found themselves collected by the Lord of the Unclaimed Dead.
Creatures of darkness in waves that spread forth from the rift
and spread across the lands of mortals.
Their wicked masters lashed them forward as the holy three
marshalled their forces against them in a head on counter
assault. Dark hearted Hades saw an opening that the Demon
Princes did not and set his gaze upon the throne of the heavens
itself. With a wave of Bident, the Fork of the Underworld he
directed his enslaved generals and their massed horde against
the walls of Heaven itself.
Vinnithu, girded in his gleaming armor of gilt and argent
locked his feet as an immovable defender before the First
Gate of the High Heavens. It was there that he stood strong
against the oncoming wave of chaos. Hurling thunderbolt after
thunderbolt from the tip of his mighty spear. He laid waste to
legions of giants and demons as they strove against the high
bastions of the Heavens that he and his father had built as
home to the great gods.
Angered at his temerity, the immortal giants Prophyrion,
Mimas the Charred, and Pallas the Flayed were sent against
the steadfast guardian. Seeing the imminent doom of his son,
Anumon, Keeper of the Gates prepared to seal the Vault of the
Firmament, trapping the gods in the mortal realm and cutting
mortals off from the grace of the Heaven forever.
Vinnithu struck Pallas a mighty blow with his spear, hurtling the
bleeding giant back to the underworld. The guardian’s skill was
not enough to defend against tandem assaults of the ever-shifting
spirit of Prophyrion however. Nor could he stand the fiery fists of
Mimas forever. Lord Anumon saw this and let out a call to aid his
struggling son. Time was fast drawing to a close and the end of
creation was much closer than any would have thought.
It was then that the dragon Argyrios dove down from the high
heavens and caught Prophyrion in his jaws, dragging the many-
faced giant from Vinnathu. Argyrios tore at the giant as its form
shifted and swirled attempting to find purchase against the
tearing claws and clenching jaws of the mirror scaled savior.
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 The dragon’s ferocious assault allowed the god of the breach
the opportunity to duel Mimas equally. Blows were struck
by each that caused the seas to churn and the mountains to
shudder. Vinnathu’s armor was rent and blasted with the
unholy fire of Mimas, though his spear stabbed the giant
through thigh and rib. Lava flowed from its wounds and the
stench of his charred flesh touched the noses of the angels
who manned the walls against the horde of evil. At last he
landed a blow through Mimas’s jaw, impaling the beast’s head
upon it and threw him bodily from the Stair of Ascendance
where he landed with a splash in one of the worlds great seas,
turning it instantly to desert.
Even so, the demons rushed onward, bolstered by the armies
of the unclaimed dead. Hades reached into the pits of Tartarus
and withdrew even greater terrors as he set free blind titans
with promises of freedom from their chains should they aid
the cause. Everywhere creatures of good and evil trembled
as they began to climb free from the pit. Anumon stood with
his fingers clutched at the key. The goddess of retribution
herself bled freely from multiple wounds, and fought bare
handed against the host. Her sword had been struck from
her hand by the Wand of Orcus and lay gleaming not far
from the scar that Hades had torn in the fabric of reality.

The steadfast guardian spied the blade and called out to the
Lord of Justice to claim the blade before all was lost. Thyr
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heeded Vinnathu’s call and hefted the gleaming blade, driving
it into the very flesh of the universe that the immortals
strove to control. The ensuing blast of holy power shattered
the connection between the abyss and the mortal realm and
fractured Hades’s gate. The ripple was felt from the kingdoms
of hell to the walls of heaven. Sensing their moment, even the
devils formed a quick pact with one another and set upon the
demons pouring from the abyss as the demon lords retreated
to their own realms of chaos. That unholy battle however, shall
remain untold.
With his connection to the abyss severed Orcus was cast
down once again and his allies made their retreat from the field
of battle. Mountains were raised above him and a prison was
fashioned in an attempt to keep the lord of the unclaimed dead
from rising again.
Their work done the gods retreated to their various realms,
and have yet to walk among us in their true forms again. Hades
returned to his realm where he broods over his failure. His
giants stalk the edges of his realm, licking their wounds and
awaiting another chance to storm the walls of heaven. For his
part the Steadfast God keeps his post at the foot of his father’s
mighty gates. He sees to those worthy souls worthy are accepted
into the high heavens and maintains a vigilant guard over the
universe so that the walls of the heavens are ever protected
against the lords of chaos and the princes of hell.

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Tales from the Roadhouse, Volume I is a collection of short stories that
take place in the Lost Lands fantasy role playing games setting.
Tales from the Roadhouse showcases the artistic talents of
Santa Norvaisaite and Adrian Landeros two up and coming artists
in the field of fantasy art.
The Roadhouse, a waystation on the edge of darkness is managed by a
surly owner whose own history is as shrouded in mystery as the
origins of his stead. Tales are told here at the behest of the proprietor
who is entertained by the stories of adventurers and travelers that seek
safe haven at his hearth. All are welcome in Dirty Bowbe’s Roadhouse
so long as they mind their manners and be ready to share their tale
for the amusement of the host.
Tales from the Roadhouse is the first product to utilize the Lost Lands
Commercial License™ and tells tales flavored by material flavored
by the forthcoming World of the Lost Lands™ setting book from
Frog God Games™.

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