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Haunting of Harrowstone Part 2
We came, We saw, They kicked my ass

Everyone in our little mourning band seemed nervous last night to stay too long in the graveyard with dusk approaching. We headed back to what is now Kendra’s home and decided to stay indoors for the night. Kendra was worried about taking care of some of the estate’s paperwork alone and turned her puffy eyes and lamenting sighs toward Nyles. Our proud pirate friend with a wink to the fellows and a chivalrous arm agreed to accompany her in the morning. We all exchanged knowing snickers and headed to bed. The night seemed to pass uneventfully, until the next morning when we awoke to the sounds of Cadamon attempting to brain Thaegrum. He was still half asleep, ranting about finding the perfect piece, and trying to pull the top of the dwarf’s head off. We calmed the nutty wizard down a bit, and he related a very disturbing dream in which he was searching heads and skulls for a perfect missing piece and felt compelled to find it even upon waking. A few of us woke with some dread, but nothing that severe. Ustalav never fails to instill the creepy.

After we settled the madness, somewhat, we all meandered down for breakfast to discover that Nyles and Kendra had already left for the day. It was a grey morning, with the autumn sky hardly letting any light through the thick clouds. Frankly, as a dhampir, I was relieved not to need my shades. My eyes are rather sensitive, but the silly goggles I wear to compensate can really get in my way. Over breakfast we discussed our next move. Talking over our options, a general consensus led us in Kendra’s footsteps toward the Ravengro town hall. We hoped primarily to find clues to any hinky business that may have led to Harrowstone’s meltdown and the Professor’s murder.

Our trip into town was relatively uneventful. The few locals we passed on the road gave us a wide berth. The usual town accoutrement greeted us: suspicious villagers- check, kids playing in the town center- check, blacksmith- check, general store- check, a couple inns- check, open market- check , gazebo- oh dread, and onto the town hall. It really is a lovely place, all neat, clean and fancy marble columns. While asking for records of the town and Harrowstone, we were directed toward the Deeds office as our best chance at finding what we might be looking for. The clerk and Cadamon had a nice chat, and luckily we did learn a little more than the official word. Apparently the county owned the land that Harrowstone sits on, and, as far as the clerk knew, that hasn’t changed. The Warden at Harrowstone, Hawkrin, kept control up there until the fire. He was a pretty tough warden, but treated everyone in town very kindly. He doted on his pretty wife. Some of the locals thought she was too young and lovely for him, but he was very devoted to her, so it appears there were few hard feelings.

Apparently things were fairly calm up there until a little over 50 years ago when a new group of prisoners were transported in and made Warden Hawkrin’s life tough. They each had a reputation bad enough to give them their own creepy monikers; they were the Piper of Villmarsh, Father Charlatan, the Lopper, Splatterman, and the Mosswater Marauder. Cadamon pried the little clerk for anything he knew about them and he remembered a little about the Piper. He used to play his pipes and call stirges to attack his victims. That sucks. Details about the rest of the prisoners remained a mystery, but their names gave us all a shudder and a few ideas. After these foul fellows turned up for their lifetime stay, they apparently managed to get the better of the warden, by staging a prison revolt, and locked him and the rest of the guards in the basement where they had been interred. The warden’s wife, Vessanora, ran to the lift to try and reach her husband in the basement and set him free. Intercepted on the way she was locked into a workshop. When people finally made it out to Harrowstone, it appeared no one had made it out alive. According to the clerk, the town wants to let the matter lie and pretend there is no disturbance up there. Rumors keep flying, however, about voices being heard up at the old prison. Some even say they hear the Warden still walking the halls. The lack of deaths associated with any of these stories has left the tales mostly laughed off.

We left town hall feeling like we needed to check out Harrowstone in the daylight, Prof Lorrimor was convinced he needed the items we retrieved in the crypt to face whatever was in Harrowstone. Since we had had little luck deciphering what we found, we headed just over the river to the local Temple of Pharasma to ask for Father Grimburrow’s advice. It was definitely the most elaborate place in town. Somber, but not depressing it had the usual plethora of candles, very nicely adorned pews and general lack of monetary humility one expects of the cloth. The Temple also had a series of massive and elaborate stained glass windows, which I’m sure cost a pretty copper or two, depicting the “glorious” defeat of many undead foes by the former ministers of the Temple. They seemed rather vainglorious to me, but who am I to judge? I guess everyone needs their local heroes. Too bad the Professor wasn’t one of them; it would likely save us a lot of headaches.

