Overheard in the High Temple of Arivan

“… afraid of the dark? Child, there is nothing to fear in the absence of bitter light. If anything, darkness is freeing. In the shadows, you can be anything you want be, do anything you want to do, and go where you will – all without fear of judgement or persecution. Light takes that away from you. Light pins you down and says ‘This is what you are, and nothing more.’ In the beginning was darkness and from it everything that is came forth.”
“But … bad things happen at night – thieves, murderers. Not to mention the scary things that creep about beyond the walls.”
“The cowardly and weak-willed may abuse the privileges granted by Mother Night. What of crimes committed shamelessly under the baleful gaze of the sun? Is the day any better or worse for them?”
“I – I don’t know. I just know that decent folk should be sleepin’. Safe, away from the monsters.”
“… sleep. I … used to sleep.”
“… say what now?”
“There is one who sleeps … very far away, in the cold of night.”
“uh …”
“But I am calling out to it. I will wake it, I will summon it, and it shall come.”
“H-how are you gonna do that?”
“Louder. I must call louder, or it will not hear. Rend the heavens, if I must, crack the earth. The sleeper will wake and come forth.”
“I-is that safe?”
“Does the salmon swimming upstream ask if the journey is safe? Or the goose migrating south for the winter? They do not question what is written in their very being, they simply act. To do anything else would be to live in conflict with oneself – to live a lie.”
“Livin’ a lie?”
“What? Sorry, I lost myself there – Where were we? Ah yes, the dark. Would you like to discuss that further?”
“Ah, uh, no. That’s okay. I … don’t think I’m afraid of the dark anymore.”
“Excellent. Go in peace – and remember: confession is confidential.”


800 Copper
6,000 Silver
2,300 Gold
70 Platinum
2 vial(s) of holy water (100 gp)
6 bottle(s) of common wine (1.2 gp)
4 bolt(s) of fine silk (400 gp)
2 flask(s) of alchemists’ fire (100 gp)
1 lute (35 gp)
5 lbs. of copper trade bars (2.5 gp)
7 green tourmaline worth 100 gp each
Potion of Healing

And a Merry Winter's Wrath to you
The carving of the White Dragon

Sven the Cook greets all his “friends” to the feast of Winter’s Wrath…" a time when we grow our roots deep and our souls as well. A time of enduring and soul searching as Winter’s chill touches our very soul and we search out the fortitude and strength of will to continue on until the day of New Birth. We are especially blest this year as we have slain one of Winter’s allies this year, the white dragon. And to commemorate this event i have had my fellow guild craftsmen craft for each of you a special gift.
For you dear Physle, tho you look at me with disgust at times, truly my heart aches as i see you practice and study your magic, often times a victim of your own fire. I offer you this, The Staff of the Tongue of the White Dragon, yes a bit wordy but i thought you would appreciate the accuracy of the name, This staff has great ability to sooth the burns you so often receive and perhaps even more magic lingers within from the words the great dragon spoke.
Silence, tho i have known you the least amount of time, i feel i understand some of what motivates you, my condolences to you for the loss of your North ally, may you remember him as you hear the Chimes of Dragon Bone, created to send forth eerie sounds that call forth fey friend and foe alike, may it draw forth allies to you as well as curious enemies for you to take their souls.
To Peyotor, The horns you were born with do not match the strength of soul you possess, may these Horns of the White Dragon help bring you the desires of your soul and the show the strength of courage you truly have. They are laced in silver runes, tips capped in gold.
General Maximus, a general should always be seen as a figure of great renown in thought as well as physical presence. Therefore i offer you this, White Dragon Scale Mail, May you be seen as the great general you are as well as the figure of awe and authority you possess.
And for the shadow of our group, a fine leather choker, emblazened with silver runes, a gift that not only exemplifies what the party would like to do to you, but also created of a body part that we all think you are. I think i need not say more.
Dearest Val or whomever you may be at this time, a special gift for you from the brewers guild, 3 bottles of White Dragon’s Blood Wine, drink it in good health or bad, may it chill your voracious appetite.
I see our little princess can stand it no longer, Dear little Athens, a Double Amulet Neclass of clearest sapphire blue, it drapes over your shoulders, on amulet eye in front and one amulet eye in back. May it guard you from ever being betrayed and stabbed in the back, I think i could not bear it if you were done such a wrong.
And for you, oh great latreenist. A new shovel for you, fitting your skill and prestige, The Dragons Claw, fingers pointed straight and together, slightly cupped for scooping, razor sharp for piercing the foulest of mucks. Shovel to your hearts content dear friend.
Oh and Zotoh, don’t think I’ve forgotten you. I present to you this Frozen White Dragons Heart, sealed shut by cold of the dragons blood, i tried for days to thaw it and retrieve the treasure within, but to no avail. It seems it is locked up tight and perhaps the coldest heart i have ever known save perhaps your own. May you take your heart and warm it one day and find the treasure within, assuredly something of love and desire lyes within if only you can discover how to open it.
Whats that Physle? For myself? What did i have crafted for myself? Tis but an honor i have crafted for myself. This meal is from the very meat of the Dragon. I cooked it especially for you all, for i do so love the joy on the faces of those i serve, and it is my honor to be the only Glaistig in the kingdom and beyond to have gotten a piece of Dragon’s Tail." And various objects and insults commence to being thrown at Sven even for all his thoughtfulness, his own thoughts betray him yet again.

