Below is some information you get before the game begins. Once again, it has been 10 years since most of you battled Otbium, and you have made your way out of the totalitarian Dwendalian Empire into the Kryn Dynasty. You can choose if this happened individually, or as a group, but you all will begin in Jigow. Discuss and decide how long you have been in Jigow and for what purpose. Was it to escape the Dwendalian Empire for practicing a banned faith or was it some other reason? Did the others come with you or did you part ways for some years, only to reunite for some continued adventures?
Book Information for the Fellowship:
Kryn Dynasty. The Kryn Dynasty is the dominant nation in Xhorhas. It was founded by a drow queen named Leylas Kryn, who fled the Underdark and the tyrannical rule of Lolth the Spider Queen along with her disciples. The Bright Queen still rules the dynasty centuries later, and its cities contain more than just drow. Orcs, goblinoids, tieflings, humans, and many others call the cities of the dynasty their home. Countless more denizens of the dynasty are nomads who roam the wastes in clans, hunting mastodons and other Xhorhasian megafauna.
Jigow. This coastal settlement is actually a string of villages that are home to a collection of folk from all over Xhorhas. Goblin and orc clans founded Jigow, which explains why the settlement is governed by two elders—a goblin and an orc. The Aurora Watch (the military arm of the Kryn Dynasty) maintains a presence here, under the command of a drow called Taskhand Durth Mirimm.
Townsfolk tend to be competitive, and friendly rivalries are commonplace. Most of Jigow’s residents live in a central region called the Jumble. Humans do exist in the Kryn Dynasty, but they and elves not of drow descent are a minority. Of Jigow's 13,000+ people, there are approximately 200 humans and 50 non-drow elves. Most in Jigow are goblinkin or orc.
The Luxon. The official deity of the Kryn Dynasty, whose symbol appears on the nation’s heraldry, is the Luxon. This mysterious divine entity of light and rebirth has granted its faithful several esoteric secrets, the greatest of which is consecution—the act of preparing one’s soul for rebirth. Through consecution, some people within the Kryn Dynasty have lived many lifetimes, often in bodies different from the ones they were first born in. In the sequence of consecution, a drow might become a goblin, then be reborn as a bugbear, then an orc, and so on—all the while gaining greater knowledge about the world through their experiences. This process has no mechanical benefit, but players can make consecution and rebirth an interesting part of their characters’ back stories.
If a follower of the Luxon who has undergone the ritual of consecution dies within 100 miles of a Luxon beacon, their soul is ensnared by it and reincarnated within the body of a random Humanoid newborn within 100 miles of the beacon.
Call of the Netherdeep has elements of trauma, emotional distress, and some minor body horror, any or all of which might befall your PC. If this is a problem for any of you, please reach out to me privately to discuss it.
The Fellowship are once again reunited! In the 10 years, the party has gone their separate ways and come together, at least in part, to share in some adventure. It never quite seemed like the Fellowship had ever really broken; each meeting and parting felt right. You have experienced success, failure, gained friends, lost some to disagreements and death; you experienced the life of an adventurer. Every time you met with your friends, the Fellowship, it was like old times. You have a connection with each other that is not easy to break.
Vazo'yn had recently contacted you all by letter, and invited you to the Kryn Dynasty. He never let anyone in the group grow too distant and had been like a lasso, pulling the wayward group back together from time to time. Joy and Ylis had become inseparable over the years, as they were both the only children in the group once Otbium was defeated. Randa was nearby anyway, and Riven, well, he has been hard to pin down over the years, but like Vazo'yn, had occasionally met and shared adventures with the group. Giles' story had been told, however, and once he knew how to defeat the creature that had killed his friends, his intent was to do it again but for good this time. He is off somewhere, mind fixed on training to achieve that one goal. You all know that he will succeed, because he already had.
Vazo'yn's letter speaks of an annual festival. One that is known across the Kryn Dynasty and even certain parts of the Dwendalian Empire. Dwendalian security on the border separating the two kingdoms is especially tight at this time of the year, but after all that you had gone through, a simple border checkpoint is a small matter to get through for those who were still there at the time they were invited to the festival.
Jigow is divided into three main districts: the Meatwaters or dock area for fishing and shipping, the Wetwalks, a housing/farming district with houses on stilts over the northwest marshes (primarily rice), and the Jumble, the main city hub within Jigow, detailed below. Fortunately, Vazo'yn was kind enough to include a map in his invitation:
You have entered the Jumble, a large district of tangled roads and single-story buildings in the town of Jigow. Throngs of people, most of them orcs and goblins, move through the streets, laughing, singing, running, and sightseeing. All are enthralled by the raucous sights and sounds of the town’s Festival of Merit.
You hear snippets of conversations as people pass by: a goblin mother telling her children not to go near the baby horizonback tortoises, a drow guard in shining insectile armor complaining to his partner that his gauntlet was crushed by a hulking orc while arm-wrestling, and a pair of young orcs in swimwear hollering as they rush toward the banks of the Ifolon River.
All around you, colorful signs and banners point toward festival booths surrounded by cheering people. On this street alone, you can see a meat-pie eating contest near a shop mounted on the back of a massive tortoise, and on the other side of the road, a banner emblazoned with the words “Riddles and Rhymes: Unbeatable Riddles!” That banner points toward a three-story temple in the center of the Jumble. You meet Vazo'yn upon entering the Jumble. The town is yours to explore—where do you want to go?
In your introductory post, begin by answering the following:
What have you done for the past 10 years? What heroic deed have you done, if any, that you think about with pride?
What is one major loss that still affects you?
What’s one thing you want more than anything else? How will being an adventurer help you achieve it?
The air smelled of brine and festival smoke, roast meat, sweat, and river muck. Laughter from revelers echoed off tortoise-backed shops and half-sunken buildings.
Riven stood at the edge of it all, half-shadowed beneath a leaning post draped in bright silk. He hadn’t even stepped into the square before a cluster of children ran past him, chasing a drumbeat, or perhaps their own excitement. None touched him. None truly saw him.
