Planejammer: The Infinity Arc

The Morning After
AKA that thing filled with a throbbing hangover headache but no regrets whatsoever

Morning arrived in Galisemni and the stars evaporated in the sky like dew drops on grass below an alien sun as the nonspecific light of day graced the city’s skyline. The city itself continued to bustle much as it always did, with no particular demarcation between day and night when it came to street traffic and activity except for particular trends in various districts. After all, when a quarter of the city’s residents didn’t actually need to sleep, circadian rhythm wasn’t a set thing. Then again, nothing in the Jewel of the Maelstrom was ever a set thing anyway.

“Oh my dear sweet Ssila’meshnik, I can’t believe I got that wasted at the party last night… last two days… whatever…” Il’setsya winced at the light creeping through the bedroom window and filtering through the purple, pastel drapes that once gracefully hung atop it but now dangled at an awkward angle along with a bra and two pairs of panties, one of which was distinctly not her own.

“We both know that’s not true even in the slightest.” Astrid’azilindria’noxamilla Shimmerwings chuckled from the doorway. She stood there leaning against the wooden frame, dressed in a fuzzy blue terrycloth robe only halfheartedly tied closed with purple hair mussed and fussy, with a pair of antennae drifting lazily from where they drooped down about her forehead. Sprouting from her back and emerging from slits in the robe, her butterfly wings flitted back and forth occasionally, acting less as a way to fly and more as panes of stained glass casting a kaleidoscope of colors about the room as she stood backlit against the window. Clearly she’d had a wild night as well, though she held a decent palliative treatment for that in a pair of steaming coffee mugs, one in each hand.

“You’re an enabler you know.” Il’setsya smiled as her tail twirled and flitted beneath the sheets like a lurking, predatory serpent. “You buy me all sorts of stuff, you fund my absolute worst addictions, and you’ve taught me most of the magic that I know. I’m glad that I tried to pick your pocket years back and everything led to what we’ve got now. Damn I’m lucky, but yeah, you’re a complete enabler.”

“Absolutely.” Astrid blew the xaoling a kiss, leaving a puff of faerie-dragon breath transfixed by and glittering in the morning beams of sunlight streaming through the window. “I also make sure that you have this apartment to use at your leisure. It’s a bit less awkward, less expensive, and less dangerous than suddenly swamping my house with ninety random partiers who don’t know the punch bowl from the cursed artifact, the spellbooks from the party favors, and my familiar from the hors d’oeuvres. Less awkward to bring random partners here rather than to my bed as well.”

Il’setsya grinned as an expression of unrepentant faux guilt passed over her features. “I make sure that I offer you the option to join in when you’re available.”

“I know. That’s part of why I love you.” Astrid walked over to the window, retrieving and handing over the one pair of panties there that belonged to her lover. “You’re apparently incapable of jealously, and frankly, you’re hot and smart. Plus there’s the whole fact that technically you’re still my apprentice, so the benefits are rather awesome.”

Back on the bed, the xaoling flicked her tail and expelled the bed sheet, flinging it through the air and onto a pile on the floor. The oversized, prehensile third-limb snaked up and took the offered bit of underclothes. Holding the silken swatch of fabric up, its owner stretched her arms and legs, completely naked and exposed in the sunlight now streaming across her torso.

Astrid smiled approvingly from behind the rim of her morning coffee as her eyes widened and her previously drooping antennae sprung upright at attention. It was up for debate if the cause was the bitter stimulant at her lips or instead the xaoling before and below her vantage point spreading her legs and giving a gratuitous show.

“I could just stay naked you know.” Il’setsya stuck out her tongue, accepting a mug of coffee offered a moment later. “I dare say you wouldn’t complain.”

“No Crazy-Hooves, I wouldn’t.” Astrid stuck out her tongue, mirrored a moment later by Il’setsya doing the same, albeit with the addition of a pair of fingers. “And we had plenty of that last night, so come on and put some clothes on you lovely little head case.”

“You do realize that in any other company you’d be considered the wild, whimsical, crazy one who lives each moment without consideration for the future or worry about the past. You’re half-faerie dragon. It comes with the territory.”

