Campaign Chronicles

The Rider turned his head, tracking Johnny's movement. Then, he spoke with a voice, deep and sepulchral, "Johnny, set aside your foolish errand, and I will grant you rest." Johnny reached his feet. "Naw... I don't think so. Dem deals yo' boss be offerin'? Dey always got a catch." "Your loss." The rider twisted the throttle. The motorcycle's engine roared. Drags reacheed behind the seat and grabbed his truck gun. He waited, half behind the door of his truck with the gun hidden from the rider. “This guy’s boss got beef with you, Johnny boy?”  Drag calls out. "Yessir, e'er since I got this here fiddle offa him." Mac grabbed the mic. "Drags! No, stand down you will only piss it off." Sam strutted right up to the Rider. He stubbed out what was left of his cigar. "Look at you! Big scary motorcycle, spooky helmet, dramatic entrance. What happens when somebody knocks over the neighborhood water tank? You gonna ...

08 Newkolt 349 AC As Romulus finished his inventory of the magical equipment recovered from Flight Marshal Chomaz, Kysek considered the amulet. “Do you think the amulet can be fitted to be worn by a griffon? After Dusk's injuries, I'd like to do what I can to better protect her. Evasion and invisibility help, but a little added natural armor would be helpful.” Romulus nodded. “No reason that it shouldn't work. We can probably fix it to her chest strap.” Ra'ziir glanced over the remaining magical equipment. “I don't think anything here is an improvement over the equipment I already carry, but I wouldn't mind adding some protections to Redclaw and Dusk if anything is left over after we pick through it. Assuming they can use it, of course.” Shadow, meanwhile, was examining the heavy lance. “This one and I have history,” he remarked, patting the weapon. “I think I will hang on to it.” He opened his bag of holding and began lowering the lance into it, point firs...

He just looks so dang happy. - probably my favorite character from the town. "That's the old post office," he announced, pointing toward a weather-beaten cinderblock building. "Mr. Wilkins still delivers the mail, but mostly it's just stuff folks send each other." (Which is exactly what it is in real-life, too). An elderly zombie in a faded postal uniform was sorting envelopes beside a bicycle. "Hi, Mr. Wilkins!" The zombie raised a hand and moaned, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" in response. (Classic zombie dialog! I love this guy!)

Monday, 07 October 1985 - about 7:45 p.m. MONDAY EVENING — FAIRHAVEN HISTORICAL SOCIETY      The last of the "regular" members had left at fifteen minutes ago.  The meeting room was comfortably furnished.      Framed photographs of Fairhaven's early settlers decorated the walls. A glass cabinet displayed antique farming implements, old schoolbooks, and a collection of Civil War memorabilia. A coffee urn stood on a side table beside a plate of cookies.      Bob Mercer stood at the head of the conference table. Around him sat several members of the Historical Society, the inner circle, if you will.      Among them was Mrs. Helen Voss, the pharmacist.      Bob waited until everyone had settled back into their chairs. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming on such short notice."      He smiled. "I know Monday evenings are inconvenient for some of...

Sunday, 06 October 1985 - about 6:30 p.m. The Josephson Property Fairhaven, Illinois      Dusty let out a sigh. "Hell. I'm going to regret this. Green Bean, you're after me. Elliot, you're next. Chet, you ride drag."      Greta grinned. "We're going down?"      "That's what I just said."      "Awesome!"      Dusty pointed a finger at her. "Don't make me change my mind."      She immediately straightened up. "Yes, sir!"      "Don't 'sir' me, kid. I worked for a living."      Chet chuckled. "That's an old one."      "Still works."      Dusty crouched beside the opening and directed his flashlight down the staircase. "All right. Everybody watch your footing. One step at a time. If something doesn't feel right, say so."      Elliot nodded. "The upper portion of the staircase appears structurally sound. I can't speak...