Sunday Game Club
The EveningIsles
Tuesday, March 18, 2025
On Holiday with Hunger
In the shadowed depths of the Underdark, Hunger was born to a matriarchal trollkin tribe, a modest clan where a fierce female held sway with iron fists. Their ravenous appetites stripped the caverns bare, tearing through fungal groves, devouring river fish, and leaving beast carcasses strewn across the stone until the tribe faced ruin. Hunger, broad-shouldered but not sharp of mind, knelt in the gloom, his calloused hands shaking as he struck a pact with a dark entity he couldn’t name, its whispers promising to save his bloodline. The cost was his tribe: he turned on them with his wicked claw and voracious bite, starting with his closest of kin, their blood soaking his feet as he hacked through flesh, their dying gazes searing into him, their souls lingering as silent shadows. The entity’s power coursed through him, preserving his lineage’s essence, but the act left him hollow, a brute haunted by what he’d done.
In the Underdark city of Darkel, fate found him in an orphanage, a hulking trollkin among outcasts. There, he met The Will, a youth with a sharp mind and sharper will, and Resavati, a sly snake human hybrid with gleaming scales and a tongue quick with half-truths. Orphans all, they forged a bond in the dark, Hunger’s brawn, Resavati’s cunning, and The Will binding them with unspoken purpose. The trio ventured through the tunnels, scavenging and scrapping, until a brutal clash ended them—blades piercing, blood pooling, their bodies crumpling together in the dirt. Hunger awoke on a misty shore, the Styx lapping at his boots, a hooded boatman looming—Charon, though he didn’t know it then. Visions flooded his dull mind: ancestors ravaged by troll hands, females of his line broken across generations, their pain a weight he couldn’t grasp but felt in his bones. The Will and Resavati stirred beside him, spared too, and Hunger’s heart roared to protect every female he’d ever know, his dread of death a gnawing fear of losing their purpose, their potential. Charon’s silence sent them back, Hunger’s ancestor—Skorn, a towering eidolon with clawed hands and mournful eyes—rising at his side, her soul a gift he vowed to return to life. Together, the three climbed toward the surface, toward Nimbus, where they would found the Church of the Cosmic Skull. In a prior rite, Hunger gouged out his heart with a jagged brass knife, offering it in a blasphemous chalice to the entity—now known as Charon—its beating stilled hardening into a dark soul stone that The Will pressed back into his chest, a slow pulsing mark of loyalty.
Now, on a solstice night, the crypt beneath the Vault of Silent Secrets shimmered with the Styx pool’s unholy glow, Hunger stood with The Will and Resavati, the yuan-ti patriarch’s scales glinting as he coiled nearby, a witness and protector. The Will handed Hunger the Styx Chalice, its dark water rippling, and rumbled, “Your will is Charon’s.” Hunger drank, the cold burning his throat, his slow mind clinging to Skorn’s face. Skorn stepped forward, her enormous form trembling, tears streaking her cheeks as she raised her claws. With an ancestor’s sorrow, she sliced into his abdomen, then his chest, her cuts slow and deep, blood spilling in thick streams over long minutes, pooling at his feet to swirl with the murky Styx waters. Hunger’s massive frame quivered, his brute vigor pushing against the agony, lips rasping, “For you, mother,” as he endured, his skin paling, blood draining until his legs buckled. The pool itself stirred, its surface bubbling and gurgling, a low, resonant sound rising—a voice from the depths, thick and watery, shaping the word “Mercy” in a burble that echoed off the crypt’s stone walls. Hunger’s head tilted, his fading eyes widening as the Styx’s murmur reached him, a balm to his guilt, a promise whispered through the ages of his kin’s suffering.
The Will stepped closer, his hands rising as a spectacular effort poured from him. From the Styx pool, a writhing filthy mass surged (fleshworm infestation, with greater contagion), tunneling into Hunger’s wounds, their slick forms burrowing toward the soul stone in his chest. The stone cracked, shattering with a sharp snap, its dark energies—Hunger’s soul, his tribe’s lifeline—spilling free, swirling into the mass as his body slumped lifeless, filth staining his flesh in dark patches. Resavati’s coils tightened, a silent nod to The Will as the mass shifted, rising into taking form—Hunger reborn, his form a testament to Charon’s will. Skorn’s tether faded, her voice a whisper, “Mercy… yes, that will do nicely,” claiming the name as she turned to The Will, speaking of her duty to guide, her duty to the church. A new tether stretched from the pool, a scorned ancestor’s soul emerging, her spectral glare fierce as she took Mercy’s place beside Hunger’s mass.