“Yes, but I live with you.” The other arcanist laughed. “It’s like how an imp is physically composed of the stuff of pure Evil and unyielding Law, but there’s a pit fiend sitting right next to it, so it’s not that tyrannical by comparison.”

“Flatterer…” Il’setsya smirked, blushed, and slipped on her underwear in at least one lazy concession to the notion of getting up and out of bed.

The two not-quite-wizards-or-sorcerers spent the next several minutes chatting, smooching, and sipping their coffee as the sounds of others waking up emerged from the living room over and atop the sounds of a snoring thri-kreen.

“So before we go wake everyone else up, I meant to ask you one thing. Whose are those?” Astrid raised an eyebrow and gestured a manicured hand at the other pair of panties still strung up on the drapery crossbar. “One of those was yours, but I don’t recognize the other one or the bra.”

“Heck if I know.” Il’setsya gave an emphatic shrug. “I don’t remember much of the last two days.”

Astrid stuck out her lower lip, “Neither do I you terrible influence you.”

Both arcanists glanced at the other, grinned and chuckled. Il’setsya raised her eyebrows three times in rapid fashion, putting her hands behind her head and elbows to the side with a look of haughty, arrogant pride. She rolled over to one side as Astrid walked past her, snapping her teeth at the half-faerie dragon’s rear even as her tail reached around and intertwined with the last two feet of Astrid’s.

“So it looks like yet another one for the conquering heroine.” Astrid looked down at her lover, keeping eye contact as she extended a slender draconic claw and added one more vertical hatch mark to the bedpost.

“So it is.” Il’setsya grinned. “I’ll assume that you, or I, or both of us were good. Hopefully they left because they had to go work, rather than regretting it or ending up mazed or sent to another plane.”

“Like that one time with the twin lillends? They ended up on the Plane of Shadow and I had to open a gate that afternoon to get them back to their native plane…”

“I said I was sorry for that…” The xaoling blew an emphatic and uncaring raspberry. “But you have to admit that we both had a blast right up to that point.”

Astrid glanced out the window, shook her head and smiled with a look that bounced back and forth between bewildered and amorous appreciation.

“Anyway,” The half-faerie dragon said, turning back to her lover, “You should probably get dressed and we should start trying to get everyone you dragged here last night up and out. I have to scribe a few dozen scrolls today, and you’ve got whatever it is was you were planning to do without any concept of planning or forethought. Just remember to work on those formulae I sketched out for you to study.”

Finally Il’setsya yawned and hopped up from the bed. Dressed in nothing more than the minuscule article of clothing found hanging from the window, she searched around for something on the night table.

“Here we go!” Il’setsya held up a small and relatively featureless brown leather hat. She furrowed her brow and concentrated, a moment later holding not a hat but a pair of dull silver hair-sticks. Pleased with the object’s transformation she pulled her hair back and pinned the ever rebellious locks into a haphazard semblance of a bun, with a pair of long lengths left free to frame her face. “Tada!”

“Is a hat of disguise seriously all you’re going to wear today?” Astrid gave the virtually naked xaoling an up and down and ever dubious glance.

“Do I technically need anything else?” Il’setsya asked, suddenly no longer next to naked, but dressed in what for other than its instantaneous appearance, seemed like a fresh outfit of the latest in Galisemnian fashion.

“Your clothes are going to be completely illusory.” Astrid inhaled and chuckled with gleeful resignation, “Desna forbid you run into any creature with True Seeing…”

Il’setsya shrugged and walked past her partner, giving her a peck on the cheek as she opened the bedroom door.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

Lucidus - Missive to Renzaran, Community Leader of Facet

Renzaran — I hope this missive finds you well.

I am doing well. The effort to acquire more knowledge for Facet is progressing nicely.

The companions I have chosen are growing into their roles, and my guidance is helping them to grow at an accelerated pace. I am pleased that their ambition mirrors my own, and they should be able to accomplish great deeds in short order.

