Sara did what she could to keep the tears back. Sitting at the edge of her king size bed, through glistening eyes she stared out the window to watch the cold purples and dark blues of dusk slowly give away to the dim warmth of the morning glow. Memories of the previous night, a sleepless night that conjoined both days into one tired stretch of time, billowed in her exhausted thoughts. Her fists clenched as she held back the tears. But, no more lying to yourself, they’ll come. They’ll come no matter how hard you fight them (read the rest of it here).
I’ve been a busy bee lately, so sorry for the lack of updates. Between setting up a Friday night D&D campaign, running the Saturday game, and working on several podcasts; there’s barely time to breathe, let alone update this website Read More
Several days south east from the sea spray soaked walls of Neverwinter, a small provisions wagon is heading for the rough and tumble frontier town of Neverwinter. Taros leads the ox slowly along the trail while a cleric, a fellow dwarf of the Holy Syncretism, sits next to him making small talk. Along either side of the wagon are Varis and Dexter, who survey the old cobbled road and encroaching forest thicket at either side, keeping watch for the troubles so far away from the city walls. Their proprietor, Gundren Rockseeker, had taken off a few days ahead of them, offering the party ten gold pieces each to deliver the wagon, and the goods it contained, intact, stating that there will be “more work” and more importantly “more gold to be made” when they get to Phandalin; but still, the party knows very little of what the old dwarf had found out there on the Cusp of the Frontier.
“I’d hate to leave so soon, it’s been a while since I’ve seen ya’boys,” Gundred said, over an ale at the Sunder Speak Inn no more than three days ago. “But I need to meet up with my brothers and take care of a few things before you arrive. But don’t you boys worry, I’ll explain everything when we meet in Phandalin.”
On the third day of travel from Neverwinter, still wondering at what the old dwarf had in store for them, the party no longer hears the gentle sounds of the sea crashing against the sword coast. The cobbled High Road, and the watchful eyes of the High Road guard, are now almost a memory as they veered east, down the Triboar Trail, where they know that bandits hiding in the shadows were the least of their concerns. So close to the Wild Frontier, goblins grew in hordes, Orc shaman commanded tribes of loyal Gruumsh worshiping warriors, and fey creatures crept around the shadows, spilling forth into the mortal coil from the cracks and creases left when the world was molded. The air is thick with the sound of wilderness, the smell of spring, and with a tingling sense of danger.
As they come around a bend in the dirt road, Dexter’s keen eyes spot something laying in the middle of the dirt road: two dead horses. He signals to Taros, who slows the wagon to a halt, and the party steps forward cautiously to investigate, leaving the cleric as a look out. As they approach the horses they can see the bodies of the poor creatures are feathered with black arrows.
“This isn’t the work of no bandits,” Taros whispered through his beard, and almost as if waiting for their queue, the goblins hidden in the thicket at either side of the road loose their arrows.
Roll Initiative, but first, some words from our DM. Read More
From the Lost Mine of Phandelver,with a bit of extra flavor that ties into the campaign world as I build it for my players, here is the introduction of the Starter Set Module taken from page 3 (for those of you who might be following along at home). A lot of this was revealed to the players near the end of the second part of the Lost Mine of Phandelver module, so I won’t be spoiling anything for them.
More than five hundred years ago out in the Wild Frontier, clans of Stone Hill dwarves and arcane gnomes made an agreement known as the Phandelver’s Pact, by which they would share a rich mine in a wondrous cavern known as Wave Echo Cave. In addition to its mineral wealth, the mine contained great magical power. Red Mages allied themselves with the dwarves and ghomes to channel and bind that energy into a great forge, called the Forge of Spells, where magic items could be crafted. Times were good, and the nearby human town of Thundertree, as well as its sister sister Phandalin, prospered as well. But then disaster struck when a small sect of the Red Mages, now brimming with corruption, rallied together an army of goblins and orcs that swept through the western reaches of the Wild Frontier, laying waste to all in their path.
A Powerful force of orcs, reinforced by the evil Read More