Diary of a Square Jawed Legionaire: Day 5

Dear Diary,

Today someone went and started driving the undead souls from the corpses of the Iron Legionaries. It turns out that inventing new crimes for the killing of things that are already dead is difficult. Also, witches it turns out, live in houses with sideways doors. Why can’t anything ever make sense?

Today I fought an inflated shed skin without an owner. It was gross. It had a friend, a suit of armor full of snakes. Why does it always have to be snakes? At least it skewered nicely.

Today I ran out of a dissolving witch’s hovel into a nest of humanoid snakes, and boy did they stink. Why does it always have to be snakes? They were easily skewered also.

Today, everyone else went bat fucking shit crazy as hell…

treasure 11/13

400 cp, 10000 sp, 1500 gp, 110 pp, Small Bag of Incense (25 gp), Small Vial of Perfume (25 gp), Rabbit Fur Belt (25 gp), Rabbit Fur Hunter’s Cap (25 gp), Iron Decanter (25 gp)

7 bp- fey

Diary of a Square Jawed Legionaire: Day 3

Dear Diary,

Today I watched my companions all dive off a cliff, attempting to hit the ground, and miss. I also saw the king out headbutt a goat man. Then we went into a drainage tunnel, steep, wet, and smelly, down to sump at the bottom of the quarry.

Except, of course, it was all slimy organic ichor, that fluoresced…and erupted with massive bloated versions of the goat-men. The king smashed one, which exploded, blowing up two more. It hurt. Goat entrails stink.

I woke up in the arms of the king. Wait, that doesn’t sound right. He fireman carried me out of the fight.

Today, I ran into a giant horny beast and thrust deep. Wait, that didn’t sound right either. I stabbed the big bad evil thing with my spear and killed it in one blow.

Dear Diary,

Today we emptied the treasury to repair the walls and I got a sudden promotion to General of the City of Ariven. This cannot bode well.

We returned to the city to learn of a killing spree against the minority gnome population, apparently perpetrated by our new Treasurer. After the faceless lady calmed them down, we learned that the local house spirits were dying. Apparently not the Treasurer. I hate investigations.

Today I learned that illusion magic is like a blanket, but not a very comfortable one. Grim described it as thick, knotty, and lumpy, like an old duvet.

Today I learned that it is a bad idea to talk about dead house spirits in a barn. The worms will come for you. And the rats. And the sheep. And they’ll laugh. And its creepy. And you’ll have to set the barn on fire.

Being a General sucks.

Diary of a Square Jawed Legionaire: Day 2

Dear Diary,

Today I had dinner with some dead things. The idiots and I sunk a lot of resources into repairing the walls and re-arming the scouts, then headed out to source some lumber to stand up some palisades and burn for heating.