It is not far-fetched to suggest that losing one’s self in the pages of a book is a form of madness. The sensations experienced when enmeshed in a story: the ability to see through another’s eyes; the power to enter into the minds of others, unobserved and omniscient; the clear knowledge of the appearance and customs of places one has never been, or even that have never existed, surely in any other context claims to these fantastic powers would be treated as madness. As such, the library then becomes a storehouse for this wonderful form of madness.

I have gained access to the library at the Rock of Bral, where I intend to return many times to pore over the knowledge secured there. With both this library and the vast flow of information through Sigil within reach, my chosen task of bringing lost knowledge of psionics back to Facet should become both more frequent and more powerful.

Along with this letter, I send a compiled list of Sigil portals with their associated keys. A list this comprehensive is of some value, and I would appreciate if you held a copy, in case something happened to the one I possess.

Let me know if our community is lacking any specific knowledge or texts on a particular topic – I will endeavor to procure them for you expeditiously.

As always please pass on my greeting to all there, and tell Calindra that those dreams she continues to send me are inappropriate for Elan of our age and dignity.

As to other matters, I am becoming more and more frequently frustrated by the frail and temporary nature of my body. After all, as you well know I have always devoted my focus to the advancement and improvement of my mind, to the detriment of my physical form. Watching these young women I am associated with, so full of vigor and vitality, has made me realize their hidden, perhaps unrealized fear – it will not last. I believe in their subconscious fear of the rapid approach of the loss of that vigor, they are driven to indulge the senses. I wonder at times – how much more could these children I surround myself with have made of themselves if they had only focused on sharpening their minds? What are they left with? Fleeting muddled memories of sensations, forgotten sometimes before they are even paid for. So, my observations of the behavior of my companions, combined with some physical mishaps of my own, have shown me the path to which I should devote myself. After recently losing a hand, I’ve compensated for the lack with creative uses of my ability to defy gravity and my use of far hand. The concept can surely be extended to encompass the entirety of the flesh that makes up a body. I embark on a path to become an Uncarnate.

As always, I value your opinion. I am but a shard, resonating and reflecting the brilliance you have endowed to me.


The Incredible True Adventures of Crazy-Hooves
I'll also answer to Il'setsya, or Tequila-Hooves


Dear Penthouse Letters, you wouldn’t believe what happened to me last… wait, no. That’s not right. That’s something else entirely.

Dear future me, whatever you do, don’t trust the skull! … no that’s not it either. Sure I’ve been mazed, but that’s about all we have in common. One more try Crazy Hooves, one more try. Yes I’m talking to myself in the third person. If you’d like, imagine that I’m talking to either future or past Il’setsya. I’m joined to a spooky protean greater artifact, and the Wyrms of the Maelstrom being what we are (yes, do note the inclusivity of my use of that grouping) it’s probably best to think of me not as a single polyamorous tiefling of questionable tastes and a predilection for strange substances and even stranger women, but as a bizarre, spread out wave function of especially Xaotic repute, and you’ve managed to hitch yourselves to this one iteration of me with lots of potential me spilling out like a succubus and an overly loose corset. My shoulder proteans are quite likely to just be me talking to myself. Don’t ask me how any of this makes sense, I’d be offended if I ever did!

But I’m veering wildly off track. Let’s rein this in like me upon being overly talkative to a priestess of Calistria with some handcuffs. Yes, I do indeed enjoy these lascivious metaphors!

Dear Ssila’mesh’nik the Colorless One, Protean Lord of Fate, Freedom, and Paradox,

This is both a confessional of sorts to you my divine patron* and a record of the stuff I’ve done for the next inevitable time that I get lit up on something fun and forget where I am and what I’ve done. I have a habit of that, yet paradoxically I can handle complex arcane theory and probabilistic chaos magic in my head. Life is funny sometimes, and I’m someone’s well deserved curse/joke on the matter.

*Even if technically my soul is bound not to the Colorless Lord but to the Watching Seven of Galisemni… but that’s a long story that I won’t be getting into at the moment. Brevity isn’t one of my virtues, but I’m going to fake it for the moment on this specific issue.

