D&D Campaign Journal

The Story So Far

Last updated after Session 72

Chapter 1: Into the Creeping Dark

The party’s mission began with grim urgency. Umal’s father lay stricken by a mysterious affliction — his blood slowly evaporating, cell by cell, leaving him weakened and dying. Den Matron Dierta Thelyss, Umal’s grandmother and matriarch of House Thelyss, sent them to Roshona’s Black Market in search of answers.

There, in the shadowy undermarket beneath the Dynasty’s capital, they found Jamedi Cosko — a peculiar half-orc apothecary who dealt in rare poisons and stranger cures. He examined a blood sample and delivered troubling news: the toxin was from the Creeping Death, a creature of legend few had seen and lived to describe. If they could retrieve the creature’s poison gland intact, he could brew an antidote. Without it, Umal’s father had little time remaining.

Before they could depart, tragedy struck at the Thelyss Estate. Wendaline and Umal, returning under cover of darkness and invisibility magic, were confronted by Kaverick — an elderly drow mage guard and war veteran who had served House Thelyss for decades. But Kaverick’s eyes held no recognition, only panic and rage. He attacked Umal, screaming that “she” had returned, that the traitor must not escape again.

Dierta intervened, using her considerable magical power to stop time itself long enough to heal Umal and assess the situation. What she found in Kaverick’s eyes was unmistakable: typhros — the madness that comes from being reborn too many times through consecution. Past lives bleeding into present, unable to distinguish memory from reality. He had mistaken Umal for someone from a previous life: Jourrael Caedogeist, the infamous assassin known as the Inevitable End, who betrayed the Dynasty generations ago.

The law was clear and cruel. Those afflicted with typhros could not continue their life cycles — they corrupted the sacred process of consecution. Kaverick would be executed outside the range of the Dynasty’s beacons, his soul unable to return. A fate worse than death for someone who had lived multiple lives in service to his house.

The party gathered at the Crooked Tankard that night, processing what they’d witnessed. Over drinks, they discussed their path ahead: two entrances led into the Underdark from Roshona. They chose the mountain passage — faster, if more dangerous, plunging directly into unknown territory rather than navigating the mapped tunnels beneath the city.

The choice was partly strategic. Grimdur had his own vendetta waiting in those mountains: Lucian, the man who had betrayed him, who had enslaved him, who had killed his friend James. The Shades’ mountain hideout lay somewhere near their path. Whether they would seek it out or avoid it remained an open question, but the possibility hung in the air like smoke.

Morning came. Dierta provided potions and what sparse information existed about the Creeping Death: if they found a myconid colony deep below, the fungal people might know where the creature laired. She warned them to keep the poison gland intact at all costs.

They left Roshona through the gates, stepping into the Ghostlands — the ruins and remnants of the old Dynasty, where the unquiet dead drifted through collapsed gothic architecture and forgotten graves. The oppressive gloom of Xhorhas pressed down on them as they traveled north toward the mountains, through desolate wastes marked only by the circling of carrion birds and the bones of things long dead.

At the mountainside, they found the entrance and began their descent into the Underdark. The tunnels branched and twisted, descending ever deeper into the mountain’s heart. Strange bioluminescent fungi grew thicker as they progressed, eventually blocking their path entirely — a field of poisonous mushroom caps that released toxic spores when disturbed.

Grimdur solved it with typical dwarven practicality: he cast Fabricate, pulling every mushroom within sixty feet toward himself and compressing them into a single massive mushroom. The path cleared, they pressed on, marking their route with carved numbers so they could find their way back.

The tunnels opened without warning onto an abyss. A natural stone bridge wound across the chasm, narrow and precarious, with stalactites hanging like fangs above and darkness below that seemed to have no bottom. The air stank of sulfur and rot. They proceeded single-file, weapons drawn.

The cloakers came from above and behind — flying manta-like creatures with too many teeth and a horrible intelligence in their eyes. They engulfed their prey like living blankets, wrapping around faces and torsos, blinding and suffocating. On a bridge five feet wide with infinity waiting below, the party fought for their lives.

The battle was chaos. Umal vanished beneath folds of leathery flesh. Dahni’s wild magic surged unpredictably with every rage. Felorn walked off the side of the bridge itself, standing on sheer stone with magical boots, trying to get clear shots. Wendaline and Grimdur fought to pull the creatures off their companions while Mario’s divine magic kept them all alive long enough to turn the tide.

They learned the creatures’ weakness: the cloakers were vulnerable when flying, resistant when wrapped. “Shoot the flyers!” became the battle cry. Focus fire. Target the airborne ones. Don’t let them regroup.