The good Father, after having us wait for a time, came over to ask how he could help us. Upon showing him the vials we found, his eyes grew large and he asked where we had obtained the Church’s property. We relayed that the Professor had left them for us to continue his work and he refused to let them go. He did explain to us that they are Haunt Siphons, which when they have trapped a haunt change color. He also warned us that were we to use such an item, we should never let the haunt back out as it would be rather more miffed than it was before. Reluctant to leave without the vials, we managed to make a deal with Grimburrow that if we came back after dark we could likely get them back “unofficially”. We agreed to do just that and after a little bargaining over some supplies we decided to swing by the estate and head to Harrowstone before the sun set. AS we left town we heard some children skipping rope and singing a song. Joyfully. The lyrics however were not those that a child should know. The song seemed to carry a nasty message, and as we walked we pieced the horrible ditty and the names of the five prisoners at Harrowstone together.

We reached Kendra’s hoping to find Nyles and found a nasty note hastily written and nailed to the door instead. Not wanting Kendra to be further upset, we removed the note, and realized that we had not seen either Kendra or Nyles in town where they supposedly had gone. Shrugging it off as poor timing, we headed to the former prison. The path up to the abandoned remains of the building had a large statue of Warden Hawkrin. We noticed a large bloody “V” scrawled on the nameplate, and continued toward the front door. One of our nimble, ahem, bards managed to almost become one with the collapsing front gate as we passed through. Mostly unscathed we opened the front door and found a small foyer with a big oak door at the end. Forming a wary line, we attempted to pass through the doorway. Thaegrum just made it through before the door slammed itself shut and horrible screaming faces emerged from the wood. Half of us were startled straight out the front door, while a couple of us struggled hollering to get our comrade free. We managed to get the door back open, the faces disappeared and we chose to continue leaving the door braced open. There were a series of doors along the hall and we tried each in turn. We found a collapsed stairwell at the first and a small chapel through the second. Thinking we could find something of use in the chapel we searched and discovered a swarm of large nasty spiders. After exterminating the vile things we discovered five vials of holy water, a scroll of lesser restoration, and a wand with a decent number of cure light charges remaining – not that it will do Malk or I any good.

There was a door leading out of the room on the opposite wall that we entered. Deciding to risk a little more exploring before the sun descended for the day, we found on the west side of the prison a large courtyard. In the center of the courtyard was a strangely shaped free standing room. We explored further and found that the room seemed to be an old classroom of sorts. Chalkboards lined the walls, and benches fill the center of the room. As we poked around a set of manacles leapt at Thaegrum of their own accord and began attacking him. We defeated the creepy buggers and other than an overwhelming sense of guilt and dread we found nothing else in the room. We decided to leave, when we noticed a small door on the south side of the building close enough to one of the guard towers to possibly be an entrance. Thinking we might gain a better vantage on the ruins, we opened the door. Inside was a small room with no other exits. It appeared to have been the Warden’s office. The dread we were beginning to feel building in the rest of the prison did not seem to extend into here. We took a moment and poked through what was left of his papers and found a large old safe in the wall of the west side of the room. Unable to open the safe and sensing a building malevolence as the sun was going down, we hustled back through the prison the way we had come in. As we distanced ourselves from Harrowstone, we all felt the dread start lifting and we headed back to town.

We realized how important those haunt siphons might be. It was about to time to head back and get them from Father Grimburrow. On our way through the center of town we noticed a mediocre little band playing in the gazebo and a smattering of townfolk gathered for music and drink. We slowly progressed through the crowd when one of the musicians launched into a rather good flute solo and almost immediately a woman starting screaming and collapsed on the ground. Still on edge from our festivities at Harrowstone a number of us noticed a couple stirges starting to attack the crowd and the woman. We routed the foul flighted nasties and thinking about the clerk’s tale of the Piper of Villmarsh, we sternly questioned the baffled musicians about the flutist’s song. They insisted it was nothing special, and we decided to let the matter go. We took the poor woman to Father Grimburrow since we were headed that direction anyway. The acolytes that were milling about the front of the temple saw that she would be taken care of.