So let me describe my latest drinking companions slash enablers slash patsies slash adventuring companions. All of those things kind of run together in my experience along with other things entirely (like my habit of picking up lovers like street urchins picking up spare change tossed their way, feel free to insert a cute metaphor about putting them between my teeth for a nibble to test them out and promptly blowing them all on… yeah this is radically getting out of hand. Seriously chicka stay on track. Shut up tiny shoulder protean Il’setsya acting like a manifestation of what tiny sliver of a conscience I have. Huh, what happened to the second parenthesis that was supposed to be in there somewhere? Bah.

Take a long stiff sip of something north of ninety proof and then back to describing folks:

I find myself with a core group of Lucky, Lucidius, Farah Dey, Alcyone, Casimir, and a gorgeous tail attached to a tiefling named Estatira. There’s also the bleeding-eyed gnome that just hangs out around the corners of my vision, pointing accusingly, but I’m pretty sure they’re just a bad trip from the last time that I was kissing my girlfriend Astrid and she sneezed and poured faerie dragon breath at high velocity down my throat. Seriously, you date a half-faerie dragon woman with three apostrophes in her name and you expect to be able to take tokes off of her, but this has been going on a week now, even worse than the time I gargled a whole nutmeg on a dare. That was interesting. Not bad, but I don’t trust lamp poles anymore. Don’t ask.

Have another drink darling. Yes, thank you shoulder Il’setsya from the future with command over time magic now urging me on to more and more awesome things. Now back to writing and talking about these lovely chumps.

Lucky – Lucky is a darling, and by darling I mean she’s incredibly cute, and by incredibly cute I mean she’s hot. She’s also a grab bag of talents that I don’t have: mostly being perceptive and having a way with words beyond my penchant of just lying my fifteen foot tail off. Now being as how I’m not the most perceptive of girls, I won’t be saying any of this to her face, lest I find myself hamstrung in a dark ally. Beyond the threat of being stabbed, why have I not shamelessly hit on her yet? Probably because she’s waaaaay too young for me (especially given as how I frankly have no idea how old I actually am with twenty some years of memories and a giant black hole of nothingness before that), and also probably because I have a thing for the weird ones, being such a special snowflake myself, and she’s positively an elemental of prosaic. Unless she’s hiding weird freaky things in plain sight. Hmm. Must keep my eyes on her. Just don’t want to be so obvious about it. Sneaky sneaky sneaky.

Estatira – Speaking of special snowflakes, there’s the party bard and silver-tongued devil/demon/daemon/whothehellknows spawn, Estatira. By the time I’d known her for a grand total of half an hour I was snorting a line of pesh off of her tail. This is by far not a record for me, but it’s better than my median time, and better than the average for what type of intoxicant I’m indulging in along with the faint taste of salt or perfume from their flesh in that stretch of time when they aren’t hanging out in houses of best repute selling their services as such. Usually for people I’ve just met it’s just body shots of liquor. That may still happen. Be still my beating heart that wanders about my thoracic cavity by virtue of my internal anatomy not being strictly stationary courtesy of being protean-blooded. Did I mention that I danced with her in front of a beholder? I’m glad that I wore actual clothes that day rather than just illusory ones. That might have been awkward what with the central magic-nullifying eye and all.

Lucidus – I’ll be honest when I say that I have no idea what species Lucidus actually is, other than not being just simply a red headed, one-handed, psionic human. Still, being a red headed, one-handed, psionic something or another, Lucidus is safe from my poorly timed and reckless advances. At least until I manage to learn polymorph any object, at which points all bets are off and he’s a woman until he complains and I turn him back reluctantly because redheads, yummy. His floating around looks like fun. I should probably put some effort into drawing on my own protean heritage and learn to fly.