That solstice night birthed the Feast of the Final Ferry, a holiday woven into the Church's soul, a celebration of faith, sacrifice in life, and eternal reward for deeds. The church filled the streets with feasts—meat steaming on platters, bread piled high—adorned with death motifs: skulls etched in stone, shrouds swaying in the breeze, offerings for greater meaning. Hunger’s swarm hovered at the crypt’s edge, a living emblem of rebirth through death, Skorn—now Mercy—freed toward life, a new ancestor bound, a cycle of redemption unfolding. The Proud People gathered, their chants rising, those who died and rose to serve, their faith rewarded in eternal purpose, strengthening the sacred cycle that fueled Nimbus.
Saturday, March 1, 2025
The Music of the Spheres: Songs of Nobility
The Music of the Spheres |
The Music of the Spheres is a gift from Azzabal the Fixer. A collection of Noble family songs developed from The Journeys of Creation.
Lenncartney: Transmutation Enhancement
Stradivarius: Evocation Sonic
Mozart: Enchantment Controller
Beethoven: Universalist
Stravinsky: Conjuration
Gardis Bingensis: Necromancy
Verdi: Divination
Vivaldi: Elemental
Handel: Evocation
Bach: Elemental Air
Bernstein: Illusion
Liszt: Enchantment Manipulator
Wagner: Conjuration Extra Dimension
Rossini: Transmutation Shapechange
Auber: Universalist Arcane Crafter
Lully: Illusion Mage of the Veil
Glinka:Abjuration
Gershwin: Conjuration Teleportation And only because I can't list Gershwin and not have this!
Berlioz: Sin
Sunday, February 16, 2025
Azzabal the Fixer
This elf positively glows and it seems that wherever he
travels people receive him well, basking in his attention. His height, a few
inches shy of seven feet adds to his aura and nobel bearing, but he is by no
means imposing. Children regularly approach the tall elf singing him songs and offering him their toys. Due to
this, he has a bag full of small toys and trinkets to give in response.
Azzabal stands on the docks outside the desalination plant, near The Titan's Reach III. He introduces himself as the former apprentice to “Serrhin“, a wizard the party saved at the Summoner's Ball. Azzabal explains that he is very interested in continuing his work and study of converting magical items into meta magic components. He needs a safe place to do his work and believes that your flying ship The Titan's Reach III, would provide the perfect location for an elf of his skills to set up shop. Besides crafting wonderous items such as meta magic components, he is also capable of crafting wands. He explains that while he is capable of wandcraft, he rarely does it due to it taking too much time from his true passion. He also thinks he could provide valuable diplomatic skills to a group that flies about to various locales. Azzabal is hoping to come to a mutual agreement that could be beneficial to both parties. He claims to have mastered a process to convert a Cloak of Resistance into an Meta Magic Component that extends transmutation spells.
Azzabal's unknown bloodline provides a permanent Adoration spell to be on him at all times
Miar Moshea The Elven Duchy
Miar Moshea (Me Are Mo Shay)- Midwestern coastal duchy often referred to as the Elven Duchy. The current leader of Miar Moshea is 900 some year old Duke Miraq Moshea. Miar Moshea is often referred to as the quiet duchy for their tendency towards isolationism. Most of the elves of the isles can trace their lineage back to Miar Moshea which in elven means island mother.
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Viralla Mozeel |
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Ambassador Korleigh Lockshire |
Saturday, February 15, 2025
The Arena
Table Top Control Panel |
Created from similar magic as an Instant Fortress, using the Mage's Magnificent Mansion as its primary magical source, The Arena is a magical extra dimensional space crafted by a planar traveler not of this prime material plane. Unlike most magical items, The Arena is capable of attuning to more than one person and is greatly influenced by Mythic individuals and places.
