Current Calendar Date

It is currently night time on 12 Mirtul, 1373 (The Year Of Rogue Dragons). Tomorrow morning will be the 13th. Selûne's light is waning toward complete darkness on the 16th.

For anyone interested in making your pockets of jingling coins a bit more interesting, I've listed the local currency here for you.
Check out: Coins Of The Realms

KING KULDERMOG

“I was brought from the Underdark to serve Darkoon. But KINGS SERVE NO ONE.”

"The agreement was for release from my imprisonment inside an emerald prisonstone. The leader of another tribe, Obullachk of Bladetongue Klan, had long ago captured a magic user whom he enslaved to entrap me. This occurred was when I was king of many tribes."

"I do not yearn for battle, I yearn for the ring of an anvil and the perfect fires of the tribe’s forge. There exists still a centuries-old battle in the Underdark in which we make war on the Svirvfneblin, who destroyed our home city of Granadrush. I am descended from the ancient Skullbiters Tribe in the Spine of the World. Our race returned to the surface in what humans call Faerûn's 9th century. Our Cavern City beneath Toril was once home to ten thousand Orogs, served by nearly five thousand slaves. Oh how I long for the smell of the volcanic vents and the pools of magma beside which we create our great forges! The Grey Dwarves and the Drow value our Orog Mines."

“I was born in the caverns beneath the halls of the Dwarven king, Tuir Stonebeard, some 20 winters prior to the Year of the Costly Gift. Upon my 20th winter I witnessed a sight that I have thought about each day of my 400 year imprisonment. ..I once witnessed a human warlock who, along with an apprentice, arrived to see the Dwarven king. I witnessed this human warlock possess the bravery of Gruumsh himself! The Warlock ripped out his own bloody eye to achieve his goal. He went by the name Maskyr. I was at that moment a prisoner of Stonebeard, bound for slaughter, when I had overheard the transaction. Do you know of him?"

"You see, Maskyr’s apprentice was with him. As the two had left, having been horrified by what he had seen, the apprentice asked Maskyr repeatedly why...why...? Of course, it was meant to show bravery before King Stonebeard in order to acquire some land from him—for that is what had been discussed in the Great Dwarven Hall."

"But he turned to his apprentice, torn veins pouring blood from his eye-socket, and whispered, 'I.... I must guard the flame of Calimshan.'”

"Since my release the wizards known as Baneites have provided me what little history has transpired since. What do you know of this flame?"

"Now, indebted to the wizards for my rescue, my army marches on a small town called Thunderweep, then northward to destroy the town of Maskyr’s Eye. I do not ask much. Perhaps we can assist each other?"

"The time spent in contemplation during the hundreds of years of my imprisonment has led me to conclude that Forge’s Flame Undying is the source of the BLOODMETAL that had appeared in past centuries!"

"You ask what I intend to do next? I would break my pact with the Baneites and return to the Underdark to battle with my Svirvfneblin Foes, never to be heard from again. There is value in this forge for me, for my people, for the hope we share to reclaim our home city."


What will the party do?

Passionhall Of The Endless Revel

Sharess (shah-ress) is a radiently beautiful goddess. Her voice is said to be a throaty purr and gives the listener the feeling he or she is being brushed by the softest fur or velvet when she speaks.

Life is to be lived to the fullest, in decadent sensual fulfillment of yourselves and others. That which is good is pleasurable and that which is pleasurable is good. Pleasure is to be sought out at every opportunity and life is to be lived as one endless revel.

Was the Passionhall pleasurable for you? Please come again!

All Of A Sudden, A Tree Falls And...

Player: Okay, we go down the road toward Waterdeep.
DM: All of a sudden, a tree falls and blocks the road.
Player: Oh, we go around it.
DM: A band of goblins jumps out and chases you back the way you came.
Player: We try to jump the tree log to get over it.
DM: A wizard pops out and suddenly you feel compelled to go the other way.

We have a word for this type of game - "Heavy Handed," or "Leading By The Nose."

There are plenty of gaming gaming groups that suffer from this style of play. Ours is not one of them. Ours is one of the more 'believable' games because the characters possess free will and are provided with many choices. The characters in Sons of the Vast have not been led-by-the-nose, however, can too many choices cause a different kind of problem? Some experts in the field of product sales, say that offering too many choices can lead to confusion, doubt, and indecision. I am not a one-trick-pony and can run several different syles of campaign, but I dare say the multitude of possibilities that are offered our characters in SOV might fall into this other unique extreme.

If there were an observer watching our group who could see both sides of the screen (player view and DM view) she might say the options presented in our particular campaign are "existential", or "character focused and role-play intensive", or "deep-immersion storytelling." What would you say it is?

Consider the following:
Characters (not the DM) always choose the direction of travel, their length of stay, when they sleep & for how long, and how fast time passes in the game. Other factors such as time of day, random encounters, NPC agendas & timelines, location, PC attitudes & approach, and the DICE are all variables that help select: types of monsters/allies/opponents encountered, NPCs met and where, when and why monsters attack, how much information is gathered and by whom, and the results of situations that the PCs interact with. Outcomes, in this style are not pre-planned.

Man! Isn't that too much responsibility to dump onto the player-characters? Well, frankly, no.