Vazo’yn’s letter still rested in his coat, folded once. He hadn’t needed to read it twice. He never did. The moment he’d seen that tight, looping script, he knew he’d come. No matter how far one drifted, Vazo’yn's pull remained.
It had been ten years since Otbium fell.
In the aftermath, Riven had changed, he had learned to draw echoes of himself from timelines that never were. Sometimes they struck where he had not yet moved; sometimes it felt like he occupied two positions simultaneously, but always it appeared slightly altered a manifestation of himself on a path not chosen.
This echo was more than a weapon. It was a question: Who are you? And who could you become?
But for all his mastery, his mother remained lost.
He had found traces.
But no truth.
No body.
No goodbye.
The loss hung heavy. Not knowing, that was its own kind of agony.
He didn’t want guesses.
He wanted truth. What befell her that day so long ago?
A gust of wind stirred the crowded street. Riven’s cloak shifted. His gaze returned to the living present, the festival, vibrant and loud. Ahead, he saw the Fellowship gathered once more. He stepped forward, boots soft on the muddied planks. For a moment, an echo shimmered at his side, then gone.
He moved toward his friends.
He didn’t smile. But his eyes softened, just a little.
It has been many years since Vazo'yn trekked his way out of the mountain home of his people. That fateful vision that set him on the path to defeating a god; the grand destiny that he lived in another lifetime. It seemed so long ago now, but perhaps it was also yet to happen. He had soon learned not to think too hard on it and accept it for what it was: an experience that changed him forever and brought the Fellowship into his life.
The ten years since Otbium's fall have been filled with discovery for Vazo'yn. He has traveled much of the world, a wanderlust overtaking him once their task was fulfilled. He traveled the roads with a fervent wonder, though they always managed to lead him back to the Fellowship, either individually or to those fateful times when they would find themselves all together again.
While he aided those who needed it when he could, there were no great heroic moments or deeds. What could compare to defeating a mad god and averting the end of the world? But that does not mean there is nothing to be proud of. Of all the things Vazo'yn saw in his travels, his greatest discovery was one of the self. He had finally learned the truth of the visions and voices that had whispered in his mind from his youth. They were not the guidance of his long-dead ancestors somehow calling to him across time and space, but rather the awakening of memories of lives past. Somewhere, somehow, he had proven himself to the Dynasty and earned the privilege of Consecution, and now the collective wisdom of all his past lives was being revealed to him.
A year ago upon this realisation, he journeyed back to his ancestral home, excited to tell Faron'dah, his mentor, about this enlightening moment of self-discovery. But he would not be greeted excitedly by a proud mentor. Instead he was directed to a stone marker deep within the Caverns of Memory, where Faron'dah's legacy had been inscribed upon his death. That was the first time Vazo'yn had regretted the travels that had carried him so far from home for so long. For the next year, he stayed among his family and clan, catching up on the time he had missed. It had been the longest he'd stayed in any place since leaving the first time.
Eventually his feet began to itch with the urge to travel once more. There was still much he did not know about his long forgotten lives, and he would not unlock their secrets by sealing himself away in the mountains. So he said his goodbyes, promising to return far sooner this time and left again, sending word to his friends in the Fellowship to come together once more in the Xhorhasian town of Jigow for the Festival of Merit. He was excited to tell them all that had happened to him and to welcome them to his homeland.
Now he stands amongst the festival, a muted but eager smile brightening his pale drow features. The years have softened his severe, determined demeanour that had pushed him forward to his destiny. He has learned to take more pleasure in the fullness of life.
He otherwise looks much the same as the Fellowship would remember him: simple, dark leather armour and a pouch at his waist where they knew his cards rested. The astute among them would see a new, golden earring dangles from one ear. A small dodecahedron pendant swings from it as he turns his head from the pouting Ylis to greet Riven.
"Riven, my friend. It is good to see you," he says, with a friendly nod of his head.
With a grunt and a crack! the lock on the door was broken.
"Hey kids! We've come to save you!" Ylis' hopeful cheer was sudden drowned in the stench of death. The room was a nightmare and the children...they must have suffered before the end.
"Wait...waitwatiwait." She looked around in horror. "We helped their parents come up with the ransom!...We did everything the kidnappers said!" Tears began to run down her face. "Why would they do this!? We gave them the money!"
Ylis shouts to the sky, "We gave you the money! Why did you do this!?"
"Joy, we need to hunt those mother cluckers down."
On their way to Jigow the group of friends looked to the sky and saw a ship. It was an ungainly thing, old paint, mis-matched sails. But it sparked something in the bunny girl's imagination. "I'm gonna get me one of those some day." Ylis nods at the ship, "Paint it pink and give it butterfly wings...yup."
Trotting into town, The atmosphere was contagious, everyone seemed to be having a good time, lots of laughter and cheer, "Ooh honey cakes! Come on let's get some snacks!"
"Hey Riv, I bet I can eat more meat pies then you! Come on!"
Joy hadn’t realized ten years could pass so quickly. After Otbium’s fall and the world's breathless restoration, she’d surprised even herself by taking to the road—not as a paladin bound to grim duty, but as a young woman curious about life. She had apprenticed herself to a Trost merchant and soon found that bartering and blessing went hand in hand. She’d learned to haggle in Ank’Harel, healed an entire village of swamp-fever with little more than willowbark and stubborn optimism, and lit many a roadside shrine with a smile and her lantern. The Dawnfather, she had come to believe, wasn’t just the god of new days but also of open roads, salt air, and every horizon that pulled you forward. Ylis had been at her side through most of it, often getting into trouble, and Joy had learned—usually the hard way—that one of them had to be the cautious one.
But not even faith and experience could shield her from sorrow. Hunt as they might, the trail of the childrens' killers had quickly gone cold. The thought that they were still out there haunted her. Then, a letter had reached her just weeks ago: the Brightlight, her friend Tamsin’s ship, had vanished somewhere near the Dwendalian border. It wasn’t pirates or a storm this time, but patrols. Needlessness. Cruelty under the banner of politics. She had wept alone in a stranger’s house and left her lantern burning all night.