Father Grimburrow was not pleased that we had disturbed Harrowstone and said something guarded about people messing about up there. It seemed from his disturbed tone that something may have been taken from Harrowstone that had caused the haunts to return. Pressing that issue and our need to fulfill our promise to protect Kendra we persisted and won back the haunt siphons from the old priest. Deciding to gather a little more information before we headed to the estate for the night, Grimburrow recommended the Laughing Demon Inn as a good place for dinner. We learned little from the proprietor, Zokar Elkarid, but his fare was quite delicious, if named a little hokey for my taste. Heading back toward Kendra’s my comrades seemed a little more relaxed and content. Food and drink never quite quench my own hunger and thirst. Maybe that is why the huddled forms between the blacksmith and the stable did not appear to me to be honestly drunk folks. Or maybe it was that wretched undead stink. Either way they were upon us quickly. Four of them. They were in tattered yet oddly decorous attire. Sometimes I really pity the greedy ignorance of the wealthy. Had they not assumed their money meant they were owed a “proper” burial, we would not now be accosted by their lumbering rotted forms. Ilien began playing a rather rousing ditty and we all leapt into battle. I managed to score a couple fierce blows to our first foes when another group of three shambled in behind us. I don’t know if it was Ilien’s truly inspiring tune or my own fierce joy at ripping the rotting fiends to shreds, but I leapt to the rear of our group ready to end more unlife. No sooner had I seen the other foes, when two of them descended on me with a strength I did not expect. Two blows and I was spent. As Movac, Thaegrum, Ilein and Cadamon attempted to ease my retreat beating the animated remains back into their proper place; Malk faced one of the zombies on his own. Knowing I was not long for consciousness, I backed out of the fight and the rest of my fierce comrades ended the confrontation quickly. After it was over the others noticed a mark on each of the zombie’s foreheads. A series of wavy lines with a closed mouth on top: the Whispering Way… those bastards. We borrowed a cart from the stable and piled on what was left of the undead heaps. If Grimburrow wanted to stick his head in the ground and not see what was coming, maybe we should show him what would be popping out right in his face.

The old man was not pleased with greeting us so late. One looks at the cart and his face fell. No point in denying the obvious. He directed the acolytes to burn the remains and return the cart – hopefully a little cleaned up. The Father tended our wounds and even took the time to do a little studying to bring me back from the brink and help Malk out as well. Maybe we should ask the good father whether he could arrange a portable variety for us.

Our grim adventure had well and truly started.

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Haunting of Harrowstone, Part I
In the Beginning Was His End.

So, the town of Ravengro. Sleepy little village. Town. Village turning into a town. Eh. I’ll give it town status. At least it’s on the map for the county of Canterwall, which is more than I can say for some places I’ve been to. Have to say, it’s a bit of a somber. Dare I say it… dead? Then again, I am currently standing in the graveyard outside of town. That always does tend to put a bit of a damper on things, especially when in Ustalav. There’s a reason why they tend to burn most bodies around here. Otherwise, you plant a corpse, out sprouts a zombie, and when you see your first zombie claw it’s way out of the ground… yeah. You burn the bodies. Which is why, of course, I’m here helping to bury Lorrimor. Sans burning. It’s quite an honor to be buried in a cemetery like this. Have to have the priest consecrate the ground, consecrate the body, bless the air, bless the soul… and even then might not be enough. Not sure that ‘honor’ has anything to do with it. More accurately, it’s probably that Lorrimor was a rich bastard who provided a lot to the town, though he was getting a bit nutty late in his years.

Around the gravesite, we’ve got quite the collection of strange folks. People like me, I would assume. Named us in his will. Thus the reason why I’m here. Don’t get me wrong, he paid me well… but it’s not like I ever really liked the old guy. His daughter isn’t bad to look at though, if you go for puffy-eyed and teary. Haven’t really had much of a chance to talk to her though. Seems all she can do to hold herself together, the poor gal. The others, whoever…

First up, we have one Nyles Versh. Uses one of those new firearms – first time I’ve actually seen one in person. Got a sword on him too. Claims to be an honest sailor. If he’s an honest sailor, I’ll eat my hat, not that I wear one. Smuggler, more like. I always wondered how the old man managed to get some of his shadier stuff through port authorities.

Next, there’s Movac. Representative of the church of Pharasma, apparently. They sent a paladin, of all things. I wonder if that’s because they wish to show the old man honor, or if they sent the paladin to really, really make sure that he was truly dead and didn’t succumb to… whatever old professors researching into necromancy, vampires, the undead, ect. ect. succumb to.

