I'm going to be logged in as DM tomorrow night to entertain y'all.  Please vote for the style of event you'd prefer.  Thanks!

28th of Eleint, Year of the Enthroned Puppet


I shift atop the horse in an attempt to find some part of my legs that aren't chafed raw from too many days riding. The horse is complaining more than I am. I've ridden her too long for too many days and at this point I don't blame her one bit. I make a mental note to exchange the horse for a fresh one at the next town. The thought twists my gut in some strange combination of foreboding and anticipation.

It will be dark by the time I reach the next village on this trade road, a village small enough to notice and be suspicious of strangers on tired horses. Another lurch in my stomach warns me to skirt the village entirely. Too dangerous. The next dot on the map is the city of Everlund and only a days ride north east of this settlement but with an uncooperative mare it could double my journey time.

By the time I crest the last hill before the village I've made up my mind, a compromise with myself, and with a yank of the reins I lead my mare north and into the hills. I've just enough light remaining to find a clearing and set up camp.  I will rest safely on the outskirts of town and change my horse over in the morning.

I smirk at the thought of Rafferty scolding me for my poor care of the horse, especially as I remove her saddlery to reveal sores not even the thick layer of sheeps wool couldn't protect her from. She gives a snort of disapproval as if to say "See what you did you me?"

"Yeah yeah. Have you seen my thighs? The feeling is mutual." I grumble back. Great, now I'm talking to animals. Better than talking to yourself. With this shivering reminder I methodically set up camp and light fire. After a moment of remorse I give the mare my last two apples, then lay out my blankets and settle down on an empty stomach. At least one of us will have a full belly tonight. I'm asleep before my head hits the ground.


My eyes have a layer of sand beneath the lids, or so it feels as I pry my eyes open, and I know I did not get enough sleep. The first light of morning is creeping into the room. Room?  A man's face stares unblinking mere inches from my face, a mane of dark hair slick against his head. His mouth is ajar as if to let out a scream, but his throat has been slit from ear to ear. I reel back in horror and suddenly I'm falling. This has to be a dream.

I land with a thump on the wooden floor, bringing a red-stained sheet from the bed with me. So much blood. Its everywhere. On the man, on the sheets, on me. It hits me all at once, the fragments of last night which part of me did not want to know. The coy smile, the unmasked desire in his eyes. He was a shearer, part of me recalls. Why would I want to be reminded? The gooseflesh and rush of lust that follows in wake of his sliding hands as he removes my blouse. After that its a blur. A blur until he cries out with his finish which continues into one of horror as I brandish the concealed knife and draw it across his throat.

I lay next to him and listen to his breathe grow shallow and his heart slow with each beat.

I reel with the memories and vomit what little I have in my stomach - cheap ale. When I have nothing left I continue to dry retch as if it can purge me of the sins committed in this small room, the acid burning my throat and my sides in agony as the convulsions seem to never stop. I stumble to the wash basin, a solid and dark wood table with a ceramic water-filled bowl in front of a mirror mounted to the wall. I rinse the remnants of filth from my mouth and wash my face. The bowl is stained crimson by the time I lean over and stare at the stranger in the mirror.

I should look haunted, ashen, remorseful. The woman who stares back can only be described as... vibrant. She cracks a smile, her eyes crinkling in amusement at my shock, my realization, my denial.

I smash the mirror to erase the image. The piercing sound, so crisp in the early morning  wakes someone in an adjacent room. I can hear a questioning murmur and my pointed ears pick up the distinctive rasp of clothing. This person is intent on investigating and here I am, naked as the day I was born in a room painted red with blood and a body to dispose of.

Something takes over, years of training or mere self preservation; the chair by the bed is scraped over floorboards and jammed under the door handle, I throw my clothes on and scan the room for my belongings. Theres a knock at the door. No time to remove the body now. Im exiting the window, halfway out when the dagger on the bed catches the corner of my eye. The knocking turns into thumping and the shearers name is being called as I lean in to snatch the knife.

Reed. My victim had a name, and this gives me pause. I stare down at his horror-stricken face, frozen in death, and something draws me closer with the knife. My next memory is escaping through the window as the door crashes open.