Now, in the thick of Jigow’s laughter and revelry, Joy casts that grief aside like a discarded cloak. She jogs through the bustling Jumble at Ylis’ side, eyes shining and dandelion crown perched proudly atop her head. She nearly trips in her excitement when she spots Vazo’yn’s familiar silhouette and doesn’t hesitate before throwing her arms around him in a bright hug. “I missed you! Are you hosting riddles or meat pies?”she laughs, her armor adorned with seashell charms and dangling Trost talismans. “I brought some sun-kissed mango jam and five different kinds of Trost—so I hope everyone's hungry.” She waves at Riven next with a glowing grin. “If we’re competing, you’re going down.”
Riven dipped his head slightly at Vazo’yn’s greeting, the edge of something like amusement coming across his expression. “You’re aging gracefully,” he said. “Almost makes me believe in time’s mercy.”
Ylis’s voice followed, bright, brash, and undeterred by the years. Riven arched a brow at her challenge.
“You could try,” he murmured, stepping into the circle. “Though I seem to recall you were once a vegetarian. Or was that a different version of you?"
When Joy turned her grin on him, he didn’t smile, but his posture eased, ever so slightly. His voice lowered and became warmer. “If this is a contest of appetite, I’ll lose with dignity."
His gaze moves between them. For a moment, the weight of a decade lightened on his shoulders. He didn’t say he’d missed them. He didn’t have to.
An unfamiliar voice calls out "Have you ever seen a Goliath eat? I have, I'm sure I can best you in a pie eating contest Ylis!"
As the group turns to take in the man delivering his challenge, he smiles and looks at each one individually, calling them by name. Noticing your confused looks, he continues, "forgive me, my name is Berk, from ... well where I'm from is a bit of a mystery, but most recently, I lived in the mountains of the Penumbra Range to the south. But fate called me from my home and family in the mountains. Upon my journey, I happened across a dwarf. A monk of some skill, who had fallen ill. Some pox, or virus had infected him, and he sequestered himself in a cave, meditating and healing. I happened to stumble upon him the same time as a group of trolls did. I saved his life, burning the wretched things as he pummeled them. We became friends. You can probably guess of whom I speak of."
"Over the time we spent together, he told me many tales. Grand tales, stuff of legends, or fairy tales... Vampire Lords, fighting a God, time magic, etc., At first I thought him mad, a side effect from his sickness, but in time it was clear that he was serious. He told me of his friends, those who helped him save the world. The Fellowship he called it. He described you all so well I feel like I know you, though of course I don't."
"When I parted ways with Giles, he told me I would find you all in Jigow. I asked him when, but he just said, whenever you get there, they will be there too. For one who doesn't have much interest in Religion or the Arcane, the monk seems confident in his knowledge of things. He said my path was intertwined with you all, and that I should seek you out, join you, if you'll permit."
"He also said If I ever have a horse, I should name it Cookie, though he never elaborated on that," says the man with a bow, then looks at the meat pies with a sly grin.
Randa had been in town for a few days her long trek had taken her from home up through Igrathad, Asarius and smaller towns she had never learned the name of....but the letter was important. She had always come when her companions had called on her and on the rare occasions she had called on them......slightly less rare in Rivens case.....they had always answered.
So this was Jigow......it was busy, crowded....noisy....all things she disliked immensely. She squatted up on the balcony Ylis and Joy brought a rare smile to her lips as they always had, she was almost certain Riven had spotted her as he almost always did....almost always.....
Ah, there was Vazo'yn.....
She had tracked down and destroyed or......punished.......all those who had attacked her home over the years, most often alone at times with Riven on a couple of occasions with the others.....but she felt bad dragging them into her personal issues........she wasn't really sure why....they'd been through a lot together......even if much of it was......imaginary? inexperienced? whatever...
There had been others that had joined her......mostly mercenaries.....but Mercy.....Mercy had.....she could have been......what could have been.......if Jacaranda hadn't been so impatient.....if only she's waited for Riven or the others but she'd pushed forward.....dragged Mercy with her......into darkness....
In all that time all that loss, failure, success and suffering she had never found herself, her home and people were revenged....she should be satisfied....fulfilled......but she kept leaving home...searching for something.....and she seemed to find some portion of it with them......but even that....it wasn't enough.....there must be more....and so she was here again. Answering the call.
She composed herself and dropped down off the balcony, as she expected Rivens eyes followed her.....he had marked her.....she raised a hand in greeting to the others.....someone unknown was speaking....ah, Giles.......
" Ladies, Gentlemen...........Riven.............how are we on this rather fragrant day?"
Vazo'yn stands quietly at the edge of the group, content to see his friends gathering once more. It lightens his heart to know that, for once, it is only for the enjoyment of being together; there is no world to save, no enemies to defeat, no innocents to save. There are only pies to eat and festival games to win.
A frown dampens the small smile that had curled his lips as a stranger introduces themselves, sent to the Fellowship by Giles. Had the wise monk decided not to come? Vazo'yn struggles to hide his disappointment, though he knows Giles must have his reasons and he of all people cannot begrudge another's choice to follow their own path.
"Well met, Berk. I welcome any friend of Giles. Though I wish he had accompanied you, I know he must have a purpose elsewhere."
He offers Berk a polite dip of his head before gesturing to the full group and then extending his arms widely out to the festival before them.
"Welcome to Xhorhas and the Festival of Merit, my friends. I cannot think of a better place for the Fellowship to reunite."
Riven had sensed her the moment before boots touched the ground. He didn’t need to look to know it was Randa. Ten years hadn’t dulled that familiarity; if anything, it had made it sharper.
When she landed and raised her hand, his eyes tracked her without hesitation. A subtle dip of his head acknowledged her. There was a softness behind it.
“Randa,” he murmured, just for her. “Still scouting from the rooftops. Some habits survive the years better than others.”
