Campaign Chronicles

Deepwater (population - just over 200) The Armadillo in overalls sidled up to the Screamin' Demon and asked, "What kin I do ya for? Just a fill-up? Check the oil and tires?" He turned and called over his shoulder, "MA! Git out here, woman!" A moment later, a second Armadillo, this one with a faded floral dress and a pair of eyeglasses perched atop her head, emerged from the store. She looked at the Trans Am and then the line of rigs pulling in behind it. "Howdy, boys! Dodge! Earl Jr! Come on out here and help your daddy! See if them drivers want anythin' besides gas!" Two half-sized Armadillos, both barefoot in raggedy denim overalls, poked their heads out of the door. Sam climbed out of the Screamin' Demon, dropped the considerable distance to the pavement, and adjusted his black cowboy hat. "Just gas, coffee. A cigar if you got one." The Armadillo nodded. "Go on in. Natalie-Joy got a pot on." The older boy got his fi...

EPISODE TWO: JOHNNY (PART ONE) Depending on your point of view, it was either late at night or early in the morning at the Waffle House. The grill still sizzled, coffee still poured, jacks still flapped. The old jukebox crackled and hissed like it was thinking about working again. Mirrie moved between tables with practiced ease, a coffee pot in each hand. An old werewolf couple were seated in one corner, sharing a slice of pie. A family of Goblins sat in a booth. Mommy Goblin, Daddy Goblin, three Goblin kids. The children were perfectly behaved. They said "please", "thank you", and referred to Mirrie as "Ma'am". Ralph, the werewolf security guard from the warehouse, sat at the bar with a mummy mechanic. Both were drinking coffee. Dragula, Xaden and Mac had already ordered and were most of the way through their meals. Drags was wearing headphones and singing along, badly, to music no one else could hear. 🎶 🎵  “Last Night I met a dancer. She came ...

08 Newkolt 349 AC With the last of the civilians evacuated, Shadow packs away his spellbooks. He take s note of the condition of them, some are his original tomes dated back to his time in Sorcere, the wizard school of Mennzoberranzan, others were claimed from various dungeons or as loot taken from fallen foes. Each had a history and while some had indeed seen better days, but all were perfectly serviceable arcanabulae - even if they bore the stains left behind by spilled drinks or dinners. Still... perhaps a trip to the Tower of Wayreth was in order. He was no longer an apprentice, after all. "Maybe I could have these bound into a set more befitting Spewer's high opinion of what a wizard's spellbooks should look like. He shrugged, "May not look like much on the outside but it has got it where it counts.” With his books packed, the drow headed downstairs. - - - - - Most of Grotto's companions had passed through Lady Nihriome's great hall. The refugees had...