When the last cloaker fell, bleeding and broken, they didn’t celebrate. They caught their breath, healed their wounds, and kept moving. The Underdark had shown its teeth. They couldn’t afford to linger.

Deeper still they went, following passages that gradually widened and changed. Artificial construction replaced natural stone. Carvings appeared on walls. Bioluminescent light grew stronger.

And then they saw it: a temple gate, ancient and vast, covered in blade imagery and strange script. Beyond lay a massive cavern crossed by multiple bridges and pathways, echoing with distant sounds they couldn’t identify. On the first platform stood a great statue, weathered by time but still imposing.

They had reached something old. Something significant. And somewhere in the depths beyond, the Creeping Death waited — the creature that held the key to saving Umal’s father’s life.

Chapter 2: The Temple of Whispers

The statues began almost immediately — a female elf carved in granite, noble and serene despite her broken arm. The stone was wrong, foreign to these depths, deliberately placed. Four more followed at intervals along the widening passage, each depicting the same enigmatic figure in poses of veneration.

The path led to another chasm crossed by ancient bridges. On a central platform stood ruins: a small fortified settlement built from the same imported stone. The drawbridge lay open, inviting or abandoned. Inside, the truth revealed itself in layers.

This had been a temple to Moradin the Allhammer, built by dwarven hands untold ages ago. The forge stood cold, its sacred tools scattered. Altars dominated the central courtyard, surrounded by smaller statues frozen in dynamic poses. But conquest had left its mark. Spider webs choked every surface. Lolth’s iconography defaced the walls — blasphemous scrawls in Undercommon and blood declaring “The webs whisper” and “She’s hungry for silence.” Piles of corpses and bones gathered in corners spoke of dark feasting.

In the sleeping quarters, Mario discovered they were not alone. Velthes Duskthorn — a tall, skeletal drow in tattered robes — scrawled madness on the walls in his own blood. His white hair was matted, his eyes switching between vacant confusion and terrible clarity. “They left me here,” he muttered. “But the webs whispered dreams.”

When the party tried to interact, tragedy and violence nearly erupted. Mario’s offer of food sent Velthes into panic. An attempt to calm him magically provoked a dangerous spell that only Umal’s quick counterspell prevented. Then Screech appeared: Velthes’s companion, a hook horror bearing a fresh duergar corpse. The two had formed a strange bond, the beast hunting while the madman maintained his vigil. When Mario pressed too close, Screech slammed him into the forge wall — a warning, not an execution.

The statues in the courtyard told their own grim story. They were not art but petrified drow cultists, frozen mid-ritual. They had attempted to transform themselves into driders — Lolth’s spider-bodied champions — and the ritual had catastrophically failed. Grimdur’s Greater Restoration freed one from stone, but the drow was already dead, his soul long departed. The body simply crumpled.

Felorn’s rapier Spite drew Velthes’s attention. “Devoted weapon,” the madman said with sudden focus. “Housed by something within. Whispers. Creating something better.” The blade had been forged through rites similar to the drider transformation — both attempting transcendence through dark gifts, both marked by horror.

Something in the temple reached into minds. When Felorn examined the petrified cultists, an unseen force seized him. With inhuman strength he couldn’t control, he smashed one statue to fragments while a voice not his own called them “fools” who “failed the experiment.” Mario tried to stop him but couldn’t. Whatever presence lingered here — from the failed ritual, from Lolth herself, or from the “whispers” Velthes mentioned — it could move mortals like puppets.

In the forge, Grimdur found something that responded to his touch: a smooth stone carved with dwarven runes that glowed blue in recognition. A Rune of the Master Smith, ancient and powerful, had survived the temple’s fall.

Through careful questioning — and Umal’s risky telepathic deception pretending to be Lolth — they extracted fragments from Velthes’s madness: A ritual was performed to create “abominations.” It failed. Multiple creatures escaped. Something about “the surface” kept recurring. The survivors abandoned him as punishment or mercy. He called himself “last keeper of the Black Silk” and awaited “the last whisper.”

The party debated killing Velthes and Screech but concluded the madman was neither fully dangerous nor salvageable. He’d told them what he could. They left him to his vigil and pressed deeper, carrying the knowledge that failed rituals had unleashed abominations into the world — perhaps including the very creature they sought.

Chapter 3: Currency of Memory

Deeper still the tunnels went, winding through the mountain’s bones. The party encountered something unexpected: a deep gnome thrall, covered in cordyceps growth, speaking telepathically without moving its mouth. Part of a larger collective consciousness, the thrall offered to guide them to information about the Creeping Death — for a price yet unnamed.

