Deep within the dwarven City of Dath’ryn’vale… stands the somewhat bewildered Oliver. The young scribe, surrounded by his trusted friends– A small group of adventurers, who have recently found themselves plucked from their normal quest line, not only sidestepping a demon invasion of somewhat mild danger, but commandeered entirely by a new quest-giver. Swept up…
By David C. Daoust One minute, Colin Vice was trudging along, arms pinned by the vice-like grip of the serpentine construct that currently forced him to march forward. The next, he was trying to track, what he could swear, was an inky black shadow… It first appeared as the pair crossed a cross section…
The pitch blackness seemed to blot out every corner of reality. As though to suck said reality into some horribly vile void for which, surely, there was no escape! Or so the Scribe of Nightsong, Oliver, thought, as his eyes seemed to become lost in the nothingness. He searched for some wisp of light, some…
By David C. Daoust Still, stagnate, heat blasted air, stifling— dark, with a cacophony of industrial noise that seemed to vibrate the very hull of the repurposed Crucible of Halfhul. ‘Who would want to come down here?’ Colin Vice thought, once again, as he stewed in his predicament. The hard metal floor– made up…