She looked older, not in age, but in burden. The kind you didn’t put down, just learned to carry quieter. He knew that weight intimately.
Then came the new comer, Berk. Loud. Smiling. Confident.
Riven’s gaze slid to the stranger, expression unreadable. He let the stranger's tale finish, without interruption. Choosing to remain in that measured every word.
When he was done, he exhaled a quiet breath through his nose, and said flatly:
“Giles always did have a taste for prophecy. And trolls.”
He stepped forward, there was no tension, but no warmth either, just the calm of someone who’d seen too much to take anything at face value.
“You speak like a man who thinks he’s stepped into a tale. But you’re standing in a story none of us are quite done living.”
His eyes shifted to Randa again, just for a moment, and something in him lightened, just slightly.
Then, with a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, and a hint sardonic humor:
“And if Giles told you to name your horse Cookie, then either you’ve earned his trust, or he’s playing a long joke we’ll all regret.”
Riven turned away again, cloak brushing against the trampled planks of the square, voice trailing back over his shoulder.
“Either way, you’re here now. That’s how these things always start.”
Berk let's out a small laugh when Riven mentions the trolls. "Agreed." he responds. "I traveled with him for almost a month, though that was many months ago. He did have a unique sense of humor, which is understandable after all he'd been through. Sorry, after all that you all have been through. I'm sure whatever keeps him from joining you here is important, as he always spoke of The Fellowship with the highest regards."
The young man then turns to take in the sights, sounds and smells of the festival.
Joy hangs on every word of Berk's tale, sighing in relief and giving a laugh by the end. "Any friend of Giles is friend of mine. I'm just glad he recovered safely. Thank you for helping him! You've earned yourself a...uh..." She searches her pockets and then her pouches, finally withdrawing a small list. "'Refreshing Kelp Trost: enjoy the bracing taste--and aftertaste--of the sea with Trost!' I brought enough for everyone..." The Hexblood tries to hide her skepticism at the flavor with her usual smile. When Randa drops down, Joy reacts in complete pleasant surprise as always--her skills of observation haven't improved much over the years, not that they would be much use compared to her friends' stealth anyway. "Oh, Randa, you're here! I should've known you wouldn't miss this!"
When Randa appears, Ylis squeals in feigned surprise and grabs Berk's leg, "Hey you gotta stop scaring people like that, gonna give me white hairs." she giggles.
"Well there's pie eating...and riddles...and...candy!"
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"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
Joy hangs on every word of Berk's tale, sighing in relief and giving a laugh by the end. "Any friend of Giles is friend of mine. I'm just glad he recovered safely. Thank you for helping him! You've earned yourself a...uh..." She searches her pockets and then her pouches, finally withdrawing a small list. "'Refreshing Kelp Trost: enjoy the bracing taste--and aftertaste--of the sea with Trost!' I brought enough for everyone..." The Hexblood tries to hide her skepticism at the flavor with her usual smile. When Randa drops down, Joy reacts in complete pleasant surprise as always--her skills of observation haven't improved much over the years, not that they would be much use compared to her friends' stealth anyway. "Oh, Randa, you're here! I should've known you wouldn't miss this!"
"So, what should we do first?"
" I did however miss you........both of you."
" Its been a while, your both...well...grown....I hope you haven't joined the ranks of us grumpy old folks quite yet though."
A momentary flicker of sadness crossed her features.....the two girls were now women, there was no mistake....they had changed so much in such a short amount of time......she...had not...would not. At least outwardly....
When Randa appears, Ylis squeals in feigned surprise and grabs Berk's leg, "Hey you gotta stop scaring people like that, gonna give me white hairs." she giggles.
"Well there's pie eating...and riddles...and...candy!"
" Well........Ylis hasn't it seems......though perhaps a few more white hairs might see to that."
"I have been visiting with my family for some time," Vazo'yn says to answer Randa. It is not difficult to see the conflict this stirs in the drow's mind, torn between the love he has for them and the wanderlust that draws him back to the road.
"I had many stories to tell them, and even some to tell you all as well, but they can wait until we have had our fill of the festival," he continues.
He turns to Berk with an apologetic nod. "I am Vazo'yn, though perhaps Giles told you who to expect?"
Riven stands still as the others ease into conversation, slipping back into camaraderie like well, worn gloves into familiar hands.
But Riven never quite fits like that.
The edge of his cloak stirs in the breeze, fluttering as festivalgoers pass by. He tilts his head slightly, listening to Vazo’yn speak, though his eyes are elsewhere, scanning the rhythm of the street.
Turning to Joy, he plucks a Kelp Trost from her hand. It smells faintly of brine and sun-dried rope.
He takes a sip. A flicker of distaste crosses his face. He hands it back without a word, a silent apology, a quiet concession to Joy’s relentless optimism.
Then he shifts, not to walk away, but to move with them, part of the Fellowship once more. At their backs, as always. He says nothing at first, but the slight narrowing of his eyes says enough.
His gaze flicks to Randa. Then forward again. “Watch the rhythm of the street,” he murmurs.
“I’m not saying we don’t enjoy ourselves,” he adds. “But lets not have the festivities make us blind."
The highly perceptive Riven is rewarded with the sights and sounds of a roaring festival. Children continue to scamper about, mostly unattended and causing harmless trouble. The predominantly orc and goblinkin city has a distinct cultural rivalry that is a product of these two ancestries putting aside their superficial differences and coming together to form the city. Even so, competition is everywhere.
Most are good natured, but even friendly exchanges are somewhat aggressive. Riven watches as a hobgoblin and an orc argue about who will pay for their shared meal; each one insisting that they themselves pay. The two almost come to blows over the issue as they compete for who is the more generous of the two. They swat at each other’s coin purses while trying to shove their own at the server who waited on them. Then they grapple and fall into the mud, rolling over each other trying to force the other into the mud long enough for them to pay while watchers laugh.