They inhaled spores. Hallucinations bloomed around them: whales swimming through stone, phantom creatures drifting past. But one vision was real — a glowing blue trail of lights that led them down into an enormous cavern.

The Sporeheart Enclave

The cavern stretched impossibly vast, filled with bioluminescent blue light. Bridges and platforms formed a complex web through the darkness, populated by thralls of many species — drow, hook horrors, humans, all bearing cordyceps fungi. And at the heart, on the largest platform, grew a forest of mushrooms the size of trees, their caps forming a canopy of bioluminescent wonder. This was myconid territory.

Two large myconid guards met them at the entrance. The collective voice spoke: “Welcome to the Sporeheart Enclave. To enter, each of you must offer a memory. We value experience and knowledge above your trinkets.”

The cost was steep, personal, irreversible. One by one, they paid it:

Mario surrendered memories of Urukayxl — the island cult of Uk’otoa, the trials he’d endured in service to the leviathan.

Dahni gave up his last happy memory: being with his parents, helping indigenous people destroy machines threatening their sacred lands.

Wendaline parted with memories of Ophelia Mardoon in Shadycreek Run and promises she’d made to recover stolen family heirlooms — a task that had defined part of her path.

Felorn offered years of his life: every memory of a rival from his academy days, all the duels and competitions that had shaped his drive.

Umal lost the journey after his banishment — weeks crossing Xhorhas wastes, scavenging to survive, hiding what he was.

Grimdur surrendered years spent seeking revenge that never came, the fruitless quest that finally ended only when he gave up.

As each memory was torn away (some violently, taking psychic damage), mushroom stems opened like organic doorways. They entered the Sporeheart Enclave proper.

An Alien Economy

Inside thrived a civilization unlike any they’d known. Myconids of varying sizes moved with purpose through the settlement — beings with mushroom caps for heads, humanoid bodies, and carved faces. No chaos, no idle chatter, just organized collective action.

But commerce existed. Thralls acting as merchants sold books, adventuring gear, curious objects collected from travelers. The currency was “spore value” — stories, songs, unusual items. Knowledge had worth.

Wendaline negotiated with remarkable clarity, trading a knife, crowbar, and hammer (one spore value each) for a silver dagger +1 (three spore value) from a myconid who’d incorporated weapons into artistic displays. The direct, unambiguous communication pleased the collective.

Grimdur acquired a mysterious purple egg in exchange for a used parachute and a great axe.

The Sovereign’s Bargain

The glowing trail led to the heart of the enclave, where the myconid sovereign — the entire collective consciousness — made their situation clear: a creature had taken residence nearby, attacking the colony, killing thralls, stealing eyes. The myconids had no warriors to challenge such a threat.

The creature was a Beholder.

In exchange for killing it, they would receive:

Time pressure weighed on them — Umal’s father was dying. But they needed the information. After a short rest (Mario blessing the party with restored spell slots, Dahni bolstering allies), they accepted and followed new spores toward the Beholder’s lair.

Chapter 4: The Domain of Seltar

The new trail led from bioluminescent beauty into wrongness. The tunnels were distorted, malformed, nearly sculpted by alien geometries. Smooth in unsettling ways, warped by forces that defied natural formation.

Bodies littered the path. Thralls with missing eyes. Drow corpses similarly eyeless. Each bore marks of diverse magic — disintegration, petrification, death by forces the party could only guess at.

Umal shared what he knew of Beholders from his research: aberrations from the Astral Plane, paranoid and solitary, considering themselves creation’s pinnacle. Each unique, each narcissistic. They obsess over knowledge and elaborate plans. The most famous is Xanatar, but every Beholder believes itself superior to all others.

Hook horrors lay among the dead — kin to Screech. The Beholder’s hunting range was extensive.

The Riddle Gate

The tunnel ended at a massive circular stone door carved with twelve eye sockets. Above it glowed an inscription in Deep Speech:

“To enter, prove you are worthy of the eyes gaze.
One truth to open, one lie to bind,
One eye to see, and one to blind.”

Four sockets were labeled: Truth, Lie, Sight, Blindness.

Scattered before the door: twelve eye-shaped stones in different colors — blue, green, red, yellow, purple, black obsidian, crystal clear, gold, silver, white, gray, orange.

Wendaline discovered a parchment near an eyeless corpse: “The eye sees only what it believes.”