Of course, there is also Ilien, a fellow bard. Situation similar to me, to hear him tell of it. Third son of a merchant family, doing what it takes to get some money. Claims to have connections in some of the bigger cities around here. I wonder. Bet I have more connections in low places. Or high places. Some of those gals of Calistria do get around, after all…

Predictably, there had to be one waggly-fingered wizard in the lot. Cadamon Loslimor, third son of the viscount. Great. Not just a wizard, but an aristocratic wizard. If his nose gets any higher up into the air, he’ll be looking up at the sky. Apparently he was helping Lorrimor, studying Ustalavic history. Have fun there. Enough to drive a man to drink, thinking of what happened here before the Shining Crusade came along to clean things up. Apparently he’s got a cozy position in the archives over in Caliphas.

Then there’s the short, ugly, bearded one. Thaegrum. A more dwarfish name I cannot recall. Crafter and purveyor of ales and metal trinkets, to hear him tell it. More likely ale drinker and pot-banger. Bah. I always have a soft spot for tinkers, but all things said I can never bring myself to trust a dwarf.

Then we have the lovely Dahlia. A dhampir like me, from the looks of it. I thought I might try making conversation with her, but she gave me a look like she’d kill me if she tried anything. Looks like she hasn’t learned the first rule of being a dhampir – you have to always stay on the bright side of life. Otherwise you succumb to the bloodthirst, then the citizenry realize what’s happening, and then the torches and pitchforks come out. If the lady gets any more brooding there’ll be bats coming from her belfry. Still though, her being a dhampir, can’t say I blame her. Doubt her story is any more happier than mine.

Providing the funeral services we have the good Father Grimburrow, the head of the local temple to Pharasma. An appropriate name for a follower of the Lady of Graves, and probably the only reason why I was willing to come. Pharasma and her followers hate the undead, and I have every confidence that he has taken care of the body in all ways necessary.

Lastly, of course, there is mild mannered Malk Scarlet, which would be me. Hello self! A dhampir bard, if you can believe it. And if I get one more request for a dirge, I’m going to ruddy well whip someone. I —

Ah. Looks like the funeral’s beginning. Looks like I get to be a pallbearer. Apparently my last job for the old man is going to be hauling his sorry carcass into his grave. Lovely. And this sucker is heavy. Not sure if it’s the coffin or if the old boy put on some weight. Now all we need is something blocking our way so I get stuck standing with this … of course. Great. A mob. Just what every funeral procession needs. A bunch of farmers with torches and pitchforks standing in the way. The leader, I found out later, is one Gibs Hephenus. Only one with any sort of armor or weapon out of the lot. Turns out that he used to be the sheriff around here, and a finer specimen of backwater talking I haven’t heard. Apparently doesn’t want old Lorrimor buried round these parts. Can’t say I blame him. I’d be a bit leery of burying anyone around here, let alone someone like Lorrimor who actually did research into the undead. Still though, doesn’t like it’s going to be much of a problem. Old Gibs is obviously not in the best of shape, and the farmers aren’t exactly the most stolid supporters. A bit of talking from yours truly with some chiming in from the others (who I’m sure were getting tired of carrying this coffin around as well) rather handily dispersed the rabble. Just as well. If it came to a fight, this coffin was getting dropped on the ground, quite unceremoniously. Would’ve hated Kendra to have seen that. Of course, ol’ Gibs said ‘this ain’t over’. Yeah well, I ain’t afeared o’ you, ye old git. Will give the fellow this much though. At least he made it clear his beef was with the old man, not with Kendra. Backed off nicely once his ‘support’ melted away behind his back.

Don’t really remember much about the burial ceremony. I was more interested in watching the furrows and wrinkles on old Grimburrow’s face as he talked. Anyway, right after the ceremony Kendra came over to talk with us. Apparently she wanted to get the will read as soon as possible. It’s quite a bit of a hike to the mansion though, so she wanted us to get going as fast as possible. Personally, I rather suspect she wanted to leave the gravesite, and the graveyard more than anything else. Can’t say I blame her. Grimburrow stayed behind to oversee the rest of the burial.

On the way there I chatted her up a bit. According to her, Lorrimor was getting a bit strange toward the end. I rather delicately refrained from telling the young woman that her father had always been a bit strange. Well. A lot strange. That he was getting stranger… well. Looks like he was doing more research into the undead. Unsurprising, considering I met the fellow when he asked me about vampires. Still though, turns out that he was looking into the ghosts of Harrowstone.

Damn.

