Blood, Plunder and D&D

  Black Alice’s Brew As told by Black Jack McCaffeety, owner and proprietor of the tavern “Black Alice’s Brew” in Haven Towne, to the Adventuring Party known as the Lords of Doom.  “This is the story as it was told to me by my father who got it from his father before him and so on.   In those days Black Alice was newly arrived in Haven Towne, from far off Valoria. While Haven Towne was much smaller back then it was still a great city and she didn’t really know her way around yet. Black Alice was generally not a fan of cities (unlike her sisters) but she had business that brought her here and thought she might as well see the sights. One day as she was wandering Northport getting the lay of the land and taking in the sight of all the fine ships and busy docks she passed a big old pub right on the water and she decided she fancied a beer. She went in, sat down at the bar. The place was crowded and the barkeep was busy chumming with his regulars and didn’t have much tim...

  Ophelia died, but she did not end. Her body plunged from the parapet of the lighthouse, and as it hit the cold water of the sea a hundred feet below, her death was instant, but her fall had only begun. Her spirit, and that of her neverborn daughter, continued their plunge, deeper and deeper into the darkness of the Otherworld. Their twin souls blazed like falling stars across that always-night sky, interrupting momentarily with their brilliance the forever, unmoving constellations of the stars-that-never-set. And something noticed their fall. Something older then time, something that had floated in black oblivion since before the light of the first star, since before the beginning of creation. Something that was neither alive nor dead, but waiting. Something that craved light and warmth and life.  There are many theories on the origins of the Atropal, the Unborn. Shards of gods that had almost been. Left over echoes of the song of creation. Shadows cast by the first dawn. Di...

  The tree was different from the others. Rotted, decayed, little more then a huge stump really. A sick green glow emanated from the hollow interior. It was the glow that had attracted them wandering lost in the forest, as they discovered that even Marus' woodcraft had it limits. Carefully Whisperleaf walked toward the stump. There was something off here, his druidical senses were tingling. Something wrong, unnatural. Not that this forest was natural, but this felt...diseased. "Greetings" the nasally voice seemed to come from inside the stump. "Travellers, excellent, how fortuitous!" Whisperleaf responded with a careful "And greetings to you...stranger. As you say we are travelers, and have lost our way, perhaps you can offer guidance?" Marus frowned but said nothing. Clearly she was also getting a strange vibe from the tree. "Oh indeed, indeed I can offer guidance on many things. And power. And riches. Whatever you desire. But first you must do s...

  Deeper into the shadowlands our heroes tred, into a world that now bears only a faint resemblance to the material plane. Through a horrorscape birthed from the dying memories and nightmares of Lady Ophelia, hidden within this dark forest lies the salvation of the Lost Anchorage. And their own. "You don't belong here" the two faceless statues flanking the gate announced in unison.  "We have business here" replied Dakhir,  "The living have no business here" said the statues. "Nonetheless" said Dakhir. The gate remained stubbornly closed "You know that hedge doesn't look very thick." said Ozraeline. I am pretty sure The Sturg and I could make short work of it." The Sturg nodded. "Possibly, but I have a feeling we need to go in through the gate. Remember what the Navigator said, 'This place runs on symmetry, sympathy, and contagion'. I think if we just chop our way through the hedges we wouldn't be playing by...