The party debated furiously. Color symbolism. Linguistic associations. Metaphors layered on riddles. Umal reasoned that coming from the Sporeheart Enclave where memory was currency, where they’d just learned that knowledge has value — gold represents truth because gold represents value.

They settled on: Gold for truth, silver for lie, crystal for sight, black obsidian for blindness.

Mario placed them carefully.

A pulse of psychic energy exploded outward. Nine points of damage to those who failed their save. The stones clattered to the floor.

Wrong answer.

Before they could try again, a voice echoed from beyond the sealed door — deep, amused, touched with alien intelligence:

“Very amusing. Who enters my domain? The domain of Seltar.”

The Beholder knew they were there. And it sounded entertained.

The session ended with the party standing before the riddle door, aware that something ancient, powerful, and utterly alien — something that collected eyes, loved puzzles, and commanded magic beyond mortal understanding — waited just beyond.

Time continued to run out for Umal’s father. The stakes had only grown higher.

The Party

Umal — Half-elf, half-drow bladesinger wizard from Roshona. His father is dying from the Creeping Death’s toxin. Grandson of Den Matron Dierta Thelyss.

Wendaline — Shadar-kai elf monster slayer ranger and grave cleric. Follower of the Raven Queen. Guides the party through the Underdark. Sacrificed memories of Ophelia Mardoon and a promised quest to enter the Sporeheart Enclave. Acquired a silver dagger +1 through clever trading.

Felorn — High elf swashbuckler rogue and fighter. Wields Spite, a sentient “devoted weapon” that Velthes identified as being created through similar rituals to drider transformation — housing “whispers” to create “something better.” Was briefly possessed in the Temple of Moradin to destroy a petrified statue.

Dahni — Young wild magic barbarian (~12 years old) wielding a vestige club. From the jungles of Marquet near Dul’rusar. Somehow made the impossible journey to the Menagerie Coast. Sacrificed his last happy memory with his parents to enter the Sporeheart Enclave.

Mario — Halfling paladin, formerly a warlock of Uk’otoa. Now serves Avandra the Changebringer. His aura of protection (+5 to saves) proved vital against the cloakers. Sacrificed his memories of Urukayxl and the trials of Uk’otoa.

Grimdur — Dwarf forge cleric of Moradin the Allhammer. Has a vendetta against Lucian and the Shades. One of his fingers is slowly evaporating due to a deal with the hag Sheerna the Shapeless Dread — a curse that worsens as he delays upholding his end of the bargain. Can commune with Moradin for guidance. Found a Rune of the Master Smith in the desecrated temple. Traded for a mysterious purple egg in the Sporeheart Enclave.

What We Know

People & Factions

Den Matron Dierta Thelyss — Umal’s grandmother, matriarch of House Thelyss (a mage house in the Dynasty). Powerful magic-user who can manipulate time.

Kaverick — Elderly drow mage guard who served House Thelyss faithfully for years. Afflicted with typhros, he mistook Umal for Jourrael Caedogeist and attacked him. Will be executed outside beacon range.

Jamedi Cosko — Half-orc apothecary in the Black Market of Roshona. Identified the Creeping Death toxin and can make an antidote if given the poison gland.

Jourrael Caedogeist (the Inevitable End) — Famous assassin and traitor from Dynasty history. Her left hand was previously recovered by the party and given to Lumitherion.

Lucian — Enemy of Grimdur. Betrayed him, enslaved him, killed his friend James. Leads the Shades, whose hideout is somewhere in the mountains near the Underdark entrance.

The Shades — A group including Lucian, Lockjaw, and Skitterjaw. Connected to dark dealings and possibly to corrupted celestial beings.

Lumitherion — An ancient being, protector of a village in the Xhorhas wastes. The party gave him Jorelda’s hand.

Sharkbait — Mafioso who the party has crossed before. Was transporting remains of Jourrael Caedogeist via the Myriad.

James — Grimdur’s friend, killed by Lucian.

Locations

Roshona — Capital of the Xhorhasian Dynasty. Contains the Firmament (where mage houses like House Felis reside) and an extensive Black Market.

The Ghostlands — Ruins surrounding Roshona. Filled with unquiet spirits, collapsed gothic architecture, and desolation.

The Underdark (Xhorhas) — Vast underground realm accessed through multiple entrances. The party is currently deep within, having taken the mountain entrance.

The Bridge of Stalactites — Dangerous natural stone bridge over a seemingly bottomless chasm deep underground. Site of the cloaker battle.

