The Tome of Ghulras

The Oncoming Storm
The seven-day promise, realized.

The Craterian gunship detonated with skull-rattling whump.

As the fireball’s light warmed the adventurers, they felt on top of the world—exhilarated by the thrill of victory…

…but then Titus spoke up. “That was quite a debacle, wasn’t it?”

“Hey, it could have gone worse,” remarked Fae. “At least we didn’t lose anybody.”

“But that’s just it. During the three weeks that we’ve spent in this awful city, our every action has made us more enemies than we can kill!”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Elka smirked. “We just blew up a Craterian airship full of what were likely to be their best-trained men and women. That’s a victory in my book.”

“We’ve been too quick to forget why we had those airships on our tail in the first place!” Drawing a sharp breath, Titus ran his gloved hand over his shaven head. “That blasted tiefling told us we’d need equipment to sneak into the warforged concentration camp at the quarry, and—” Titus held up his pointed fingers above his ears in a crude caricature of their contact— “What better a place to find it than in the Craterian armory. Did I mention I’m their boss, only I don’t care much for this job and I don’t trust my money-hungry comrades at all, so you should release those warforged and kill my boss, so I’ll be out of a job and my subordinates will hate me? What an incredible load of bull this man served us, and we ate it right up!”

The Silk Silhouette
Because sometimes Resistance bases and costumes parties just don't compare to a nice, old-timey whorehouse.

After much deliberation, the party set off on an adventure to the infamous whore-house. Though the trudge seemed long and weary, Fae led the way with some sort of breathless, but conflicted anxiety. Altering between nervous chatter about the horrors of whorehouses, and long periods of anxious silence, Fae would continued to periodically check her hair and smooth out wrinkles in her recently washed dress. The men were silent.

Before long, though, the party arrived and no one could ignore the buzz of excitement. To be sure, a whorehouse wasn’t as mysterious as the tunneled Resistance base they had just spent the night in—nor was it quite as elegant or refined as the costume party which had been one of the highlights of Sofia’s summer! But the whorehouse had one element that had not always been such a prominent part of their adventure—down and outright scandal. Their Lord of the Rings style stoic adventure had suddenly gone Firefly, and no one could deny that there was a component of intrigue to this particular mission. And it was this fresh-faced excitement which probably led to such an unorthodox attack on the whorehouse guards.

Spy Checking
The corpse is a lie!

Quickly making their way through Elogotha away from the scene of their latest escapade, the party of adventurers made their way behind Janus, finally arriving at one of the Resistance bases through an extended, dimly lit tunnel. As the party moved through the flickering light cast from the few wall-mounted torches to enter a crossroads, Janus finally stopped and turned to the party members watchfully following behind him. “Wait here,” the goliath said, “I will go ahead and let them know that we have arrived.” With those short words, Janus stalked off down the left hand passageway, leaving the party in the deepening darkness and silence.

Cat Burglars in the Time of Cholera
The companions rob a bank, rescue homeless kittens, and manage to start another fight when they could have fled.

Sophia, with an excitement fueled by bloodlust and near malicious glee, rushed at one of the two fleeing crossbowmen. She screamed her wild chant of "I’m going to cut your head off” as she homed in on her target. The poor soldier’s silent plea, “dear gods, let me live” went unanswered as the huge woman barreled toward him and then separated his head from his body. Ardan dealt with the other bowman by releasing an arrow into the man’s throat. Sophia rolled her eyes and casually wiped her sweat and her victim’s blood from her brow with a surprisingly dainty looking hankie. Obviously, the woman and the elf had differing opinions as to whose approach was more important and impressive in battle.

Seeing that they had disposed of all of their enemies, the travelers took an opportunity to propose a rendezvous with the Resistance. Ilyich withdrew the bulb-like communicator and began to text furiously.

“My comrades and I have successfully sabotaged the Craterian water supply,” he wrote. “We also picked up some information that may be of use to you.”
The valiant tubadour (eh heh heh, see what I did there?) stared at the communicator until the device bleeped and the response from the Resistance scrolled across the screen.
“By the gods, you’ve actually done it,” it read, then bleeped the address of the remdezvous point. "If possible, speak to no one. Our agent will find you.”

Delighted Dragon and Snuffling Spiders

Following our escape from the Craterian ball, we swiftly returned to the dragon. Our success pleased her immensely. As a reward for our service to her, she gave the party a magical winged helm called the Casque of Tactics. We allotted this piece of equipment to our cleric, Fey.

The dragon seemed content to peruse the scroll we had given her alone, but we decided she should know about the strange events of the party. At first she ignored us, completely engrossed in her document, until we described the tentacles of glowing doom that exploded out of the messenger from Albold Hill.


The green glow cast long shadows over seven faces.

“Lock the door. Seal it tightly this time.” Perched atop the antique claw-chair, Passeter Forzant looked like a hawk surveying mice running about in the fields below his peak.

The gaunt tiefling near the door threw the massive bolt and returned to his place directly across the table from the High Minister. For a moment, none spoke.

At once, and with a dramatic flourish, High Minster Forzant drew his hands across a portion of the expansive table—that portion within his reach, at least. The surface of the table was transformed by cascading sheets of green light that streamed from the corners of the room, which coalesced into a familiar map.

“I think it’s time we accelerated my plans, but to do so we’ll have to do a bit more…restructuring at the heart of our beloved Elogotha.”

The Gruesome Goatee
Part 1: The Terrible Treatise

He really expected this to be harder. This player was well fed and better clothed, and that meant money, and money meant skill. Challenging him to a tuboff was a plan he was beginning to regret—that is, until the man nearly up and killed himself on his own instrument. Ilyich hadn’t seen that kind of damage by instrument since his apprentice years.

The band leader seemed remarkably calm.

“Well then. It seems you win.”

The rest gained entrance in a more mundane fashion—disguising their adventuring party as a more regular partying party. Sophia was nearly beside herself—she never got to go to these types of parties as a child (dwarves really don’t go for fashionable dress parties, and the ones who do, as a rule, are avoided by their peers).

[I really don’t remember the conversation that Sophia had here- all I know is that it pissed her off]

A blaring of trumpets brought the assembly to attention. Under the watchful eyes of two Craterian bodyguards, a halfling entered.

“Uggh,” muttered Fae, “Facial hair like that makes me wish all societies let me whip men.”

“Really? A goatee?” said Arden. “Does he want an intrepid band of heroes to make a daring attack and overthrow this place?”

Shafted: The Cavernous Conspiracy
"Here there be dragons," it said. And lo—there were!

Before action report

It turned out that someone with at the resistance didn’t have all the facts, and it nearly cost Sophia her life.

The infiltrators ascended the stairs with utmost stealth, and emerged through a shadowed doorway. In her haste to find new cover, Sophia darted from the opening…and tumbled over a nearby ledge into the inky blackness of a yawning, tremendous shaft.

The weaponmaster gave a shout of surprise and whipped her greatsword from its clasp on her back. With a desperate lunge, she embedded the point deep in the sheer rock face.

For a moment, Sophia hung by one hand from the hilt of her trusted blade. Then, struggling against the weight of her scale armor, she reached up to grasp the sword securely and began to swing back and forth, back and forth, until the momentum was great enough. With an acrobatic twist, the adventurer vaulted upward and got one hand on the edge from which she had fallen. Fae, who had seen Sophia cross the brink, rushed over to pull her comrade up.

“The ledge is dangerously narrow here,” said Ilyich.


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