Games Logs

What is left of the taproom of the Hag’s Arm has seen better decades. Kiki flings a Web spell into the churning mass of devils still stan

The librarian — cheerful, oblivious, and armed with an enormous key — locks the doors to the restricted section of the Biblioplex without a

The great hag’s house moves with a rolling gait in wide circles as Duster waits. Its great chicken legs carry the structure back and forth

The plan had seemed sound enough, right up until the moment it wasn’t. Arman, wearing the face and form of the nightmare shepherd Lawrenc

The cellar of the Ship’s Prow smells of brimstone and mildew. The boarded door is still holding — barely — and from behind it, the voice of

Krelldutt and his group hold their position at the top of the stairs, hidden from the druids’ sight. Blinsky crouches low, tugging at Krelld

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

The party faces a choice: pay one scrip for a bunk in the dormitory, or sleep outside in the freezing Stygian air. Most of them pay. Those who don't spend the night on the ice, with the exception of Lynx, suffer for it. Morning finds them exhausted. Some nights in Hell are like that. At dawn, one of the sled's hellhounds pads up to Krasnyy with a leather pouch hanging beneath its chin. Inside: a letter from Proctor Azurath. He has taken the liberty of arranging transport t

The afternoon passes slowly at the Martikov camp. The family is damp and tired, displaced from their own home by something none of them are equipped to fight alone. Davian Martikov, the family patriarch, carries himself with the settled authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed, and when he summons Krelldutt to speak with him privately, the rest of the family gives them the privacy without being obvious. This is simply how things work with Martikovs.

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 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

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

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

The truck crests a ridge and the sixth layer of Hell opens before them, broken and uneven. Malbolge is nothing like the levels that came

In his creaky voice, the lich Exethanter continues into the shocked silence of the temple. “I will arrange for you to receiveThe Ritual of P

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

Reklaw volunteers for first watch as his companions settle into makeshift beds—some sprawled across the truck’s hood, others curled in its b

The halls of Strixhaven echo with confusion and chaos as the hexmates find themselves scattered across campus, each dealing with their own b

A gathering storm threatens as the eight find their way to the City of the Dead at sunset. The sky churns gray and purple above the ancient