The Temple of Moradin — Ancient dwarven temple deep in the Underdark, built to honor Moradin the Allhammer. Constructed on a platform over a chasm, made of imported granite. Later conquered and desecrated by Lolth cultists who turned it into a ritual site. Now abandoned except for Velthes Duskthorn and his hook horror companion Screech. Also known as “The Temple of the Black Silk” by the cultists.

The Sporeheart Enclave — Massive myconid colony in a vast Underdark cavern. Built on platforms and bridges throughout the darkness, with a central mushroom forest of tree-sized fungi. Populated by myconids and thralls of various species (drow, hook horrors, humans) all bearing cordyceps fungi. Operates on “spore value” currency — stories, songs, and unusual items instead of gold. Led by a myconid sovereign who speaks through the collective consciousness. Currently under threat from the Beholder Seltar who attacks their people and steals eyes.

Seltar’s Lair — Beyond a massive riddle door deep in distorted, malformed tunnels. The entrance is carved with twelve eye sockets and protected by a puzzle involving colored eye-stones. Bodies with missing eyes line the approach.

The Black Market (Roshona) — Underground market beneath the Dynasty’s capital where Jamedi Cosko operates.

Marquet — Distant land with jungles, from which Dahni originates. Contains the city of Dul’rusar.

Magic & Mysteries

Typhros — Madness afflicting those reborn too many times through consecution. Past lives bleed into present, causing confusion. Must be kept hidden from the Bright Queen. Victims are executed outside beacon range to prevent corruption of consecution.

Consecution — The Dynasty’s practice of rebirth through the Luxon beacons. Allows souls to be reborn into new bodies, retaining memories of past lives.

The Creeping Death — Legendary creature with a neurotoxin that evaporates blood cells. Few know anything about it because few survive encounters with it. The party must hunt it to save Umal’s father. May be one of the “abominations” created by the failed ritual at the Temple of Moradin.

Driders — Spider-bodied servants of Lolth, drow who have undergone transformation through dark rituals. The cultists at the Temple of Moradin attempted this transformation and failed catastrophically, becoming petrified instead.

Velthes Duskthorn — Mad drow survivor found in the desecrated Temple of Moradin. Tall, skeletal, with matted white hair and tattered robes. Severely malnourished and mentally broken, switching between madness and unsettling clarity. Calls himself “last keeper of the Black Silk.” Survived the failed ritual that petrified his fellow cultists. Lives with Screech, a hook horror who hunts for him. Writes in his own blood on the walls. Awaits “the last whisper.”

Screech — Hook horror companion of Velthes. Hunts fresh prey (including duergar) and brings food back to the temple. Protective of Velthes and territorial but not mindlessly aggressive.

Lolth — The Spider Queen, demon goddess of the drow. Her cultists conquered the Temple of Moradin and attempted transformation rituals that failed.

Gary — Sentient water droplet/elemental. Playful and curious, shows intention without full consciousness. Follows Luan.

Rune of the Master Smith — Ancient dwarven rune found by Grimdur in the desecrated temple forge. Glows blue when held by a dwarf, indicating recognition.

Spite — Felorn’s sentient rapier, looted from a drider. Identified by Velthes as a “devoted weapon” — an ancient relic created through dark rituals that house “whispers” to create “something better.” The process is similar to drider transformation rituals.

Seltar — A Beholder residing in the Underdark near the Sporeheart Enclave. Has been attacking myconids and thralls, killing them and stealing their eyes. Lives beyond a massive riddle door in distorted tunnels. Spoke to the party with amusement: “Who enters my domain? The domain of Seltar.”

Beholders — Aberrations from the Astral Plane. Known for being paranoid, solitary, and narcissistic. Each believes itself the pinnacle of creation and views even other Beholders as inferior. They obsess over knowledge and execute elaborate plans. Magically very powerful. The most famous Beholder is Xanatar. They often create complex puzzles and tests for those who would enter their domains.

Myconids — Fungal humanoid creatures living in colonies governed by a collective consciousness. Communicate telepathically. Value memory and experience over material wealth, using “spore value” as currency (stories, songs, unusual items). Can create thralls by infecting other species with cordyceps fungi, bringing them into the collective mind.

Spore Value — The currency system of the Sporeheart Enclave. Instead of gold, myconids trade in stories, songs, and unusual objects. Each item or tale is worth a certain number of “spore values” based on its interest or uniqueness.

Memory Sacrifice — To enter the Sporeheart Enclave, visitors must offer a personal memory to the myconid collective. The memory is torn away (sometimes causing psychic damage), becoming part of the collective’s knowledge while being lost to the individual forever.

Inventory & Resources

Open Threads

Urgent:

Mysteries:

Background: