Reposting all the updates I’m putting down on tumblr for you guys to check out as well.
So after managing to discover the evil murder cult located beneath the quiet town of Middleborough, the giant and ancient machine dungeon it was located in, the horrible creature from beyond space & time powering it, and the danger it would cause should the creature escape or the ritual that keeps it dormant fail (and thus garner the murder of innocents) the party managed to do the impossible and save those sacrifices still left and defeat the beast before it could escape. Soon after that Thoorin Blackhorn, Gerrard Karth, Quintis Arelius Aeire, Duncan Yureft, Az-Rasani, and Lazarus S. Brixton were crowned The Heroes of Middleborough and the party (everyone sans Duncan) were granted the rights to delve and salvage the ruin known as The Psychosis Beacon. Duncan meanwhile took his fame and parlayed it into greater local and political fame in the region while downplaying the actions of the rest of the party. Gerrard Karth meanwhile was brought back from the dead soon after with the funds the party acquired as thanks for his sacrifice. Many questions were still left unanswered including what the original purpose of the Beacon, who built it, and what secrets does the mysterious library that the cult managed to acquire hold both for them and the world at large but with time all of that was going to hopefully be answered.
Unfortunately their rest time was short lived and they and the Little Ray of Sunshine caravan they worked for soon departed Middleborough for months on a trading journey throughout the great plains of the frontier, selling off just some of the goods they’d manage to find within along with their own personal goals along the way. Gerrard, now back from the dead was on a mad quest to understand the fleeting memories he retained from his time on The Great Walk, his people’s version of the afterlife. In these he saw a great plain of animals rendered both ordinary and fantastic in this heavenly place and things terrible and nightmarish in scope. Wolves howled his arrival and giant herons caught fish amid reflective rivers and for a moment he felt peace. Unfortunately this didn’t seem to be the lot of his vision as he could see miles away the ghostly remnants of his people, their souls bound in a dark cave and in the crushing embrace of the monstrous claws of a monster he could only assume was hands of Kahjeetohwha, the “Fieand Bear” they had encountered a lifetime ago and that the beast held more than just the treasures it still had in it’s dark cavern. But he wasn’t left to ponder on this long as he saw a massive beast fly over his head with wings like leather, teeth like swords, and breath like fire soaring above his weakened form, wheeling around to strike him before he could lift his blade. Suddenly though his life was saved by a great heron, its beak like 2 greatswords lopping the beast head from its neck like sheers to wool and raining its blood down upon him like holy water, emboldening him like never before. It seemed in death his quest had not so much ended as just begun.
Meanwhile the rest of the party had their own burdens to bear. Rasani, the young half-orc hunter has had to learn what the price one pays to be a hero is, as he deals with the fallout of the Psychosis Beacon including his cold blooded murder of the captured and incapacitated cult leader Janrel after a fit of madness drove him to put a ball of led through the center of her skull. The 17 year old still sees her face in his mind, her brains scattered all across the floor, his pistol smoking in his hand yet his actions not entirely his own. On top of this is her mysterious book The Omina Mutandis that he pocketed in the dark of that foul day and forgot about until days out of town on the open road. He knew it was powerful but the danger likely contained in its pages left him more interested in hiding it than sharing it with his party.
Lazarus on the other hand continued his path to discoveries most likely best left unsolved, the events within the Beacon not only showing his surprising heroism but also illuminating his greatest flaws. Now on the open road and without the prying eyes of all but the most liberal or dogged authorities he was free to indulge in some of his most obtuse and disturbing quandries like what purposes The Psychosis Beacon really served and what could he learn from it himself. Meanwhile in his dreams he was plagued by nagging questions he could not shake, like where that damnable tome of Janrel’s disappeared to and what new answers it might give him to further his rise to academic stardom akin to his professor Ambrose or even some of the other greats he oft found himself reading of like medical biologist Zothabooth, or the much lauded planar scholar Professor Osprey who had traveled the planes and been courted by the angels themselves for his brain. He was a man chained to the beasts of knowledge and fame with his own expectation in hot pursuit, now it was only a question of whether he could manage them all or be consumed by them.
The young legionnaire Quintus though was still dumbfounded by all that had managed to happen to him. In the course of a mere 48 hours he had been conscripted into an investigation with this group of oddballs, discovered a conspiracy over 200 years in the making, seen a madman claw his way out of a living ooze before nearly killing himself by way of tearing off his own face, nearly die to the poisoned claws of a trained assassin, face a monstrous horror from beyond space and time, and literally be transported to the stars themselves to watch his world tilt beneath him, a tiny marble on an endless black sea of stars before crashing back to earth and then having to trudge, broken and barely alive; to his commanding officers through a howling blizzard in order to save his friends still trapped inside that damnable Beacon. Now assigned to watch over this band of fools and madmen by the Governor of this bleeding edge of the frontier he only hoped that things would get at least slightly less exciting or at the very least less horrifying as the thing he saw in that foul pit and the heaving mass of bloodshot eyes and gnashing maws still haunts his dreams to this day.
Finally we come to the oddest man of them all, the holy man known as Thoorin Blackhorn. The half man, half ogre monstrosity with a heart of gold and arms like iron. A refugee from is own homeland of backwater giants more focused on their own dark appetites for the things and flesh (both violent and carnal) he was just happy to be anywhere but home and with the backing of his church of radical worshipers of a god focused as much on revenge as redemption he had hoped to finally find the peace his home had never granted him. And with this journey he seems to have found it thus far, from robbing dog fighting taverns with the caravan master to breaking the skulls of things that shouldn’t be beneath the head of his trusty shovel or his massive hammer Thoorin believes he has found a home like none he has ever had before. Some think that his simplicity protects him from the horrors that seem to plague the rest of the party but for Mr. Blackhorn every new day has been a blessing he never wants to give up and with his long tongue and angry hammer their will be few with the strength even to try.