Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 33 Pt. 3

Written by: Flamereptile

Written: 05/15/26

Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 33 Pt. 3

This part of this week’s tale begins as the party has split up and descended to the capitol of the coastlands.

*** Everyone ***

At Prinze’s command, Blagothskul turned Sky’s Reach to the west towards the capitol of the coastlands. A day and a half passed in which the Skyland soared across the skies, after which it began to loom over the capitol once again.

As was custom within the capitol, when a Skyland was spotted looming above, the alarms across the city were sounded, alerting the whole of the city to its presence. Not that most of the capitol’s denizens weren’t already aware of the encroaching mass of stone that visited every few weeks. Each time the Skyland was identified as Sky’s Reach, a militia was dispatched to receive its envoys, signaling their arrival with a slew of fireworks.

Often times, Allistair, Beezul, and Prinze would make the militia wait before they departed, sometimes for hours, before they disembarked, just to test the militia’s patience.

 This time however, the group split into two, very uneven, parties and departed immediately in the cover of night. The militia that was sent to receive them would fail to notice their departure, regardless of the lights cast by their fireworks, and would end up waiting for hours once again.

*** Alonzo, Beezul, Dolgrak, & Prinze ***

Alonzo, Beezul, Dolgrak, and Prinze leapt from the edge of Sky’s Reach and began to plummet below. Alonzo spread his magical cloak, catching the wind beneath it and gliding down. Beezul opened the wings of Vespa, far too small for typical maintained flight, but began to float aloft regardless. And Prinze dove, grabbing his broom of flying and mounting it just before impact on the ground below, safely preventing his fall.

Dolgrak, on the other hand, leapt from the edge of Sky’s Reach mindlessly and began to plummet, remembering only a few seconds after leaping that he had no means of flying, or safely reaching the ground for that matter. As he fell, he cried out for help, being graciously grabbed by Alonzo and safely deposited on the streets below.

Silently in the night, Alonzo gestured for his trio of acquaintances to follow him into a crowded street that lead into a bustling market front. Even in the darkness of the evening, this market street was filled with people of all shapes, colors, and races trading, haggling, and bartering before business began the next day.

Alonzo lead his cohorts to a tavern, called the Flush Barmaid Tavern, from which half a dozen drunken orcs had just stumbled from. As he strode in, Alonzo tipped his hat at the barmaid and wandered into the wine cellar behind the bar. He walked past dozens of barrels, tapped and untapped, before stopping at a barrel so large it could act as a whole fermenting vat. He knocked on it four times, then pushed in on its hull, revealing that it was much lighter than it appeared.

The barrel pushed away from atop a staircase carved into the cellar’s stone floor, and Allistair descended.

The stairs took him down into the stinking sewers of the capitol below, across a winding trail of tunnels, and to a filthy wooden door. Allistair took out a small wooden rod from his pockets and tapped on the door four times before it opened into a sprawling cistern.

Dozens of market stalls stood erected across the expanse of this cistern, stalls Alonzo knew well. This was the Midnight Market. The place you went to get things you normally couldn’t find out in the public. A place that Alonzo had helped to build since his youth.

Here, loud merchants called out across the cistern to one another, swearing and cursing each other, and coaxing prospective customers to their stalls. It was remarkable, for such a hidden, tucked away market, how many people had found it to peruse wares.

And peruse a person could do here, for hours. The Midnight Market had everything from deadly poisons, illegally enchanted weapons, and even siege equipment. The very reason Alonza had brought Prinze here. Speaking of, where had Prinze wandered off to?

To find trouble is where.

Prinze had quickly separated himself from Alonzo, and the rest of his cohorts, and engaged in a shouting match with a slimy merchant known as Cannon Kyle.

Kyle was a human man with greasy black hair, but what made him unique was that in all realities, every variation of Kyle was doing the exact same thing at the exact same time. He was, canonically, always a cannon salesman, always a little greasy, and always loud.

Prinze, who had not noticed the inherent paracausality of Kyle, had approached him to attempt to negotiate prices for cannons for Sky’s Reach, as had countless other individuals across countless other realities. Simultaneously, every variation of Kyle had become irate at the thought of negotiation, and failed to make his sale.

While Prinze was “negotiating” with Kyle, Beezul and Dolgrak had slipped away. Beezul sought out a poisoner, finding a snake-like woman peddling her wares a few dozen feet away. He had perused her poisons for several moments, but nothing spoke to him, which, in a place like this was probably for the best. Dolgrak, on the other hand, who was yet to be paid by Alonzo, meandered from stall to stall in search of a new weapon that he could purchase. Unfortunately for him, Dolgrak was, unbeknownst to him, the least wealthy person within the Midnight Market.

Alonzo approached an old friend of his, Anthony, another Half-Elf who had similar ties to the underground. Anthony specialized in selling siege weapons, both magical and mundane. After greeting Anthony, Alonzo called over Prinze, briefing him on etiquette for negotiating in the Midnight Market.

“He said you’re welcome to come buy his wares, but you better bring a better attitude when you do. You can get away with acting like that with Cannon Kyle, because nobody likes Cannon Kyle, but if you talk like that with Anthony he’ll make sure to bend your knees backwards on you. You understand?”

Prinze nodded, and the two approached Anthony.

Nearly half an hour passed of Anthony showing Prinze his wares, and Prinze trying his best to negotiate with a professional negotiator, and when it was all said and done a deal had been struck. Prinze was going to have some new toys fitted to Sky’s Reach, and Anthony was now a very rich man.

*** Allistair ***

Allistair departed from Sky’s Reach with instructions, and a letter, from Prinze. His mission was simple, while the rest of his party was out carousing within the Gloam Market, he would invest in the infrastructure of Sky’s Reach.

Allistair skulked through the night, as was his heritage, and came upon the spellcasting guild of the capitol. He knocked on the door, and quickly, it was answered by a lithe Orc.

“What’s your business this late?” she asked.

“Looking to hire spellcasting services, and furnishing services. I’m told that some of your members can build and furnish homes fairly quickly? May I come in?”

“Just a moment.” Said the Orc as she unlocked the door and opened it for Allistair.

He slowly walked through the threshold and joined the Orc as she lead him inside. It had been quite some time since Allistair was last in a guildhall. It was comforting to him. Once he could find Lady Blackhurst again he would have to request a brief visit across the planes so he could check on his plants.

The Orc lead Allistair to a table full of mangy looking druids. He could tell immediately that they were likely druids because all of their clothes were woven from leaves and plant fibers, and several of them were either covered with bird feces, colonies of insects, or small furry animals that were best known for stripping the flesh off of the creatures it caught on the forest floor. It was impressive this druid not only managed to tame one of these creatures, but allowed it to sit upon his shoulder.

“Lads.” Said the woman, “This is Mr. uum… what did you say your name was again?”

“You can call me Allistair.”

“Right. Mr. Allistair. He said he’s looking for your spellcasting services in building some homes.” She said.

“How many you looking for?” said the druid covered in bird droppings in a weaselly tone.

“What do you wannem made of?” asked the druid swarmed with insects.

“Would you prefer them to be furnished or not?” inquired the druid with the critter. She seemed to Allistair to be the most refined of the group.

“We’re looking to have about twenty domes molded from stone, and furnished.” Said Allistair.

“Twenny? What’re you doin’ wif that many?” asked the bug druid.

“All furnished? That’s going to be quite costly.” Said the she-druid, “Are you sure you’re in possession of the appropriate funding for such a project?”

“When you need ‘em done?” asked the bird druid.

Allistair, bombarded by questions, took a moment to consider his answers.

“We live upon the Skyland Sky’s Reach that visits here from time to time. We are trying to establish permanent residences for many of our current and future denizens. We have no issue with coin, let me assure you of that. And we may only be here a few days. How quickly can you get them done?” said Allistair.

“You? Liv on dat flyin’ rock?” asked the bug druid, “Ain’t no way.”

“What you all do up on that thing?” asked the bird druid.

“Gentlemen, please. That is Mr. Allistair’s business.” Said the she-druid, changing her tone a bit at the prospect of a wealthy client “Please pardon them Mr. Allistair. The three of us can work through the night if you want, completing your request before daybreak if that is what you want. But it won’t be inexpensive. I’m sure you understand.”

“How much are we talking? Dependent on price, there are some other renovations I would like seen to, chiefly expanding the barracks for our Kobold population and our kitchen space.”

The group sat at the table for a few hours, negotiating, counting, and discussing the coming renovations to Sky’s Reach, when finally the she-druid said, “Alright Mr. Allistair. I believe that we can complete your request by the end of the night, and ensure it’s up to code by the OSHD standards. As agreed, that will cost you approximately five thousand gold. How would you like to pay?”

Now, one of the most reviled, yet most important, organizations of the Third Age of Elindor is the OSHD, the Operational Safety and Health Druids. This organization was created by the United Nations of Elindor to ensure the quality, safety, and environmental impacts of spellcasting across the plane meets a baseline standard. Many denizens across Elindor, however, loathe the OSHD due to their strict adherence to code and substantial fines for failing to comply with it. They are not, however, reviled as much as the CDC, also known as the Centaurs for Disease Control.

Allistair would lead the druids up to Sky’s Reach, procure for them one of the giant’s gold coins, and they would begin raising domed buildings from the Skyland. Before day broke the next morning, twenty new houses stood upon Sky’s Reach, and the Kobold’s barracks and kitchen had been expanded, and three exhausted druids descended back into the capitol with a golden coin far too large for any one of them to carry.

*** Everyone ***

Five days would pass, and everyone upon Sky’s Reach would find themselves busy. Alonzo, Beezul, and Prinze would point, direct, build, and pay for heavy siege weapons to be installed all across Sky’s Reach, while Allistair and Dolgrak would work to finish the new spaces built upon it, and move its new denizens into their new homes.

That is where this week’s tale ends, and next week’s tale will begin.

Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 33 Pt. 2

Written by: Flamereptile

Written: 05/13/26

Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 33 Pt. 2

This part of this week’s tale begins with the party flying up towards Sky’s Reach from the wreckage of the skyship.

*** Everyone ***

Quickly, those that had trailed behind Prinze caught up to him, as his broom was only capable of flying at a leisurely speed. They all made landfall upon Sky’s Reach, through the front gates before two Stone Giants, one male and one female. The two stood there, bickering with one another, holding their hands up to their heads, as a commoner would when their carriage crashes into that of nobleman.

The two looked down at the arriving group and dropped down to their knees, facing towards Prinze.

In a monotoned, droning voice, the man said, “Greetings my lord.” Holding the last few letters of lord far too long, “My apologies my lord. Hulda allowed the skyship to sneak up on us and take out the ballistae.”

“What do you mean I let them sneak up and take out the ballistae?” replied Hulda with venom in her voice.

Wincing at the proverbial poisoning, Wiglof continued, “Are you mad at us my lord?” again, holding onto the last word for far too long.

Beezul, gently sat Frank down next to his family and shouted out towards the giants, “Yeah he is! He’s mad at you both! You better start making amends before he gets any angrier!” before flying back off the edge of the Skyland to go retrieve Charlos.

Dread came over the faces of Wiglof and Hulda as they shifted from a kneel to prostrate, “Please my lord. Forgive us.”

“I’m not mad yet.” Said Prinze, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No my lord, the ballistae have been destroyed.” Wailed Wiglof.

“No, I mean are you okay? The ballistae can be replaced.” Replied Prinze.

“Yes my lord. Physically we are fine.” Wiglof and Hulda raised their heads at the generosity of the host of their lord.

Months ago, when Allistair, Beezul, Blinky, Maximus, and Prinze had stormed Sky’s Reach to kill another Oracle and Justiciar, Prinze had managed to release a fragment of Jotunn’s power from his wraps, using it to speak to the giants that were working with the cult at the time. With Jotunn’s aid, Prinze had convinced Blagothskul, Wiglof, Hulda, and nearly two dozen Ogres that he was the next incarnation of Jotunn on this plane. Little did Prinze know, he would not be deceiving them. Since that day, they have served Prinze faithfully, regardless of how ridiculous his requests may seem, though, occasionally they do cause him headaches.

“Is Blagothskul okay?” asked Prinze.

“No my lord. Lord Blagothskul has not been okay for many years now. He’s always holed up in his tower, grieving the loss of his wife.” Replied Wiglof.

“Physically?” asked Prinze, now becoming a bit irritated.

“Yes my lord. Lord Blagothskul is physically fine..” replied Wiglof, smug from Prinze’s irritation.

“Speaking of, what happened there?” asked Prinze, “He’s kind of always avoided the subject with me.”

“His wife died my lord. She was buried within this island.” Said Hulda.

“That sounds pretty normal.” Said Prinze.

“Then the island rose from the ground.” Said Wiglof.

“I don’t understand.” Said Prinze, “Her burial raise the island?”

“Yes my lord.” Said Wiglof, “She is the island.”

“That’s pretty big.” Said Prinze, “Was she fat?”

“She looked better in a dress than jeans my lord.” Replied Hulda.

A moment later, Beezul had returned with Charlos, carrying the unconscious tortle above his head.

“Where should I put this?” asked Beezul.

Prinze pointed off the side of the island, being under the impression that tortles were descendant from dragons, which in itself was not entirely inaccurate. Smugly, Beezul instead set him down on the ground.

“Were there any casualties in the attacks?” Prinze asked Wiglof and Hulda.

“Only a few Kobolds my l…”

“No, I said casualties.” Interrupted Prinze.

“No my lord.” Said Hulda.

“Good. Well, we have less of a problem now.” Said Prinze as sadness overcame Beezul.

On the plane of Elindor, most animals groups are gifted with unique nouns to differentiate them from one another. Some more common of these nouns include such groups as a colony of ants, a swarm of bees, a pack of dogs, and even a gaggle of geese. Some less commonly known of these groups may include a congress of babboons, a mob of kangaroos, or even a conspiracy of ravens. But amongst these terms, a problem of kobolds and an issue of goblins are some of the least known, yet most consistently used.

The midday sun shone overhead, cutting through the wafting cloud of dust and smoke and the thick cloud that had concealed the skyship above.

Beezul broken the momentary silence, asking, “Why did we come back here again?”

“To kill the greens.” Said Prinze, referring to the Oracle and Justiciar of the Verdant Faithful.

“To put Manticore Tor on the Skyland.” Said Allistair, “Which went poorly.”

“Speaking of the greens, how many of these guys have you killed so far?” asked Dolgrak.

“Well, we killed the bl…” began Prinze.

“The Oracle and Justiciar of the Night Faithful.” Interjected Allistair.

“Yeah, and the whi…” continued Prinze

“The Oracle and Justiciar of the Frost Faithful.” Again interjected Allistair.

“Twice. We killed them twice.” Said Prinze, eyeing Allistair, “But they wouldn’t stay dead. They came back after a few weeks.”

“I wonder if that has something to do with the onyx?” asked Allistair, “It seemed to kill Carl Wester after all.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Said Dolgrak, “Onyx interrupts spiritual connections. It would make sense that, if you stabbed him with a shard of onyx, he wouldn’t be able to regenerate or come back to life.”

Allistair, Alonzo, Beezul, and Prinze stared daggers at Dolgrak.

“How did you know that?” asked Prinze, “Where did you hire this guy? Was he a cultist?”

“Not as far as I know.” Said Alonzo, “He was a downtrodden pirate when I found him. Hired him to take over the skyship after it was taken over. Which failed.”

“I’m not a cultist.” Interjected Dolgrak, “I was a captive. I was a notorious captain with an immense bounty down in the Hollows. My ship was swept up in a magical storm, upon one of the great lakes, and we were ejected to the surface. My ship and crew were destroyed when we arrived.”

“What was the name of your ship?” asked Prinze.

Dolgrak became silent for a moment before continuing, “The cult found me and took me in as a slave, but I broke free. Alonzo found me in a tavern right after I escaped. I learned about the onyx thing while I was a captive.”

“A likely story.” Said Prinze.

“Honestly! I hate the cult as much as you do.” Replied Dolgrak.

“Not likely.” Said Prinze, “How do I know you’re not a spy?”

“If I were a spy, why would I hide in a barrel the last four days?” asked Dolgrak.

“Fitting into barrels comfortably for long periods of time is a useful skill. Maybe you were practicing.” Said Prinze.

Dolgrak shook his head in frustration, “If you’re looking to mess up the cult, I’m down. I want to join.”

“We’ll see about that, but we can always use another pair of hands to kill dragons.” Said Prinze, his tone lightening, “Sometimes we make money doing it too.”

“Even better.” Said Dolgrak.

“One time, I was charged with stealing a dragon’s hoard that was made from the stolen money from a nearby town. I didn’t do it, but the town thought I had their money.” Said Prinze, trying to get a reaction from Dolgrak.

Dolgrak simply nodded.

A few moments of silence passed before Dolgrak asked, “So do you guys actually own this place? Or are you just squatters?”

Prinze, shocked by this question, especially in front of Wiglof and Hulda, turned and walked off. Alonzo, Wiglof, and Hulda followed behind.

Beezul, stuttered and mumbled for a moment before grabbing the now conscious Charlos by the arm, saying, “Charlos, let me show you to the kitchens.”

Allistair, disinterested in this whole affair, turned towards the Swift family and departed, helping them to move Frank to another part of the island.

Dolgrak stood there in silence for several minutes, without an answer to his question.