I didn’t realize that Harrowstone is around here. I’d heard of the place, of course. Most people who’ve ever been around has. Used to be one of the best, most secure prisons around. The worst criminals – rapers, murderers, assassins, cutthroats, dread pirates, and the occasional, extremely unlucky sneak thief who really robbed the wrong guy – ended up in there. Of course, the place is closed down now. A bunch of the worst inmates managed to pull off an uprising against the guards, tried to escape. Far as I know, none of them actually got out… but then again, neither did the guards or the warden. They all killed one another in the end. All the prisoners, all the guards, even the warden. Just… dead. And old man Lorrimor was looking into it. Can’t say that I’m surprised, what with his fascination with undeath and all. As we go along further, Kendra drifts off and starts doing some finger-waving over with Cadamon. It figures. Looks like she dabbles in magic, the poor girl. The wizard is rather enthusiastically showing her a few things – they much have some interests in common there.

Finally we arrive at the mansion. Forty-five minutes later. Couldn’t have hitched a wagon, or a carriage, or anything along those lines, oh no. I know that the will hasn’t been read yet, but surely the girl had to have at least some spending money. Judging from the size of this place, it’s fairly obvious her father did. Place is huge. Even has some outbuildings. Servants quarters, I’d guess. Wouldn’t want the hired help daring to think that they deserve living in the mansion.

As we walk up, a carriage arrives. See. Why couldn’t we have gotten one of those? Hells, whoever’s riding that could’ve given us a ri— would you look at that. I think his jowls have jowls. I think I heard someone mutter corpulent under his breath – probably the wizard. That man isn’t corpulent, he’s just plain fat. And from that nose stuck into the air, I’d wager he’s a fat bastard as well.

Looks like his name is Hearthmount. Hah. I dub him Mr. Harrumph. He’s the will reader. Some sort of high muckity-muck councilman, which is probably why he’s so pissy about being here. It’s not like the town has any lawyers (the townsfolk’d probably kill one that tried to set up a practice here), so they had to send for him. Without any further ado, he starts reading the will.

Home and personal belongings to Kendra. Surprise, surprise. Good to see that the young gal will be taken care of.

‘Old friends’. I suppose that’s the rest of us. Wonder what we’re getting out of this. ‘Dedicated my life to studying evil, gaining knowledge to better understand it’. Yes, tell me something I don’t know. ‘I have a significant collection of tomes and grimoires. Any one of which could have led to an awkward situation. The university has many, but some are here. I leave the tomes to you to take to the university.’ So we’re not getting anything from this? That’s what you called us here for? To hire is from beyond the grave to haul some books to the university? ‘However, stay for a month to guard my daughter first’. Uh huh. Keep going.

‘Everyone gets 100 platinum each upon delivery’.

Hallelujah! I knew there was a reason I came. So all we have to do is keep Kendra out of trouble for a month and haul the chest of tomes off to one Professor Montagne Crowl? Sounds like it should be simple enough. Hearthmount leaves in a hurry. Kept making snide comments throughout the reading til the dwarf shut’m up. Probably afraid the little guy will start carving up him like a side of beef. I’ve seen cows with less meat on their bones.

Everyone figures, much the same as me, that if we’re going to haul those tomes we might as well take a look at them first. We snag the key that came with the will and head upstairs, and there’s the chest, right there waiting for us. Inside the chest? Huh. Looks like Lorrimor’s personal journal. Looking over a few of the entries…

‘Whispering Way. Necromancers. Undeath is fountain of youth. Desire to be eternal.’
‘The Way is interested in something here.’
‘Whatever the Way seeks is connected to Harrowstone. Investigate the ruins?’
‘The Way is certainly interested in something… someone in Harrowstone. Who died there? Temple of Pharasma should have records.’
‘Ghosts prevented me from investigating the scribed symbols along the foundation. Tools are here in Ravengro, in the Restlands cemetary. Intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. False crypt.’
‘Town could be at risk.’

Raising my head from the journal, I ask Kendra how the old man died. ‘A statue fell on him’.

Seriously? A statue falls on a guy? And no one bats an eye? Granted, they didn’t know that he was looking into some crazy cult, but still! Come on, people. Was he so disliked in town that no one even so much of thought of calling shenanigans? When a statue falls on someone, it’s more likely murder than accident. The odds of you getting hit by a falling statue are… well. I suppose if you’ve pissed off a god, it might happen.

