West Marches at the Board N Brew

Milo detected another planar anomaly not far south of Tempered Vale, and, knowing what happened at the last planar gate, wanted to investigate right away. He guided the party a little ways into the foothills of the Watershed mountains, to a narrow, secluded box canyon. The planar energy was centered here, but diffuse, difficult to get a bead on, and no gate was apparent. Losing daylight, the party camped down for the night, in the relative luxury of the protective dome conjured by Echo. In the morning, things had changed. The canyon replaced by a cliffside cavern mouth, the snowy tundra landscape by a vast, featureless ocean. With little option, the party ventured deeper into the cave, and came upon a set of doors in limestone and green marble, adorned with bas-relief carvings of animals, monsters, and a stylized fountain icon. In an odd dialect of Celestial, Summerchild was able to read the inscription: Seekers of truths If you wish to learn my temple’s secrets First tell me you...

Outside tempered veil, there was a small yurt. Smoke plumed from the center, thick and dark in the cold weather. Inside an elderly human woman dressed in heavy furs with vibrant hair and steely eyes sat across a large campfire from a burly half-orc with a somewhat irritated expression on his face. “Meema, is this really necessary?” “Boy, you might have taken yer mother’s name, but that don’t make you no less my grandson, y’ hear me?” “Sure, but I ain’t some sorta tribal bandit-huntin’ warrior like you!” “Yer right. Ways I hears it, you hunt the undead an’ punch necer-whatsits instead.” “Not on purpose! I Jus’ thought there’d be some interestin’ wood near wherebout’s they was adventurin’. B’sides, weren’t like I were jus’ gonna stand by when folk needed help.” “Exactly! Yer a fighter, Grognak! It’s in yer blood and it’s high-times you acknowledged it an’ got blooded like yer pappy and yer granpappy afore you.” Grognak gave a resigned sigh. “Fine.” “Right. Now, didja make...

News of a giant harassing the village of Conyberry had spread, causing concern for the townsfolk. Seven of us set out from Tempered Vale: Aoris, Grognak, Mermur, Sedai, Tor, XIII, and myself.  When we got to town I followed the group to the local tavern, where we learned that the giant, known as Ergont to himself and Grizzleguts to the villagers, was being given offerings of food in return for leaving. Especially troubling in times like these, when supplies can be hard to come by.  Also troubling was the disappearance of a local hunter, Harlon Means, who was expected back from a hunt some time ago.  Aoris needed to resupply before we left and purchased a haunch of meat from a suspect butcher and a barrel of ale.  He is truly dedicated to his stomach. We set out from Conyberry along the east road, as a herd of caribou had been seen nearby.  If the townsfolk were hungry for caribou, perhaps the giant would be as well?  Besides, the tracks would make it ea...

Tulgey marched purposefully into the Grumley & Amberwash , hopped up on a stool, and set down his bag of alchemy supplies on the counter with a gentle clink of glass. “Good morning, my fine friend!” he called to the small figure in the back of the cramped little potion shop. “I’m here to procure the use of some of your equipment while I’m in town. I trust you’ll find my guild papers are in order.” With a flourish, he slapped down his letter of introduction, on filigreed Baldur’s Gate Guildhall letterhead. “I’ll just need some fresh subliming pots, and a larger alembic, if you have one. What temperature does your athanor run at in this weather?" He folded his hands on the counter in front of him and smiled expectantly. Filtwish Amberwash climbed up onto a stool opposite and squinted at Tulgey over his pince-nez spectacles. He seemed to scan the tree sap-stiffened mohawk and scalp tattoos with disapproval as he picked up the letter and unfolded it. Seeming not to notice, Tul...

Thirteenth of First Seed, 836 P.S. Halfling monk Mojo, the warlocks Echo and Sweet Summerchild, the druid Tulgey and new roguish tabaxi ally XIII, followed rumours of some kind of combat arena recently built in the woods south of Drellin’s Ferry. It was well-attended, hosting a ladder of challenges called The Gauntlet , and the mysterious “Lady Dagger” was involved in the management. Eager to test their skill (and to get close to the figure linked to the Reavers of Wrath kidnappings) , the party signed up under the team name of The Paper Street Soap Company . The Hateful Eight The floor of the arena was manipulated by a druid to form different terrain, trap, and obstacle features. Eight goblins made use of the plentiful cover, but were dispatched quickly. Daemon Daemonium The terrain was mostly cleared, save for a row of chevaux de frise style spiked barriers. A horde of maw demons rushed the party. They could deal out some major damage, but were relatively easy to hit, and th...

Milo, Tulgey, and Grognak approached the kennels under the light of a sickle moon. Grog opened his mouth to speak 'soft-like'. "Why, didja reckon, we need a scrap of yonder 'hounds fur?" Milo winced, but Tulgy spoke up softly. "Magic. Seeking magic, like what's in a compass, except we're not trying to find north." "I's heard that you needin a bit of the dog which bit yah, after you drank from the jug o' moonshine. Liken this ta that?" Tulgy breathed in and was about to launch a long explanation into how a beasts nature was tucked away in so much as a whisker, but Milo touched his shoulder and cut in. "Precisely, like that." He gestured at the kennel ahead, "Want to keep a watch out while we do our thing?" Grognak nodded and Milo and Tulgey crept across the street. As they approached, one of the dogs lifted its head and eyed the approaching strangers. A low growl left his throat and Milo and Tulgey hal...

So che è passato un po 'di tempo da quando abbiamo parlato, e ci sono alcuni problemi irrisolti tra noi, ma sento il bisogno di dirti alcune cose. Gli elfi della collina di Starsong sono spariti .Dove, non posso dire, sembrano essersi lasciati qualche tempo fa. Cose immonde perseguitano la loro casa ora, e sembrano essere alla ricerca di qualcosa. Ancora una volta, non so che cosa. Ricorda, zio, come siamo arrivati qui? Da allora ho percepito le crepe nella realtà e li ho cercati. Ne ho trovati molti e non portano a casa, ma in altri posti. Ricordo la sensazione che provavo quando siamo venuti qui. L'ho sentito di nuovo, anche se è diverso. Qualcosa è venuto in questo mondo. Non posso dire che cosa. Te lo dico perché credo tu debba sapere. Non saremo mai al sicuro, non qui, non da nessuna parte. La Vale ha bisogno del Cazzo. Qualunque cosa tu pensi che io penso a te zio, sappiate questo: sei stato un uomo buono. So che è la verità, è solo difficile per me credere. ...