*** Alonzo & Prinze ***

Prinze, followed by Alonzo, Wiglof, and Hulda, crossed the distance between the front gates and the grand staircase of the lower level of Sky’s Reach. Opting to not physically climb the stairs, he mounted his broom and effortlessly bypassed them. Alonzo activated his cloak, following in tow, while Wiglof and Hulda easily strode up the massive stairs.

Hanging a left at the top, Prinze waited for Wiglof to open the massive doors to Blagothskul’s tower. The tower itself was easily a hundred feet tall, being constructed of large gray bricks, but at its pinnacle the tower was cloaked in crystalline growths. Prinze had never paid the odd location of these crystals much mind as, once the doors were opened, he was usually more concerned with the climb ahead of him.

Of course, Prinze never actually climbed the massive, giant-sized spiral stairs, even if there was a smaller humanoid staircase built into the inner radius. Prinze again mounted his broom, flying straight up towards Blagothskul’s chambers at the top. Alonzo, again, followed behind.

Wiglof and Hulda sighed at one another due to the impending climb. This new master of theirs was certainly spirited, but he did not seem to pay mind to the expenditure of their efforts while serving him. They began to follow behind at a much slower pace.

Reaching the top, Prinze waited a few moments before the exasperated Wiglof emerged upon the staircase below. He gave Wiglof a moment to catch his breath before he gestured towards the door for Wiglof to open.

By no means was Prinze lazy, and Wiglof understood this, and were Prinze capable he would certainly open the doors for himself. The problem simply came about because, while Prinze was nearly eight feet tall and strapped with lean muscle, many of the doors upon Sky’s Reach were built for giants, being, often 20 feet tall or taller and carved from dense, flexible stone.

Wiglof opened the door for Prinze and took a step back before lowering himself to one knee. By this point, Hulda had joined him at the top of the stairs, taking a knee beside him.

“My lord Blagothskul, my lord Prinze is here to speak with you.”

Beyond the door, standing within a room that was overgrown with clear quartz crystal, and hunched over a massive crystalline monitor, was a Cloud Giant, one who towered above both Wiglof and Hulda, even while hunched over.

Blagothskul turned and lowered himself to one knee, saying, “My lord Jotunn. I am pleased that you have come to visit me.” He rose again after his introduction, “What brings you, and your new friend, to my chambers today? How may I be of assistance to you?”

“How is everything Blagothskul?” asked Prinze.

“Things could be far worse given the circumstances.” Replied Blagothskul, “Sky’s Reach was, fortunately, only disarmed in the attack, and the only casualties we sustained were Kobolds, which lessens our growing problem. The attack did, unfortunately, destroy all of our ballistae and rocks.”

“They destroyed the rocks? Like, you mean the throwing rocks? The messaging system rocks? The…” Prinze lowered his tone to a whisper, “getting rid of people we don’t like rocks?”

“The very ones my lord. It would be wise, next time we make landfall, to harvest new rocks and purchase some armaments for Sky’s Reach.” Replied Blagothskul.

“Can’t you just use the rubble?” asked Prinze.

“We could my lord, but rubble does not make an effective or reliable tool when fending off attackers, or sending messages.” Replied Blagothskul, appalled at the mere suggestion of replacing a noble stone with mere rubble.

Now, long ago, in the ages of Dragons and Giants, the Giants of Elindor discovered that there was scarcely a more effective, or versatile, tool than a large boulder. They could be easily pulled from the ground and rounded to make perfect throwing stones, which only increased their value and versatility. In a pinch, or in order to make a point, a large boulder could be thrown towards an enemy, or somebody you wanted to make your enemy. But beyond simple weapons, boulders made even more effective methods of communication.

Should a boulder be inscribed with a few simple runes, which were actually stolen from Giantkind by the Dwarves after the first war of Dwarves and Giants, it could be made to not only carry messages, but also made to fly forward in a direction controlled manner. Should a Giant wish to send a message, all they needed to do was inscribe it with a few runes and throw it. The boulder would then, reliably, be delivered to its recipient. After all, it was difficult to intercept and alter a message when it weighed several thousand pounds and was flying through the air at speeds which could, at times, break the sound barrier.

Funny enough, after inscribing and throwing a large enough boulder, to a target not suspecting one, it would in fact deliver more than one message at the same time.

“What about if we find a market to purchase some siege weapons and boulders? We could kill two stones with one bird? Don’t we have some money in the treasury?” asked Prinze.

“I could hook you up.” Interjected Alonzo.

Prinze and Blagothskul stopped and stared at Alonzo for a moment before Blagothskul broke the silence, “My pardon my lord, but was this a friend of yours or did you bring it up here for me to take care of for you?”

“That’s still to be determined, but what do you mean you can hook us up?” replied Prinze before turning to Alonzo to inquire.

“I know a guy. In the capitol.” Said Alonzo.

“And he can get us some of the good stuff?” asked Prinze, “You know, weapons that can knock dragons from the sky, and tear the wings from dragons, and… slay dragons?”

“Yep.” Replied Alonzo, “I know a guy.”

“How much money do we still have in the treasury?” asked Prinze hastily.

“We still have around one hundred twenty gold coins.” Replied Blagothskul, “Surely enough to get my lord whatever he pleases. But remember, my lord, that since your arrival, gold has only come out of the treasury. Should you spend recklessly, which I have no doubt you will be conscious of,” Blagothskul’s tone took one of subtle sarcasm, “we would not be able to support our population with the necessary food, water, and supplies it would need to continue your operations.”

“Plus, I don’t think a hundred twenty will cut it for what you’re looking for.” Said Alonzo.

“Oh, no I don’t think we need to worry about either of those.” Said Prinze, “Think of this as an investment in the skyland. The better armed we are, the easier we can slay dragons. The easier we can slay dragons, the more dragon hoards we can loot. And the more dragon hoards we loot, the more we can replenish the treasury. Also, “Prinze looked towards Alonzo, “Each gold coin is the size of a manhole cover. I think they’re valued around five thousand gold pieces each.”

Alonzo began to salivate a little at the prospect of over six hundred thousand gold pieces somewhere on this island.

“In that case, my lord, reaching the capitol will take about two days.” Said Blagothskul.

“Sweet!” said Prinze, “I’ll have some time to train.”

“Is there a fat fuck here?” asked Alonzo.

“You mean a Wester?” replied Prinze, “Yeah, we have Neal, but I don’t think he leaves the kitchen unless it’s to sleep, and I think he sleeps at the bar half of the time.”

Alonzo nodded. Prinze stared back at him for a moment, then shrugged, and the two left Blagothskul’s tower.

*** Beezul ***

Beezul, holding Charlos by his large, scaly arm, lead him across the lower level of Sky’s Reach towards the kitchens. Squeezing through the almost too narrow doors, Charlos’ eyes grew wide, not simply at the inefficiency and state of disarray of the kitchen, but at the potential. With a little bit of work, and after whipping these Kobolds into shape, Charlos could turn this space into, not only a serviceable dining facility, but a fine dining facility.

Beezul, however, did not see the same potential as Charlos. He strode into the kitchen, Charlos trailing behind him, and saw what he normally did: A large tavern-like space that had been thrown into sheer chaos by the Kobolds that typically ran rampant within. Oh, and Neal was there too, Beezul couldn’t overlook him, being the largest creature in the room.

Neal Wester was a youthful member of the illustrious Wester family, sent as an envoy by the Council of Westers to Sky’s Reach to “advise” the operations here. The Wester family held great power within the coastlands, being believed to secretly control many of the governments across Valdaria. Not so secretly, however, they did. There was a Wester installed into power in nearly every Valdarian territory, town, and village.

The Westers themselves, or at least their ruling cast, were well known for their immense sizes and grotesque gluttony. Often taking the bloated, bulbous forms of humans that had long ago lost their abilities to walk, and generally care for themselves for that matter.

Neal, although on a diplomatic mission for the council to persuade the denizens of Sky’s Reach to install a councilor as an advisor, had grown quite distracted with the unusual and exotic foods offered within the Sky’s Reach Kitchen, and unbeknownst to Neal, his distraction was about to grow drastically once Charlos had restructured the Sky’s Reach Kitchen.

Beezul was quite fond of the chaos of the kitchen, however, as, not so long ago, Beezul himself was a lowly Kobold. He had bonded with the freed Kobold slaves, after Beezul had helped to purge the cult from Sky’s Reach, and quite enjoyed their chaos.

“Alright everyone!” shouted Beezul, “This is Charlos. He’s an actual chef! He’s going to take over here, so listen to him closely.”

Three Kobolds, who had been holding a fourth beneath the surface of a pot of nearly boiling liquid in order to fish out a lost ladle, turned and hopped down from the counter they were standing on. The Kobold in the pot floated to the top, snout down, and unmoving for a moment before bursting upwards holding the once lost ladle and shouting in victory. Three more Kobolds, who had been having a knife throwing competition with the butcher’s knives, dropped their knives and approached Beezul and Charlos. Nine other Koblds stopped in their chaotic activities, whether it be riding a spinning fan, carving an old turnip, or napping within the salad bar, to join their brethren before Beezul and Charlos.

Charlos stared down at the sixteen kobolds before him, assessing each one. Evaluating their potential. He finally said, “Give me a week to whip them into shape and get this place fixed up and it’ll be like a whole new restaurant.”

Beezul nodded, “I knew you would like this place.”

*** Allistair ***

Allistair carefully lead the Swift family up the stairs to the second level of Sky’s Reach, taking them to a trio of dome-shaped huts on its port side.

“You all can stay here while on the Skyland. I don’t think anybody will bother you, except for maybe the vampire. Just make sure you’re in before nightfall and you don’t inviter her, or her children, inside.” Said Allistair.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Asked Frank, “Not that anywhere’s safe these days.”

“Probably.” Said Allistair, “Probably safer than the ground where the cultists are running rampant.”

Frank shrugged, “I s’pose so.”

“You and Linda can stay in this house, it’s a little bare bone, but next time we make landfall I can work on getting it furnished for you. And you children can stay in the home next door. Your only neighbor will be Skjalvarn. He’s a Frost Giant we picked up a few weeks ago. He shouldn’t bother you, aside from making the common wall between your houses a little colder.”

Linda reached forwards and hugged Allistair, “Thank you for saving us and letting us stay here while my husband recovers.”

Allistair, not used to physical contact, or affection for that matter, simply nodded. Once he was free of her grasp he said, “Just call on me if anything happens and I’ll come as quick as I can.”

*** Alonso ***

Alonzo, who had dropped Jessica off at the kitchens for a hot meal and drink before joining Prinze in Blagothskul’s Tower, returned to the Sky’s Reach Kitchen to check on her. She sat there at the bar, draped in her cloak, eating beside a rather plump young man. The two seemed to be enjoying each other’s company, so Alonzo slinked out just as quickly as he had entered.

Having discussed with Prinze on their way back to the main stretch of Sky’s Reach, Alonzo made his way to the stables. Prinze had mentioned that nothing actually lived there, except for an occasional Ogre, and that he could use it for whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t destroy it.

Alonzo thought Sky’s Reach was, by its very nature, an odd place, but the structures on Sky’s Reach tended to throw him off. He had observed that, typically, there were three types of structures on Sky’s Reach: domes, towers, and wildcard buildings.

Blagothskul lived within the tallest tower on the Skyland, but the largest towers had recently housed two massive ballistae, located on either side of the front gates to the Skyland. He had also seen two other towers, jutting from the central mound on the upper level. One was apparently vacant, and the other had recently been reconstructed. Prinze had said only to go into that one at his own risk.

Aside from the towers, domes were the most common structure on Sky’s Reach. There were three on the port side of the upper level, large enough to house a single giant, or a whole family of humanoids. One of them, allegedly, was the home to a Frost Giant that Prinze had employed recently, but it had not come out of its dome in quite some time. Near the stern of the Skyland was a massive dome, home to the Stone Giants Wiglof and Hulda. Alonzo was weary of the giants of this island, so he opted to steer clear of their dome.

Alonzo wondered if the large mound of earth within the center of the upper level of Sky’s Reach was the home to an even larger giant? Perhaps it was slumbering until Prinze called upon it?

While the towers and domes of Sky’s reach seemed like they appropriately adorned the surface of the Skyland, the third type of structure was certainly man made, jutting from its stretches like cuboidal sores.

The Ogre Barracks and the stables were both stacked stone buildings, unincorporated into the walls or structures of Sky’s Reach, simply sticking out of its flat surface like a tumor. Alonzo had not yet visited the Ogre’s Barracks, but due to the smell that emanated around it, he was unlikely to do so. To his surprise, however, the stables did not smell foul.

Although the structure itself was an eyesore, it seemed sturdy and clean enough. To Alonzo, it appeared as if it had been built with the intention of housing livestock, but it was never used for that purpose. It even had over a dozen piles of fresh straw stacked up inside.

Alonzo brushed aside one of the stacks and began constructing a small shrine. It wasn’t so much a religious shrine, but a safe point in which he could return in an emergency using a word of recall. If Alonzo was anything, he was prepared.

That is where this part of this week’s tale ends, and the next part will begin.

Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 33 Pt. 1

Written by: Flamereptile

Written: 05/13/26

Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 33 Pt. 1

This week’s tale begins as the mushrooming cloud of dust and smoke subsides and begins to drift away.

Down below the wreckage, almost at the exact point in which the skyship impacted the ground, two manticores wriggle free from their bindings. Now most creatures, beasts and monstrosities included, would have died from that impact, the mangled sheep surrounding them were proof of that, but Chester and Chesa were blessed in a way that most creatures could only dream of. They were part cat.

Not only did they land on their feet when the skyship ignited and collapsed around them, and maintain that landing as the hundreds of fluffy sheep crashed into them and were burnt to a crisp, but they were also born with nine lives. To most creatures who don’t have nine lives, the execution of the expression appears as nothing more than an incredible feat of luck in which the feline in question was seemingly not harmed. This, however, is not exactly how this incredible feat works, rather, Chester and Chesa were wreathed in flames, peeling away one of those lives, and their bones were crushed, stripping them of another. Yet, they both emerged from the wreckage, seemingly untouched, and flew away into the day.

*** Alonzo ***

Now Alonzo clenched his cheeks a touch as he drifted down towards the ground and saw these two, untouched manticores emerge from the fireball that engulfed the wreckages of the skyship. However, a moment later he let out a sigh of relief as the manticores flew off in the opposite direction.

With the red-headed barmaid in hand, Alonzo descended a safe distance away from the wreckage, gently regaining his foothold on the stable earth. The wings that carried him into the air fell limp across his shoulders and resumed their normal occupation as cloak.

Concerned for the well-being of the woman he had just saved, Alonzo performed a medical diagnosis over her. If there was one thing that Alonzo knew as well as breaking people, it was determining how broken a person was. Fortunately for her, Alonzo could tell that the barmaid hadn’t been broken, not in the physical sense at least.

She was covered from head to toe in bruises and scratches, nothing that couldn’t be healed with a simple healing spell, but he wasn’t concerned as much about superficial physical injuries. She was alive, but he didn’t think she would want to be for long after remembering what the last few days had brought to her.

Nearly three days prior, after Alonzo and his hires had joined the crew of the skyship undercover to help bring an end to the cult that crewed it, the skyship had descended upon their target, Manticore Tor. The attack was swift, and before he knew it, the vast space in the hold in which he holed up in was being filled with sheep.

He had heard the shepherd had willingly joined the cult, but his apprentices were less willing. The cult had killed one as an example, and strung the corpse and the other up on the bow of the ship. The groundskeeper had tried to defend his family, but Alonzo had heard he was beaten pretty badly. Him, his family, and the barmaid were taken and stuffed into a cell on the lower deck.

The captain and religious leaders had decided to wait within the clouds to mount an ambush on the owners of the keep, but in the meantime, they needed to keep the crew entertained.

Alonzo wasn’t sure what had happened at the time, and he couldn’t risk breaking his cover too early on a hunch, but he was now sure of the atrocities those cultists did to the barmaid.

“That poor girl.” He thought, “Would she want me to make her forget?”

Alonzo pondered for a few moments, but ultimately made the decision to heal the woman, in mind and body.

He laid her down, draping a robe over her to protect her dignity, laid his hand over her head, and began chanting a prayer. Alonzo witnessed firsthand the horrors the barmaid underwent. The violence. The brutality. The sheer indecency of those cultists.

Alonzo modified her memory, removing the horrors of the last three days and replacing them with something slightly more pleasant. When she awoke, she would remember being beaten, lightly tortured, and interrogated, but not violated. He then laid his hands over her, covering her in golden light, curing many of her wounds.

At the feeling of warmth and recovery, Jessica’s eyes stirred beneath her lids before they fluttered open. Standing over her was a handsome, clean-shaven man. The last thing she remembered was being stripped and beaten by the cultists that had abducted her. She shuddered at the thought, but was comforted by the warm energies being poured into her by this man.

“Healing magics,” She thought, “This man must have saved me and tended to my wounds. How could I have been so lucky? How can I repay him?”

She stared into his eyes and began to say, “My her…”

“You good bitch?” asked Alonzo.

Now, Alonzo was a bigwig in the capitol of the Coastlands, at least in the underground scenes. He was a tough, handsome, and wildly successful Half-Elf who leaned in strongly to his High-Elven heritage. Alonzo was the kind of man who could persuade dragons into letting him keep watch over their hoard, and deceive them into believing a rival gang had stolen it. He had done this many times in fact, cutting down on his competition drastically. But one thing that Alonzo is completely incapable of is keeping his cool when confronted by a beautiful dame.

