Games Logs

Being in the bathroom of the Hag’s Arms has become, against all reasonable expectation, being part of a command center. Thunk is the first t

When Exethanter finally retires, retreating into the silence of his quarters with the slow, shuffling certainty of a man who has lived too l

The office is close and warm. The soup on the long table has stopped steaming. Murgaxor sits behind it, watching the Hexmates with flat, unr

The Amber Temple settles into quiet. The flame skull that had been harassing Rakthe withdraws, vanishing into the darkness, and the oppressive silence of the temple reasserts itself. Vilnius is dead. His mummified remains lie near the entrance to the chamber — skin tight and leathery over the bones beneath, pocked and discolored from whatever illness had been eating him long before his final moments. He crumbles wherever he is touched, fragments of him dropping to the marble

The next day, the group decides they need to do a little more shopping before they leave for the Caves of Lost Things. Avoiding the Infernal

The air in the library sits thick and cold, carrying the faint smell of ancient stone and something older beneath it — dust, old parchment,

As the truck rolls slowly up to the Hag’s Arms, a landmark in the land of Malbolge, the massive, mummified limb that gives the tavern its na

Torgan stomps out of the new Burgomaster's office into the rain, leaving Dunlar bewildered behind him, pondering the newcomers choices. Torg

On the floor of the Great Hall, Biblo is confronted by the arcanaloth, Neferon. “Exethanter, the lich, wants to see me?” The dragonborn gulps and regards the creature who stands before him. Some sort of infernal, Biblo guesses, looks jackal-like. With tawny fur, a bushy tail and a foxy face, Neferon’s odd, coppery eyes have horizontal slits for pupils. They are jagged, like a lightning bolt. He regards Biblo with an inscrutable expression. ”What does the lich want of me?”

The truck’s engine idles with a low, greasy rumble as the group clocks the malephant. Seven eyes. All of them pointed at the vehicle. Seve

The cold iron key hangs on the wall like a wound, and Alister stands near it, close enough that the proximity registers as a low, persistent

A functionary — one of a nameless army of administrative devils that the City of Tantlin seems to have — summons the group and delivers their assignment with the brisk inefficiency. The party is to travel to the Cave of Lost Things and retrieve an item. Their transport: a dog sled, paid for by the group and added to their debt, will be drawn by hellhounds. Six will be tethered to their transport, and one — the lead — will be running free as a guide for the sled dogs and guard

The dining room is warm with the illusion of plenty. The long table groans beneath an impossible spread — roasted meats glistening with imag

Chase Stone. Erebos, Bleak-Hearted [Digital image] . Wizards of the Coast, 2020. The party greets the morning with something close to relief. Eight hours have passed without the ground swallowing them, without ambush, without catastrophe. Borark is mended — or mended enough — and that, in Malbolge, counts as a victory worth celebrating. They take a moment to acknowledge it before the dull orange sky reminds them where they are. Kiki fires up the truck. The engine turns over

“So you have decided to go back to 1487. “Sigurd sets down his wrench and leans against the Witherbloom sink he has been repairing. “I appre