# The Broken Realms



## jbear (Apr 28, 2010)

Why do so many stories start in bars? Dark, seedy bars full of smoke, sweat and forget? Maybe it's because when you are desperate, when you don't know where to find solace, you look for it at the bottom of a bottle. Maybe it's the fact that so many stories do begin there, that desperate people go to the bar to find themselves a story, a different story. Something new, a change of direction. The reason why in the end makes no difference. The fact of the matter is that this story begins just there, in one of those bars. And amongst the smoke, the smell and the desperation, there sit our protagonists, waiting for a story to begin. They've arrived at the same place, at the same time, for very distinct reasons, each of them with their own story safely tucked away in their pocket. They have never met before but they do have a few things in common. For example, they've all spent there last copper coins on warm, watered down beer and a dinner that tastes of rotten rat. Also when tomorrow comes, none of them will have a place to sleep, and with the winter cold quickly closing in, none of them were in a good mood. But all that changed as soon as the merchant opened the door.

The merchant didn't fit in a place like this, nor did his clean and elegant clothes, nor his relaxed smile, full of confidence. A certain spark of amusement danced in his strange eyes, something alive and defiant. In this back-alley, dead-beat shithole excuse for a bar, his musical voice cut like a knife down glass.
-'Good day, my most esteemed ... gentlemen. I'm looking for messengers. The task is simple and the pay is good. 20 suns now, and 30 more when the message is delivered... per head. Of course, I'm only looking for people of certain ability. I don't want the message to get lost along the way, shall we say'
He said it smiling. He said it as he took out a pouch that tinkled, full of coin. An error. An error far too obvious for someone with such an intelligent look.
-'And what if I just picks that money off your dead body?', shouted one of the thugs sat at a table in a shadowy corner. It wasn't a question as such, more like a declaration of intent. He stood up, a hairy trunk with death drawn in his eyes. Six others stood with him. The merchant didn't flinch, as though he was expecting it.
-'and 50 more to those that protect me now.'
Everything happened very quickly. The song of swords, knives and magic. Light, darkness, confusion. The dance of death. The floor bathed in beer and wine tinged red. The thugs fell dead, one after the other, spilling their blood into a swelling pool. They fell beneath the hammer of a metal giant. They fell beneath the flaming sword of an earth gladiator. They fell beneath the lethal arrows of a wild elf and the sharp blade of a thief that surrounded them in impenetrable shadows. And when those that remained still alive turned to flee, they met with a four foot high wall of furious dwarf, screaming prayers charged with divine power. One of the survivors threw himself through a closed window. The other through his weapon to the ground, kneeled and begged for clemency. Without hesitation the metallic giant strode forward raising his heavy maul above his head.
-'I have no time for your whimpering, rat.'
Hell fell to the floor like straw, reuniting himself with his fellow dead. The other patrons had fled. The owner cowered behind the bar. The only noise was the solitary applause of the merchant.
-'I'm impressed. The job is yours.'
And so our protagonists met, and so began a new story, one they all had in common. One that would lead them down a road of danger and death.

-'The job is easy,' he told them, handing over a sealed scroll with a rampant griffon etched into the purple wax. 'I need you to take this scroll to Saerb, a village to the north of Sembia. It's important you don't attempt to open it. It will ignite and the message will be lost. But before anyone takes it from you, destroy it.'
He gave them directions to the meeting point, the shoeshop of a fat man named Inius Olger.
'There is a tavern in front of the shoeshop. Wait there. When the cobbler lights the outside lantern, deliver the message to him. Here is half of your pay now. Inius will pay you the other half once the message is delivered. Go quickly, and try not to draw attantion to yourself.'
He laughed as he looked at the ragtag bunch that he had before him. A living mountain forged of metal. A dark elf, his skin black as night, his hair long and white. A wild elf, agile, beautiful with dangerous curves, yet with a strangely masculine air. A dwarf, made of feminine muscle and pride, armed to the teeth. And a genasi, an elemental creature made of fire and earth. Not exactly your most discrete of groups.
'Well, do what you can, in so far as not drawing attention to yourselves. May the wind follow you.' 
He handed over the promised coin and without another word he left.