He had a spider carved into his chest.

Citizens of Neverwinter opened their shutters this morning to a welcome sight. Wagons of stone and lumber were being wheeled in from North, South and Eastern gates with a trail of soldiers who had traded their weapons for construction hammers.  The sound of saws being dragged across wooden logs and hammer against stone gave new hope for those whos homes and livelihoods were destroyed recently.  The workers claimed they had arrived from Waterdeep, Silverymoon, Sundabar and even Luskan.

By mid afternoon on the second day long shadows had been cast across the cobblestones from the towering scaffolding. Small gatherings of men and women huddled over architectural maps and shouted orders to those on the ground and up high on the timber and stonework.  There was only one strange occurrence that was giving the architectures grief: A huge tree, glowing a luminous green at night, had taken root at some point after the blast and grown at a feverish pace to now tower over even the tallest buildings and scaffolding.

Mages from the Many-starred Cloaktower have examined the tree and confirmed today the tree must have somehow absorbed the remnants of magic from the destructive blast that levelled the city.  No one person is certain what kind of tree it might be but some botanists say the tree has a link to the Lumenous Sheok tree which originates from the The Night Trees and Cold Wood.  Theories suggest a soldier from Sundabar or Silverymoon might have trekked a seed to the city on the bottom side of his boot and dislodged it on the cobblestones.

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Lord Orrik Bradley has encouraged citizens to focus on rebuilding their Jewel of the North, and has assured the city is safe from further damages.  Homes will be reconstructed as soon as possible and families re-homed.  Officially, the destruction of the city core has been labelled  an unfortunate accident, with no party held accountable.  Access to Blacklake and castle grounds has been restored.

A carefree elf exits Roys Rolls in Neverwinter, turning to her friend with a grin on her lips before biting into a Pixie Roll.  Searching for coin, instead she palmed a small disc, earlier buried deep and forgotten into her pocket but unearthed when paying for her sweet pastries.  

Returning it, the disc slips through her fingers.  It bounces over the cobblestones and into the passage of a travelling carriage.  The wheel of the carriage collides with the object and sends it flying.  The disc hits the leg of a town crier, who yelps and rubs his bruised leg.  He kicks away the offending 'stone' and it rattles away into an alley.  A crow tilts its head, its beady black eyes glimpsing a shiny object in the alley, and swoops down to retrieve it.  Prize in its mouth, the crow flies over to a metal balcony, cawing in victory.

A woman waves a towel out of her balcony window screaming "SHOO! Ned we've got to do something about these birds.  There's sh......" -the crow flaps away in panic, dropping the treasure in its haste.  It bounces on the cobblestones once and twice before rolling to a stop.  A tiny grubby hand seizes the disc and holds it aloft.  Innocent blue eyes examine each metal rune facing in wonder.  The boy aimlessly wanders through the throngs of people in the midday sun, head bent over his new possession.  He stops as his fingers compress a rune on the multicolored disc, and having discovered the answer to this object's riddle, he similarly compresses the other three rune facings.

A dark shadow looms over the boys head.  He looks up, wondering what large cloud could block out the sun so completely.  A fiery orb was what his eyes held, looping ominously ever downward in a spiral.  His ears roared with the sound of its approach.  Not even the screams of the scattering people could be heard over it.  And then, in a blink, he was no more.

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Neverwinter has been struck by a devastating attack.  The Lord's Alliance has been called, Lord Orrik fearing Luskan has once more reignited war with the city.  Aid has been requested of anyone willing to lend a hand, whether it be tending to the wounded, offering lodging for the displaced residents, or recovering and burying the fallen.  Entrance to Castle grounds and Blacklake will be by written permission only until further notice.  Lord Orrik warns citizens to resist retaliation against anyone until more information is known about the attack.

I think the mounted combat might be a little bugged.  I have 46 ac (as a level 7) one moment then the next -91   It doesn't get removed when I dismount either.

8PM EDT

8PM EDT (-5 GMT) Sunday

I will send players involved a PM tomorrow with setting information and we will kick off the campaign sunday night!!!

I will be skipping this week of quests as I'll be out of town on a well-earned vacation.  The week after I will be starting my closed campaign!