The Barmaiden
“The Innkeeper? Gone for quite some time now. But the tavern remains, and so do I.”
A red-haired woman tends to the tavern’s patrons, singing in the Innkeeper’s absence.
The Eyes of Death
“The creepiness of all those creatures wearing the old ruler’s face… it’s great” Nerds on Earth
Shrouded in fog, caught between life and death, survivors still breathe in unburnt Faelkrun. Demons haunt manor halls, hollows cling to the choking streets, and ancient warriors, bound by wolf’s blood, still fight a forgotten war. The fire fades: yet in this cursed, forgotten land, some cling to purpose.
Dorothea of Londor, who bears life amidst death. The Second Cousin, grasping at nobility long faded. The Disciple of Velka, seeking justice in a world bereft of sin. And the Barmaiden, who sings of old Gods, worshipped and departed. The fire fades, reality crumbles, and the kiln stands empty even of ashes.
It all begins in the forest, in the dark…
A hulking, shambling monstrosity confronts you by a fire.
It is the Pardoner of the Deep.
Allow one of your number to be consumed, and you may pass in peace…
“The Innkeeper? Gone for quite some time now. But the tavern remains, and so do I.”
A red-haired woman tends to the tavern’s patrons, singing in the Innkeeper’s absence.
“Be careful who sees you talking to me. The locals would not think kindly of it…”
A pregnant woman sits alone by the fire, drawing curious and sometimes disapproving glances from other patrons.
“Ah. Finally. Warriors, you seem worthy of a good fight… Meet me in the Temple of the All-Father. We’ll do it there.”
Seated in the back, a black-haired woman wearing a beast skull mask watches the room intently.
“… meow.”
An old cat that lounges near the fire, offering cryptic insights and claims of a noble past as a forest guardian.
“Are you sure you want to leave that tavern? There’s plenty of danger out here… though reward too…”
A leather-armored figure who introduces himself as Charles. The stranger lurks on the outskirts of town.
“You there! You! You shall help me regain my rightful manor! I am your Castellan!”
A pompous figure in tattered finery who accosts travelers with demands of fealty and service.
The night sky is black and starless. The Age of Dark will soon be here.