Games Logs

Wizards of the Coast. The Dark Gifts. Digital illustration. Curse of Strahd, WotC, 2016. Hall of the Amber Sarcophagi The East Hall of the Amber Sarcophagi smells of damp stone and something older, sharper underneath — caused, possibly by the divine things that have been imprisoned within for a very long time. Behind one of the chamber doors, the sounds are extraordinary: crashing, roaring, the shriek of something that might be female or might be the sound stone makes when it

Soulfire, Nike, and Crystal face the newly hostile nothic together. It glares at them with its single enormous eye, the air between them gone suddenly sharp. Soulfire casts Dragon’s Breath on Nike, wreathing them in crackling potential — a lightning cone ready to be exhaled should the situation demand it. Crystal doesn’t wait. She unleashes Scorching Ray, bolt after bolt connecting with searing precision. The nothic crumbles, smoldering, and moves no more. The group regard

In the blink of an eye, Fekre is gone. One moment she stands before them — tattered gown, closed eyes, the wire crown pressed into pale

The shelves of the Great Library climb upward into darkness, tier after tier of arcane curiosities vanishing into the vaulted ceiling high a

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

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

The mewling from behind the door is unsettling—something between a whimper and a keen, echoing off the stone walls of the hall. Zilk sucks t

The rest of the night passes without incident, though the cold seeps through even the warmth radiating from Crystal’s portable forge. The ch

The party barely has time to catch their breath before the attack comes. The two massive shapes emerge from the swirling snow—abominable ye

The deafening bellow of the great roc tears through the mountain air. The massive creature banks hard, its shadow darkening the bridge as it

High above the blazing Wall of Fire that burns above the Tsolenka Pass, Ratrick smolders, wisps of smoke curling from his singed fur. The ac

On the evening before they expect to reach the Tsolenka Pass, the companions bid their elderly elvish visitor a warm good night, watching as

The party stirs as dawn breaks over the shattered bones of the minotaur skeleton. Fifteen days—that’s all the time they have to reach the Am

Dim light seeps through the stained glass windows that tower over the long dining table in the Great Hall of the Abbey. The scent of wood

The Abbot’s weeping gradually subsides into ragged sniffling. When he finally lifts his head, his pale eyes are red-rimmed and distant, focu

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