He clams up, becomes ridged, and speaks in short, harsh words, all while screaming at himself inside to pull it together.  

Jessica gasped and became red in the face, “I… I’m fine.” She pouted as Alonzo rigidly turned and began walking off.

“Wait here. There’s danger up ahead.”

Jessica looked around her, “Wait here, in the middle of this field? Naked and only covered by a cloak?” she thought. “There was nowhere to go. Nothing to do…”

She watched as he continued to walk away and her heart melted, “This isn’t over.”

*** Prinze ***

Prinze descended swiftly to the ground below, continuing his search for the corpse of Velistra Frostveil. The search wasn’t difficult for him, however, as he had kept one eye locked on the direction in which she fell since the moment she fell overboard. He didn’t know how she had come back to life, especially since he still had her skull in his bag, but he wasn’t going to let the cult collect her corpse and reanimate her again.

Making landfall next to her mangled body, Prinze produced his Adamantine Folding Chair from his back. He cocked it then smacked her a few times, just to make sure she really was dead.
“Maybe we needed to hurt them with the onyx like we did Carl Wester? Maybe I should get this chair studded? For her pleasure…” He thought to himself aloud.

Prinze stuffed the corpse of Velistra into his bag, for safekeeping, and so he could strip her of any valuable items, and wondered, “What did Beezul mean by ‘It’s safe down here?’ The lower deck was on fire. That seems like the opposite of safe to me.”

He looked on to the fading mushroom cloud of smoke and dust and murmured, “Beezul is probably dead, but I better go check anyway. He’s like a cockroach – it’s hard to actually kill him.”

Prinze bounded across the grassy field, passing by the prone and naked Jessica when he stopped, back stepped, and asked, “Are you alright?”

“No, I don’t really think so.” She said as she stared at Alonzo.

“Okay. Stay here then.” He said as he bounded off.

“Stay here then?” She thought, “In the middle of a field? Naked? What is wrong with him?”

*** Alonzo & Prinze ***

Prinze approached behind Alonzo, stopping a few inches behind and to his side.

“You aren’t part of the dragon cult are you?” he asked.

“No, I’m not.” Replied Alonzo.

“But I saw you revive a dragonkin.”

Alonzo turned, “You mean Beezul? Isn’t he your friend?”

“No. Not really a friend. More of a frenemy. We have a common enemy… and travel together… and live together.”

“You know, you’re hard to track down.” Said Alonzo, changing the subject.

“Yeah, I live on a flying island. Wait… We aren’t that hard to track. You can literally go to any dragon and I’ll be there. Probably in its mouth.” Said Prinze.

Alonzo was silent for a moment, pondering his next response. He could tell that Prinze hadn’t let down his guard yet, and he had seen the deadly efficiency that Prinze could fight with. What was his problem with dragonkin? Wasn’t he one himself? It sure looked like it.

“I want to help you.” He finally decided to say.

“Why?” asked Prinze.

“Those pricks ruined my business.”

“Enough said.” Said Prinze as he relaxed.

Now, Prinze is an odd creature, to say the very least. Generally jovial and good natured, often looking to help out those in need, except for anything that resembles a dragon. In fact, not just anything that resembles a dragon, but anything involved with dragons in practically any fashion. This is particularly odd because Prinze himself was born a green dragonkin.

His hatred, however, wasn’t something innate to Prinze either. It was first spurred on only a few months prior when his wrist wraps became awakened, revealing themselves as not just a convenient piece of apparel for those monastically inclined, rather as a vessel for a vestige of the Giant Lord Jotunn. Since that day, the vestige of Jotunn has whispered, or rather shouted, in Prinze’s mind about little more than purging dragonkind from this plane.

Prinze, who was then good friends with Beezul, who at the time was just a simple Kobold, maintained a fair amount of control over his thoughts, however, as the months waned on, and Jotunn shouted louder, Prinze would grow more hostile towards those of the draconic persuasion around him.

Oddly enough, Prinze has struck some sort of arrangement with Jotunn, making it so that he will only slay Beezul last, after he has slain all other dragonkin upon the plane, and then himself. Jotunn would have argued the logistics of this, but even his vestige was wise enough to view a win as a win, regardless how small.

Prinze and Alonzo both turned to stare at the burning wreckage.

“I saw them go into a door on the lower deck, a magical one. So I’m waiting to see if they pop out of it.”

A sudden realization dawned on Prinze, “He had used the doorknob to his magnificent beehive to save everybody” he thought.

“Makes sense.” Prinze said aloud, “I though Beezul was trying to trick me down into a burning deck to die.”

Alonzo gave a side eye to Prinze.

“I guess I should also wait to make sure my lawyer is alive. I will need him in the future.” Said Prinze, referring to Allistair.

The two waited a few minutes before growing impatient. Alonzo reached his hand toward the sky and began chanting a prayer, calling down an isolated pocket of rain to help speed up the quenching of the fire.

“Where are the manticores?” asked Prinze.

“They crawled out and left.” Replied Alonzo.

“What? I saw the crash and the powder explosion… a second time! How did they survive?” asked Prinze.

“They’re part cat.” Said Alonzo, “they have nine lives.”

“Fuck me! Like a cat dragon?” asked Prinze.

A thought echoed wildly across the minds of both Alonzo and Prinze, and terror sank deep into their cores, “Dragons are pretty much just cats…”

Both shuddered at the thought.

“Do you know who Frank is?” asked Prinze.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Replied Alonzo, “Maybe he was one of the prisoners? I heard the pale guy and Beezul talking about a Frank.”

Once the conjured water had subsided, and the flames had died down a bit, Alonzo and Prinze began digging through the rubble in search of Beezul’s door. While digging, Alonzo noticed several crossbow bolts sticking out of Prinze, who seemingly hadn’t noticed them.

“Are you hurt?” Alonzo asked, gesturing down at the bolts.

“Oh, these? Yeah, I forgot about those.” Replied Prinze.

Alonzo pulled his cigar from his mouth and the tip glowed a bright white as he reached out and touched Prinze’s shoulder. Healing magics flooded Prinze’s body.

“Ow! Shit! You didn’t pull the bolts out first!” exclaimed Prinze and the healing magics pushed the embedded crossbow bolts from his flesh slower than a quick tug normally would.

Alonzo shrugged and went back to digging.

*** Allistair, Dolgrak, & Beezul ***

Safe within Beezul’s magnificent beehive, Dolgrak turned from the golden, sticky wonders and looked up at Beezul.

“Name’s Dolgrak.” He said, reaching out his hand to Beezul for a handshake. He would quickly regret this decision as he suddenly discovered that Beezul was always sticky and covered in honey.

“Beezul.” He replied.

“How do we get out of here?” Dolgrak asked.

“Uuh, well… I don’t know. Presuming the door is still there, on some broken piece of hull, we should be able to get out.”

Beezul walked a few steps forward and tapped on the magical doorknob. The scales on his hands sizzled a bit and he said, “Still hot, so I guess there’s a fire outside. We might just need to wait a while.”

Nodding, Dolgrak searched out the nearest place that wasn’t completely drenched in honey. This whole place was like the inside of a giant beehive, but catered to the humanoid vision of a Victorian mansion.

Something little known to the masses of Elindor, but Victor Weddington, the least disliked of the whole Weddington lineage, was the founder of the Victorian style mansion, characterized by its typically ornate asymmetrical designs, steep roofs, intricate trims, and grandiose interiors often clad with winding staircases and unused spaces. Victor Weddington’s style was inspired by an even older architectural style, also called the Victorian style, which he learned while making dealings with unfathomably ancient entities in his youth.

The two sat awkwardly near each other for a time, looking back and forth between one another and Allistair who was oddly distracted.

Growing bored and impatient, Dolgrak reached towards his ear and cast a spell, sending a mental message to Alonzo “Alonzo, we’re alive and trapped inside of the door. We need help getting free.” A moment later a message was received back from Alonzo, “Understood.”

*** Alonzo & Prinze ***

Alonzo and Prinze continued their search for their missing party members, which concluded promptly when Alonzo lifted a chunk of smoldering hull that possessed a perfectly untouched door attached to it.

“There’s you’s is.” He said comically.

He knocked on it, and a moment later, the door opened.

*** Everyone ***

“Freedom!” yelled Beezul as he erupted from the door. He immediately caught sight of the nearby piles of charred sheep, grabbed one, and took a bite from it, shouting, “I never thought I’d taste real food again!”

Alonzo and Prinze eyed Beezul instead of watching the rest of them emerge from the magnificent beehive.

“That was crazy.” Said Prinze, “It’s been a while since we’ve all been in impending danger like that.”

“You think that was crazy?” asked Dolgrak, “I spent four days stuffed in a barrel, only to come out into a battle.”

“Four days?” asked Allistair, Beezul, and Prinze in surprise.
“Yeah.” Replied Alonzo, “I hired him about four days ago. So yeah, he’s been in that barrel for about four days. You came out a few times to go off the side of the deck though.”

“True.” Said Dolgrak, “You know, I think we could have commandeered that ship if somebody didn’t destroy the wheel.”

“That was the plan.” Said Alonzo.

Prinze stopped what he was doing and stared at them both like a deer in headlights, “You know, I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah, that’s what I hired him for.” Said Alonzo, gesturing towards Dolgrak.

“Well if you were better at steering we wouldn’t have crashed.” Said Prinze.

“If I had done better at steering a ship without a wheel? Is that right?” asked Dolgrak.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Replied Prinze.

The two went silent for a moment at stared at one another before bursting out in a cacophony of shouts and accusations, most of which made no sense, until Prinze said, “Well, we have a Skyland, so we don’t need a skyship.”

“Wait, you own that Skyland?” asked Dolgrak.

“Well, actually he owns the giant that owns the Skyland.” Said Alonzo.

Beezul and Prinze froze and stared at Alonzo.

“Wait, how do you know that?” asked Beezul.

“I know a lot of things about a lot of people.” Said Alonzo, “And you weren’t hard to find out about. It’s really easy when you’re so tied in with the council, and when every time you return to the capitol its in a giant looming mass of stone in the sky.”

“You know, you may have a good point there. We aren’t that discreet.” Said Prinze, “Either way, I don’t own the giant. He just swears fealty to me.”

“How did such a tiny man get a giant to swear fealty to him?” asked Dolgrak as his small Deep Gnome figure peered up at Prinze.
“Well, they actually swore fealty to my wrist wraps here… it’s a long story. They do what I tell them.” Said Prinze, “And what do you mean tiny man? You’re a Gnome.”

Dolgrak shrugged, “Eh, it is what it is. So how do you steer that thing anyway? A big wheel that you haven’t broken yet?”

“No, we use Blagothskull.” Said Prinze as he pointed to his temple, “He uses his brain.”

Dumbfounded, Dolgrak asked, “What’s a Blagothskull?”

“My Cloud Giant.” Replied Prinze.

“YOUR Cloud Giant?” asked Dolgrak.

“Dolgrak, get with the program. It’s the giant that swore fealty to Prinze.” Said Alonzo.

“Actually, four giants have sworn fealty to me. There’s Blagothskull, Wiglof, his wife Hulda, and… Maximus!?” Prinze trailed off as Beezul and Maximus stepped from the interior of the magnificent beehive.

“Yeah, while you were arguing I revived him.” Said Beezul, “I shoved the diamond up his…”

“I think I’m going to go.” Interjected Maximus as he stood there completely in the nude.

Now, in his previous life, Maximus was often the first to remove his clothes in any scenario. Preferring to fight in his most natural form, often the first action Maximus would take at the beginning of any fight was to remove his robes. When Prinze and Maximus has charged the incoming skyship, and thrown themselves headlong into battle against the cult upon it, Maximus had failed to remove his robes as he normally would. As he was drenched in acid by the Oracle of the Frost Faithful, and neared death, Maximus would ponder if the reason for his failure and defeat was because of his clothes?

“What do you mean?” asked Prinze, “You’re just done? Like you’re leaving? You’re done fighting dragons with us? Done fighting the cult?”

“Yeah.” Said Maximus, “I kind of don’t have a purpose anymore. I’ve lost my way.”

“No.” said Beezul, “We have each other. We’re good at killing dragons. We’re good together.”

“When I set out with you, Prinze, I was seeking the wisdom of my mentors. Of the great philosophers of the Coastlands. But getting caught up in this… in fighting the cult and the dragons, I’ve lost that. I’ve only found one of the philosophers I was seeking, and he was… something.”

Beezul, Maximus, and Prinze were overcome with less than savory memories of the first philosopher that Maximus had been seeking, and how Prinze could barely contain himself from attacking him once he was revealed to be a dragon.

“And now, since learning the basics of the Blade Doctrine,” Maximus gestured to the mutations he had undergone in recent weeks, “I’m not really sure who I am.”

Prinze and Beezul stared at him for a few moments before, Beezul asked, “What will you do? Where will you go?”

“I think I’m going to go reflect a little.” He takes of the magical necklace that he was given a week prior and hands it to Beezul, “Maybe start over from the beginning.” Then handed his magical amulet to Prinze.

Maximus then turned and began to walk off, raising a hand behind him to signal farewell without turning back. Beezul could feel a pull emanating from the necklace, drawing him east, just how Maximus had said it had done. Towards the next philosopher he sought. Maximus would quickly disappear over a hillside, out of sight.

Saddened, Prinze turned and produced his flying broom, mounting it and flying up to Sky’s Reach.

Alonzo, understanding that it was time to pack up and leave, walked back to Jessica and said, “We gotta go.” Before picking her up and cradling her and flying off. As he followed behind Prinze, Alonzo glanced down at Jessica, noticing her staring back up at him with big, doughy green eyes. His blood began to run hot and anxiety overcame him. Alonzo knew what infatuation looked like. He knew what swooning was, however well concealed it was.

Allistair, who had been uncharacteristically silent during this exchange, snapped back into reality and began to count the remaining bodies. He cast a flying spell on himself, Dolgrak, Linda, and Taylor, instructing Dolgrak to carry the boy Daniel. Allistair himself picked up Arnold, and the six flew up towards Sky’s Reach to join Prinze.

Beezul turned and grabbed his magical doorknob, dispelling the magnificent beehive in the process. He noted that the space on the hull in which the magical door had appeared was completely untouched by flames and scratches before turning to pick up the groundskeeper Frank and joining his party.

That is where this part of this week’s tale ends, and the next part of this tale will begin.

Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 32

Written by: Flamereptile

Written: 05/07/26

Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 32

This week’s tale begins with the party on the cult skyship. Prinze has just broken free of the binding magics of the Oracle of the Frost Faithful, Velistra Frostveil, and in his flurry of blows, stunned both the Oracle and her Justiciar, Maelrix Ironscale.

Allistair, having just quaffed a few healing potions dashes along the hull of the ship to return to the fray, but as he returns, the acid arrow protruding from Maximus implodes, covering him with even more acid.

Falling unconscious by the compounding damage, Maximus’ body tries to heal itself, but the residual acid nullifies his latent ability, causing him to perish. The party laments the loss of a comrade, but hasn’t the time to truly mourn his death.

Beezul, cut down moments before by the Justiciar, struggles to stay alive, regaining a minute sense of self in the process.

Velistra and Maelrix watch on, unable to move their bodies for the time being, smug in the deaths of two of their foes.

*** Alonzo ***

Alonzo heard the crashes and bangs from above deck. He stood in the cargo hold, surrounded by hundreds of sheep pilfered from keep the ship had raided a few days prior. Two cultists, who believed Alonzo as nothing more than another recruit, poked and prodded two exhausted manticores that had defended the keep and the flock.

He wasn’t fond of the ship attacking that keep while it was undefended, or for the inhabitants of the ship itself.

“The Faith of the Chromatic Queen… more like the Cult of the Dragon Queen.” He thought.

Shouting echoed from above, calling Alonzo and the Cultists to disembark and ambush their target. Alonzo dropped his gray robe, pulled out a cigar, and lit it, taking a deep puff.

He had a pretty good business going before refusing service to one of these punks. As soon as he did, they wrecked his shop and started making his smuggling operations awfully difficult over the last few months. And the number of his family that he’s had to patch up because of their shenanigans had gotten out of hand. He had to do something.

A man of action, Alonzo used his connections to find out where this adventuring party lived, one that had been causing trouble for the cult. He knew that if he was going to do something, he’d have to find them personally.

Alonzo walked over to two barrels marked with red streaks and knocked on their tops.

*** Dolgrak ***

Dolgrak was miserable. He hated being shoved in a barrel. He hated the bleating of sheep. And most of all, he hated the waiting for action.

Only a few short months ago he was sailing the great lakes of the underdark, but a slight lapse in judgement sucked his ship down into the abyss and ejected it into the overworld. With his ship destroyed and his crew killed in the ascent, he had hit rock bottom, or rather… what did they call it in the overworld again? Nevermind that.

A few weeks ago, while looking for work in a pub, Dolgrak was approached by a man in a suit that smoked a cigar. He called himself Alonzo Bolin and he wanted to hire Dolgrak to help him take care of a few punks.

Dolgrak needed money, and a foot in the door to success, and Alonzo was obviously very successful. He obliged, and the next thing he knew he was being shoved into a barrel and loaded onto a ship. All he knew was to wait for a knock and to kill whomever Alonzo pointed at, but honestly, after the last few miserable days in this barrel, he might take a jab at Alonzo first.

At least, that’s what Dolgrak thought to himself before he heard a solid thud on his barrel lid.

*** Alonzo & Dolgrak ***

Alonzo turned and drew his hand crossbow as his cult robe fell to the floor. He strode forward, pointed it at one of the cultists and said, “Bang.” as he unloaded two bolts into them. The cultists dropped into a heap of gray robes and their white mask clattered to the deck.

Alonso strode forward and up the stairs, disregarding the shocked second cultists. A second later, Dolgrak and another hired mercenary erupted from their barrels. The mercenary unloaded a crossbow bolt into the remaining cultists, pinning them to the hull, and both followed behind Alonzo.

Dolgrak strode up the stairwell, ahead of Alonzo and drew his rapier, stabbing a cultist twice. The cultist, while surprised at the sudden stabbing, turned and slashed a dagger at Dolgrak, narrowly missing.

Alonzo and the mercenary quickly followed behind, with the mercenary cutting down two cultists with his longsword.

The cultists in the lower deck, now aware of Alonzo, Dokgrak, and the mercenary, split into two groups. The first group rushes the trio, surrounding them and stabbing at them with their daggers, while the second, from a safe distance, fire their hand crossbows into the group. Alonzo and the mercenary were fortunate enough to be wearing armor that could deflect the cultists’ incoming dagger swipes, but each took a few crossbow bolts.

Dolgrak was not as lucky. Three times he was slashed by the cultists that surrounded him, and another three times was he struck by incoming crossbow bolts, but he would not be deterred. Deep Gnomes were made of tougher stuff than your common man or elf.

Suddenly, tiny, angry fey guardians erupted out from Alonzo, surrounding him, Dolgrak, the Mercenary, and several of the cultists surrounding them. Immediately, the cultists were cut to ribbons, leaving behind a bloody mess. Remarkably, Dolgrak and the mercenary were spared Alonzo’s fury.

*** Above Deck ***

Above deck, a hand reached out from behind a door, grabbing the unconscious Beezul and dragging him into the cover of the nearby cabin, but this cover was not safety. The cultist that had dragged Beezul into cover did not do so to save him, but to put this wretch out of his misery while remaining safe.

The cultist plunged her dagger into the throat of Beezul and drew it across, spilling crimson blood onto the deck. The life faded from Beezul’s eyes, and he died. The cultist, standing over his fresh corpse, cackled.

The crew on the poop deck panicked as Prinze bore down on their Oracle and Justiciar. One grabbed towards Velistra, pulling her a few feet towards safety, while another shoved Maelrix back out of Prinze’s reach. Six more cultists interposed themselves between their Oracle and Justiciar and Prinze, all charging towards him in an attempt to push him from the deck. Six cultists charged and six cultists fell onto the main deck.

The cultists on the forecastle, seeing the failure of their comrades, raised their crossbows and fired a volley at Prinze. Not one bolt struck Prinze, but one was returned after being caught and flung back, striking the cultist in the mask, killing them instantly.

In retaliation, Prinze draws from his back a folding chair, but this isn’t just any folding chair. Prinze Draws the Adamantium Folding Chair, an artifact forged in the blood of hundreds of humanoid frogs. An artifact so powerful the stars themselves applaud its use.

He cocked the Adamantium Folding Chair, making a loud “tchk-tch” sound and swings it. A thunderous burst rings out, catching nearly all of the cultists upon the poop deck. They are thrown back with a bone shattering crack, and two were even ejected off the stern of the ship. Six fresh corpses tumbled to the deck in heaps, leaving the Oracle and Justiciar unguarded.

Prinze then produced his Javelin of Lightning, carefully lining up a shot straight through Velistra’s heart. Still stunned by his strike earlier, Velistra Frostveil failed to move out of the arc created by the javelin in time. It pierced her heart, and her corpse fell backwards off of the stern, past Allistair, and onto the ground below.

Not finished yet, Prinze reeled his head back, charging up a mighty breath, then coated Maelrix Ironscale in a cloud of poison. two of the three remaining cultists on the poop deck was caught up in the cloud, first coughing, then bleeding through their various orifices. Red liquid oozed from behind their mask before they crumpled to the deck, dead. Maelrix regained his faculties just as the cloud overtook him.

Allistair, unable to catch the falling Velistra, ran down along the starboard hull of the skyship, down to the gunports on the lower deck. He peaked his head in, seeing a gaggle of cultists all pushing and shoving each other to be the first up the stairs and on the main deck. He conjured a small glowing orb on the tip of his finger and tossed it through the gunport, ducking outside as it erupted into a ball of flames.

Satisfied at the pile of charred corpses, and the now burning state of the lower deck, Allistair began his return to the main deck.

Alonzo, having emerged onto the main deck, narrowly missing the fireball beneath him, noticed the cultist standing over Beezul. He calmly turned, leveled his crossbow at it, and fired. The cultist was pinned against the hull of the deck behind it. Alonzo strode into the cover of the cabin, standing over the corpse of Beezul, and began casting a rejuvenating spell.

The mercenary followed behind Alonzo, seeking to protect his employer. Noticing the large number of cultists on the main deck, he turned and began swinging at them. The first strike cut down a cultist where it stood, but the mercenary became overzealous. A second strike missed, then the third and a fourth. In seconds, the mercenary was surrounded by the approaching cultists.

Maelrix emerged from the cloud of poisonous gas, furious at the fate of his Oracle. He gripped his frosty Warhammer and charged at Prinze, slamming it three times into him. Blow after blow, Prinze held his ground. He had no other option at this point.

Enraged farther by his own strikes, not hard enough to strike down the infidel that laid a hand on his Oracle, Maelrix swung wildly six more times, but Prinze had met his stride. Taking three to the chest, and beginning to cough up blood, Prinze deflected Maelrix’s additional strikes, then, as the hoard of cultists behind him unleashed a volley of crossbow fire at him while he was preoccupied, he caught one of the bolts, redirecting it into the throat of Maelrix Ironscale.

Maelrix stumbled backwards, close to death. But he could not let this traitor be his end. He contemplated jumping ship, but the abomination had torn one of his wings asunder. He was faced with no other option than to fight.

But Maelrix would not live to see another strike. Like a flash of lightning, Prinze pinned two daggers into the eyeholes of the mask of the final cultist upon the poop deck, too stunned to dodge or defend itself. He then ran forwards, flipping off of the chest plate of Maelrix, striking him twice and cracking his ribs. He then followed by expelling a second cloud of poisonous gas into the Justiciar’s face, and finally, while holding himself up face-to-face to his foe, Prinze’s poisonous breath became a jet of acidic spit.

The skin of Maelrix Ironscale peeled back, revealing the bone and skull beneath. His eyes sizzled as the life left them. To add insult to injury, Prinze produced the rotting skull of Velistra Frostveil, from the last time he had killed her, and bashed it against the skull of Maelrix.

Watching in horror as their own bolts were used against their Justiciar, the cultists on the main deck turned their attention towards a deep gnome emerging from the lower deck. They fired at him, riddling him with bolts, but he continued on.

Dozens of them dropped their crossbows, drawing their daggers instead, and surrounded the mercenary and Dolgrak. They swung wildly, leaving both with cuts and gashes across their bodies. Blood oozed from their wounds and they felt themselves close to death. “Why would they get tangled up with that elven mobster?” they both thought as a pale, dark clothed figure crested the ship’s rail.

Allistair crested over the rail of the skyship, overlooking the main deck. “What a mess.” He thought, looking over the dozens of cultists surrounding this new, unidentified warrior. “Not his problem.” Crossed his mind as Allistair flicked another ball of flames over the main deck, immolating cultist and mercenary alike.

Dolgrak had seen this coming, the flames that was, and ducked beneath the cultists that surrounded and stabbed at him. They were wreathed in flames, while he was protected by his new, crispy, shield.

Allistair’s fireball had left the lower deck and the main deck roaring with flames. Unless they were put out soon, this ship was not long for this world.

Alonzo finished his healing spell, shattering its diamond component and returning Beezul to life. Then, in the same breath, uttered some healing words to further heal the fallen dragonkin. Now, healing words from Alonzo are not so much as words that encourage the body to heal, rather, they are threats of what happens if it fails to do so. Regardless of the nature of the spell, many of Beezul’s wounds knit themselves back together, restoring him to fighting condition.

Having witnessed Prinze’s elimination of their Oracle and Justiciar, and the loss of their brethren by Allistair’s fireball on the main deck, the cultists on the forecastle of the skyship wrestled with their faith, contemplating fleeing for their lives. But they would hold strong. One cultist, near the back of the group, would grasp her crossbow and shout as if victory was already hers, firing towards Prinze. The remaining cultists followed suit, releasing a volley of bolts towards Prinze.

Three bolts would strike him of the eleven shot, and one he would catch and return across the deck into the throat of one of the cultists. Seeing Allistair, and knowing what would come next, Prinze shrugged off the bolts to make time to shove the corpse of Maelrix within his bag. After all, there was valuable loot on his corpse, and the burning skyship, which was plummeting in freefall, had a timer on its life.

The success of the remaining cultists was fleeting, however, because as Prinze returned the bolt to its sender, and the cultists looked back in unison to the horror of another fallen comrade, the realization of how outclassed they were dawned on them.

As their brother fell, and they prepared another volley towards Prinze, the forecastle was set ablaze by a flung ball of fire. Allistair’s eyes burned hot as he immolated the front half of the ship…

Time crept forward as the imminent threat of Allistair’s fireball expanded out from its point of origin. It washed over the cultists it was intended to target, scorching robe and flesh and mask alike. The flames licked out over the forecastle in every direction, seeking for more and more to consume.

 Like a colony of tiny, burning insects, it crept down the hull, finding nine barrels. Curious, or as curious as a mindless ball of fire can be, it began to chew through the barrels in search of its next meal. Time slowed farther, nearly to a halt. The tiny flames breached the barrels and beheld the feast of a lifetime. A fine, black powder. Everything a growing fire could want and more. It was enough for this colony to grow and expand more than it could have ever imagined. It rejoiced! Sang aloud as it flooded the barrels and reproduced without limits. The tiny colony of flames looked onwards at their success.

These stupid giants, even the one that had blessed them upon this land, had stood there for generations like statues as the flames licked up every granule of powder and expanded their domain. Soon, the reckoning of fire would be upon them and…

In a flash, the front half of the skyship was gone.

One second it was there, the next, it wasn’t. Replaced by a ball of fire that flung shrapnel out in all directions at a supersonic speed. It wasn’t just the front half, Allistair realized, but over three quarters of the whole ship, just gone in an instant. The party had been lucky to survive, as if background calculations were scrutinized over for hours to determine who would live and who would die. And they had determined, as if by the roll of the dice, to spare them. The whole back quarter of the ship really

The remaining portion of the ship, which had been thrust in the opposite direction the ship in its whole had been moving, began to plummet once more. Falling behind it, because they were effectively thrown back by the force of the explosion, Prinze and Beezul deployed their wings once more. Allistair, who was still concentrating on his fly spell, effortlessly hovered above as the wreckage plummeted below. Alonzo and Dolgrak, who had never had the need to fly before, and thus were unprepared for a sudden fall, wished that they had been.

But it was all for nought, as Allistair came to the sudden realization of what he had truly just done. He hadn’t just finished the last of the cultists, nor had he just destroyed the ship that was responsible for the destruction of their keep. No, he had just condemned his people, the surviving servants and workers of their lost keep to death. Stunned, he plummeted towards the ground in grief, joining the falling bodies. The groundskeeper and his family… The shepherd’s apprentices… The barmaid… Dozens of Koblds, hundreds of innocent sheep, and the two manticores they were intended to feed, all gone in a second. Scorched husks of their former selves…

This.

Could.

Not.

Be…

The sound of five golden coins clattering against the wood of a table echoed across the multiverse.

As their brother fell, and they prepared another volley towards Prinze, the forecastle was cast in a freezing mist that coated the cultists, their crossbows, and the forecastle in a layer of ice. Memories that had never happened left their eyes along with their lives.

Allistair dropped to the poop deck in a cold sweat. He didn’t even think he was capable of sweating, and yet, here he was, drenched. But there wasn’t time for grief or panic. Not yet. He had to check if they were here. If his people were still alive.

He rose to his feet and rushed through the flames to the lower deck where he found a holding cell, one he hadn’t noticed before while casting his fireball down here. He rushed to it and peered inside. There, laying on the deck, was the groundskeeper draped in his wife’s jacket with a wet cloth over his forehead. Frank was alive.

His wife, Linda knelt over him in shock at recent events, and his condition. Their three children sit huddled in a corner of the cell. Their dreary expression lightened when they saw Allistair’s face peering at them through the bars.

“Are you alright?” asked Allistair

“No, we aren’t” replied Linda, “Frank was hurt by those masked marauders, and we’ve been down here without food or water for days.”

“Sit tight, we’ll get you out of here.” Allistair said as he began pulling at the lock. He needed a key, but where would they find one before the ship impacted the ground?

Beezul stood from the deck where Alonzo hovered over him. Weary of the man next to him, he asked, “Did we win?”

“Don’t think we did yet.” He said, shaking the false memories from his head, “The ship’s falling and we need to get off.”

Beezul nodded as he contemplated carrying this new potential ally off the plummeting ship, but opted to assess the state of the ship for a moment before doing so. He extended his wings and flew onto the main deck, seeing little more than charred corpses and the main deck set ablaze. He looked down the stairwell, seeing Allistair rush off out of sight. Curious if he might need help, he began his descent, but he was stopped before he could drop below deck.

The burning corpse of Maximus lay pockmarked with acid burns upon the main deck. A tear flecked down Beezul’s cheek as he thought, “I liked Maximus.” Beezul grabbed the corpse, tossed it over his shoulder, and descended belowdeck.

Seeing Allistair pressed against the cell, Beezul asked, “What are they doing in there? What’s going on?”

Allistair, calculating the probability of getting the groundskeeper and his family out of the cell and to safety replied, “They’re locked in there. We need a key, or a lockpick, and we need to get ourselves and them off of the ship before it crashes in… oh about twenty seconds! Do you have any thoughts?”

Now panicking, Beezul pulled out a doorknob from his pocket, intending to flee into his magnificent hive until the crash had passed, but that struck an idea in Beezul.

“The hive! We can all fit inside of it, and as long as the door’s closed before the impact we should all be safe!”

“Good idea, except there’s one problem. We can’t get into the cell and we don’t know where everybody is!” shouted Allistair.

Beezul shrugged, attached the magical doorknob to the hull and turned it, opening a door that had not previously been there.

Alonzo, preparing to head below deck to provide aid to Allistair and Beezul, noticed a chest sitting along the hull of this cabin. Staring at it for just a moment, he grabbed it, placing it below his arm, and ran below deck. He completed his descent just as Beezul, the black dragonkin monstrosity with yellow accents, finished turning a doorknob against the hull, opening a door that had not existed a moment before.

“What’s going on down here?” he asked.

“We’re searching for the missing employees of our keep. We’ve found the groundskeeper and his family, but we’re still missing the shepherds, the barmaid, and a few dozen kobolds. I don’t know if we can save the sheep and Manticores.” Replied Allistair in a panic.

“I’ll go look for your gal. Any idea where she is?”

Allistair and Beezul stared at Alonzo for a moment before Beezul, sarcastically, replied, “If we knew where she was we wouldn’t be missing her.”

The humor was lost on Alonzo, who glared back at Beezul, “Watch it.” He said before siding the chest through Beezul’s door, throwing his cloak behind him, and flying back up the stairs.

Allistair and Beezul looked at one another and shrugged as Dolgrak nearly tumbled down the stairs. Catching himself on the last step, he rushed towards Allistair and Beezul, asking, “Do you need that unlocked?” gesturing towards the cell door.

“Can you do that?” asked Beezul.

“I don’t know, maybe.” Replied Dolgrak as he produced a lockpick set from his pocket.

Effortlessly he flicked the picks inside the lock, unlatching it. Suddenly, the ship lurched, and with the cell door now swinging open, Dolgrak turned and rushed towards Beezul’s door. He stopped, however, in the doorway, looking back as Allistair and Beezul rushed inside of the cell to grab the groundskeeper and his family.

Beezul, seeing the cell had been unlocked, threw the corpse of Maximus into the magnificent beehive and rushed to join Allistair in the cell. Allistair, who had just administered a potion of healing to Frank, the groundskeeper, grabbed the hand of Frank’s youngest, Daniel, and led him inside of the magnificent beehive.

“Sit here and don’t touch anything.” He said to Daniel, and the boy nodded.

Beezul, less gentle than Allistair had been, grabbed Arnold, Frank’s middle child, beneath his arm and tossed Frank over his shoulder, rushing back into the hive to safety. As Beezul rushed past Dolgrak, Dolgrak sighed deeply, turning away from safety and back onto the burning lower deck.

Dolgrak navigated the flames, coming to Linda and her daughter, Taylor, and grabbing both by the hands, leading them to safety in the hive.

Prinze, disconnected from the denizens of the keep, produced his broom and allowed it to carry him away from the plummeting ship. He watched as flames trailed behind it for a moment before turning for a more important task: finding the corpse of Velistra Frostveil. He gently descended down towards the ground to search for her body. He would be damned if he let it fall in the hands of the cult and they resurrected her again. In retrospect, though, he did still possess her skull from the last time he killed her, so he wasn’t actually sure how to keep her down.

Weeks prior, in the village of Westrun far to the north, they had encountered a draconic beast that could not be slain unless it was first struck by a weapon made of onyx. Perhaps that was what he needed to finally put the Oracles and Justiciars to rest? He shook the distracting thought from his mind as he began his search.