Farrah Dey is some manner of sorcerer with a knack for air and electricity spells. Don’t get me wrong, magic is magic about any way that you manage to conjure it forth. Some people earn it through being giant nerds and laboriously learning it from books, scrolls, overbearing masters, wrappings from ancient cursed mummies that will eventually hunt them down and ritualistically devour them alive years or decades later, and all of this while eschewing any semblance of a normal social life, also they seem to never get screwed, so screw that. Others like Farrah Dey get a lucky roll of life’s dice and have some measure of inborn power, be it a fluke of nature, some fraction of blood from an angel, demon, devil, dragon, etc or descent from a legendary mage of old whose power worked its way down the family tree like a transgenerational case of syphilis, except rather than eating holes in your brain, it lets you burn them in other people if you so feel like it. Me? Fuck being normal. I’m neither of those and both. You’re talking to Little Miss Chaos here. I see rules? I break them, usually while drunk, cackling wildly, and stripping off my clothes to shouts of ‘Take it off!’, ‘Hey Tequila-Hooves it’s not even 10am yet’ or ‘You fool, we’re in the King’s court, you’ll get us executed!’. You get the point. I’m not normal and neither is my method of magic. Still, I have a few things that I might manage to teach her that are applicable to her style from mine.

Alcyone – I’ve never been much of a particularly faithful person, at least as much as someone invested with power and tethered by a greater artifact and their own madness to fulfilling the whimsy of a vanished, mythical Protean Chorus can be unfaithful. You can’t particularly call me a saint of much of anything or even a role model given that the last time I… misbehaved… I was physically dragged before my qausi-divine patrons while in the middle of a drug-fueled three day bender with a pair of aasimar prostitutes. Yeah yeah, don’t judge me. Anyway, getting back to Alcyone, I suppose that I can respect someone willing to devote themselves to someone else’s will and get derogatorily called a godslave in the process. Not my thing though. Also she’s cute. I swear, I’ve managed to run into an adventuring group that could double up as a choir for Nocticula if you dressed them in anything black and tight. But back to Alcyone, she managed to shrink several inches as a result of some magic from an illithid linked construct (of all things…) that I’ll be damned if I don’t figure out how it worked. She has nothing to worry about though being shorter. I think shorter women are perfectly adorable.

Veering off track once again there’s the matter of my experience in snorting construct dust of unknown origins and nature. That act in and of itself was both a pinnacle of my ‘do whatever for the hell of it’ nature and kind of like making out with a toaster. I was happy when we killed that illithid flavored construct. Not for the mind-flayer link at all, but the construct aspect. Sorry, I can’t help but think of any construct as being intrinsically linked to the inevitables and their axiomite masters, or the modrons in their local cosmology. No I have not snorted part of an axiomite. No! Except for that one time and come on, there was a succubus involved, that doesn’t count! I blame Valesh on that one (that was her name, it ended badly after a torrid week and a half when an aasimon nailed her with a banishment spell, preventing any other nailing from going on, ugh). Damn, I with that I still had her profane gift. That was kinda fun, and so was she. Somewhere on another plane of existence, Il’setsya is still talking about what she was originally talking about. But we’re not on that plane. Muahahaha!

All this having been said, I still say that there should have been jello wrestling in the remains of the gelatinous cube.

Oh, and with my speaking of jello wrestling, I’d be remiss if I didn’t include a mention of the rogue formerly known as Casimir. Fun guy, keeps attempting to beat me in drinking contests, and he’s good natured about losing. For some reason that I keep ignoring because I keep forgetting, he regularly changes his name. One of these days I’ll remember not to call him Casimir, and call him something else, like The Hamburgler Formerly Known as Casimir, or I’ll-Shoot-You-If-You-Call-Me-Casimir, something like that.

And speaking of names, that my friends is the true story and tale of me, Il’setsya Wyrmtouched, Child of the Lethe Wall of Galisemni, Chosen Herald of the Watching 7 of the Chorus of Malignant Symmetry, otherwise known as D’zenirusiphia the Meandering Whisper of Wanton Whimsy self-professed honorary keketar of the Chorus of Nebulous Illumination. This latter bit changes to some extent virtually every time I say my protean name, which sort of makes sense –if anything about me makes sense– as proteans are the exemplars of True Chaos, whatever slaadi say, poor things shackled to singular forms by the Spawning Stone having forgotten what they once were…

Letters from Farrah
Don't worry, I'm fine (I think?)