The Arena is an extra-dimensional dwelling that has two entrances on the plane from which the Arena was activated. The entry points looks like a shimmering hallways 5 feet wide and 12 feet high. Only those you designate may enter the Arena, and the portal is shut and filled with stone blocks of magical force behind you when you enter. The controller may open it again from your own side at will. Once observers have passed beyond the entrance, the Arena opens up before them. The atmosphere is clean, fresh, and warm.
The place is furnished and contains sufficient foodstuffs to serve a nine-course banquet to a dozen people per level of the Arena's controller. A staff of near-transparent servants (as many as two per controller level), liveried and obedient, wait upon all who enter. The servants function as unseen servant spells except that they are visible and can go anywhere in the Arena, serving as an audience during battles. Since the place can be entered only through its special portal, outside conditions do not affect the Arena, nor do conditions inside it pass to the plane beyond.
When not in Arena form The Arena is a heavy dense table of unknown metal, the table measuring 40 inches in height, 24 inches across and 30 inches long, weighing 250lbs. The Arena if attuned to and being used by a non-mythic creature is a 240 feet across and 300 feet long (each square on the map is 10 feet). The Arena's height is always 40 feet higher than the tallest creature.
Mythic creatures attuned to The Arena may spend points for specific affects. If more than one person attuned to The Arena attempts to activate any of its magical abilities, mythic and otherwise, the highest Mythic Tier, followed by highest level creature is considered its controller.
1 Mythic Point: Triples the length and width of the Arena for 30 hours. Doesn't affect height as the height of the arena is always 40 feet above the tallest creature or thing in the Arena.
1 Mythic Point: Comprehend Languages for everyone in the Arena for 1 hour
1 Mythic Point: Enlarge 1 willing creature per level of the individual that spent the mythic point for 2 hours
Other affects and powers will be revealed the longer one is attuned to The Arena
Sunday, November 17, 2024
Dine and Dash
The hunt started as soon as Vezzim heard and felt the music. Something primal stirred within the Illithid, his hunger awoke and he would absorb answers. Vezzim had found this elf on the Titan's plateau, a trained mind and truly delicious head apple. All of the doomed elf's thoughts were on his lost professor, a magician of even greater skill who had recently been sacrificed to a devil of great power. This tasty elf wasn't even nobel, a fact that frustrated Vezzim. The elf's memories were approaching a point of uselessness leading Vezzim to the realization that his hunt was far from over. Vezzim wanted to figure out the source of this ancient song, what its vibrations meant. He must have his own answers before communing with the Eldar. The Mind Flayer released the elf's husk of a body. The meat sack of flesh falling and sinking into the lake waters Vezzim levitated above while the Illithid considered his options. The Flayer decided he would spend another day enjoying the delicacies of the plateau, hoping one of these apprentice wizards might provide him the information he needs. If he failed to acquire satisfactory answers, he would contact Bathanon! Surely that elf will have the answers.
Bathanon |
Sunday, November 10, 2024
Egyptian First World Problems
Gebel el-Arak |
Gebel el-Arak carefully reread the inventory list his scribe Kheti had presented him. Kheti had been standing at his skymaster’s desk for over twenty minutes while Gebel reviewed the list. To Kheti’s left, seated in front of the desk was the slave master Qualmer whose gaze hadn’t left Kheti since he arrived in his master’s new office, which only served to increase Kheti’s discomfort. Gebel seemed oblivious to either man’s presence while reviewing the list.
Sighing in obvious annoyance, Gebel finally lifted his gaze from the long scroll, “The headband was the only item taken! Kheti I need you to find Valexis Lightgem and tell him to come to his office…I mean my office, tell him its important.” Once the door shut behind the departing Kheti the two remaining Egyptians erupted into hurried conversation.
Valexis Lightgem |
“These delays…We only can spare so many days!” Gebel exclaimed. “Valexis must be able to fly our ship back with the payment! If we are late the families will lose confidence in our ability to supply them enough talents!” Qualmer stating the obvious replied, “and we could lose our opportunity here! We need to approach this as a failure in their security.” The two Egyptians fell into plotting their strategy in the forthcoming discussion with Valexis.
Gebel knew if he failed to deliver on either end of this risky proposition not only would his family’s wealth and heritage be lost but the Babylonian Bitch Queen’s Scale Guard would hunt down his lineage and end his bloodline. Qualmer’s thoughts drifted as he was already pursuing alternate plans should the el-Arak family’s plans prove fruitless.