Games Logs

The two hags close on Vincent, easily a head and a half taller than him, close enough that he can feel the ground tremble faintly with each step. "Where is the child? Why is she not with you?" Vincent has little to offer them — a girl glimpsed once, at a distance, through a haze of bad wine and unfamiliar company. "I really don't know," he tells them. "I didn't even know the people I was traveling with." The hags withdraw, hissing to each other. The larger of the two — Morg

The cliffside radiates heat through Diro’s shoes and he realizes his proximity to the salamander is causing his skin to become pink and scalded. The air between himself and the creature is shimmering with heat haze, just like the air over river of lava, far below. Realizing he is burning, Diro retreats downward, followed by his stand. The salamander watches him with patient contempt and only half-heartedly slashes at Diro and his stand, missing them widely. It slithers int

In the thin, cold light of morning, Vistani and guests mill around the remains of last night’s wine-soaked celebration of Viktor’s life and mourning of his passing. Even the fire seems wan and sickly. A pale Berlioz approaches Dag as the group packs up to head back. “One of your number left in the night. The small one — a gnome? We warned him to wait, but he left going west. I suppose he is able to see at night. May the gods watch over him!” Dag nods, and turns to go, but t

In an attempt at leaving, the truck rolls through the carnival lot toward Vali, pursued by what amounts to the business end of the Nine Hells: three spiny devils and two horned devils are now approach at speed, and a barlgura freed from its recent captivity, loping across the cinders on its knuckles with real aggression. Somewhere behind all of it, the pit fiend former captor of the barlgura, watches. He is patient, waiting for the distance between himself and the truck to cl

The Ulrich Mansion settles with creaks and sighs, the buzzing of insects stifled by its thick walls. The party rests on musty straw mattresses in the abandoned guards' quarters, trying to recover strength and arcane energy. Four in the afternoon becomes six becomes dusk. Pinecone, who took the worst of the ghast's attention at the churchyard burial of Maartin, is finally resting comfortably but still very weak. He noses at Soulfire's hand and settles onto the bed besi

The party climbs the forested shoulder of Mt. Strixhaven, the volcano Alistir insists, with mounting and increasingly suspicious enthusiasm, is perfectly safe. No one has yet explained why a perfectly safe volcano requires this many signs reading DANGER, NO ADMITTANCE, RESTRICTED, and KEEP OUT. Alister assures them that these signs are only to keep out those who have no actual business in the caves. “This place,” Alister says confidently, “is perfectly safe.” Sweating and

The fire at the Vistani camp burns low for Viktor. Danika holds her cup without drinking much of it. Dag and Violet Robin drink in the measured way of people pacing themselves through a long night. Zzizix touches nothing stronger than water. Vincent Yeager touches everything within reach, and by the time Madam Eva shuffles out to sit by the flames, he is well past the point of walking straight. The old woman studies Zzizix first. He meets her stare and finds nothing in the a

Moving past the pole where the watcher-eye hung, the group finds a rotted plank leaning against a moss-covered rock. Something tattered and black hangs from it. As they draw closer, the shape resolves — the dead body of a large raven, nailed to the wood, wings pinned wide. Soulfire casts Detect Magic and feels strong transmutation magic radiating from the bird, and something darker still — a heavy pulse of subjugation magic from the nail itself, which she realizes now is g

Rain comes, a few drips at first and then all at once, hammering the deck of the Bright Lady in gray sheets. The small keelboat groans against the swells. Her captain, a weathered man named Keeler stands fixed at the bow beside a mounted ballista-like device he adjusts with a large wrench. Water sluices from his braided beard onto his waxed cloak. The only other crew member, Jeeter Beeching, is a younger man, tanned and clean-shaven. He directs the party up the gangplank

The big top empties in a hurry to escape the rapidly spreading inferno— even the pit fiend doesn't linger for an encore. At the top of the bleachers, Kiki slits the canvas with her dagger and slips out through the hole rather than fight the panicked bottleneck at the entrance. Inside the burning tent, the barlgura is still eating whatever weaker infernal it can reach. What's left of the crowd spills into the oven-heat of the Maladomini fairgrounds: a gang of horned devils,