What else is in the chest…

On Verified Madness. Apparently talks about the Dark Tapestry. Outsiders. The Old, Forgotten Gods. Lovely illustrations, if you like things that’ll give you nightmares for the rest of your life. “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtan”. Wonder what in the hells that means. Probably something like ‘every night of you I’m dreaming… I guess that’s why I wake up screaming’.

Esoteric Order of the Palentine Eye. Detailed of ancient rituals/ceremonies. A lot of political ramblings too, looks like. Pretty boring text, though the wizard seemed interested in it.

Serving Your Hunger. Looks like Lorrimor was researching into Urgathoa’s ‘holy text’. Quick perusal confirms – Lorrimor’s scrawls are all along the margins. Apparently he really didn’t like their practices, surprise surprise. Urgathoa’s big on the undead.

Umbral Leaves. Looks like he also has a copy of the lexicon of Zon Kuthon. God of pain, woe, and some extremely sadistic cultists.

Small wonder he wants these taken to the university. I’ve fairly sure that even owning Serving Your Hunger or Umbral Leaves is cause for imprisonment in some places. Ah well. Books taken care of, everyone mills about looking a bit confused as to what to do next. Kendra decides to show us around the place. Apparently as guests and bodyguards we get rooms at the mansion. Much appreciated, Lorrimor. Much appreciated. Afterwards, I announce to the others that I’m going to get some food from the larder. Get a bunch of strange looks back. What, a guy can’t eat after a funeral? If we’re going to be going to Restlands right around dinner like we’re planning, then I by Calistria am going to eat while I still have the chance. Only thing that ever puts any sort of stop to the bloodthirst. Well. Doesn’t really stop it, but it does help me ignore that Kendra really does have a rather lovely neck, just right for nibbl—

Ahem.

So, we gathered ourselves and hiked back to Restlands. I wanted to hold out for a carriage, but of course the others wouldn’t have anything of it. ‘Would be too conspicuous’, they said. I think they just like watching me sweat, the bastards. Some time later we reach the cemetery. Crypt was right where Lorrimor wrote it was, and would you look at that. Supposed to be three statues of gargoyles here. Looks like one fell down. Guess we know where Lorrimor died. But did he find anything… Crypt’s lock has been opened by acid. Pretty well camouflaged to make it look still locked, too. We descended down into the crypt. Got a bit stuck at the locked door, but between the paladin and the dwarf, they managed to get it open. Looks like we’re not the only ones who’ve been down here. I can see footprints in the dust. Taking a closer look, seems that whoever it was left, too. Canny bastard stepped in his own footprints.

A short perusal of the crypt reveals two things. One, it’s rather obviously not a crypt. Lorrimor wasn’t kidding when he called it false. Doesn’t match any religious practices I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a good few. I’d guess it was created to hide whatever these tools are we’re fetching. Two, the craftsmanship on the stonework is shoddy as all the hells. The dwarf looks insulted. Nothing angers a dwarf more than poor craftsmanship. Right at the end of the crypt there’s a sarcophagus. The others wanted to hold off investigating it. I, personally, just wanted to get the tools and get out, so I went up to it and looked in.

Empty. Stupidly so. Stupidly so, because the sarcophagus rather obviously has a false bottom to it. Looks like whatever it is that we want is in there. So what do I do? I pull off the false bottom… and promptly get munched on by some of the largest centipedes that I’ve ever seen. Have I ever mentioned that I hate centipedes? Well, I hate centipedes, especially when they’re coming to chew my arse off. So I back off, certainly not screaming pure bloody murder, while the others move forward. There’s a short scuffle as hammers crunch into chitin, that bloody pistol of Nyles’ shooting off right next to my ear, and me flailing wildly with my whip before all that remains of the bugs are stains on the wall. That’s what they get for… impeding our progress. Get it? Get it? Alright, alright, I’ll admit, that was a bad pun.

Anyways, inside we see the two tools we apparently came to get. One bottle, filled with some strange liquid with something else inside… a bit of examination says that they have ‘positive energy’ inside. Something like a cross between a cure or a gentle repose spell, which makes no sense at all. Also, there’s a Ouija board. As if in Ustalav we don’t get enough of the dead already.

Ah well. For now, I sit back and take a rest on the coffin. The bite I got from the centipede is throbbing – might’ve been something in the little bastard’s bite. I have a feeling that whatever else we’re in for, tonight’s going to be a long night.

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Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

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