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This is my first storyhour of my first 4e campaign. We began with the free module 'Escape from Sembia' (LFR), which is basically what I had access to at the time. The group began with an elven bow ranger, a warforged fighter, a genasi assault swordmage, a drow rogue and dwarvern cleric. The elf ranger was meant to be played by my brother-in-law but he pulled out on us at the last minute. My wife stepped in and took him/her over. The doubt as to her sexuality has remained ever since. I prerolled 15 pcs and let each player pick the one they liked the sound of most. All new players to dnd except my wife and one other who had played OD&D when he was a kid.So the backstories began pretty shallow. As new material came out and new players came and others went the characters and group makeup changed but I tried to explain it in-story. Anyway, it's late. We'll see how it goes.


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## jbear (Apr 28, 2010)

continued...

That same night our group of improvised heroes set out on foot towards Saerb. They arrived without incident. They spoke little during the journey, barely more than an enchange of names. The warforged called himself Tron, a mercenary in search of fortune and  glory. The memories of his life from before the time his flesh was forged with metal, were now blurred and indistinct . The dwarf, Hogart, was also looking for something, or someone. She sought a savior, the leader promised by the prophecy with which she had been raised. The wild elf, Tanisa, was an explorer, daughter of the headsman of her clan. She was an expert at searching for and finding things. Now, she fled from her mistakes. The dark elf, a thief named Rascabron, also fled. He fled from the nightmares of his past. But they didn't talk about these things. There was no reason to. They merely exchanged names and fell quiet.

They found the shoeshop with ease. The sat at the window in the tavern opposite, impatiently waiting for the signal. They drank and ate. They very nearly began to enjoy themselves as they sat in wait, with the weight of the coin they had already  earnt hanging heavy on their belts, almost tasting they rest of it soon to come. How easy it all seemed. That seeming did not last long.

As the sun eventually began to set, at last the cobbler toddled out from the shop, bald, pale and fat. He lit the lantern with a trembling hand. Suddenly he turned to his left as he heard an authoritative shout from up the road.
-'Hold there! Inius Olger, you are under arrest!'
Quickly closing in on him were four of Saerb's armed guards. From the tavern window all saw the man dressed in black shielded amongst the guards. Only the sharp eyes of Tanisa saw the dagger he held hidden in his hand. Delivering a message was one thing, but no one wanted to get into trouble with the town guard, and much less so in a place like Sembia. But whatever was going on here reeked, and Tanisa was not one to stand by and let an innocent man be assassinated in front of her, be it thugs, guards or the King of the Shetlands. So she acted, hoping that her companions would follow her lead.
-'They are going to kill the cobbler. Kiss your coin goodbye.'
It worked. They followed her. Most of them through the doorway onto the street. Tron thought it was more opportune, and far more spectacular to leave the tavern through the window in a shower of broken glass. Unsurprisingly, the guards sensed the threat and formed a defensive line between them and Inius, who parylised with shock had still failed to react. When he finally turned to tumble back towards his store the man in black had already reached him. But luck was to smile on the chubby cobbler that day. The assassin's dagger became momentarily caught in the sleeve of his cloak, just long enough for Tanisa to drive an arrow with incredible precision behind the assassin's knee, leaving him hobbled and distracted with pain. So it was that Inius gained just enough time to waddle into his shop and dive beneath a pile of shoes. 
Meanwhile Angus and Tron were having difficulties with the disciplined guards. No more had they closed in when the guards, using their long helberds, tumbled them to the ground with military precision. If it hadn't been for the innate magic of Rascabron, conjuring a cloud of darkness to protect his fallen fellows, and with his dagger sewing chaos amongst the blind and confused guards, perhaps the story would have met an early end. Before the guards could regroup, the two fallen warriors got back to their feet. Hogart called out the her goddess, the Lady Dwarf, Berronar, canalising her divine blessing into fearsome radiant spears, burning the guards, guiding her allies attacks and healing their wounds. Tron leapt above the disoriented guards and went straight for the assassin, who had still not given up on his purpose, limping determinedly towards the still open shoeshop door. Tron let let his heavy maul drop down on his neck, which broke with a grotesque noise. The man in black collapsed like a rag doll.
Badly wounded, overcome by the scorching attacks of Angus' arcane sword, and flanked by the deadly dark elf, the guards fled. A victory, but with grave consequences.

They entered the shoeshop to find the Inius' enormous arse trembling in the air amongst the old shoes. Tron picked him up by the belt and set him rudely on his feet. Sensing his terror, the dwarf neared to calm his nerves and hand over the scroll.
-'Inius the Cobbler, I bring you a message as acorded with...'
She realised the merchant had never told them his name, and strangely, they had never thought to ask it.
'....ehem, with your contact in Saerloon. It was agreed that upon delivering the message, you would pay us 30 suns, each. That, if I make no mistake, is a hundre...'
'150 suns, I can count' interrupted Inius, 'but I can't take the scroll. It is too dangerous now. I am discovered. Take it to Loudwater.'
Tron picked him up by the neck.
-'The coin, fat man. We don't want to know anything about your stupid scroll. We're not going to take it anywhere, so...'
Choking for words, the cobbler wriggled his way to the floor. Hogart placed a hand on Tron's arm and he let him go.
-'Of course, the money. Take it. Here are 200 suns. If you take the stupid scroll to Loudwater, my contact will pay you 500 more.'
On the street coming from the direction in which the guards had run, piercing whistles could be heard. Inius pushed the scroll back towards Hogart.
'There's no time. I won't last long... in Loudwater you have to find the Tadpole. That is not his real name, and I know little more of him. This is not the way things are done, but what remedy? Find him without naming him. There are spies everywhere. Asking for him is the surest way to never find him. If you can't find him, destroy the scroll before you lose it. Opening it should suffice. Now run if you value your lives.'

There was no need to say more. They realised they were backed up into one hell of a tight corner, but all things said and done, they'd made a small fortune in a question of days. And with the promise of doubling that amount, even if it meant a month or two's journey, it was worth it. They bolted out of the shoeshop. They could already see the reinforcements running towards them from the street up to the left, so they took off towards the right. the tavern owner stood in the frame of his broken window, ffuriously watching them disappear down the road, waving his fist.
-'Sons of whores! You've broken my window, you plagueborn! Guards! That way, they've gone that way!'
The reached a crossroad, the guards hot on their trail.
-'There will be too many of them at the outgate,' shouted Rascabron, who had a highly developed sense of urban wisdom, 'best we go towards the markets intown. There we can mix with the crowd.'
They headed towards the centre of town, despite the fact Saerb's main gate was right nearby. They ran as if there life depended on it. They slowly gained ground, weaving through the streets, losing the guards from sight, yet the whistles followed them too close still. The street became busier, slowing them down. At the streets end they could see the colourful tent tops of the market.
-'Almost there,' puffed Hogart.
-'Not quite. There is a control point further up, there where the people have grouped together. No doubt they have heard the whistles,' warned Tanisa.
-'Follow me,' said Angus climbing a nearby fence, 'we'll go above the rooves.'
-'Easily said,' answered the dwarf, her eyebrows heavily frowned.
Tron picked her up up and threw her upwards. Hogart grabbed the top of the fence like a terrified cat. With Angus pulling from above and Tron pushing from below she managed to scramble onto the roof. Without a single scrap of dignity, but she made it up. Tron climbed up behind her, the metal fence groaning as it deformed beneath his considerable weight. Before getting all the way to the top he received a kick in the face from an angry dwarf.
-'Don't you dare ever throw me anywhere ever again, or I swear...'
Tron laughed out loud.
-'I promise, dwarf. You have Tron's word.'
The elves followed nimbly behind them. And there, climbed up on that roof, something united them, deeply. Something much more powerful than the promise of a few gold coins. What united them was the thrill of adventure, the rush of adrenaline, a drug  yearned and familiar to each one of them.

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And so ended the first nights session, half-way through a skill challenge to escape the city of Saerb with the town guard pursuing them. 2 of the 5 players pulled out minutes before the first session, with some pretty lame excuses, which was pretty gutting. But my wife, bless her soul, toke up the guantlet, and it was sweet with 4 players. I ran Hogart the dwarf. In the next few sessions the wive's of the other players would take turns at running Hogart as we rotated from house to house. Also, another player would join with human paladin the following session, which would make the group grow to 6.


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## jbear (Apr 28, 2010)

*Session 2*

They worked as a team. The elf took the lead, scouting out the safest path, avoiding weakened areas and guiding the others. And the others, as they advanced slowly and carefully, helped the dwarf, who was feeling rather uncomfortable so high above her beloved solid ground. The most testing moment was when Tron, whose every step crunched the roof slates to dust, tried to pass above the control point without making a noise. Again luck was to favour them. The people bunched up below them were complaining at the slow pace of their pass to and from the markets, that the now alert guards had imposed. As guards searched for the fugitives that at that very moment climbed across the roof above their heads, the noise generated by the crowd's complaints, covered, not without certain irony, the noisy steps of the metal giant.

The marketplace was bustling with people making the most of the last minute haggling during the dying light of the day's end. From the roof Tanis localised the guards dispersed about the place. She pointed them out to the others.
-'They are looking for us,' grumbled Hogart. 'They know we're around here somewhere.'
There were many exits from the marketplace, que was an ample plaza in the heart of the thriving township, like the centre of a wagon wheel. But due to the position of the guards, their options were severly reduced. Just at that moment, the whinny of a horse was heard above the market buzz; a young stallion refused to go with its new owner. It reared up on powerful hind legs, kicking and biting, overturning wagons and stalls. They made the most of the ruckus and leapt down from the roof without being seen, the crowd's attention enraptured by the spectacle of the young horse. They followed Rascabron who crossed the market with sure step, invisible amidst the ensuing chaos. But unwisely, he got too close. The horse's hind turned unexpectedly towards him, knocking him hard to the dusty ground. It was a close thing he did not receive a kick to the head as well. Strong hands pulled him to his feet. A friendly itinerant merchant pulled him clear of danger. Rascabron thanked him with a heartfelt smile, and made the most of his proximity to lift his purse. His satisfied smile lasted only until Tanisa whispered furiously in his ear.
-'Damned inept thief, they've seen us.'
And so they had. Four guards pushed their way through the crowd, whistling the alarm and pointing in their direction.
-'Out of my way!' roared Tron, pushing people left and right, knocking them out of the way violently. The others followed in his wake. They made it to a street that would take them towards the old part of town before the guards were able to cut them off. They ran like hares, like gazelles, like chickens. They spied an abandoned old cemetry. There they his and rested at last, exhausted and content.
-'Not exactly what I had in mind when he told us not to draw attntion to ourselves, but not to bad at all,' commented Angus, usually quiet and reserved. They all laughed. Eventually the whistles fell silent. They were safe for now.

Night fell. They needed information. Tanisa and Rascabron adventured back into the streets, moving through the shadows. They followed the sound of merryment and tuneless singing they heard in the distance. It brought them to a tavern full of people celebrating. They passed amongst them asking questions. They discovered that there was a way out through the Old Quarter called the Camel's Eye. It was the entrance that merchants used who arrived after the main gates had been shut. After some subtle persuasion, a young man of questionable character told them that at midnight the guards at the Camel's Eye changed. The way would remain momentarily free.

They didn't need to know any more. They bought a small barrel of beer and returned to the cemetry to celebrate their success with their companions. They celebrated 'til just before midnight. Light of foot and head they found the Camel's Eye straight away. A narrow passageway made of ancient stone, that passed beneath the death holes of the town wall. An easy place to defend, but now it was completely abandoned as promised. Well, not completely. The sillouette of a solitary guard was etched against the weak light of the passage. Even from that distance, it was easy to see he was a strong man, protected by a formidable suit of armour. He had his back to them, kneeling, head lowered, praying silently.
-'Damn our luck, and his! More food for the Crow,' whispered Rascabron taking out his dagger silently. Hogart placed her hand on his arm.
-'Maybe not. Let me speak to him first. Only kill him if it is necessary.'
Rascabron disappeared, circling towards his prey like a cat would a rat. Hogart stepped forward boldly. The group followed her, quickly with sure step. The solitary guard heard them, slowly stood and turned to face them. He plaed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
-'Who nears? Identify yourself!'
Hogart stepped out of the darkness. She lifted both hands, showing him they were empty. Although she could not see the face of the man beneath the helm, bathed in shadows, she could almost feel the intensity of his look. This was a paladin, a divine knight, trained, disciplined, inmutable. This was no novice they could hoodwink. She hesitated a moment, wiping the lies that balanced upon her tongue. She decided to talk straight.
-'Who we are is of little importance. What does matter, is that you stand in our way. Our only way. A dangerous situation for you as much as it is for us. We don't want to feed the King of Crows, but even less do we wish to be eaten.'
They didn't hear the sudden breath he took in, nor did they see the surprise in the man's eyes. his emotions remained hidden beneath shadow and metal. They didn't see his incredulity, much as he failed to see the dark elf who closed in perilously on his flank. And of course they certainly did not see the mysterious lights that the paladin saw. Blue lights that danced around the dwarf's head, forming roots, branches and magical leaves; a blue cherry tree, the sign he had been waiting for during these many years wasting in this corrupt place. They sam him touch his arm, although they did not see the cherry tree tatooed beneath the metal plates.
-'I've been waiting for you.'
He didn't say it like:' I've been waiting for you, criminal assassin's'. It sounded more like: 'I've been waiting for you, friends, you're late, but I forgive you. Let's go.' It was that intonation that saved him from a world of pain. Rascabron, about to end the conversation with a stab in the neck, stopped.
-'Do we know you?' asked Hogart, curious.
-'Not yet, but it is going to be a long journey,' answered the paladin as he gathered his few posessions. 'Let's go before my companions arrive.'
Rascabron emerged from the darkness scratching his head. He shrugged with a smile.
-'Let the Crow starve!'
The Crow, of whom they spoke so often, was Kelemvor, King of the Crows, God of Death. He was going to be their faithful companion throughout their journey, and he was going to dine well that very night.

Tired, wet and frozen from the long march benath the cold drizzle, they left the city behind them and headed into the skirts of the mountain. The light that they saw through the trees drew them like a moth to a flame, drawn by the promise of warmth and rest. The approached carefully, but with the heavy steps of Tron and the paladin, Arthur, stealth was impossible. The light came from an improvised bonfire in the doorway of a ruined tower. It lit up the faces of battleworn and decidedly unfriendly faces of the inhabitants; hobgoblins, a dangerous and intelligent enemy. They decided unanimously to kill them.

Our heroe attempted to surround the hobgoblins and surprise them. their efforts were disasterous, their attack discoordinated and confused. The only thing they managed to do was seperate themselves and put their lives in danger. While Tanisa and Rascabron tried to get near behind the cover of trees, Arthur the Paladin decided to show his courage and charged against the enemies alone. He discovered just how organized and tempered hobgoblins can be. Arthur smashed against the shields of the three soldiers that protected the archers behind them, and suddenly he flew through the air beneath the magic of their warlock who organised the tight defensive line and directed their attacks. He landed amid the flames of the blazing bonfire like a sack of potatoes. His newly made companions took a deep breath an went in to his rescue, Hogarts prayers barely enough to keep him alive. The battle was long, very long. It was neither glorious nor memorable. Eventually a hobgoblin fell beneath Angus' sword, and then fell another and another, more out of tiredness and boredom than due to any mortal wounds. The rest fled, but not before they tossed the paladin back into the fire. And so they took control of the hobgoblin's lair and became owners of their belongings, which included five horses tied to the trees behind the ruined tower. They ate their food, they drank their drink, they slept in their beds and they felt satisfied.

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End of the second session. Time was taken to explain the rules to the two new players. The battle against the hobgoblins was a total grind. I ran it as is and their high phalanx defenses and suck rolls made it loooong. That wouldn't happen again. The skill challenge was very fun. I mapped out different possible routes through town where different things would happen depending on where they went, which made things more dynamic than it seemed as read. And that was all there was time for!


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## jbear (Apr 30, 2010)

*3rd Session: Towards Loudwater*

The dawn sky was dark with cloud. They arose from their slumber somewhat confused, perhaps as their bodies came down from the intense adrenaline rush of the day before, or perhaps just due to the beer. The simply got up and left, mumbling something about getting as far from the city as soon as possible. They left, climbing further up into the mountain, completely forgetting about the five horses tied up back at the ruins.