Today, I got jumped by a swarm of bugs, and another swarm of bugs, and another, and another. Oh, and a giant bug-monster with two stingers. I almost died, again, and again. But I got better.

Today, the valkyrie sprouted another personality and we found some cast-off booze, finery, and crates of spices leftover from the party. We also found a decent place for the lumber camp, relatively close to the barrows, which might make a nice bivouc for the darakhul.

Nashar is a pretty awesome guy.

Dear Diary,

Today, the iron legion of the ghouls sang happily as they marched out of town to take over their “old barracks”. The scouts brought back the rotted corpse of glaistig — except it wasn’t a glaistig and it wasn’t rotten. It was literally MADE out of rot, but at least it had horns.

Today we sent Lucius Antoninus out to take the people’s silver to silverize the scout’s weapons, while we sank our silver coin back into the citizens.

Today we headed out to the quarry, and, thanks to a spyglass we saw a bunch of the cancer-goats. Today I stepped on a branch and blew the element of surprise. Two went flying into the quarry to end up as grease spots on the stone. And the King and his howitzer went careening in a cart after them.

Diary of a Square Jawed Legionaire: Day 1
The Bells of Arivan

Dear Diary,

Today the king turned me purple. I joined some Glaistig in defending our engineers against some elephant centaurs.

Today I learned that the fool king and his companions are cowards, but suprisingly creative tacticians. Went to a council of war, way above my pay-grade, wherein a ton of mystic bullshit about bells was discussed.

Today, I lead a drunken, glowing parade into the darkness and madness outside of reality. And Grim became a black moses, staff raised, dividing the sea of shadow with light. And, as the hordes overran the walls, the bell rang out…

Quothe Grim, “Ding Dong Motherfucker!”

Best Saturnalia EVER!

— Hastilarius Quadratus Maxillius

Canto, the Last
A Gnome in the butt is worth two in the bush.


  • Chaos – Shuffle the Deck
  • Zhuan Zhu
  • Dolmens
  • Apple
  • The Red Queen

The city of Arivan, in the midst of Saturnalia, the time of reversal and revolutions. The city has been in festival for the last five days, and wakes up to a much-too-serious hangover. Three running armies besiege the city. From the northwest come the legions, springing the traditional trap on the rallying local tribes. Between the legion and the walls is the skirling, swirling mass of the rebelling tribesmen. From the east the woods have come to Dunsinane — trees and rocks fly through the air from the giant forest ravagers and their kenku allies.

Meanwhile, by the open gates of the town, Lucius Antonius, Centurion of the Legions, draws steel on the idiots, clearly seeing through their lies. Speaking quickly, Idiot #1 suggests that the charging glaistig might be usable as a buffer against the incoming giants. The Centurion agrees and heads for the eastern wall, glaistig and their war-pipes in tow.

The glaistig and legionaire armies square off, while their commanders shout at them to stand down and start negotiating alliance against a common enemy. The idiots head for the eastern walls, apparently intent on pissing off a group of kenku outriders and drawing them between the two forces.

They roll out of the city and run strait into a plodding, lumbering, lethargic, mountain-sized mass of walking blubber. Showing uncharacteristic intelligence, the Cook turned and ran from the blobs of doom, Stan followed. Ralph (hereafter referred to as Skidmark) conjured up a herd of delicious looking swine, easily catching the lumbering masses’ attention. One of the blubbery masses leaped and sat on her.

Seeing the giant happily sitting on the delicious gnome, another comes crashing in and knocks him aside trying to get at the gnome meat. Two more come clambering up the hill, and are promptly greased up by Fizzle — quickly turning into a blubberlanche down the hill. A backhand from Backhander sent one of the first two reeling backwards into the oncoming blubberlanche.

Running and shooting and more running happens. Backhander and Gropee paused,
turned, and unleashed twin shatters, with a giant shuddering of blubber.
Grim likewise falls back between the leading giant and the trailing Skidmark and lets off a thunderwave.

And more running happens.