Alonzo, set his sights above deck, searching the cabins for this missing barmaid. He looked towards the bow of the ship, seeing two cabin doors. He checked the door to his right, seeing nothing more than a dining cabin, though it did appear the kitchen was well stocked. Probably from his raided storehouses.

He then checked the cabin on the left, opening the door to an awful sight. A woman, beautiful by all rights, lay naked upon the cabin’s bed unconscious. Her clothes lay shredded upon the floor. It was obvious she was taken captive at some time and ravaged by the cult, another reason for Alonzo to despise them.

He grabbed a crumpled blanket from the nearby table, gently wrapped it around her, and lifted her from the bed. Still gently, he left the cabin, activating his cloak and separating from the falling ship. Her long, red hair blew around him in the wind as he watched the ship plummet.

Allistair, satisfied with at least saving the groundskeeper and his family, emerged from the Beezul’s magnificent beehive once more and descended into the hold. Terror washed over him as he recalled the memory that never was. The hold held hundreds of fluffy sheep and two manticores shackled, on all four legs, to the deck. Thick leather bands wrapped around them, preventing their wings from extending, and wraps around their tails prevented their spikes from flaring out. Worse yet, above all of the impending lost sheep and manticores, was the dozens of kobolds stuffed into cages.

Could he save them? How many could he save? What of the sheep? What if he disintegrated the hull beneath the manticores? No. They couldn’t fly. He couldn’t even get them free. The spell wasn’t versatile enough. What should he do? What could he do?

Nothing…

Dejected, Allistair returned to the magnificent beehive with only seconds left before impact. He sat against the wall, curled up, and rocked gently.

Beezul waited by the entrance to the hive until the very last second, in case anybody else made it to safety, before closing the door. The plummeting noises of the ship went silent to the humming of the warm hive.

From above, Prinze and Alonzo watched the skyship impact the ground, and a second later, erupt into a massive fireball. Smoke, dust, and shrapnel was launched upwards in the shape of a mushroom, and oddly enough, a memory sparked in them as the back quarter of the ship was flung out of the cloud of dust, impacting the ground a moment later.

That is where this week’s tale ends, and next week’s tale will begin.

Theta Campaign - Return of the Chromatic Queen - Episode 31

Written by: Flamereptile

Written: 04/27/26

Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 31

This week’s tale begins as the party stands atop the skyland (Sky’s Reach), peering down at the burned rubble that was once their keep (Manticore Tor). From a distance they could see the wafting smoke, indicating something was awry at their home base, but never did they imagine that they would return to this.

Maximus and Prinze, having little connection to the keep aside from a brief one-month stay, peered down undeterred and uncaring. After all, they now controlled Sky’s Reach, a flying fortress of stone. What was the true lost value of this place? It was undefended (obviously), and nearly a full day’s journey to the nearest settlement.

Beezul, however, grieved. He had claimed his own space upon Manticore Tor, stored many of his valuables, and had even sent a number of Kobolds here to live out their lives in peace. Stunned, he waited to see the moves of his party before acting.

Allistair, having spent ample time within Sky’s Reach, even helping to develop parts of it, was oddly quiet. He didn’t care for the keep and the land as much as the personnel within. In the silence he recalled and tallied the denizens of the keep, hoping to see sign of them, but he did not.

*** Allistair ***

Allistair became even more still as he began scrying, attempting to look beyond his plain vision in search of Manticore Tor’s denizens.

First, Lady Blackhurst, his employer. He was sure she had contingencies for escape, as grotesque and immobile as she was, but he had to check. After moments, however, he saw nothing. No sight. No sign. Nothing.

Allistair was sure that nothing was the best possible sign here. An indication that she had, likely, escaped.

Beezul, Maximus, and Prinze stood and stared at Allistair, familiar with this form of silence, awaiting for a sign. Allistair drew his sight back into his own body and the three leaned forward in anticipation.

“No sign of Lady Blackhurst.” he said, “That’s probably a good thing. It probably means she escaped.”

Before his allies could respond, Allistair reached his sight out again, searching for the groundskeeper and his family. His vision was drawn high above into the clouds. There, Mr. Swift laid, his hands crossed over his chest, mouth agape, and eyes covered over by a wet cloth. His wife, Mrs. Swift knelt over him, cleaning, wrapping, and tending the burns and cuts that covered his body. Tears fell from her eyes as she did so.

It was evident to Allistair that Mr. Swift was in poor condition, and would need medical attention sooner rather than later. He expanded his vision out, as far as he could to attempt to get a better idea of where they might be. Safe perhaps?

He couldn’t be so lucky. Only a few feet away, Mr. and Mrs. Swift’s daughter clutched and hugged her two younger brothers as they wept. The cold wooden walls that surrounded them provided little comfort. The only way in, or out, of their cell was a door fashioned from thick iron bars.

His vision again returned to his body, and he said, “The groundskeeper and his family are in the clouds somewhere, locked inside of a cell.”

“Do you have any idea where?” asked Beezul.

“No. Just somewhere in the clouds.” He replied coldly.

Allistair again reached his sight outwards, this time in search of the Shepherd, Earnest. Probably his least favorite of Manticore Tor’s denizens after their unfriendly introduction months prior.

His vision again took to the clouds, this time upon a skyship docked within a cloud. Earnest stood amongst a familiar crowd. Dozens of cultists of the Chromatic Queen, all adorned in gray robes, wearing wooden masks carved in the visage of a white dragon. Earnest wiped his brow and adjusted a pin placed upon his overalls, one signifying his recent adoption within the ranks of the cult. Did he join to save his own skin, or was it a prior arrangement?

Allistair’s vision again returned to his body and, breaking his normal character, he said, “That son of a bitch shepherd joined the cult!”

“Awe shit!” replied Maximus.

“Mother fucker!” shouted Prinze.

“That bastard.” Squeaked Beezul, “I really liked him.”

Allistair, Maximus, and Prinze ceased their discontent to simultaneously stare at Beezul.

“What? He took fed the manticores.”

Several minutes of slander towards the shepherd Earnest followed before Allistair again reached his sight outwards. Immediately he was taken down below, into the smoldering rubble of Manticore Tor where it stopped above a pile of torched beams and charred cabinets. Charlos, the tortle chef was down there, and alive.

Allistair quickly withdrew his sight back into his own body and dove over the edge of Sky’s Reach, calling out, “Charlos is down here!”

Perplexed, the others fell in line and dove off in pursuit.

As he fell, Allistair wove a spell into the air, allowing himself to safely land. He looked above as the descending Prinze produced an enchanted broom that he clung onto to slow his fall. Great white, scaly wings unfolded from Maximus’ back, while smaller translucent wings sprouted from Beezul’s back. Both descended and landed as naturally as flighted creatures.

*** Allistair & Beezul ***

                          Immediately, Allistair and Beezul began searching for the mound of rubble that concealed Charlos, while Maximus and Prinze separated from the group to embark on differing searches.

Allistair was quick to find the mound that likely contained Charlos, pointing it out to Beezul who dove headlong into displacing soot, rubble, and charred remnants. Beezul tore at the detritus, throwing it left and right in his attempt to find and free the trapped chef.

*** Maximus ***

Maximus, however, began his search a few dozen feet away, hoping to locate the valuable books he had donated to the library of Manticore Tor, and the Scryglass the party had left here months prior. The Scryglass itself was a valuable artifact, but pure monetary value was not what concerned Maximus, rather its usefulness in scrying around Sky’s Reach while they flew around the skylines of the coastlands.

It would not take Maximus long to realize the library of Manticore Tor was in as poor of shape as the rest of the keep, which is to say it was burnt to a crisp. In fact, Manticore Tor, which was previously a two-story building, stones lining the first floor and heavy timber framing the second, appeared as if its entirety was simply pushed over and caught on fire. All except for, oddly, the basement staircase and door, which appeared as if it had been cleared out.

*** Prinze ***

While Allistair pointed, Beezul dug, and Maximus meandered, Prinze ventured off to the newly constructed barn. Blinky and Beezul had spent a fortune to have it built, and at an expedited rate to accommodate that damned shepherd. It appeared intact from a distance, however much of a distance two-hundred feet was.

Its doors were left ajar and the gates wide open, but not a sound could be heard coming from inside. Its floors were lined with dry straw, honestly a better structure to put to the torch than the keep. A single spark would send this barn up in flames that would lick the clouds, and with the hay stores nearby, likely the keep.

There was no sign of life inside. No bleating sheep, although the last time they had left there were over two-hundred of them; no growling manticores, for which the bleating sheep were kept to feed the pair of them; and no shepherds, of which there were three, Earnest and his two apprentices. The only signs that were out of place were a few small splotches of blood that marked the hay.

“Well… It looks like they let all of the sheep out.” Thought Prinze as he turned and left the barn.

*** Allistair & Beezul ***

Allistair continued to point and direct the digging of Beezul, just in case he became distracted, or thought for a second that Allistair was not in fact contributing to the rescue efforts. After all, Allistair had been the one to actually find Charlos, or rather, where he might be.

Growing out of breath, and still an unknown distance from freeing Charlos from his ashy prison, Beezul stopped for but a moment to open Vespa’s Hive, releasing four giant carpenter bees from the basket on his back. Sensing his intentions, the bees got right to work digging, aiding Beezul in his efforts.

*** Maximus ***

With his curiosity taking over, and viewing it as the only remaining searchable space within the remnants of Manticore Tor, Maximus trotted down the stairs to the basement, leaving the door ajar at the bottom.

The basement was dark, but his enhanced vision allowed him to see in shades of black, white, and gray. At first, nothing appeared overturned or unusual, but upon closer inspection, that was because there was nothing left to be overturned. The whole of the contents of the basement appears to have been removed. Alchemy station, poisoning grotto, even the magical bulbs that provided light to the normally dark space. The only thing that remained within the basement was a small, flickering light at the far end.

*** Prinze ***

Returning to the site of the ruined keep, Prinze took a moment to look over his peers, seething with hatred towards Beezul and Maximus for their draconic traits.

“They were distracted.” He thought, “This would be the perfect opportunity to jump them. To put them out of their misery. To…” He pushed the foreign thoughts from his mind.

Moments later, Prinze remembered there was also a servant’s quarters on the premises of Manticore Tor. He looked east and saw it, a small brick building a few hundred feet off. The roof had collapsed in on itself and smoke spiraled out from its interior. Perhaps he could find some clue to what exactly happened here?

*** Allistair & Beezul ***

After several minutes of digging, and supervision on Allistair’s behalf, Beezul managed to free the shell of Charlos from the charred rubble. Seeing a handhold, he opted to attempt to pry the unconscious tortle from the ashes rather than finish digging him out.

Flexing his muscles, magically enhanced by the belt around his waist, Beezul grabbed onto the edges of the tortle’s shell and hoisted him out, a feat of strength he would have been incapable of a few day prior. Proud of his contributions, Beezul held the massive tortle above his head as he trudged out from the wreckage to a nearby tree, setting him down gently.

Allistair remarked, privately of course, that the trees nearest the keep, and the other natural features surrounding it, were remarkably untouched given that the keep itself had been razed to the ground. He filed this though away for future contemplation and continued to poke around the rubble.

*** Maximus ***

Maximus trudged closer to the mysterious light in the farthest reaches of the basement. His eyes, unnaturally enhanced beyond his normal Human physiology, adjusted to the change in light and he could finally see the source. A single candle sat in a puddle of liquid before four barrels. One of the barrels had its side smashed open, and a glistening liquid trickled from within.

Maximus, not exactly a thinking man, stared blankly at the candle as it burned down towards the liquid for a few moments before his attention was torn from the light to the sound of footsteps. Shuffling across the stone floors, followed by the closing of a door, the metallic cling of a lock, and soft thumping from the other side.

*** Prinze ***

Prinze ventured forth from the ruins of the keep towards the torched servants’ quarters. He gained easy entry, as the door was nothing more than a shriveled, charred remnant barely clinging to the stone frame. He peered around the space, torched into black nothingness. The remnants of old furniture were almost unrecognizable, but more interesting than that, he also heard an odd sound, almost like that of nervous breathing, coming from deeper within the house.

Prinze crept around the corner into a charred bedroom, only to see a figure crouched in the corner. From the doorway, Prinze stood and stared at the gray robed figure, and the figure, frozen in fear, peered back at Prinze through a white, dragon-shaped mask.

It anxiously grasped a red tube with a string on the end of it as its previously heavy breathing halted into silence. The two stood and stared at one another for a moment, contemplating their next moves.

In a flash, the figure pulled on the string of the tube, but before it could finish its extension Prinze had bounded across the room and snapped its neck. The final twitch of its muscles finished in death what it could not complete in life, a final tug at the string which would trigger a chemical reaction within the tube, propelling a blazing red ball of light high above.

Instinctively, Prinze’s monastic training kicked in as he attempted to grab the ball of light before it could fly out of reach, but he was too slow. It was launched straight up into the clouds, casting a faint red glow from within.

*** Allistair & Beezul ***

Beezul, having gently placed the unconscious body of Charlos a safe distance away from the fallen keep, laid his hands upon him and whispered a healing word. Radiant swirls of energy rushed from Beezul into Charlos, sealing many of his wounds and stabilizing the condition of the previously dying tortle.

Allistair looked on into the rubble, curious of the oddly clear basement entrance that Maximus had disappeared into. A moment later his interest would be piqued even farther as a gray robed figure emerged. It walked out backwards after closing and locking the door to the basement. Allistair stared on, like a predator assessing his prey before pouncing, and the figure, which had not yet noticed him began grabbing rubble and stacking it in front of the door.

Allistair cocked his head sideways as the figure finished barricading the door and looked up at him through a white, dragon-shaped mask. At the instance the figure noticed Allistair it began to reach towards it pocked, but a smile stretched across Allistair’s face as he conjured forth a fireball, engulfing the figure in flames.

A moment later, both Allistair’s and Beezul’s attention is drawn to a red ball of flame flying out from the nearby servants’ quarters.

*** Maximus ***

Unsure of what had just transpired, and disinterested by a slowly burning candle, Maximus bolted across the floor of the basement to the door at the top of the stairwell. He turned its handle and pushed forward, but to no avail. He had been locked into the basement.

But a mote of inspiration flashed through Maximus’ mind. He could paint a door in the basement wall using his magical pigments and utilize his enchanted amulet to glide safely through the earth into freedom. So, he did just that.

Walking to the nearest wall, Maximus produced his magical pigments and painted a door across its surface. Magically, a door appeared before him and he opened it into fresh, unworked earth. He then rubbed the magical amulet around his neck and simply walked through the earth, emerging above near Beezul.

*** Allistair, Beezul, & Maximus ***

The party watched the glowing red ball of flame crest upwards into the clouds and disappear, leaving behind little more than a red glow. Moments later, however, cannon fire erupted from the sky.

“Did that come from Sky’s Reach?” asked Beezul?

“It sounded like it.” Replied Allistair, “But I didn’t think there were cannons on the island?”

“I didn’t either.” Shrugged Beezul.

“I got locked in the basement.” Said Maximus as he appeared from the ground near Beezul, “Where’s Prinze?”

“I think he went to check out the servant’s quarters.” Said Beezul and he continued to provide medical aid to Charlos.

Maximus nodded and stretched his wings, taking off and flying towards the servant’s quarters to investigate the source of the red light, and convene with Prinze.

*** Maximus & Prinze ***

Prinze watched the ball of fire disappear for a moment before turning his attention back towards the cultist. He stripped it of its robes, wishing he hadn’t as soon as he did, revealing the exposed nature of the cultist, and grabbed its mask.

“These might come in handy.” He said as his attention was again drawn to the sky above by the sounds of cannon fire.

He quickly dashed from the building to convene with the rest of his party, and engage the source of the cannon fire. As he burst from the building Prinze nearly crashed into the approaching Maximus. The two, having narrowly avoided a collision, stopped and nodded at one another.

“Did you find anything?” Asked Prinze?

“I got locked in a basement. Found a candle and some barrels.”

“Ah, neat. I broke a guy’s neck and took his robes.” Said Prinze as he produced the robes and mask for Maximus to see.”

Another round of cannon fire burst from above, but before Maximus could remark on the anticipated battle an explosion rattled the hillside behind him. Both Maximus and Prinze turned to look at the cloud of fire, smoke, and rubble mushroom back at the site of the keep.

*** Beezul ***

Beezul continued to apply healing aid to Charlos, just bringing him back to consciousness. He gave the Tortle a moment, as his giant carpenter bees buzzed protectively around them, and asked, “Are you alright? What happened?”

Charlos coughed a few times and opened his mouth to speak…

*** Allistair ***

Allistair walked forward as the flames subsided, leaving behind an unrecognizably charred body. He looked it over for but a moment before turning his attention to the barricaded basement door. Perhaps he should have Beezul dig this out as well? Or perhaps…

*** Allistair & Beezul ***

Out of sight, a candle sat within a puddle of oil, flickering in the darkness of a musty basement. It had only come to life a few minutes before, and it was burning down quickly, dripping hot wax into the puddle of oil beneath it. If the candle was capable of thougt, it might think to itself, “Why was there nobody here to enjoy the light it labored to produce? Why would somebody sit it next to these barrels leaking oil? And where did that very odd-looking creature disappear to?” Its final thoughts, before burning down into the puddle of oil it sat in, may have been, “Why have I been cursed to this short, lonely life only to behold a single, unexplainable creature for but a moment?”

