Session 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
This time, I approached the Dread Manse!
Its owner was a well-respected lord, until one day he was never seen again in daylight. Rumors of horrifying vampirism persisted, which were soon confirmed as fact. His newfound dark magic was powerful enough to shade his mansion from the sun and he has not been seen in decades. Rumor has it that he hunts when night is darkest.
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Session 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11
The city of Giernan was a place of ambition and prosperity, as well as poverty and despair. Widening social castes gave way to hatred, and something truly abyssal was brought into the city. Unrest became disorder, and men became monsters. The city was sealed off from the outside and you were trapped. Then everything began to burn.
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Session 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
This time, I washed up on Abrus Island!
Agonizing coughing. Heaving expulsions of salt water. Then, finally, a laborious inhale. You live. Wiping sand and blood from your face, you try to piece together the events of the previous night: a sudden severe storm, a giant waves, the crack of the ship’s hull, pain, darkness. You’ve washed ashore here, wherever that might be. Standing, there’s a familiar pull on your soul – a Sigil nearby. Although carved by unknown hands, you feel linked to it. You lash together a simple spear and grab a piece of driftwood as a crude shield before heading off into the dense forest ahead.
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Session 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
For this session, I returned to Coral Rock:
The sigil seared into the ground shimmers like the bright, crystalline sea that laps against the coastline. A gulch between two hills fills with water, turning the north end of the peninsula into an isolated landmass.
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Session 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
This time, I ran through The Cracks Betwixt, another pamphlet Realm!
When something shatters, it leaves behind cracks. Over time, those cracks fill with all sorts of interesting things. All sorts of filth. All sorts of riches.
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For this session I revisited my first Realm, Cragcliff Reformatory!
The very name elicits an involuntary response: it conjures up an image of a horrible, nightmarish facility designed solely for the purpose of detaining magic-users of all kinds, run by the infamous former mage-hunter, Inquisitor Tremain. You had thought it to be nothing but legend. You were wrong.
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Next up is Obsidian Brink, another pamphlet Realm.
You are being followed. The instant you set foot in this Realm, something caught your scent.
It’s been hunting you ever since.
The runes carved into your being hum within you, not resonating with a source of power, but urging you to escape this place.
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Fifth on the list was Castle Blanchard.
This fragment of Obron is like something out of a fairytale: rolling hills provide the backdrop for an imposing castle on the banks of a gorgeous river. But strife rules this Realm: smoke drifts from the green hills hangs over a castle overrun with thorny vines and twisted trees beckon with gnarled branches across the river. Something has gone terribly wrong here.
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