They closed in on the Glaistig and Legionaire armies, blubber giants still on their heels, whooping hollering and sending up sparks to draw the attention of all three sides. But, of course, they run strait into a flanker from the kenku-giant army — a horrible dog-like thing that leaps from the woods and, with a touch, makes grim bleed from every orrifice. Idiot #1 promptly appears behind it with a shovel and tips it into a creek.

And more running happens.

And the idiots charged right into the middle of the two armies, with a rolling mass of blubber and a horde of howling dog-demons on their heels and a legion of kenku. The careful negotiations broke down and glaistig and legionaires both went streaming into the city at top speed, leaving the idiots to stall the invaders while the armies got themselves organized.

Val’s falcon dives in and starts pecking at eyes. Ralph charged the enemy lines, axes in hand and started kneecapping. Stan disappeared and started laying out bear-traps. Gropee, it turned out, was so creepy that even the dog-demon flankers recoiled from her. Grim charged the dog-demon chieftain and latched on with his shadow touch just as the last of the legionaires poured through the gates and slammed them shut, and the Glaistig charged up a mound of charcoal onto the walls and lit it behind them. Leaving the idiots outside, alone, with the gates shut.

And more running happens.

Val faded out and runs strait through the wall. Ralph was tackled by Lucius Antoninus, strait into the fade. Gropee conjured vines out of the wall, creating a webwork of handholds to climb up. The Cook and Stan tried to go over the wall but were blocked by one of the dog-demons who was ahead of them. Backhander exploded a bag of sand in the demons eyes, giving the others a chance to get ahead. Grim came last, his withering touch killing the vines behind him. The idiots rolled onto the top of the wall just as the charcoal ramp burst into flames, cooking the following blubber-beasts, sending up reeking clouds of smoke and sizzling rivulets of rendered fat.

“Whose side are we on?!” Val asked exasperatedly. “We’ve switched sides at least three times in the last week.”

“We’re STILL on OUR side!” Idiot #1 replied, still wearing his paper crown.

Then the boulders started to fall, as the giants began bombarding the wall, followed by hurled, gliding ravenfolk shock troops. Ralph promptly started batting the incoming kenku out into the open air. One kenku went flopping to the ground below, the rest landed with a flutter of wings and a cloud of dust, ash, fire, and vermin blinding the idiots and sending Unibrow slipping over the edge.

The idiots were divided on three sections of wall, two divided by the burning pile of charcoal, the third separated by a crumbling section smashed away by a hurled boulder. Ralph held her section, punting birds back out into open air. Idiot #1 did likewise with his section.

The bird on the third section immediately dropped Grim with a blight spell, leaving Unibrow dangling and Backhander facing it alone. The nasty croaking bird easily shut down every spell cast at him. Stan tried to pull him into the abyss, only to . . .AAAAAARRRRRGH!

He must have died while writing it.

Come on!

That’s what it says.

Look, if he was dying, he wouldn’t bother to write “Aaargh.” He’d just say it.

That’s what’s written in the memo.

Perhaps he was dictating.

Shut up!

Canto, the Fifth
Blood Rain Sucks

The idiots charged guns blazing into Saturnalia. Idiot number one was made the king of fools. Then they decided to join the Glaistig in overthrowing Ariven. And, because traitors will be traitors, and idiots will be idiots, they decided to arrange a marriage.

The Glaistig woke the idiots up shortly after the matins. There is a creepy hornless glaistig lady, pale as pale, and hard to see when not concealed in shadow, as contraditory as that is. The idiots are handed their weapons, oiled, darkened with resin, and muted with leather pads. They marched out with the cook on point.

They march through forest that looked oddly virgin. Then on past huge carved and fallen slabs of stone, covered in moss and etched with strange winged figures, like kenku with faces like elves. Ancient, ancient stones, from which nothing good could possibly come.

Of course, there rang out a brutal roar and the ring of weapon on weapon. The Cook moved closer to see a battered patrol of legionaires, most of them decapitated or torn in half, and a dark passage into a hillside. Standing before the passage was a centurion, holding the line against wode-painted, heavily muscled giants.

Quick as his broken wind, the Cook snuck up and healed the Centurion. A flicker of lights through the woods told the rest of the idiots that life was about to get even suckier than it was already. As hard as that might be to imagine.

