Secret Hearth

It's deep night in Sunbeam, and the group has parted ways. They've each their own agendas to attend to - ancestors to visit tucked into the city's dark corners, swampland rituals to be completed, and tools of battle to be built.

Flashes of the past, words of the now. Old hands, new blood, promises to be made. Sacred words are shout into the wind and wood. Plans of war fill the night-draped gardens. A hermit and a spy take a breath before the dive. The witch makes motions in the dark.

Another day in Sunbeam. The party continues to prepare for the meeting while touching base with allies and shaping up their skills.

Now that their mission is complete, the party eyes their plunder and freely explore the old fort with the snoogle in tow.

The headquarters are scattered with signs of the conquered clowns, and the party has a lot to explore. This tenement served many more collectives than the pierrot or samson's lot, and the treasures left behind could prove meaningful in the fight. Snoogle in hand, the party delve deeper in.

The Aelwerry Academy holds many secrets, but is reluctant to share. With heritage comes some benefits, but no plan fulfills without cooperation.

The dance of subterfuge and rallying continues as Herbert makes his way to the Blue Door Inn to speak with Marge. A thin chance, but their allies grow thinner. Meanwhile, the rest of the fellowship goes about some Sunbeam shopping.

Old friends and begrudging new allies surround the fellowship as they find their feet in Yottle's gleaming capitol. Shady deals and tense confrontations pave the path to intelligence about the forthcoming meeting while underhanded menaces lie in wait for the party.

Three towers, like Elpo's hands, like the river and the mountains and the ever crawling sea of forests, grasp at the sky in the heart of Sunbeam. The fellowship has arrived to discover wayward knights, dangerous conspiracies, and a labyrinth of bureaucracy to wade through. Change will be slow and laborious, but they march on determined.

Their time of recovery interrupted by would-be burglars, the fellowship finds themselves in a dark, trapped position. These insidious characters are a greater threat than expected, but vengeance is in the Party's heart.

A hardy, old stone remnant lathered in grime and wreathed in green. Our fellowship seeks a momentary respite inside, but curiosity gets the best of them.

Spirits whisper to them as they awaken into a new day. Travel to Sunbeam continues, but the Crystal Woods are not to be trifled with. With every inkling of awe and every tiny, fantastical creature in these woods, there are equal parts dark and malicious elements.

Now Redro is a blank canvas, tattered at the edges. It offers nothing, and has nothing, but it can be shaped with the right words and strokes. Our Party tends to themselves, and their own duties. First, a speech must be made - paths and deeds must be set in motion.

The battle over, the people saved - in some ways. The Watchtower is left to pick up the pieces. With none fit to rule, they must reconvene and make some hard choices.

Revisiting the Heartwood, the Party discovers their strong words of daring and deed have riled a rebellion within the walls of Monolith. They have a choice, now - use the people's newfound strength to set things right, or let them solve their own problems. Any other folk might turn the other way, but this old pirate, this woodland witch, this knight and this spy - these folk are Watchtower.

After a tumultuous battle, the party flees into the forest. With the knob in the grasp of the animal companions, tensions are still high - but a wandering ally offers some momentary comfort.

Sneaking further into Zael's cavern, the party prepares to breach the inner laboratory. The scorned spy Goose, perpetrator of Emerald's separation from Ivory, awaits within. He's not alone - a Mica pugilist and a twisted professor also stand against them, and the threat of giants and witches looms. Zael has many allies, and the battle will be trying - who will prevail?

With the caretaker gone, they turn their attention to the eggs - but in the dark, wet recesses of the cave, something is amiss.

The assault on Zael's cavern begins. With enemies around every corner, their attempt of sabotage may be their most dangerous mission yet.

The Pale are abandoned, their father slain. The Pale follow, though - it is their nature. They were built as a mockery to life of all forms. They are parasites. So when THEY came - that vile dragon ZAEL, they fell in line. They were given new tasks, new leaders, new purpose. They became adopted, and symbiotic. Their ghastly white visages haunt the cavern, now, awaiting the agents of Watchtower. Th...

She woke up, and there was the hand. For her, someone who has dug into the world of magick with relentless drive and received nothing from the world or spirits or people in return, it was her life's calling. It was a finish line. She was getting on in years now, and accomplished nothing despite her best efforts. She wanted to make her mark on the world - a good mark - and the tree had finally give...

The crowd writhed outside of Poppy's, a starving tide. Some had already left, some went further inward. Food is pleasure in most times, but the peace after Pale had grown them into complacent bystanders. They wanted food given to them, without the work. Poppy wringed his hands and checked his stores. He could ration, maybe, and make some sales. He could turn this in his favor, these bad times. It...

"So, tell me about her. Anything distinguishing that stood out to you." "I could've sworn she looked like the Ainsley girl, but I'd never seen her without her father." "That's fine if it's your judgement. I want to know of any distinguishing marks, however - any sort of particular features that held your attention." "Right, alright. She was - all scarred up, like she'd been mauled. Not once, but,...

From Elroy's journal, 1526. The great tree Redro, which we have built our city Monolith within, has given us many good gifts. None are stranger, though, than root runners. The Firs to the South call them luggers, whereas the Warins name them as knot-foots. Regardless of their true name, their nature begs us to ask how the Crystal Woods have gone on without them. They are the jester's natural preda...