Games Logs

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

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 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

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?”

“Who is next?” The merragon guard, whose name they have come to discover is Ironbrand, stands before the table of bonding items. Before the

The party had only just settled into uneasy rest at the threshold to Malbolg when the temperature plummets further—impossibly further—and fr

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

In frustration, Torgan stumps back down the cellar stairs. He has received no support from his new employers, who have gone to bed. With res

The coach lurches forward and the journey begins. Soon after, the purple tiefling leans to one side against the window and closes his eyes.

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

Moving on from the piles of items they have found in the Cave of Lost Things, most of them tuck away their treasures. All have valuables, ex

Later, when they compare recollections about the gathering on that first day—before the funeral but after the meeting with the half-vampire

Horse-Reyna’s hooves clatter on the marble pathway as she canters into Silverquill Quad. The elegant colonnade rises before her, its pristin

The eight adventures mill around the coach depot, beneath the faded wooden sign, “Wallard & Son Transit and Cargo.” They have arrived in sin