The savory scents of meat, pastry, and spices fill the air around a three-story building mounted on the back of a gigantic tortoise. A cooking stand and a festival stage with a long table are set up at the tortoise’s feet, where an orc stands over a massive oven. She bustles from the oven to the stage and back, placing delicious-looking hand pies at each seat and stacking more of them on a cooling rack nearby.
People are already gathered on stage, including a scrawny young human with a mop of brown hair and a scruffy beard. As the party approaches, the orc calls out in a melodic baritone, “Come to sample the best meat pies this side of the Wastes, yes? I sell ’em for meals up there, but I’m running pie-eating contests down here all day, if you’ve got an orc-sized stomach."
Riven can hear more games happening down the road and based on the activity in the streets, those games will be going long enough for everyone to sample several of them before the day is out.
Pre-Game Post
Below is some information you get before the game begins. Once again, it has been 10 years since most of you battled Otbium, and you have made your way out of the totalitarian Dwendalian Empire into the Kryn Dynasty. You can choose if this happened individually, or as a group, but you all will begin in Jigow. Discuss and decide how long you have been in Jigow and for what purpose. Was it to escape the Dwendalian Empire for practicing a banned faith or was it some other reason? Did the others come with you or did you part ways for some years, only to reunite for some continued adventures?
Book Information for the Fellowship:
Kryn Dynasty. The Kryn Dynasty is the dominant nation in Xhorhas. It was founded by a drow queen named Leylas Kryn, who fled the Underdark and the tyrannical rule of Lolth the Spider Queen along with her disciples. The Bright Queen still rules the dynasty centuries later, and its cities contain more than just drow. Orcs, goblinoids, tieflings, humans, and many others call the cities of the dynasty their home. Countless more denizens of the dynasty are nomads who roam the wastes in clans, hunting mastodons and other Xhorhasian megafauna.
Jigow. This coastal settlement is actually a string of villages that are home to a collection of folk from all over Xhorhas. Goblin and orc clans founded Jigow, which explains why the settlement is governed by two elders—a goblin and an orc. The Aurora Watch (the military arm of the Kryn Dynasty) maintains a presence here, under the command of a drow called Taskhand Durth Mirimm.
Townsfolk tend to be competitive, and friendly rivalries are commonplace. Most of Jigow’s residents live in a central region called the Jumble. Humans do exist in the Kryn Dynasty, but they and elves not of drow descent are a minority. Of Jigow's 13,000+ people, there are approximately 200 humans and 50 non-drow elves. Most in Jigow are goblinkin or orc.
The Luxon. The official deity of the Kryn Dynasty, whose symbol appears on the nation’s heraldry, is the Luxon. This mysterious divine entity of light and rebirth has granted its faithful several esoteric secrets, the greatest of which is consecution—the act of preparing one’s soul for rebirth. Through consecution, some people within the Kryn Dynasty have lived many lifetimes, often in bodies different from the ones they were first born in. In the sequence of consecution, a drow might become a goblin, then be reborn as a bugbear, then an orc, and so on—all the while gaining greater knowledge about the world through their experiences. This process has no mechanical benefit, but players can make consecution and rebirth an interesting part of their characters’ back stories.
If a follower of the Luxon who has undergone the ritual of consecution dies within 100 miles of a Luxon beacon, their soul is ensnared by it and reincarnated within the body of a random Humanoid newborn within 100 miles of the beacon.
Call of the Netherdeep has elements of trauma, emotional distress, and some minor body horror, any or all of which might befall your PC. If this is a problem for any of you, please reach out to me privately to discuss it.
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The Fellowship are once again reunited! In the 10 years, the party has gone their separate ways and come together, at least in part, to share in some adventure. It never quite seemed like the Fellowship had ever really broken; each meeting and parting felt right. You have experienced success, failure, gained friends, lost some to disagreements and death; you experienced the life of an adventurer. Every time you met with your friends, the Fellowship, it was like old times. You have a connection with each other that is not easy to break.
Vazo'yn had recently contacted you all by letter, and invited you to the Kryn Dynasty. He never let anyone in the group grow too distant and had been like a lasso, pulling the wayward group back together from time to time. Joy and Ylis had become inseparable over the years, as they were both the only children in the group once Otbium was defeated. Randa was nearby anyway, and Riven, well, he has been hard to pin down over the years, but like Vazo'yn, had occasionally met and shared adventures with the group. Giles' story had been told, however, and once he knew how to defeat the creature that had killed his friends, his intent was to do it again but for good this time. He is off somewhere, mind fixed on training to achieve that one goal. You all know that he will succeed, because he already had.
Vazo'yn's letter speaks of an annual festival. One that is known across the Kryn Dynasty and even certain parts of the Dwendalian Empire. Dwendalian security on the border separating the two kingdoms is especially tight at this time of the year, but after all that you had gone through, a simple border checkpoint is a small matter to get through for those who were still there at the time they were invited to the festival.
Jigow is divided into three main districts: the Meatwaters or dock area for fishing and shipping, the Wetwalks, a housing/farming district with houses on stilts over the northwest marshes (primarily rice), and the Jumble, the main city hub within Jigow, detailed below. Fortunately, Vazo'yn was kind enough to include a map in his invitation:
You have entered the Jumble, a large district of tangled roads and single-story buildings in the town of Jigow. Throngs of people, most of them orcs and goblins, move through the streets, laughing, singing, running, and sightseeing. All are enthralled by the raucous sights and sounds of the town’s Festival of Merit.
You hear snippets of conversations as people pass by: a goblin mother telling her children not to go near the baby horizonback tortoises, a drow guard in shining insectile armor complaining to his partner that his gauntlet was crushed by a hulking orc while arm-wrestling, and a pair of young orcs in swimwear hollering as they rush toward the banks of the Ifolon River.
All around you, colorful signs and banners point toward festival booths surrounded by cheering people. On this street alone, you can see a meat-pie eating contest near a shop mounted on the back of a massive tortoise, and on the other side of the road, a banner emblazoned with the words “Riddles and Rhymes: Unbeatable Riddles!” That banner points toward a three-story temple in the center of the Jumble. You meet Vazo'yn upon entering the Jumble. The town is yours to explore—where do you want to go?
