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The chill wind howls through the crumbling parapets, whipping my hair about and burning my face, chapping it a bright red. I draw my fur collar close to my skin, and curse softly to myself as it makes no difference. The cold is so pervasive that it invades every fiber of my being. My bones...

Agh, I forgot about those stupid humanoids. Thanks for pointing that out.

I'm surprised Amn isn't higher on everyone's list. Amn has tremendous wealth, a large population, a large army, some of the biggest centers of civilization in all of Faerun, and is to date the only nation that has gone transcontinental with its monopoly over Maztica and Maztican goods. I don't...

After Lorken’s demise, we decided to examine his last place of residence, a townhouse in Waterdeep’s wealthy quarter. Obtaining the address from Gobinda, we arrived at his home and entered the front door using the key so generously donated to us by Lorken’s corpse. Upon entering, the wall spoke...

From Shadows of the Past: The Collected Memoirs of Arundel Berethani (Abridged): It began, as many things do, as an accident. A cold day in the month of Hammer, a shortage of supplies, inexperience- whatever the reason, many wanderers came upon the village of Howlett that day, knowing not...

After nearly two years of poking, prodding, and cajoling, I've finally conceded and decided to write a story hour based off of my long running D&D 3E campaign set in the Forgotten Realms, Shadows of the Past. This campaign began in February of 2001, and has continued unabated for the two years...

Calain murmurs and the lightning vanishes. "Fools." With a twirl, he stalks off, fists clenched.

Calain growls, his eyes burning. "And what is your solution? Let this vermin run free in exchange for a trinket? Your sheer irresponsibility disgusts me. This bastard tried to kill me, all of us. Unless he concedes, I intend to finish what he could not and send him back to where he belongs."

Calain frowns. "You have five seconds."

Calain shakes his head. "No deal, worm. You forget your life is at stake here. What lair will you then be able to secure but the one already reserved for you in hell?" He moves the ball closer. "Swear that you will not resort to such means again, and go north, or you will die."

(OOC) I've been quiet pretty much for the reason that I'm the simple mage, and tactical decisions don't have much of an impact on me. I say what spells I churn out, they get churned out, done. What seems to happen, though, that I HAVE been affected by, is that I can't say with confidence that...

Calain keeps the lightning poised to strike. "You will learn your lesson from this. Relinquish any items you have stolen. Then fly away to the coldest, most distant place you can think of. Stay there, trouble no one again, and I will not come for you. Violate these terms, and you shall suffer...

"Your tricks do nothing, demon. Speak your surrender or die."

Calain growls and withdraws the ball just enough so that it is no longer striking the dragon. "You have exactly twenty seconds to make your surrender, coward. If I do not find it satisfactory, I will burn you back to whichever hell spawned you."

(back, took a week longer than I expected, but I'm here again) Calain falters, his skin dried like parchment as he desperately fumbles for his potion belt, his hands on fire as the skin flakes. He clumsily downs a Potion of Endurance and growls viciously, weakly assuming a casting stance...

Calain looks at Ubaar and cracks a smirk. "Well, at least you didn't preach, and you DID offer to get me drunk, so I'll take you up on that ale." Calain takes a big fat swig and leans further back, his eyes staring straight forward... (I will be out of town from Monday-Thursday. In that off...

Calain speaks without opening his eyes. "Evil? A worthless label applied to those things one finds unsavory. Your definitions are riddled with double standards. We murdered many people today, whether you discount them as vermin or not. You, and I, and all of us, are murderers. Deal with it."...

Calain looks up at Alexander, his eyes glaring, his face spattered with drow blood from his dagger. He laughs. "You're happy that 'I'm fine,' eh? You want my 'input,' think it would be 'appreciated?' Don't presume to think that I have any interest in helping you or any of your motley little...

Calain wakes up from his massive wounds and sits weakly against the mast, looking angrily at, well, everyone, his hand clutched to a still-oozing arrow wound. He mutters something to himself, and sighs.

Calain bleeds courageously.