They maintained a good rythm and had covered a lot of ground when a most common creature stopped them in the their tracks. A black cat sprang from a rock to the ground and sat in the middle of their path, staring at them. Considering the fact they had faced far more fearsome rivals just hours before, they became rather uncomfortable with the strange and sudden presence of such a small animal. After nervous whisperings as to what to do, Hogart took a step forward, hand outstretched. The cat trotted up to her fearlessly and sniffed at Hogart's hand. With a far from feline gesture, the cat looked Hogart straight in the eyes and began to speak with a sweet, feminine voice.
-'The life of my sister is in danger. The darkness comes. If you love the light, if you care for it any way, follow me.'
That said, the cat leapt back to its rock, and from one rack to the next arrived at a path tucked away above them. There it sat again awaiting them.

The only protest came from Tron.
-'We're going to follow  talking cat?? You have got to be kidding me! And what's it going to pay us with, dead rats perhaps?'
But it was more hot air than anything else. Even Tron felt the tingle of something extraordinary about to happen. In fact, he was the first one to leap up the rocks after the cat,  and with considerably more vigor that he had used walking through the mountain towards a distant town to deliver a simple scroll to a frog. This smacked with the taste of magic! The others felt the same, the call towards the magical and unknown. The delved into the mountains following the cat, and although it was barely past noon, with every step the day darkened, as if something was strangling the light. Their attempts to speak more with the cat had failed as they walked along, as if the magic that had made it speak had disappeared like smoke. All they could sense from it was that it wanted them to hurry.

They began to descend into a valley cautiously, as at every moment that passed it became more difficult to see in the swelling darkness. But there were more reasons to be cautious. The source of the darkness was palpably nearby, they could taste it. And it tasted like evil in its purest form. The path twisted around to the left and at last they could see where the cat was leading them. At the bottom of the valley a strange altar awaited them, weakly lit by coloured circles of  sickly light. The altar, carved into the valley rock itself like a minature mountain, had the form of a spider. A  stairway snaked up from the valley floor like a twisted grin, curling around five ascending circular platforms, each lit by a ring of distinct colour. In each circle stood two hooded figures, backs turned and hands raised towards the altar atop the peak, where an ebony woman fought against her chains amidst an arcane circle of monlithic stones. Above her a living, pulstaing shadow began to take form. Here was the source of the mountain's unnatural darkness, a fountain of unspeakable evil about to come to life at any moment as this macarbe ritual took place.

What they were looking at escaped their comprehension. Angus had however seen similar things in the arenas of Calimsham, elaborate atrocities designed as gladiator's games to entertain the masses. But this was not meant to entertain anybody.
-'It's a transfiguration ritual. They are going to turn the essence of that woman into something that they are conjuring down there, something terrible. Careful with those coloured circles, no doubt they are dangerous to anyone unconnected. It's possible they form some kind of arcane lock. We are going to have to find the key if we are going to help her.'
Hogart bent down and picked up the cat whose tail was twitching wildly.
-'Is that your sister down there, kitty?'
-'It doesn't matter who she is, those people down there are Drow, dark elves,' interrupted Tanisa, taking out her great bow. 'They look like children, but make no mistake. They are Drow, they are born lethal. The woman on the altar is Drow too. We should kill them all, including her.'
Rascabron stepped in front of Tanisa, staring at her with a fiery glow in his red eyes, his skin black as ink, his hair white as snow.
-'And will you kill me next, oh just and righteous elf who from so far away sees so much... did you fail to see that I too am Drow? She, whoever she may be, has done something to displease her people, and as such, I hold her in better esteem than I do you. Screw the kids, but we are going to get the kitty cats little sister out of there.'
-'They are only kids? Don't worry, I'll take care of this' added Tron pulling out his own bow. The chuckles broke the momentary tension and out heores set off again.

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Another new player joins the game: My sister-in-law, who was thoroughly disgusted at not having been included in the first place and most annoyed to discover that the 'guys night dnd game' had two women attending, and yet she had not been invited. Funny wee moment but it got sorted and so I designed a very elaborate rescue mission to explain how a drow warlock suddenly dropped into the game. Actually she arrived in full warlock costume, amulets, white long wig and face blackend with ... something black, gloves with long fingernails... quite a spectacular entrance into the game. Hogart was cycled through the control of a different player's wife's house but she was very quick on the uptake... 7 new players. Things were going well, slowly but well.


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