In your introductory post, begin by answering the following:
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The air smelled of brine and festival smoke, roast meat, sweat, and river muck. Laughter from revelers echoed off tortoise-backed shops and half-sunken buildings.
Riven stood at the edge of it all, half-shadowed beneath a leaning post draped in bright silk. He hadn’t even stepped into the square before a cluster of children ran past him, chasing a drumbeat, or perhaps their own excitement. None touched him. None truly saw him.
Vazo’yn’s letter still rested in his coat, folded once. He hadn’t needed to read it twice. He never did. The moment he’d seen that tight, looping script, he knew he’d come. No matter how far one drifted, Vazo’yn's pull remained.
It had been ten years since Otbium fell.
In the aftermath, Riven had changed, he had learned to draw echoes of himself from timelines that never were. Sometimes they struck where he had not yet moved; sometimes it felt like he occupied two positions simultaneously, but always it appeared slightly altered a manifestation of himself on a path not chosen.
This echo was more than a weapon. It was a question: Who are you? And who could you become?
But for all his mastery, his mother remained lost.
He had found traces.
But no truth.
No body.
No goodbye.
The loss hung heavy. Not knowing, that was its own kind of agony.
He didn’t want guesses.
He wanted truth. What befell her that day so long ago?
A gust of wind stirred the crowded street. Riven’s cloak shifted. His gaze returned to the living present, the festival, vibrant and loud. Ahead, he saw the Fellowship gathered once more. He stepped forward, boots soft on the muddied planks. For a moment, an echo shimmered at his side, then gone.
He moved toward his friends.
He didn’t smile. But his eyes softened, just a little.
“Hail thee, and well met.
It has been a while…”
A bit in the past...
"Aw Joy, if you didn't come by I coulda been with that guy!" Ylis points at a wagon receding down the road.
"No, you would have ended up missing."
"But he had a puppy!"
"White wagon. And did you actually SEE the puppy?
"Well ...he said he had a puppy...and fairy floss!"
"NO."
*Sulk*
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
It has been many years since Vazo'yn trekked his way out of the mountain home of his people. That fateful vision that set him on the path to defeating a god; the grand destiny that he lived in another lifetime. It seemed so long ago now, but perhaps it was also yet to happen. He had soon learned not to think too hard on it and accept it for what it was: an experience that changed him forever and brought the Fellowship into his life.
The ten years since Otbium's fall have been filled with discovery for Vazo'yn. He has traveled much of the world, a wanderlust overtaking him once their task was fulfilled. He traveled the roads with a fervent wonder, though they always managed to lead him back to the Fellowship, either individually or to those fateful times when they would find themselves all together again.
Not too long ago...
With a grunt and a crack! the lock on the door was broken.
"Hey kids! We've come to save you!" Ylis' hopeful cheer was sudden drowned in the stench of death. The room was a nightmare and the children...they must have suffered before the end.
"Wait...waitwatiwait." She looked around in horror. "We helped their parents come up with the ransom!...We did everything the kidnappers said!" Tears began to run down her face. "Why would they do this!? We gave them the money!"
Ylis shouts to the sky, "We gave you the money! Why did you do this!?"
"Joy, we need to hunt those mother cluckers down."
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
On their way to Jigow the group of friends looked to the sky and saw a ship. It was an ungainly thing, old paint, mis-matched sails. But it sparked something in the bunny girl's imagination. "I'm gonna get me one of those some day." Ylis nods at the ship, "Paint it pink and give it butterfly wings...yup."
Trotting into town, The atmosphere was contagious, everyone seemed to be having a good time, lots of laughter and cheer, "Ooh honey cakes! Come on let's get some snacks!"
"Hey Riv, I bet I can eat more meat pies then you! Come on!"
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Joy hadn’t realized ten years could pass so quickly. After Otbium’s fall and the world's breathless restoration, she’d surprised even herself by taking to the road—not as a paladin bound to grim duty, but as a young woman curious about life. She had apprenticed herself to a Trost merchant and soon found that bartering and blessing went hand in hand. She’d learned to haggle in Ank’Harel, healed an entire village of swamp-fever with little more than willowbark and stubborn optimism, and lit many a roadside shrine with a smile and her lantern. The Dawnfather, she had come to believe, wasn’t just the god of new days but also of open roads, salt air, and every horizon that pulled you forward. Ylis had been at her side through most of it, often getting into trouble, and Joy had learned—usually the hard way—that one of them had to be the cautious one.
But not even faith and experience could shield her from sorrow. Hunt as they might, the trail of the childrens' killers had quickly gone cold. The thought that they were still out there haunted her. Then, a letter had reached her just weeks ago: the Brightlight, her friend Tamsin’s ship, had vanished somewhere near the Dwendalian border. It wasn’t pirates or a storm this time, but patrols. Needlessness. Cruelty under the banner of politics. She had wept alone in a stranger’s house and left her lantern burning all night.
Now, in the thick of Jigow’s laughter and revelry, Joy casts that grief aside like a discarded cloak. She jogs through the bustling Jumble at Ylis’ side, eyes shining and dandelion crown perched proudly atop her head. She nearly trips in her excitement when she spots Vazo’yn’s familiar silhouette and doesn’t hesitate before throwing her arms around him in a bright hug. “I missed you! Are you hosting riddles or meat pies?” she laughs, her armor adorned with seashell charms and dangling Trost talismans. “I brought some sun-kissed mango jam and five different kinds of Trost—so I hope everyone's hungry.” She waves at Riven next with a glowing grin. “If we’re competing, you’re going down.”
| Kaelen - Shadar-kai Gloom Stalker Ranger - Old Keep | Lira - Half-elf Thief Rogue/Druid - Allansia | Teryn - High Elf Archfey Warlock - Runewarren | Zoveldra - Kalashtar Open Hand Monk - Eberron | Mavilius - Tiefling Eloquence Bard - Golden Vault | Vannithos - Shadar-kai Astral Self Monk - Von Nichts | Cassian - Human Paladin - Dragonlance |
Riven dipped his head slightly at Vazo’yn’s greeting, the edge of something like amusement coming across his expression.