Dear Mamma and Pappa (emphasis on the 2nd syllable, as in Hurrah),

I am well. I have left the familiar streets of Greyhawk, and am now in Sigil. You would not believe some of the creatures I have met! Beings that until now I had only seen within the confines of a summoning circle, I am now passing on the streets! One of my new companions, Estatira, is even a demon of some sort! She says she’s a “tiefling,” whatever that means. She’s a brilliant dancer, though, and I’ve been assisting at her shows.

But I digress. I was called by Bigby himself to watch over my new friends. Lucidus is an elan, who has a passion for dusty old books. I recognize the condition, but I can’t really sympathize. Horridly dull, books. He has two friends, Estatira and another human girl, Lucky. I call them his friends, but really they seem to be friends with each other, who tease and somewhat pity Lucidus.

Then there’s Alcyone, a cleric of Celestia. She was one of the Celestians who came to Greyhawk for the Midwinter Festival. She has weird visions sometimes, and one of them showed Morden Kainen, in grave danger. I hope nothing has happened to him! You’ll both keep him safe, I know.

On a side note, I do hope you’ll have a word with Bigby. He delivered his message via a stinking fire opal. And when I say stinking, I mean it quite literally.

Stay safe, and know that I am fulfilling my destiny. Exciting times are ahead!

Love your daughter, Farrah

S01E03 The White Crow

Sigil_2.jpgQuote of the NIght “It’s bardening, not gardening.” -Lucky

9-10 Needfest 5050 O.C. – Sigil
Annali Webspinner summons Estatira and the rest. A high powered bard is set to perform, and a usually small time thief has absconded with one of his journals. She wants it retrieved asap, preferably before this Baleron discovers it is missing.

After scouring the area for the dark of it they trace the White Crow to the edge of the hive. she is hiding out in an abandoned building across the street from a cemetery that has been sealed for 800 years, ever since the ta’anaric plague killed thousands under the age of 18. They track her down but she flees, leading them on a merry chase through the streets until she scales the wall and enters the cemetery.

Alcyone, Estatira and Farrah all try to track her down/prevent her escape from the cemetery confines while Lucky and Lucidus check her hideout. Lucky finds a vellum envelope with five white feathers tucked into her pillowcase. Lucidus finds a 1/4 ounce of Bytopian pipeweed in the bedroll.

End White Crow is faerie fired and under the cover of the undergrowth. Alcyone and estatira are on the cemetery wall with Farrah on the ground as backup. Lucky and Lucy have just exited the abandoned building.

S01E02 Rocking The Portaljammer

sigil__1_.jpgQuote of the Night: “Oh god. I am our strongest fighter!?!?!?!?!” - Estatira
First Blood of the Campaign Farrah Dey, fried a dire rat with spark

5-6 Needfest 5050 O.C. – Free City of Greyhawk
Our heroes receive a message from Draax during breakfast. Following it’s directions takes them through the sewers beneath the Broken Staff to the Greyhawk School of Psionics. There it’s leader, Pantrell, gives them a few crates of books (Goods: 10). Trade goods to get them started. While carrying them out through the sewers they are attacked by a trio of dire rats, but Lucidus and Farrah make short work of them.

Downtime: 1 Day Estatira makes an array of alchemical items. Alcyone and Lucky research Draax and the Silver Skeleton. The find he has extensive links to both Sigil and the Rock of Braal. Also, he is often seen in the company of a female paladin and a monk. Nothing new is found about the Silver Skeleton. Lucidus, spends his day copying the books they received so as to keep copies. Farrah tries to find a way to send a message home. She has an unpleasant encounter with one of the Planarists, but also eventually finds a celestian priest who is on a pilgrimage to Greyhawk.

7-8 Needfest 5050 O.C. – Sigil
Taking the portal (fresh cut flowers) to Sigil Our Heroes try to find a place to keep their trade goods safe. Eventually Estatira cuts a deal for room at The Portaljammer, she performs each night in exchange for acommodations. First night’s performance (21) raked in over 50 gold in tips.