More giants burst from the woods, to be met by angry glaistig. Ralph the Midget burst into the clearing, sword swinging. The rest of the idiots followed into the melee, apparently having a strange change of heart as many of them moved to help the Centurion.

Backhander snaired them with black-reaching arms of doom from the ground, then Unibrow called on the forest spirits to light up a tree, blazingly bright. With the giants blind and reeling, the Glaistig plowed through strait into the barrow.

Finally the idiots had a stroke of brilliance and followed the Glaistig towards the hole. Not that the hole looked at all pleasant or inviting, but it would be far superior to having one’s head caved in by the wode-painted giants. Idiot #1 even had the odd altruistic turn to try to grab the Centurion on his way in. The Centurion refused, until Snorlax and Unibrow tackled him in.

Val and the Unibrow, being the last in line, were skewered and tossed into the hole. Leaving, of course, myself. I slinked towards the hole, still unsure, until the giants began hurling things at me. Down the hole I went.

Of course the hole just happened to be a passage into the Fade. Of course. Like anyone would be surprised that the creepy, clearly malevolent hole into the hillside after passing through some creepy old ruins would be a passage into grimdark. Meanwhile, in the cold and dark, the creepy hornless glaistig woman who had led us here looked even creepier, her face cracked and ashen.

The Centurion seemed just as surprised as we were. Idiot #1 tried to convince him that the Glaistig with us were auxilia. I, meanwhile handed him my reports, him being the highest ranking officer present. Of course, like all the idiots, the Centurion failed to read the report, and thus bought Idiot #1’s barefaced deception. I shouldn’t even try, really.

The Centurion exposited of entire villages razed by the giant wode-painted things. Levels of destruction supposedly not possible by small scattered bands like the one we encountered. Creepy Glaistig lady suggested that the destruction might be related to Winter waking.

He finally sat down to read the report as everyone rested, but, of course, the bumbling cook dumped a bowl of stew on them. Everyone rested, recouperated, and ate. Some people got backhanded. Shields were confiscated, traded, and returned.

Within short order the idiots were back on the move, out of the cave and into a strange, unreal landscape. Everything growing was rotten, festering, diseased. The ground a soggy, bubbling morass.

A scout came back, covered with thorn wounds, and his flesh half-dissolved into air leaving only a disembodied skull. A whirlwind of boiling blood and bone descended, and promptly ate a second glaistig. Backhander promptly backhanded it from afar, hurling splinters of bone in every direction.

The idiots threw the kitchen sink at it — light, lightning, force, slashing and tearing blades — but still it stood. In response it did…nothing. Then Snorlax simply waggled up and smote the thing.

Creepy thing dealt with, the idiots moved in closer to the city. They knew this not by walls or houses, but by the wailing of children and the moving, seething, filthy movements of their burried dead. The houses that were there were the ancient, torn, rotted, and burned, remnants of Glaistig hovels.

There was a sudden light, painful, boring, and piercing. Then the idiots found themselves standing in the middle of Ariven. In the clear, finally, the archvist sent a second copy of his logs off to the legion.

Snorlax, meanwhile, pointed out that, beset by monsters the likes of we’d never seen, pitching the Glaistig against the Legion would be a bad idea. Perhaps not everyone in this unit are complete idiots.

The idiots headed for the gates, Idiot #1, still dressed as the King of Fools, attracted quite the crowd. He ordered dunkings for everyone and called for a pig. The Legionaires manning the walls and gates were in an uproar. The gates themselves were swinging closed, fast.

Gutting the pig, Idiot #1 read the entrails. Closing the gate was low reward, low risk. Opening the gates were high-reward, high-risk. The gates were opened.

A wild rabble of Glaistig came tearing towards the gate, as a full legion came out of the woods and began forming up against them. Then, from the other side of the city, came the deep sound of a mighty, shuddering horn, and a rain of massive boulders and whole trees being hurled through the air. Followed by marching rank after rank after rank of raven-folk, then an army of the lumbering wode-painted monstrosities.


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