“You’re aging gracefully,” he said. “Almost makes me believe in time’s mercy.”
Ylis’s voice followed, bright, brash, and undeterred by the years. Riven arched a brow at her challenge.
“You could try,” he murmured, stepping into the circle. “Though I seem to recall you were once a vegetarian. Or was that a different version of you?"
When Joy turned her grin on him, he didn’t smile, but his posture eased, ever so slightly. His voice lowered and became warmer. “If this is a contest of appetite, I’ll lose with dignity."
His gaze moves between them. For a moment, the weight of a decade lightened on his shoulders.
He didn’t say he’d missed them. He didn’t have to.
An unfamiliar voice calls out "Have you ever seen a Goliath eat? I have, I'm sure I can best you in a pie eating contest Ylis!"
As the group turns to take in the man delivering his challenge, he smiles and looks at each one individually, calling them by name. Noticing your confused looks, he continues, "forgive me, my name is Berk, from ... well where I'm from is a bit of a mystery, but most recently, I lived in the mountains of the Penumbra Range to the south. But fate called me from my home and family in the mountains. Upon my journey, I happened across a dwarf. A monk of some skill, who had fallen ill. Some pox, or virus had infected him, and he sequestered himself in a cave, meditating and healing. I happened to stumble upon him the same time as a group of trolls did. I saved his life, burning the wretched things as he pummeled them. We became friends. You can probably guess of whom I speak of."
"Over the time we spent together, he told me many tales. Grand tales, stuff of legends, or fairy tales... Vampire Lords, fighting a God, time magic, etc., At first I thought him mad, a side effect from his sickness, but in time it was clear that he was serious. He told me of his friends, those who helped him save the world. The Fellowship he called it. He described you all so well I feel like I know you, though of course I don't."
"When I parted ways with Giles, he told me I would find you all in Jigow. I asked him when, but he just said, whenever you get there, they will be there too. For one who doesn't have much interest in Religion or the Arcane, the monk seems confident in his knowledge of things. He said my path was intertwined with you all, and that I should seek you out, join you, if you'll permit."
"He also said If I ever have a horse, I should name it Cookie, though he never elaborated on that," says the man with a bow, then looks at the meat pies with a sly grin.
Randa had been in town for a few days her long trek had taken her from home up through Igrathad, Asarius and smaller towns she had never learned the name of....but the letter was important. She had always come when her companions had called on her and on the rare occasions she had called on them......slightly less rare in Rivens case.....they had always answered.
So this was Jigow......it was busy, crowded....noisy....all things she disliked immensely. She squatted up on the balcony Ylis and Joy brought a rare smile to her lips as they always had, she was almost certain Riven had spotted her as he almost always did....almost always.....
Ah, there was Vazo'yn.....
She had tracked down and destroyed or......punished.......all those who had attacked her home over the years, most often alone at times with Riven on a couple of occasions with the others.....but she felt bad dragging them into her personal issues........she wasn't really sure why....they'd been through a lot together......even if much of it was......imaginary? inexperienced? whatever...
There had been others that had joined her......mostly mercenaries.....but Mercy.....Mercy had.....she could have been......what could have been.......if Jacaranda hadn't been so impatient.....if only she's waited for Riven or the others but she'd pushed forward.....dragged Mercy with her......into darkness....
In all that time all that loss, failure, success and suffering she had never found herself, her home and people were revenged....she should be satisfied....fulfilled......but she kept leaving home...searching for something.....and she seemed to find some portion of it with them......but even that....it wasn't enough.....there must be more....and so she was here again. Answering the call.
She composed herself and dropped down off the balcony, as she expected Rivens eyes followed her.....he had marked her.....she raised a hand in greeting to the others.....someone unknown was speaking....ah, Giles.......
" Ladies, Gentlemen...........Riven.............how are we on this rather fragrant day?"
Vazo'yn stands quietly at the edge of the group, content to see his friends gathering once more. It lightens his heart to know that, for once, it is only for the enjoyment of being together; there is no world to save, no enemies to defeat, no innocents to save. There are only pies to eat and festival games to win.
A frown dampens the small smile that had curled his lips as a stranger introduces themselves, sent to the Fellowship by Giles. Had the wise monk decided not to come? Vazo'yn struggles to hide his disappointment, though he knows Giles must have his reasons and he of all people cannot begrudge another's choice to follow their own path.
"Well met, Berk. I welcome any friend of Giles. Though I wish he had accompanied you, I know he must have a purpose elsewhere."
He offers Berk a polite dip of his head before gesturing to the full group and then extending his arms widely out to the festival before them.
"Welcome to Xhorhas and the Festival of Merit, my friends. I cannot think of a better place for the Fellowship to reunite."
Riven had sensed her the moment before boots touched the ground. He didn’t need to look to know it was Randa. Ten years hadn’t dulled that familiarity; if anything, it had made it sharper.
When she landed and raised her hand, his eyes tracked her without hesitation. A subtle dip of his head acknowledged her. There was a softness behind it.
“Randa,” he murmured, just for her. “Still scouting from the rooftops. Some habits survive the years better than others.”
She looked older, not in age, but in burden. The kind you didn’t put down, just learned to carry quieter. He knew that weight intimately.
Then came the new comer, Berk. Loud. Smiling. Confident.
Riven’s gaze slid to the stranger, expression unreadable. He let the stranger's tale finish, without interruption. Choosing to remain in that measured every word.
When he was done, he exhaled a quiet breath through his nose, and said flatly:
“Giles always did have a taste for prophecy. And trolls.”
He stepped forward, there was no tension, but no warmth either, just the calm of someone who’d seen too much to take anything at face value.