Dire rat x 3

S01E01 Too Many Coincidences
The First 24 hours

so_it_begins.jpgNeedfest 4, 5050 O.C. (Winter Solstice) | SIGIL / The Free City of Greyhawk

Lucidus is given an offer by a representative of Estavan from the Planar Trade Consortium. It’s a simple message delivery to some backwater prime world called Oerth. With Estatira and Lucky Guess O’Connor he accepts the gig. He is to deliver a Ba’atorian fire opal which contains a message. Estatira is beside herself wanting to play with it, but he keeps it tucked away. Finally she and Lucky examine it, determining that it’s the Ba’atorian equivalent of a crank call. A message is contained, but it is also rigged to explode into a cloud of foul air and toxic smoke.

The three of them take the provided portal and step from the Lady’s Ward to the snow covered streets of The Free City of Greyhawk. On the hilly rise above them stand the great university, surrounded by Celestian clergy on holy vigil and a variety of arcane weather workers keeping the air clear and dry.

One of those Celestians is Alcyone Leafbower, and as the group passes a few scant feet away she has momentary visions of a silver skeleton and a bald mage with a black van dyke beard. She is spending her first time planetside embracing the holiday, but has also been given a message to deliver to an as yet unknown person.

The fire opal guides them to Farrah Dey who is using her affinity with air to help keep the weather clear. Lucidus delivers the opal, and they all step back. Farrah opens it, managing to toss it aside as it blows up. Before it can effect anyone she calls up a breeze and dissipates it. It’s a message from Bigby, in Auran. He tells her that the Eight need her to keep an eye on the interplanar travellers. The stinking cloud prank was one he just couldn’t resist.

The three from Sigil get ensconced in The Broken Staff where they drink the night away. Well, the ladies do, Lucidus never eats or drinks anything. The next day the girls from Sigil are nursing titanic hangovers after drinking Old Troll’s Piss the night before. Lucidus wakes them at sunrise being disturbingly chipper.

While they moan and threaten, Alcyone enters the bar. As she sees Estatira she gets another flash of the silver skeleton, and when she sees Farrah she sees the bald mage again. She approaches the two in order to warn them of what she has seen, but while they are talking Lucidus suddenly grabs his temple in distress. Some thing is wrong.

As Lucidus feels his psionic energy draining away they get him out of the bar and out of range of whatever it was. Alcyone hears something and looks back to see the bartender carrying something that looks like a mole, whose brains he bashes out against the wall before going inside. Lucidus recognizes it as a brain mole, and the source of his Psionics drain.

At this point almost all of them have been up all night, so Our Heroes crash and reconvene over boar bacon and omelette made from owlbear eggs. As they discuss the various odd coincidences of their meeting they realize that an elf sporting an amazing array of daggers has been sitting there without being noticed.

Calling them a promising group of youngsters, and sharing tidbits about each that he should have no way of knowing, he tells them he orchestrated bringing them together. He hands over a Portal Diary as an “investment” with the qualifier that there are four ancient times he seeks, they are to be turned over instantly when found. “The rest is yours.”

While Estatira swoons over the leather clad figure, Lucky takes an instantaneous dislike to him. Lucidus it utterly riveted by the potential the portal diary represents, Alcyone is quite skeptical.

“My operatives will contact you in Sigil through Estevaan,” say Draax and then disappears in a multi-hued distortion.

Quote of the Night: “I think a friend of mine summoned something like you once.” – Farrah to Estatira

Welcome to the multiverse!
The Infinity Arc

Greetings Planejammers!

Here are a few quick notes about play style and such so that you know what you’re in for.

  • Psionics heavy
  • Encounters will not always be CR appropriate. Just like old school games you need to hone your instincts on when to run like hell.
  • If you’ve got background ideas or something you want to do but don’t know where there are rules to let you do it, talk to me. We will figure it out.
  • There is a lot of intrigue, factions and politics going on. Some sessions might be all combat but some will have none.
  • I encourage designing your character for internal logic rather than optimization. Spending a skill rank on Knowledge (butterflies) can sometimes be a good choice for instance. It’s all about collaborative storytelling.
  • Your decisions will determine which major story arc the campaign follows. There are many laid out, but the PCs have complete autonomy as to which hooks they follow. Semi-sandbox style basically.

To infinity and beyond!


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