In an instant, Allistair, Beezul, and Charlos were bathed in burning hot light. Their skin, and scales, sizzled and peeled back as flames licked across them. Their eardrums were nearly shattered by the concussive force being pushed from the basement of the keep. Beezul and Charlos were thrown forward, while Allistair, standing directly above a portion of the basement, was thrown upwards before falling down into the inferno.

*** Everyone ***

The flames of the explosion cleared as Maximus and Prinze rushed to the site of the explosion. They found Beezul and Charlos prone at the foot of a now-splintered tree. Maximus helped Beezul to his feet while both checked up on the now dying Charlos.

Prinze rushed forward to the crater, which was very recently a pile of burnt rubble atop the keep’s basement. Inside laid Allistair, who opened his eyes and righted himself.

Prinze called out, “You alright?”

Allistair dusted himself off and began hobbling towards Prinze, walking up the side of the crater wall, “No… not really.”

Allistair approached Beezul to assess him and Charlos, quickly noticing that Beezul was a little worse for wear, while Charlos needed immediate medical attention.

“Neat! Now’s a good time to show you what I’ve been working on!” said Maximus excitedly.

Now, Maximus was born a human, and until very recently was very human. But due to some, less than moral, arrangements with a dragon of questionable repute, he has recently adopted some interesting physiology, his wings being of these features. From his very human, and well-defined, back sprouted a large pair of white-scaled wings. Another interesting feature that Maximus had acquired was a fluid-filled sack in place of his throat, which he could usually use to expel a freezing mist.

Maximus reared his head back, inflating the sack on his throat, and expelled a golden mist of healing energies that engulfed Allistair, Beezul, and Charlos. The healing mist closed many of their wounds, and even stabilized Charlos from the brink of death.

As Maximus tended their wounded party members, Prinze stared up at the sky, listening as the cannon fire ceased and watching as a ship crested over the top of Sky’s Reach. Seven ballistae followed behind the ship, falling from their mounts on the island.

“Shit.” Thought Prinze, “They disarmed the Skyland.”

Prinze looked back over his party for a moment before making the decision to charge towards the skyship. It finished its arc over the Skyland and began to dip low towards the ruins of the keep. Like a mad man, charging at an enraged bull, Prinze leapt into the air towards the ship. Spectral dragon wings erupted from his back and they carried him up to the ship. Moments later, Prinze found himself atop the ship’s bowsprit amongst many enclosed barrels. He waited a moment to get his bearings and formally come up with a plan of attack.

Noticing Prinze’s departure from the party, Maximus cut his healing breath short and took off in pursuit. As he trailed behind Prinze, he noticed two bodies strung up upon the skyship’s stern. At first glance, both appeared to be dead, no doubt victims of the captain’s twisted will. But as he passed overhead, Maximus noticed shallow breaths from one of the bodies, noting that he may need to address the man sooner or later.

In only a few fleeting moments, Maximus had joined Prinze atop the bowsprit, and the two began to formulate a plan. Prinze tore the top from one of the barrels, revealing an abundance of black powder. Immediately, Maximus produced a bag filled with oil, adorned with a nozzle with an unlit wick at one end.

Months prior, Maximus had come into possession of several magical paint pots that would allow him to create physical objects of whatever he painted. He had won them in a painting contest, using his might as well as his creativity to ensure victory. While experimenting with the capabilities of the paints, Maximus had created an oil-filled bagpipe, with a nozzle and wick at one end. In lieu of not having a sort of breath weapon, like many other members of the party, he had envisioned lighting the wick and forcing the oil from the bag to create a jet of flame.

Prinze’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the bag, holding out his hand and saying, “Maybe we blow the ship if everything goes poorly. You know, as a last resort.”

Maximus nodded in agreement.

Beezul, now refreshed from Maximus’ healing breath, looked down on the still unconscious Charlos, laying his hands on him once more before also taking off in pursuit of Prinze. Moments later, Beezul would latch onto the stern of the skyship, and nearly unlatch and flee once he noticed the barrels of powder and Maximus’ flaming bag in the same vicinity. But before he could flee, his attention, and that of his companions, would be turned towards the door that separated the skyship’s bowsprit from its forecastle.

A figure opened the door and emerged, stopping only a step outside of the door. It was adorned in gray robes and wore a white mask, carved in the shape of a white dragon’s face. The figure halted and stared as the three froze in place, staring back. The moments seemed like minutes to each of them, when suddenly, the figure pivoted, closed the door and fled through the forecastle to the main deck.

A moment later, shouting could be heard, alerting the ship of the invader’s presence. The two cannons, mounted atop the forecastle above swiveled down, fixing upon Beezul, Maximus, and Prinze.

Prinze chuckled, “What are you going to do with those?” as the cannonballs slid from the cannons and plopped across the deck of the bowsprit.

The cultists looked at each other, likely embarrassed at their foolishness before one spoke up, saying, “Uuh… You’re under arrest!”

Prinze leapt atop the forecastle, immediately snapping the necks of two of the cultists. He rushed forward at the other two with intent to kill, but his attention was drawn instead towards the helm.

Maximus instead rushed forwards, breaking through the door in the forecastle. He threw his metal staff at one cultist, pinning him against the hull and broke the neck of a second before recalling his staff and breaking through the second door onto the main deck. Before him, manning nearly a dozen cannons on the main deck, were dozens of cultists. But Maximus’ attention was not drawn to them, rather to three figures at the helm.

Beezul flanked the rail along the starboard side of the ship, peaking over the edge as the attention of the cultists upon the main deck were drawn to Maximus bursting through the forecastle doors. His attention was, however, quickly drawn to the helm as well.

Spotting the captain, and the two figures on either side of him, Beezul drew his blowpipe, aptly named the Bee-Bee Gun, as he loaded a specially bred bee from Vespa’s Hive, which sat upon his back. He considered his shot carefully. Should he take out the captain, the female to the left, or the male to the right? He decided upon the captain and took aim.

The Oracle, Velistra Frostveil, called out to Prinze, “So nice of you to join us, traitor. Thank you for saving us the effort of docking and disembarking to capture you.”

She waved her hand over the crowd and the cultists all drew their knives, readying for battle. Across from Velistra, on the other side of the captain, stood her mate and Justiciar, Maelrix Ironscale. At her command, he drew his Warhammer and snarled with malice at the ship’s uninvited guests.

Allistair lagged behind the party, being far frailer than his companions. He knew that if there was a possibility that approaching skyship could come down at ramming speed, he would not be on the receiving end of it.

Staying low to the ground, he flanked around the ship’s path, ensuring his relative safety. As it passed by, he took off from the ground and pursued it, using his innate ability to walk along walls to adhere to its hull.

Recognizing the latent threat that he posed, Velistra Frostveil stretched her hand towards Prinze, drawing a rune and chanting a spell. She attempted to assert her will over him, at the very least to simply hold him in place. A battle of the wills ensued, hers versus his, but still reeling from the presence of their surprise visitors, she found herself too distracted for her spell to take hold.

Maximus left headlong into the crowd of cultists, kicking and punching at anything that moved. The hard sounds of snapping bones echoed across the main deck.

Again, Velistra pushed her will against that of Prinze, but this time she was successful. Shouting the word, “STOP!”, Prinze froze in place, unable to move.

As the Oracle cast her spell, Beezul fired his Bee-Bee Gun. Imbued with every drop of primal magic he could produce, the bee exited its pipe at astounding speeds, trailing through the skull of the captain, leaving behind nothing more than a splatter of blood and a falling corpse.

Seeing the half-breed whelp fire a magical dart, decapitating the captain, Maelrix Ironscale leapt from the quarter deck, landing before Beezul. He began swinging his Warhammer. Once. Twice. Three times the hammer impacted Beezul, each time leaving behind a new wound encrusted with ice left behind by the hammer.

Maximus, unaware of Prinze’s handicap, charged forth to the backside of Maelrix, waylaying on him from behind, but Velistra Frostveil had a trick in store for this regenerating monstrosity.

Amongst the many mutations that Maximus has undergone in recent months, the mutation that is often considered to be most useful is the ability to regenerate. Aided by a magical amulet he was in possession of, it had been determined that the only true way to put Maximus down, and truly keep him down, would be to douse him in acid to prevent his healing factor from functioning. Now, the eyes and ears of the Faith of the Chromatic Queen stretch far and wide, and through less than honorable means, they had stumbled upon this information.

Velistra reached out her hand, conjuring forth an arrow of acid, and shot it right into the back of Maximus.

He could feel his greatest asset now become his greatest weakness. Maximus was vulnerable.

Second after second, blows would be traded. Maelrix Ironscale would alternate between Beezul and Maximus in a knock down, drag out slugfest. Maximus would return blow after blow to Maelrix, and Beezul would try his best to escape, but fail time and time again.

Allistair would attempt to sneak up behind Velistra Frostveil, conjuring forth his signature fireball to engulf her concentration in flames, but she would be too quick and too magically adept for such simple tricks. Just as fast as he could conjure the fireball, she would dispel it, and return with a gust of freezing wind, knocking Allistair from the skyship.

He plummeted for moments before using magics to teleport to the underside of the ship where he could administer aid to himself.

While Maelrix would become distracted, attempting to rid the skyship of the latent dangers caused by Beezul’s Bee-Bee Gun, Maximus would grab ahold of him, tear off one of his wings, and shove him from the side of the ship.

Prinze watched on, unable to act due to the magics that held him, as cultist after cultist died by hands other than his own.

Beezul would charge forward to attempt to rid the cult of its head, and free Prinz from his enchantment, but as soon as Maelrix Ironscale impacted the ground below, the magical amulet around his neck teleported him back to Velistra Frostveil’s side, and between her and Beezul.

With a swift, powerful strike, Beezul dropped to the deck below, unconscious and on the brink of death. But to watch his teammate be struck down spurned Prinze on to break free from his magical restraints.

Regaining his faculties, Prinze broke the necks of the two cultists that had attempted, and failed, to shove his immobile body off of the side of the skyship, then charged forwards towards the Oracle and her Justiciar.

In a few fleeting steps, Prinze appeared before the Oracle and Justiciar, delivering a stunning strike to each, and prepared to wreak his vengeance.

That is where this week’s tale ends, and next week’s tale will begin.

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 10 – The Tomb of Horrors Pt. 3

Written by Flamereptile

Written: 03/02/2026

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 10 – The Tomb of Horrors Pt. 3

Recap: Last week we continued the Tomb of Horrors… It continued to be horrible, but still so much fun.

This week’s tale continues, once again, within the Tomb of Horrors, and will again be a shorter set of highlights rather than a full short story.

We began this session with some nice banter, and by making a decision that during much of the month of March, and during baseball season we may need to take a little break from this campaign for our GM to coach baseball. I will be sad to not play during that time, but will have many other things to work on to fill the void.

This session picked up in the throne room with a ton of pillars. It took us quite some time to figure out the pillar traps, open the many doors, disarm the traps, and figure out the throne/crown/scepter. We were visited by the “Liberty Mutual Death Saving Throw Insurance Agency”, a mustached man and his Axe Beak named Doug. We had a short interaction with them, where I believe the GM adjusted some power scaling from earlier in the campaign.

Thraxx took the man, and the Axe Beak, through a few rooms of the dungeon to make him test some of the traps. Was it the most kind thing to do? No. No it wasn’t. He did not end up making it through the throne/crown/scepter testing…

Our rogue/warlock had a little meltdown in frustration about the many doors, and the general demeanor of this dungeon, but our druid kept a calm head and made a decision: to conjure a familiar and poke around. I actually was wondering the whole dungeon why the owls he summoned weren’t scouting better, or why he wasn’t seeing through them… turns out I was mistaking Conjure Animals and Conjure Familiar.

We discovered that both of the faces on the ceiling were portals, both of which went nearby. We opened the door with the animated swords… then immediately closed it. The rogue/warlock cast meat grinder, I mean Spirit Guardians, in the room, making short work of the swords. We proceeded beyond into the next room which was supposedly a trap, but we managed to remove the door and disarm the trap.

Next we tested the portal to the next room. Gracefully said. The owls, conjured by the druid, fiddled with the key and were instantly killed. Running out of options, the rogue/warlock gave Thraxx a Death Ward and sent him in. The trap did not even chew through Thraxx’s temporary hit points before he figured it out, but when he did, the floor began moving upwards to try to crush him.

With his quick reflexes, Thraxx rolled forwards and into the next room. This room was, apparently, a treasure room filled with gold and with a sarcophagus inside. Now Thraxx isn’t interested in gold, but he was interested in what was within the sarcophagus: a jewel encrusted skull.

Now I would be lying to you if I told you I didn’t know what this was. The Demilich Acererak. But I’ll be darned if Thraxx wouldn’t want to claim the skull of the dungeon anyways. But Thaxx is no fool. He would claim the skull, but knew most things in the dungeon are trapped. He took his Bag of Holding and tried to slip it over the skull. He did not succeed.

The Demilich awoke and attacked Thraxx. Fortunately, he beat its 16 Initiative roll with a 23 of his own. Making two attacks, then performing an Action Surge, Thraxx managed to burn through 3/4 of the Demilich’s Legendary Resistances (against being shoved in the bag), but that left the Demilich a turn. Fortunately again, the Demilich failed to harm Thraxx. On his second turn he failed to hit at all… Another opportunity for the Demilich to do him in but again it failed to harm him. On his third turn, Thraxx finally managed to bag the Demilich.

Now this is where the dungeon differs a bit from the module. The vast majority of things, closer to 99%, was as written in the original module (except for perhaps a bit of flavor), but we weren’t here for Acererak… we were here for two Arch Hags.

Thraxx activated a switch, allowing his party to pass the floor trap, and the session ended as we prepared to engage in combat against the Arch Hags beyond the treasure room.

Retrospective: Tonight was another shorter game, but it seemed like we accomplished quite a bit, and we surely had a ton of fun. I am eager to finish this dungeon, because it’s still bull, but I’m thankful to have been given the opportunity to play through it. Thank you again to Keith for running another great game for us, and I look forward to reading through this module afterwards. Maybe I’ll even get to torture my players with it some day?

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 9 – The Tomb of Horrors Pt. 2

Written by Flamereptile

Written: 02/23/2026

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 9 – The Tomb of Horrors Pt. 2

Recap: Last week we started the Tomb of Horrors… It was horrible, but oh so much fun.

This week’s tale continues within the Tomb of Horrors, and will be a short set of highlights rather than a full short story.

We began this session with a return of the Terminator, well, a different unit. We returned to the beginning of the dungeon where it tried to impersonate a loved one of one of the party members. With Thraxx’s new eye, he could see through its illusion. We began combat against it, with the dishonorable mage paralyzing it. Thraxx would grab it and drag it to the face with the Sphere of Annihilation in it, shoving it in and ending combat in a very fun, yet unceremonious way.

We continued the crawl for quite some time, eventually coming to some sort of Embalming Chamber. Within one of the vats inside was a “Living Sourdough Starter Slime”, which I believe was a Psychic Gray Slime. It was slain before it could touch Thraxx.

We continued cautiously through the tomb, coming to a rom filled with fog. The dishonorable mage dispelled the fog, revealing an entrapped Siren within. After returning her to the entrance, we finished the game by ending within a throne room full of pillars.

Retrospective: Tonight’s game review was short, and to be honest, tonight’s game seemed really short. Perhaps it was because we all had so much fun, but also because this dungeon is irritating. Who knows? I have faith that next week we may finish this module, and I’ll be very happy to do so. Another great game Keith, well done and kudos to another fun game.

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 8 – The Tomb of Horrors

Written by Flamereptile

Written: 02/16/2026

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 8 – The Tomb of Horrors

Recap: Last week we fought a grueling battle against Granny Nut and a hoard of Purple Worms, ending with Thraxx being slain and brought back again.

This week’s tale will be much shorter, less in character, and feel more like a highlights reel. Why? Well, because we started the Tomb of Horrors.

We entered the tomb and poked around cautiously. Most players know the tales of the Tomb of Horrors, thus proceed accordingly. Unfortunately for us, most of our characters aren’t really well suited for old-school dungeon crawls. In fact, only our level 20 rogue/warlock/notreallysurewhatelseheisbuthe’slv20whiletherestofusarelv16 could perform the necessary Perception/Investigation checks to do much at all. With his reliable talent, that trivialized most checks, but made the repetition mind numbing.

Let me be honest up front here. We were almost all aware, to some extent, the features of the tomb, with some of us having run/played it before. How do you do things like separate the knowledge about the statue and the gems? Some of the traps? What about the face with the Sphere of Annihilation? You kind of can’t without overtly sacrificing your character…

I preface with this to also say, it was like pulling teeth to get the party to put the gems in the statue’s hands to get the Gem of Seeing.

How about some highlights though? When Thraxx acquired the gem he tore out one of his eyes to install it permanently. That’s pretty neat. The Chapel of Evil had a… *sigh* Man-Bear-Pig skeleton dressed in the Terminator’s black leathers (with sunglasses) that couldn’t actually be killed (it regained 100 hp after 1d6 rounds if we “slew it”). We dropped it down a pit. We even managed to knock down a myriad of doors, and avoid nearly every trap through cautious curiosity, and an adept rogue.

So what’s next? Well, we have a little bit of the Tomb left to crawl through. I’m looking forward to swiping up the Demilich’s head in one of my Bags of Holding, and adding it to Thraxx’s trophy collection. I am not eager for the possibility of a party member triggering the teleportation that leaves us naked outside… I guess we’ll see how it goes.

Retrospective: Although my review of tonight’s game might seem disappointed or irritated, it is not intended to be. Keith, regardless of his silliness, ran another great game, and it was awesome to see his excitement to run the module. I love his energy, and his GM style. I think we can all agree, since it’s conception in (what? 1978?) that the Tomb of Horrors is some real bullshit. I look forward to hopefully finishing it next week!

p.s. Perhaps I should write some hardcore, old school dungeon crawls for some of our adventures?

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 7 – The End of Thraxx

Written by Flamereptile

Written: 02/09/2026

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 7 – The End of Thraxx

Recap: We pick up this week, continuing our journey once again through Candyland, however, I found out that Granny Nut was not in fact an Arch Hag. We are in fact hunting her daughter/granddaughter/sisters? It’s complicated. New targets: Mother Blackthorn and daughter Blackthorn…

This week we began our journey appearing at the home of Granny Nut, who was not in fact a Hag. She was an odd acting old woman, except she wasn’t! She petitioned our party to save her husband from either snakes or worms. It was hard to tell. Thraxx, believing her to be a Hag in disguise, was ready to club her, but showed restraint as the rest of the party, all dishonorable spellcasters, wanted to try some form of diplomacy. This did not make sense to Thraxx, especially as she began to ominously tap her foot, as if trying to summon some sort of desert critter.

The party was enraptured with the prospects of her summoning these worms, to milk them… Thraxx was not impressed. They stood by, slack jawed until she had called forth five of these purple monstrosities, and then attacked.

Immediately Thraxx attacked the old woman, obviously more than what she appeared. After a good, hard clubbing she revealed her true form, that of a Rakshasa! Thraxx became furious, continuing to club her until she dishonorably retreated into the Hells where Thraxx could not follow her.

Denied his quarry, Thraxx turned his attention towards the worms. There were many of them, and they were quite vicious. Although he fought hard and valiantly, Thraxx would be bested by the worms, even after being swallowed and clubbing his way out. He did, however, outlive the foolish orc that worshipped him, Buddy the Orc. In his dying breaths, Thraxx only wished that he could have challenged Buddy the Orc for his fancy sword, a Blackrazer.

Thraxx would be knocked unconscious… his mind would begin to fade into the beyond granted to and honorable death… when the dishonorable Druid would deny him of his glorious death!

Thraxx, now enraged beyond belief would thrash about to claim his final trophy, falling once again and being swallowed. His body would at least nourish the worm that had bested him. Survival of the fittest at its finest.

Thraxx’s body would begin to dissolve as he lost himself… Then the dishonorable Rogue/Wizard/Warlock… Thraxx really isn’t sure what it is would reach into the worm’s throat, touch Thraxx with it’s filthy, dishonorable hands, and Plane Shift Thraxx into the Nine Hells, denying him once again an honorable death.

In the steaming Hells, the mage would heal Thraxx, coddling him. An Imp would approach to prepare Thraxx for the line that was Customs. The mage would convince the Imp of his importance before Thraxx smashed it, and the mage returned Thraxx to the battle against the worms.

Back in the fray, Thraxx would club a nearby worm to death, claiming the Blackrazer that it had claimed from Buddy the Orc (it was tribal law after all). He would then take that sword, which he would then dub Braidcutter (against the sword’s wishes) to cleave another worm in two.

The battle would end, the party would rest, and Thraxx would cut his braid, signifying his failure, shame, and loss of honor within his clan. Thraxx would rest physically, but his shame would keep him awake.

Retrospective: Another great game ran by Keith. I think the party composition and teamwork was nearly nonexistent for most of the fight, and the interaction beforehand. If there was a little more coordination, I think we might have all survived, but it all worked out in the end. I’m eager to see how Thraxx develops with the Blackrazer in his hands. Once he’s attuned to it, the abilities it will grant to him will be incredible. I look forward to playing again next week!

The Festival of Flesh

Titansfall, quite the unique city. It was built upon the body of the Tarrasque, captured ages ago. The Tarrasque has since become an important cultural and economic source, as the locals harvest its ever-regenerating flesh. Upon recommendation of a contact, from the undercity of Nordran, I have traveled here to visit the Flesh Pits during the Festival of Flesh. The Flesh Pits are a disturbing natural phenomenon, caused by the Tarrasque’s constantly mutating flesh as it slowly grows and melds into the tunnels dug around it for harvesting.

            As I made my way into the Festival of Flesh, only recently starting, I saw a crowd gathered around several people isolated in separate booths facing outward. Each of them was sculpting what looked like clay figures. Above and behind them, in holding cells, there were some sorts of large creatures mirroring what was being done to the clay figures. One of the sculptors, a small child by all looks, had balled up their effigy and was ripping it apart and mashing it together aimlessly. Its creature screamed and groaned in agony as its bones broke and flesh rent only to mend and fuse once more again and again. Its overall shape became something of a giant worm. In another booth sat a man… of sorts. He wore nothing above the waist, bone plating covered almost all of his vitals, and bones appeared to grow from his own flesh. Flesh that did not match, seeming to come from several sources not of his own. Tubes conveying a bright, almost glowing, green fluid were interwoven through his flesh. He expertly manipulated his effigy, gently molding and precisely carving it. The creature behind him morphed seemingly without pain. It became a hulking figure with stout legs, a secondary ribcage covered its chest, and its head was encased within a helm of bone. Its large arms were wide, and its fingers were long and grasping. Roping tendrils were molded to its back and arched over its shoulders with jagged, cleaver-like blades at the end.

            I watched for a time, enraptured by the scene, unable to look away. Finally, I peeled away my vision and ventured further into the tunnels. There was a loud boom coming from an arena, dug down into the massive alcove of the tunnels. Two biomancers were dueling beneath the sky. The sky that should not have been visible this deep underground. The sun shined brightly, but it all looked unplaceable wrong. On one side of the arena, a human woman appeared to be tearing off her fingers and throwing them at her opponent. They exploded in a shower of acid and blood. Her opponent, a dwarven man, held out his hands and produced a shower of shards that flew with alarming velocity, piercing her in some places but deflecting off of her bone carapace in others. The dwarf’s acid pocked skin healed as the woman’s fingers were depleted. His arms ruptured into blades as he rushed towards her and quickly cut her down. The crowd erupted into cheers as the dwarf seemed to absorb parts of her flesh into his own, using their grotesque magic.

            All these strange sights began to feel overwhelming. My contact had warned me of this place, but his warnings did it no justice. As I wandered away from the arena, I came upon another large alcove with half a dozen large platforms. Upon each one, a massive mound of flesh rested, each being reshaped into gruesome yet beautiful figures. Some had taken on a humanoid shape, but only just. Flesh and bone intertwined in bizarre and impossible shapes about their bodies. Others took on abstract shapes. One that struck me as particularly stunning was what looked like a plant the size of 10 men. A rosette of pointed, serrated leaves formed its base, each leaf sprouted a large eye, each of which tracked different passersby. A thick stalk sprouted from its center, covered in small mouths. Each of which spewed a small geyser of blood down to its base which was quickly consumed by small orifices of lapping tongues.

Many similar sights could be found throughout the alcoves within the tunnels of the Flesh Pits. Some seemed like talent shows, displaying differing biomancy abilities and their applications, while others were more akin to carnival game stands. A row of biomancers had sprouted stalks that sprayed acid at moving targets. Another game stand had biomancers growing homunculi in jars, racing to complete theirs first. At one more was a pit of acid that the biomancers had to wade through to collect tokens along the bottom before their bodies gave out. Not a game for the weak of stomach to watch.

A sudden surge of the crowd rushed towards the arena. The sculptors I first witnessed had gathered on balconies spaced equally around the arena and held aloft their molded effigies in their hands for all to see. Their creations’ holding cells had been moved beneath them. An announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, showering the sculptors with platitudes and admonishments before declaring that the Festival of Flesh’s main event was beginning. The unusual sky above revealed itself to be an illusion when it suddenly turned blood red and began pulsing with a deeper red. The sculpted creatures bellowed horrifying war cries and charged each other. The child’s worm creature flailed in place unable to move and was set upon by the others.

A beast I had not yet seen challenged the hulking mass crafted by the veteran sculptor. It had a canid shape to it. A thick muscular body, devoid of hair with short powerful back legs, both adorned with three long claws. Its front legs were bladed stilts. Bony spines protruded from its back, and fleshy wings were pressed flat against either side of its spine. Its eyeless head ended in a large, circular mouth lined with rows upon rows of teeth, that rested at the end of a long snake-like neck.

The two creatures were on opposite sides of the arena. The canid’s powerful legs launched it forward at an incredible speed. Its wings spread to carry it, and its bladed front legs extended forward as it flew towards its target. Its bladed arms pierced through the hulking creature's exterior ribcage, becoming lodged within it. While the canid struggled to free itself, the hulk’s long grasping fingers wrapped around it and pinned the canid to its chest as its bladed tendrils whipped forward and carved deep wounds across its back. The canid’s spines burst outwards, severing all the hulk’s fingers. Its back legs dug into the gut of the hulk as its rows of circular teeth rapidly spun and cut holes through the hulk’s shoulders. It managed to pull itself free of the hulk’s ribcage and attempted to leap free, but the hulk’s tendrils cut its wings away and it slammed to the ground. The hulk lifted one of its thick legs and stomped down on the back legs of the canid, pinning it. The canid quickly cut its own legs away and, with freakish speed, circled to the back of the hulk, dragging itself with its bladed front legs. It began climbing up its back, driving its legs deep into the hulk’s unprotected flesh. It reached up and severed the tendrils with its mouth before sawing its way into the hulk’s body with its teeth, disappearing entirely. The hulk began flailing and screaming as it stomped its way across the arena, crushing all the remaining amalgamations of flesh. I could see the undulating mass of the canid beneath the hulk’s flesh, wreaking havoc within its body. Finally, the hulk collapsed to the ground and the canid burrowed its way free, and victorious.

The crowd went into a frenzy of excitement at the spectacle, and the illusory sky returned to its normal hue. I could only stand there, wide eyed and mouth agape, not believing what I had just seen. The Festival of Flesh was coming to a close, and I quickly egressed to the surface. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, as I would never return.

I hope you enjoyed this short story with me. It started out as an errant thought I had at work. While in the focused thoughts of my job, the scene of the sculptors making their creation forced its way into my head and just kept expanding. Thinking it would be entertaining to Nolan and the others in our DnD group I shared it. Nolan apparently had recently dreamed, or nightmared depending on your view, of a creature that inspired the canid above. He encouraged me to write a short story so here you have it. A deeper look into the lore of the underground biomancers of Titansfall.

-        Arizona (TheOneTrueAzzy)

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 6 – The Candyland Chronicles 3

Written by Flamereptile

Written: 02/02/2026

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 6 – The Candyland Chronicles 3

Recap: We pick up this week, continuing our journey to track the Arch-Hag (Granny Nut?)

This week we began our journey approaching a ziggurat with some sort of meat grinder at the top. A slew of Frost Giants, accompanied by 3 Abominable Yetis, were feeding people into the grinder to press them into blood wine for some sort of statue “god”.

The party deliberated for a moment on how to best cast dishonorable spells at the enemies. Thraxx grew tired of their dishonorable ways, charging headfirst into the fray. Getting a great roll on initiative, Thraxx sprinted and screamed towards his enemies. Unfortunately, they surrounded him, 3 Frost Giants and 2 Yetis, and paralyzed him for a few rounds. They tried and tried to whittle Thraxx down, mostly succeeding, but Thraxx’s will, or posture, could not be broken.

After a few rounds of being paralyzed, and the surrounding enemies being unable to break, or move, Thraxx, he broke his paralysis, only for one giant to decide to throw him into the meat grinder. Thraxx obliged, allowing the foolish giant to give him a free ride. While approaching, Thraxx persuaded the giant to “allow him to throw himself into the grinder”. The giant obliged, releasing Thraxx.

Thraxx climbed the rest of the ziggurat, looked back at the giant while at the top (and near their idol), and called out “This is how you swing a club!” before clubbing the statue. Thraxx batted and rode the statue down the ziggurat while the rest of the party picked away at the weak giants.

Thraxx shattered the idol, stole its ruby eyes, and proceeded to slay the final giant by jumping upon its face, knocking it down the ziggurat, and breaking its neck.

Beaten and bloodied, but victorious, the party rested for a time before proceeding on their hunt. At the end of their rest, they continued onwards, coming across a chocolate lake with a dock and some cultists.

Before Thraxx could charge across the docks, the party’s warlock summoned a fireball upon the cultists, slaying them and enraging their kraken “god”. Thraxx, using his boots of water walking, charged across the chocolate pond to grapple the kraken and drag it from the muck… he failed against a foe far larger than himself, being grappled and thrown. As he rose and went for a second round, the kraken grabbed him and swallowed him… Just where Thraxx wanted him!

From within, Thraxx ignited his Chime of Opening (Flametongue Greatsword) and slashed it from within, forcing it to vomit him up. Having taken substantial damage, and being hit point blank with a lightning bolt, Thraxx stealthily walked across the chocolate pond behind the kraken and slashed at it.

The cowardly creature retreated beneath the muck, emerged a distance away to swallow two other party members, and then allowed the dishonorable mages to kill it from within. Thraxx would be disappointed he could not claim a trophy from the kraken, but this hunt had proven to be quite successful thus far.

Retrospective: This was another fun game, albeit, quite difficult. I spent much of this game stunned or paralyzed, but Keith is a versatile GM that allows us to play other NPCs in cases like this. As always, his game running and terrain are on point and I look forward to next week’s game.

The Chronicle of Thraxx - Episode 4-5 - The Candyland Chronicles 1 & 2

Written by Flamereptile

Written: 01/19/26

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 4 & 5 – The Candyland Chronicles 1 & 2

Recap: We pick up this week, having just slain an Arch-Hag, visiting the Hells, and choosing to wage war against the rest of the coven.

Last week, we picked up with our mission to journey into Candyland (the Barovian Baking Company?) to track down the remaining hags and add their skulls to Thraxx’s collection. The GM had a really neat idea with how to progress through Candyland, literally plopping down a Candyland board and having us roll 1d6 (with each roll corresponding to the next colored square we would go to, and each square having an encounter type associated with it). He also planned encounters for the characters on the Candyland board.

We encountered these carriages abducting people for unknown reasons. We hijacked a carriage, disguised ourselves, and slew a few of the odd golems abducting people. Eventually we rode along the hijacked carriage (pulled by magic, not steeds) until we encountered a sentient tree that offered the party free items. Thraxx does not accept gifts, thus he did not make his presence known. Afterwards, we continued our travels to a keep in the middle of the road.

The keep belonged to a vampire, Lord Licorice, who was obsessed with blood sugar. Thraxx baited out Lord Licorice with the prospect of eating his party before he could feast on Thraxx… the foolish undead. As soon as he turned his back, Thraxx thrust his Chime of Opening (a Flametongue Longsword) into his back.

The beginning of the fight was rough, with Thraxx be charmed to flee while the rest of the (dishonorable spellcaster) party spammed Lord Licorice with sunlight spells. Once Thraxx had regained his senses, he charged forward, thrust his arm through a window, and tore Lord Licorice through it before slaying him with his sword.

We concluded last week with arriving at Plumpy’s Grove, which contained three Awakened Trees and some sort of Pumpking Tree Monster (Gulthias Blight). Thraxx challenged the foul tree, and together, the party made short work of them.

We picked up this week with the party arriving within some sort of maze made of peppermint and chocolate. A group of wolves arrived, speaking to us and threatening us. The party talked them out of attacking us, but Mr. Mint (an Animal Lord) would not let us pass in peace… Thraxx was elated.

Combat against Mr. Mint was long and arduous, with Thraxx spending much of it chasing down the big wolf. Finally, Thraxx caught up with Mr. Mint, grappling it so it couldn’t get away from him again. The remainder of the battle was a slugfest, with Mr. Mint and Thraxx exchanging blows for several rounds. The battle began to come to a close as Mr. Mint flew three hundred feet in the air and plummeted down when he couldn’t shake Thraxx. Thraxx was ready to plummet to his death with his prey, but the dishonorable wizard’s spell stopped them both at the end of their descent.

Mr. Mint would try again, but the dishonorable spellcasters would change gravity to disorient Mr. Mint. Eventually, Thraxx would grow tired of this debauchery, dragging Mr. Mint from a gravity well to force him into the ground, then stand and do it again within the same round. Each fall would whittle both Thraxx and Mr. Mint down, closer to death, until the final fall, Mr. Mint would deliver the final blow to the weakened Thraxx… UNTIL HE STOOD UP AND STABBED HIM TO DEATH!

Thraxx would claim Mr. Mint’s skull as a trophy, and now plans to have it out with the dishonorable wizard for his interference. And that is how this week’s adventuring ended.

Retrospective: Another great game! Well done Keith, your experience as a GM really shows. I think everybody had a lot of fun tonight playing, joking around, and fighting in this awesome boss fight. It’s also pretty neat that we’re getting to jump to level 15. Until the next time, thanks for reading, and thank you again to Keith for another great game.

p.s. I made a magic item last week after we joked about Thraxx painting himself purple for better stealth. Perhaps I will release it here on Dime Novel Adventures one day, but until then, I hope you enjoy it.