The big top empties in a hurry — even the pit fiend doesn't linger for an encore. Kiki slits the canvas with her dagger and slips out through the hole rather than fight the panicked bottleneck at the entrance. Inside the burning tent, the barlgura is still eating whatever weaker infernals it can reach. What's left of the crowd spills into the oven-heat of the Maladomini fairgrounds: a gang of horned devils, a pair of spiny devils, a smoke mephit drifting in their wake, and

Something in the air feels wrong not long before they cross the bridge over the Luna River. Friedrich trots behind the horses, watching the towering back of his master Krelldutt, who rides with the smaller dwarf, Torgan, seated in front of him. Then he slows. A scent catches him from the north, and the dog circles behind Krelldutt’s mount, spooking the horse as a growl begins deep in his chest. He barks explosively at the tree line. The riders rein in their mounts, squintin

Under the big top, the tail-coated ringmaster sweeps into view wearing an outrageous hat, purple shot through with black. Its two bells jingle, throwing off faint silvery sparks with every toss of his head. Gearloose squints at it, thinking the sparks look almost like insects, swarming and settling in the same breath. Vali does the same, tilting his broad orc head, and between the two of them the verdict comes back clear: this is no cheap prop. Whatever the ringmaster is wear

Rampart lies on the common-room couch with an ice pack pressed above one tusk, the bruise beneath it already gone deep purple-black. Someone has draped a blanket over him that doesn't quite reach his feet. Alternate KFC finds him there. "Looks like somebody had an adventure," she says, and her tone tries for light and lands somewhere else entirely. "I didn't want to bother you, hon," Rampart says. "I tried sparring with Diro instead. It didn't work out." A beat. "It was two

The road to Tser Falls has proven dangerous. From out of the forest emerges a familiar face, its features twisted now with rage and hatred. Sheriff. He was taken by the hags in exchange for passage along the road, back when they carried Ireena toward Ravenloft. Dag ducks, opened by one of Morgantha’s spells and bleeding freely. Sheriff’s blade arcs toward him, and again — whatever the hags have done to him in his time with them, they have granted him no gift for swordplay.

In front of one of the ruined tents of the infernal fairgrounds, canvas rotted to lace and swaying in a wind that smells of scorched sugar, Thunk crouches beside a hellhound and decides the name Adolph no longer suits him. "Your name is TBA now," they announce. The hellhound tilts his burning head, unbothered by the demotion. TBA seems to take the rebranding as an invitation to work. He noses through a heap of bones at the foot of the tent, selects a yellowed skull with the

The party is at the casino, where alternate KFC's and Rampart's wedding has apparently obligated the entire hex to serve as witnesses. Debbie sees the whole thing as a money-making opportunity. "But the House always wins!" alternate KFC points out. "Except when it doesn't," counters Debbie, and unspools her idea to the class valedictorian. Alternate KFC nods and settles into the chair beside her, hoping to play enough hands to guarantee a big win. The card-counting fails s

The road to Berez has turned out to be far more treacherous than anyone bargained for. Mist clings low over the evergreens, and the stench arrives before the creatures do — a thick, rotting sweetness that coats the back of the throat. Two ghasts, gravecallers both, have cornered the party mid-track, their green-grey flesh peeling in strips, their claws black with old blood. In the middle of the chaos, a figure steps quietly from the tree line, unnoticed by all but the trees

The Fire Jolt Café fills its last chairs as Debbie takes her final bow. The set has gone well — well enough that Quintelius corners her before she's finished packing up her gear and offers her a touring slot on the spot. A replacement spot until their regular guitar player can sort out his romantic entanglements. It is a convenient offer. This timeline's Debbie already owns the bus. There is a wedding coming between Rampart and this timeline's KFC. In the stretch of time

The last of the wolves goes down in a wash of fire, Crystal and Abi's spells silencing the pack's howls. Smoke curls off scorched fur and drifts low across the frost-stiffened grass near the windmill, and for a moment nobody speaks — just the tick of embers cooling and the distant creak of the mill's broken sails turning in the wind. They take stock. Packs are checked, blades wiped clean, potions counted against what's left of the road ahead. They set out on a curiously un