“You speak like a man who thinks he’s stepped into a tale. But you’re standing in a story none of us are quite done living.”
His eyes shifted to Randa again, just for a moment, and something in him lightened, just slightly.
Then, with a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, and a hint sardonic humor:
“And if Giles told you to name your horse Cookie, then either you’ve earned his trust, or he’s playing a long joke we’ll all regret.”
Riven turned away again, cloak brushing against the trampled planks of the square, voice trailing back over his shoulder.
“Either way, you’re here now. That’s how these things always start.”
Berk let's out a small laugh when Riven mentions the trolls. "Agreed." he responds. "I traveled with him for almost a month, though that was many months ago. He did have a unique sense of humor, which is understandable after all he'd been through. Sorry, after all that you all have been through. I'm sure whatever keeps him from joining you here is important, as he always spoke of The Fellowship with the highest regards."
The young man then turns to take in the sights, sounds and smells of the festival.
Joy hangs on every word of Berk's tale, sighing in relief and giving a laugh by the end. "Any friend of Giles is friend of mine. I'm just glad he recovered safely. Thank you for helping him! You've earned yourself a...uh..." She searches her pockets and then her pouches, finally withdrawing a small list. "'Refreshing Kelp Trost: enjoy the bracing taste--and aftertaste--of the sea with Trost!' I brought enough for everyone..." The Hexblood tries to hide her skepticism at the flavor with her usual smile. When Randa drops down, Joy reacts in complete pleasant surprise as always--her skills of observation haven't improved much over the years, not that they would be much use compared to her friends' stealth anyway. "Oh, Randa, you're here! I should've known you wouldn't miss this!"
"So, what should we do first?"
| Kaelen - Shadar-kai Gloom Stalker Ranger - Old Keep | Lira - Half-elf Thief Rogue/Druid - Allansia | Teryn - High Elf Archfey Warlock - Runewarren | Zoveldra - Kalashtar Open Hand Monk - Eberron | Mavilius - Tiefling Eloquence Bard - Golden Vault | Vannithos - Shadar-kai Astral Self Monk - Von Nichts | Cassian - Human Paladin - Dragonlance |
When Randa appears, Ylis squeals in feigned surprise and grabs Berk's leg, "Hey you gotta stop scaring people like that, gonna give me white hairs." she giggles.
"Well there's pie eating...and riddles...and...candy!"
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
" I did however miss you........both of you."
" Its been a while, your both...well...grown....I hope you haven't joined the ranks of us grumpy old folks quite yet though."
A momentary flicker of sadness crossed her features.....the two girls were now women, there was no mistake....they had changed so much in such a short amount of time......she...had not...would not. At least outwardly....
" Well........Ylis hasn't it seems......though perhaps a few more white hairs might see to that."
"How have you been? Really?"
"I have been visiting with my family for some time," Vazo'yn says to answer Randa. It is not difficult to see the conflict this stirs in the drow's mind, torn between the love he has for them and the wanderlust that draws him back to the road.
"I had many stories to tell them, and even some to tell you all as well, but they can wait until we have had our fill of the festival," he continues.
He turns to Berk with an apologetic nod. "I am Vazo'yn, though perhaps Giles told you who to expect?"
Riven stands still as the others ease into conversation, slipping back into camaraderie like well, worn gloves into familiar hands.
But Riven never quite fits like that.
The edge of his cloak stirs in the breeze, fluttering as festivalgoers pass by. He tilts his head slightly, listening to Vazo’yn speak, though his eyes are elsewhere, scanning the rhythm of the street.
Turning to Joy, he plucks a Kelp Trost from her hand. It smells faintly of brine and sun-dried rope.
He takes a sip. A flicker of distaste crosses his face. He hands it back without a word, a silent apology, a quiet concession to Joy’s relentless optimism.
Then he shifts, not to walk away, but to move with them, part of the Fellowship once more. At their backs, as always. He says nothing at first, but the slight narrowing of his eyes says enough.
His gaze flicks to Randa. Then forward again. “Watch the rhythm of the street,” he murmurs.
“I’m not saying we don’t enjoy ourselves,” he adds. “But lets not have the festivities make us blind."
Perception check: (16+4)=20
The highly perceptive Riven is rewarded with the sights and sounds of a roaring festival. Children continue to scamper about, mostly unattended and causing harmless trouble. The predominantly orc and goblinkin city has a distinct cultural rivalry that is a product of these two ancestries putting aside their superficial differences and coming together to form the city. Even so, competition is everywhere.
Most are good natured, but even friendly exchanges are somewhat aggressive. Riven watches as a hobgoblin and an orc argue about who will pay for their shared meal; each one insisting that they themselves pay. The two almost come to blows over the issue as they compete for who is the more generous of the two. They swat at each other’s coin purses while trying to shove their own at the server who waited on them. Then they grapple and fall into the mud, rolling over each other trying to force the other into the mud long enough for them to pay while watchers laugh.
The savory scents of meat, pastry, and spices fill the air around a three-story building mounted on the back of a gigantic tortoise. A cooking stand and a festival stage with a long table are set up at the tortoise’s feet, where an orc stands over a massive oven. She bustles from the oven to the stage and back, placing delicious-looking hand pies at each seat and stacking more of them on a cooling rack nearby.
People are already gathered on stage, including a scrawny young human with a mop of brown hair and a scruffy beard. As the party approaches, the orc calls out in a melodic baritone, “Come to sample the best meat pies this side of the Wastes, yes? I sell ’em for meals up there, but I’m running pie-eating contests down here all day, if you’ve got an orc-sized stomach."
Riven can hear more games happening down the road and based on the activity in the streets, those games will be going long enough for everyone to sample several of them before the day is out.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
EXTENDED SIGNATURE!
Doctor/Published Scholar/Science and Healthcare Advocate/Critter/Trekkie/Gandalf with a Glock
Try DDB free: Free Rules (2024), premade PCs, adventures, one shots, encounters, SC, homebrew, more
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