Games Logs

The afternoon air carries the acrid smell of singed hair as Arrigal stands before them, wounded and seething. The Vistani’s face twists with

The table groans under the weight of the feast—thick wolf steaks still sizzling, rich stew sending up clouds of savory steam, earthy mushroo

The final scarecrow crumples to the ground, its burlap skin torn and leaking straw. The friends stand breathing hard in the dim afternoon li

Madame Wachter needs a full day to prepare her husband’s body for transport, which leaves the friends with an unexpected gift: time, and poc

The golden gleam catches Biblo’s eye as he stares at the massive pile of coins before us. Each disc bears the same haunting imagery—Strahd’s

The cemetery air hangs thick with mist and the smell of wet earth. Ancient headstones lean at drunken angles through the fog, their weathere

The acrid smell of undeath fills the chapel as Ratrick gropes in the fog to find his adopted son. Finally, his hand discovers young Ilya’s c

The battle in the fog continues. Nike can hear Ratrick, somewhere in the mists, screaming Ilya’s name. The boy lay somewhere, hidden from vi

08/19/2025. Tuesday Curse of Strahd game log. The Battle of the Revenants Begins.

Bored, Shifty opens the north door from the Great Hall, revealing a ruined office, its dark wood panels warped and scarred by age and abuse.

The ancient stones of Argynvost’s Great Hall echo with footsteps as the party spreads out, restless after the battle with the shadow demons.

The ancient stone walls of Argynvostholt’s great hall stretch upward into darkness, where something sinister catches the sharp eyes of the g

The acrid taste of failure burns as Zilk watches his psychic connection with the shadow demon dissolve into nothing. His attempts at peace h

The party approached the ancient structure with measured caution. Biblo led the way up the crumbling stone steps, his ratfolk senses alert f

The group overnight, recovering from the scrum with the cursed revenant. Their sleep is fragmented, their bodies and gear cold and wet. Shifty huddles deeper into his threadbare cloak, shivering because no fire could be kindled in the damp wood. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, dark circles rimming his eyes, is Ratrick, who sits staring into space with hollow eyes. The wet has seeped into their bones, making every movement a discomfort.

The party rises at dawn, a haze of rain filtering through the trees as they pack their belongings and head west. The morning air carries a chill that warns of changing weather as they approach the Lun River Bridge.