Anyone can read a which-way book, play a video game, or run a game where the events are fixed, contrived, pre-selected, arranged, pre-determined, forced, or unavoidable! It takes a high amount of skill to participate in a game where the story, time-tables, events and opportunities are fully influenced by the players. This means the DM requires complete knowledge of everything and be ready to deliver that instantly, and the players must keep scribing the story forward. Wow—this is a lot of work! Yes it is, and the rewards are incredible.

There are, however, some pitfalls....

Things that can sometimes happen in this style of play:
*Occasionally, the PCs walk through the Underdark during morning hours and may wonder why there is nobody there? (Preparation means monsters could be there, but the time of day and the dice say they are not.)
*Occasionally, a player character keeps a secret to themselves, hordes magic items, or otherwise does not participate in the story. (PCs try to solve riddles without this character's information and fail, and the DM will not keep providing them clues just to make something happen.)

In other styles of play (one style in-particular that I will be moving toward after Module 4) involves the DM as a guiding-hand alternative where the DM sometimes "makes sure" that things happen. In this style, momentum is much faster, but detail is sometimes sacrificed, and some 'free-will' becomes limited. Caution must be used here, because if the DM does that too often, the players might feel led-by-the-nose. Geeez! I smell a plot hook already! (Pavel Sniffs)

Player: Okay, we go down the road toward Waterdeep.
DM: All of a sudden, a tree falls and blocks the road.
Player: Where should we be going?
DM: There is a rustic cabin on the side of the road back the way you came that has tonight's adventure in it.
Player: Okay. My nose hurts though.

Letter to Commander Constans

Conversion

She was stoned to death, a martyrs death, seconds after making her great confession. Death was calling her name as her body could take no more suffering. Kzntharris attacked her with his claws, mauling her clothes and skin with his horrible talons. His wings spread wide in darkness as he picked up her bleeding form and took to flight.

Swiftly flapping, her wounds dripping, his muscled arms clenched her tightly and rounded the corner. She prayed, "I renounce you Shar. I renounce you Shar now and forever. I return to the god of my childhood, ... help me." Then the deathbed chant ceased. The throng was there, ready, as they had promised. The black stalker had earlier explained to the faithful of Shar that their leader was a god slave to a deity not their own. Appalled, they swore to destroy her in a torturous manner that was befitting her sinful deed.

His people govern like animals in the wild where the strongest hold power over the weak. He now explained to them, "I came to judge your people as an ambassador of our race, perhaps to ally in power over all Faerûn! Now I see your leader is worthless."

Her perfect body lay beneath blood and torn cloth, beneath the sharp stones that had been cast. The small wall sconces flickered shadows about the room. The thrilling madness pervaded the room in the minds of the Dark Goddess' clergy. Kzntharris' speech was loud and strong, echoing through the chamber and hall. Stones cleaved blood gushing holes in her flesh until she breathed her last.

Kzntharris suddenly fell in posture, first to his knees and then to the floor, revealing the slim dark haired man wielding a sharp dagger. It's poisoned tip was too much for the stalker. The Drow venom was a knock-out mix of most wicked and vile components. Slyl smiled.

The Company of Light and Darkness advanced into the room. The charge was led by Evan and Pavel, each of them guided by a divine thrust forward. They stepped upon the trail leading to Sharisa and stood for just a second adjusting to what they saw. The unexpected had occurred. Now, the unexpected would occur again! Pavel put forth the Staff of Dionysus and the scent of poppies burst forth, the room was saturated with it's sweetness. The very hands of Ilmater openned up to touch his daughter, the converted Sharisa, who had returned to the god of her childhood.

"Rise again anew, servant of the Broken One," Pavel said flatly, knowingly.

And she did.

Temple of the Dark Goddess

The party keeps watch. Some exploration reveals the undead ogre has returned to his post in area 9, awaiting the next intruder as his mindless orders dictate. The Dark Moon Monks are never seen again. When she awakes, she makes haste to prepare food for the party, serving it on a table in area 17. The party considers it's options:

• Traverse tunnel area 11 to the Underdark
• Descend the shaft at the end of area 13, seems to descend very far
• Use the pic-axes in area 5 to tunnel around or under the wall of force at the entrance to Iroth mine
• Attempt again to dispell the magic upon the Calishite Chamber door
• Attempt somehow to dispell the wall of force
• Other options?

What will the party do?

Volume II

"Deogol has been dead now for a couple tendays and our guild has not advanced it's cause in Kurth," a slurred voice said from the end of the bar at Knifethrower's Inn. It was midday and as usual only the 'regular' crowd was present, sipping the cheap weak ale afforded to 'regulars' that frequented this safehouse of the Shadow Thieves.

"What of it? Do you not have enough to eat, Vûlkarron? A place to stay? A comfortable mat to rest your head?" Heliofax barked.

The Rashemi's eyes afixed upon an empty pewter stein that wobbled before it fell to the oaken floorboards behind the bar, spinning to a stop. The tan faced man raised an eyebrow, then sqinted and leaned for a better look. The aged book binding had opened, revealing a new second book appearing before his eyes.

"You're right, Heliofax, I have plenty to drink, perhaps too much so."

Heliofax the Black approached, his knife laden boots creeking the boards as he stepped over to pick up the Grimoire. "Hmmmmnph," he sighed, "Slyl's gotten through another one... brighter than I thought... I'd best be fixin' a room for his return."