The Chronicles of Thraxx – Episode 0-2 – An Odd Beginning

Written by Flamereptile

Written: 12/29/25

The Chronicles of Thraxx – Episode 0-2 – An Odd Beginning

Having (happily) put myself in the position of forever GM, I am often reminded that I have far, far more play time as a GM than I do as an actual player, and I yearn to play on occasion. It was only a few weeks ago I called a few of my local game stores to see when their open play nights for TTRPGs were. After running games at one store, now a bit too far of a drive to consistently go there, I was weary of the… characters that might be running the games.

Episode 0 – Not Where I Wanted to Start

Weary or not, I was given a time, date, and phone number for a fellow that was running a game that next Monday. I was anxious to hop in but also excited at the prospects of playing.

Now, you need to remember while reading this, I’ve been running games consistently for over a decade now as the GM. I have developed over that time a perception of the kind of game I might like to play in, whether it’s true or not, and expectations for what should happen before, during, and after you’re at the table.

When I reached out to this GM I was left a little confused and unsure. He said we would be playtesting the 2024 Edition, and playing RAW. Now I’ve skimmed the 2024 books, and listened to countless hours of commentary on them, leaving me unimpressed at best and a bit disappointed at worst. Our home games haven’t switched over, and we were unlikely to do so.

I wanted to play a Minotaur, and that was 86’d immediately. Seemed a little silly, but it was what it was. He also gave us the setting: the Doomed Forgotten Realms – the setting that happens if the players fail every 5th Edition adventure there is. A neat concept, but I was unsure how it would work. Finally, we were starting at 12th level.

Now there were some hangups while creating my character: poor, inconsistent answers in the chat, seemingly strict rules, and what was the worst: being told that at 12th level I wouldn’t be able to take any magic items because my character hadn’t earned them. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to go and play, but I figured I’d give it one game at least.

I rolled up an Orc named Thraxx. A proud Barbarian/Fighter/Rogue from a hunter/warrior culture. I wrote a whole system for gaining and losing honor while on the hunt, developed the bones of his whole culture, and wrote a neat little backstory for him… all to maybe play one game with these people and decided it wasn’t for me. I did eventually get to pick some magic items, and since I was told that the GM would be running difficult encounters I chose to boost my AC to the max while also giving myself some real damage making capabilities.

Thraxx was ready, and I was reluctant, but we were going to play anyway.

Episode 1 – An Amazing Surprise (12/15/25)

Now, I kind of hope that this GM doesn’t read this blog, at least the Episode 0 part, because it’s all uphill from here.

I arrived about half an hour early to the game that first night, hoping to claim a nice seat and maybe meet the GM and players before we start. I was pleasantly surprised to meet the GM, a really nice and enthusiastic guy who was eager to get me started. He was walking me through the whole of the game, how they played, and what they were doing with the gusto of somebody truly passionate about what they were doing.

Thraxx joined this party of odd ducks in the middle of a colosseum battle. At level 12, four of us fought a Dragon Turtle and a Dracolich, neither of which Thraxx would deliver the final blows to, preventing him from taking trophies. But that wasn’t the point… yet. I was having a crazy amount of fun! I hadn’t had fun like this as a player for… well nearly a decade when I was first drawn in to TTRPGs!

After these tough battles, the god of Orcs, saddled in his sleight pulled by two flaming boars, began to fly over the colosseum, throwing celebratory Christmas battleaxes to all the good orcs below. This was my time to see what I could really do in this game. What I could get away with.

I positioned Thraxx atop an outcropping, holding his Action to rip this “gOd Of OrCs” from his sleight and assert dominance. To my surprise, he did it. Through a few good rolls, Thraxx ripped him from his sleigh, slammed him to the ground, and tore his head asunder as a trophy. Brutal and maybe a little excessive? Yeah, but I was testing some bounds. And to my amazement, the table erupted in excitement, laughter and cheers! Thraxx would bring a new dynamic to the party, one a little more serious and a lot more brutal, but a nice dichotomy to the silliness already there.

I talked with the GM a bit after the game, thanked him for running it, and listened to his excitement about me joining and having Thraxx in the party. It felt good, and I’m thankful to have been included. I departed that night with dreams of brutality, and fantasy fondness.

Episode 2 – A Return to Excitement (12/22/25)

Surely lightning couldn’t strike twice, right? Wrong.

I arrived at the game the next week, skeptical that I would have as much fun for a second week in a row. Surely it was a fluke, right? Wrong again.

We started the session by finding out that the “gOd Of OrCs” Thraxx slew was the leader of the Orcs that patroned the colosseum, and they were in need of new leadership. Thraxx made a power move to start the game, slaying  a mammoth that was the symbol of their old, weak regime. They were dumbstruck, but fell in line.

Well that was fun. What’s next? We were given a quest with promises of greater foes for Thraxx to fight… he was in. We flew upon the party’s Roc to complete a sort of fetch quest. Go here, get a guy, find out his interplanar travel visa was rejected, promise to get it fixed for him… a little odd, but fun nonetheless.

We took a portal to the home of a fey queen, which was stuck in a time stop spell. We bypassed the strange guards, fed a fat giant with some big cake, and entered into a fight with a Jabberwocky.

Now the last week we fought a Dragon Turtle and a Dracolich, and not once did Thraxx feel threatened. He had a Cloak of Displacement and a 24 AC, so why would he? But during this Jabberwocky fight, which used the 2024 stat of an Ancient Black Dragon with a few of the Jabberwocky abilities from another book, it was different. By the end Thraxx was drained. He’d hit 0 and barely survived because of his Relentless Endurance. He’d been charmed and confused and felt a bit hopeless during much of the fight (stupid burble ability).

Honestly, the whole party was doing rough. We nearly TPK’d! But it was great! The stakes were high, our blood was pumping, all good things!

But there was one moment where it all changed for the better. Thraxx broke his burble (really it just wandered a little too far away) and used his Horn of Blasting to deafen it, freeing the party of its nasty ability. We made short work of it after that, but Thraxx (and I) felt like a hero! It was super fun, and one of the most memorable battles I’ve ever played. I even got to use a cheesy line like, “Thraxx isn’t trapped in here with you! You’re trapped in here with Thraxx!”

After the big battle a few clowns, I mean…, troublemakers walked in. A cleric, a mage, and a warrior, old names from old books. The smarted off to our nearly dead party, but seemed to not know that Thraxx was always rearing for a battle, and even while on death’s door he was hard to hit. While the party healed up, Thraxx claimed three new skulls for his belt. Even this little side fight was memorable.

We ended the game there, and I was met with the same kind of enthusiasm as the week prior. I thanked the GM again, wished everybody Merry Christmas, and went home, looking forward to what next week would hold.

Retrospective: Now, I’m writing this all in retrospective. It all happened a few weeks ago for me, and I’m checking my notes again before writing about it, but these are easily some of the most fun TTRPG games I’ve ever been a player in. I’m so grateful to have been able to find this group, to be able to play with them, and to look forward to playing with them. I’m still happily a forever GM, but it’s nice to be able to be a player as well.

Thank you again to the GM for running the games. I look forward to next week’s game, and to writing about how much fun they are. Until next time, thank you for reading.

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 3 – To Hell and Back Again

Written by Flamereptile

Written: 12/29/25

The Chronicle of Thraxx – Episode 3 – To Hell and Back Again

Recap: We pick up this week having just slain a Jabberwocky in Episode 2. We happened across a library where we met a strange librarian who gave us many tomes on demons, and took us to the fey queen stuck in time. Our party approached the fey queen, imprisoned upon her throne, but as we approached, three hags appeared.

The hags tried to convince us to slay the fey queen, but Thraxx informed them he was here to stab her with a unicorn horn. They obliged, hoping he would fatally wound the queen,  but instead he used the horn to free her of the time stop. The fey queen and the hags bickered of right and wrong, pointing fingers, but the queen would inform Thraxx the hags ate children, a dishonorable act.

Thraxx rushed at the hags, hacking and slashing as his party assisted. He would wound one hag, as another party member finished her off, then decapitate a second. The third would call upon the obese giant from Episode 2, but the party druid would instead convince it to venture off elsewhere to consume the corpse of the Jabberwocky. After Thraxx had damaged it considerable, the had would plane shift away.

The party’s wizard (still not really sure what he is) would plane shift us in pursuit into the Hells. Thraxx would chase the hag, spearing her with Speak With Animals, then subduing her with a net. Another party member would deliver the finishing blow. Afterwards, the party would be approached by a group of fallen angels who would lead us to their queen.

Before the queen of the fallen angels, the party would negotiate, but Thraxx was disinterested in their affairs. Afterwards, they would venture back to the material plane to confront the queen of hags.

Beneath the colosseum, which Thraxx would soon claim, they would confront the tricky creature. She would dishonorably teleport, perform spells of mind control, and conjure lightning. At one point, the hag had confused Thraxx, suggesting that he would be better served to sell tickets to the colosseum than slay her. Charmed, Thraxx would stow his flaming greatsword, now called the Chime of Opening, and exit the tunnels, screaming at the peon guards to sell more tickets.

He would never admit it, but it took the dispelling of his charm, a mere moment later, for Thraxx to truly become enraged. He sprinted through the tunnels, all the way back to the queen hag’s throne, where he would lift her cauldron and use it to bludgeon the queen hag to death. He would later have it reforged into a powerful greatclub that he would name Dispel Magic.

An that is how Episode Three ends, with Thraxx and the party slaying an Arch Hag.

Retrospective: This may not make a ton of sense, since I’m jumping into the middle of a story with an unknown character, but in time it will. Tonight’s game was an absolute blast, and I’m thankful to have been able to play. I’m still riding the rush of excitement that came with playing tonight. I will soon do a blog of Episodes 0-2, giving some insight into who Thraxx is, what the setting is, and more. Until then, thanks for reading, and thank you to the GM for running this game.

The Tale of Westerin

Long ago, there lived a humble craftsman named Westerin Wester. He was a soft-spoken, simple-minded man whose greatest ambition was to rise above his station and claim a noble title of his own. That dream might have faded into obscurity, had Westerin not wandered one fateful day into the domain of a cunning Green Dragon.

The wyrm saw in Westerin a malleable mortal, desperate enough to bargain, and too naïve to understand the cost. The dragon promised him lordship and influence beyond his wildest dreams. Westerin, blinded by aspiration, agreed without hesitation.

The dragon performed an ancient, invasive rite upon him - one that was neither a blessing nor a curse, but a remaking. The ritual ignited Westerin’s dormant potential, sharpening his wit to a razor’s edge. The man who had once struggled with simple arithmetic now grasped alchemical formulae, biomancy theory, and arcane patterns as though he had always known it.

With his mind awakened, Westerin discovered he could sculpt a perfect lineage that could conquer empires and outlive this world. His dreams had changed. Nobility no longer satisfied him. He now wanted a dynasty, a line that would spread across the Coastlands, generation by generation, until his descendants occupied every seat of power, from the cold northern wastes to the fair lands to the south.

Westerin would divide his perfect bloodline into two castes: the greater of his line - bold and decisive rulers that would command the lands they had conquered - and the lesser of his line - deliberate and precise administrators that would advise and serve their greater kin with absolute loyalty. To prevent his dynasty from collapsing in upon itself, from greed or pride, Westering would weave into his lineage a deep seated loyalty and aversion to the spilling of Wester blood.

From his stronghold in the north, Westerin began siring descendants, and placing them into positions of influence. He did so quietly at first, spreading his domain southward like a creeping vine.

Decades would pass, children grew, and grandchildren were born into the burgeoning Wester Empire. Only then did Westerin realize what he had overlooked - the dragon’s “blessing” had concealed a curse. The dragon had placed a draconic seal upon Westerin and his line, and through it, the dragon could whisper to his descendants, influence their thoughts, and peer through their eyes into the world they lived in.

Westerin had found the Greater Westers - willful and bold - could resist the whispers, but the Lesser Westers - supportive, deferential, and orderly - took to the dragon’s whispers like dry parchment drinking spilled ink. Unable to differentiate the dragon’s whispers from their own thoughts, they would become its unwitting mouthpieces, relaying its nudges and suggestions to their greater counterparts, swaying their every decision through everyday bureaucracy.

In time, a horrifying revelation overcame Westerin: the traits granting the greater of his line resistance to the dragon’s influences were recessive. If left unchecked, his lesser kin would quickly outnumber the greater, and his dynasty would become nothing more than the dragon’s pawns.

Old, weary, and burdened by the consequences of his past, Westerin would institute a grim family tradition to preserve his dynasty. His lesser descendants, short and thin, would be magically sterilized at birth, not out of cruelty, but out of love for his dynasty.

With death approaching, and paranoia of a failed dynasty tightening its grip over him, Westerin sought to free his family from the dragon’s clutches. In secret, even from his closest of kin, Westerin created the Artifacts of Wester, a set of ceremonial weapons, armor, and tools forged with alchemical precision from black onyx. He bound them to the fate of his lineage as the weapon that would either save them or damn them to servitude.

In his final moments, Westerin would imprint his spirit onto the artifacts, staying behind as a guiding echo, awaiting the day a worthy Wester would take up his burden.

The Bleeding of the World Tree

Only the most ancient elders remember when our world was alive - when rivers still flowed with shimmering lights, an the air was thick with love and hope. In those days, the World Tree towered above all, its roots binding the earth, it crown brushing the heavens, a sentinel that nourished every living thing beneath its canopy. Peace reigned, broken only by petty quarrels of kingdoms long since turned to dust. But the peace of the World Tree was fragile, and its end came swifter than any could have then imagined.

It was the Elves who dwelt beneath the boughs of the World Tree, shepherds and wardens of life itself. However, they would not foresee the darkness that descended from beyond the stars. Vast ships, like fingers from a cruel god, reached down and exhaled black clouds upon the tree. By an enemy unknown and unprovoked, the Elves were slaughtered before they had even known they were fighting. Their voices silenced, their works unmade, and the World Tree itself began to wither beneath a shroud of blackened corruption.

The nations of man stirred, raising armies and sharpening steel, awaiting the invasion that never came. Days faded into weeks; scouts retuned only with tales of charred earth and vast, hollowed wastelands where life had once thrived beneath the World Tree. In desperation, the rulers of old gathered their hosts for a grand assault. They marched to the Deadlands - the blackened scar left by the invaders - and there they beheld their foe.

The creatures were abominations: draconic in stature, but insectile in form, their swarms appeared endless. They fled at the sight of the mortal armies, drawing them into pursuit - only for fire and sorcery to rain down from the skies. The hosts were butchered before their charge could reach the tree. The World Tree remained defiled, and no banners would return home.

Time crept onward. Magic bled from the world as the tree's strength waned. Sages wept blood as the first of its branches cracked and fell, unleashing clouds of the swarming creatures, but never finding rest upon the blackened earth. A final desperate coalition formed, all peoples bound together in their final acts of defiance. But when they reached the Deadlands, the swarm rose from the tree like a storm. Before their eyes, the tree was devoured, ripped into splinters by a living black tide. Before they could reach its base, only a lifeless, gray stump remained, and above it a new finger of the enemy's fleet began to take shape. By dusk, it had joined the others reaching down from a darkened sky, then, as suddenly as they had come, the invaders departed.

The death of the World Tree marked the death of our world. Leylines cracked and faded, the spellplague raged unchecked, harvests rotted in the fields where they were planted, and plagues swept across the world. Mages, desperate to save what once was, drained the last vestiges of life from the earth itself - first its forests, then its beasts, and finally its people. They became pariahs, hunted and hated by the shattered remnants of once-great nations, now reduced to scavenging tribes.

What remains of our world is a husk. It's barren, a graveyard of dust and ruin, a wasteland where the bones of the World Tree fester. Go now, children - walk the corpse of our dead world and endure. Wander the wastes and carry with you memories of a world long forgotten.

The Stronghold of Security

Remember when we were young, playing Runescape 2 and venturing just west of Varrock into the Barbarian Village for the first time? For some of us, including myself, this wasn’t so long ago… As a child I never really put any stock into passwords and account protection, but then again, when I was a child the internet was a very different place.

For those of you that haven’t played Runescape, the Stronghold of Security is a multi-level dungeon that requires the player descend deeper until they reach the prize at the end, however, traversal requires that you, as the player, implement certain game security features and password protections. As a child I saw this as an irritating block between me and a free 10k gp and a colorful pair of boots, but as an adult I see the merits.

I bring all of this up, because, this morning I checked my Reddit, as I often do, to see what was new in the communities I followed. However, upon logging in I was met with something unusual: lots of messages and comments and a banner that stated my account was permanently banned. This was a shock, as I typically only lurked on subreddits, using them as methods of polling others for information rather than true interaction. I checked the “messages” and “comments” and discovered that I had been hacked, and not only hacked, but whomever took control over my account had entered some inappropriate communities and had posted some very inappropriate things.

Sitting there, staring at the carcass of my first Reddit account, I mourned as I deactivated it. This must be a facsimile of how NPCs feel when a PC casts an enchantment spell on them. A bit powerless, a bit sad, and very embarrassed for something they didn’t even do themselves.

Be better than me, make sure you use varied passwords for everything. Make sure you use 2-Factor Authentication when you can. And make sure you wear your Ring of Mind Shielding when you surf the web.

Thanks for reading,

Flamereptile

Web-Developer Blog #1

This marks the first of the Dime Novel Adventures Web Developer Blogs. We got a lot done on the site today! We finished the first version of the homepage, revised the site Footer, finished the first version of the Contact Us page, and… guess what? Started the Blog Page! We hope in the future to do away with the Web-Developer Blogs and post primarily short-stories, lore, and tales of our games.