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In: Curse of Innistrahd, Dungeons and Dragons 5th Ed

In the memories of granite peaks and gray-green pines, Strephan Maurer was a fixture of Stensia. Not a god, though that was a word lost to the minds and lips of its people. He was a force, like the capricious wind and rains. Eternal, inexorable. Yet some people, crazy all of them, thought he could be killed.

In the Inland Valleys they wrote him off as a loss. The vampires were a menace to all, but the grace of angels could only be asked for so much. And where his domain stayed nestled in the outland valleys, away from the cities and homes that comprised much of the province. He was a bad dream, but not the nightmare the Markov or Voldaren families were. And so he was a thought for those inside.

Krezk stood resolute, recognizing his might but shying from his shadow. It was too hard to hold your ground against someone you fear. The Baron and Baroness would not be cowed however. Their voices were for their people, their prayers were within their hands, and their blood was of the mountains. They were Krezk, in name, body, and soul. But they were defenders, not warriors. And a bet was too much to take.

Still smelling of burnt Hawthorne and collared by martial law, Pallas was fraying at the seams. It had been a long time since it had been whole, unmarred by the stains of blood and dribble of sycophants. Long enough that the folk expected it. And endured it. The shell of the Wachter clan had no sway any more, and barely enough thought to contemplate their twice cursed fate. The family Martikov maintained their inn, hoping drink and passion could bring some light into this darkness. But a gentle glow does little to an abyss. And the Inquisitor Seeta feared a flash in the pan, a misleading light to drag those further into the dark like a corpse candle. That fiend was too much for anyone, despite her prayers to the otherwise. But she wanted to stand for this town and these people. A shield. An aegis. But she could only hold for so long.

And sunken below the castle’s reach was the broken town of Shadowgrange interred in the vampire’s grasp. The people there were husks, barely living their day to day. The shopkeeper had forgotten kindness, relying on foolhardy folk and need to bring him business. The priest lost to uncertainty and fear. And the man known as Ismark was worried and perplexed in the rising dawn. And in the weary hearts of those warriors of ours at the church perhaps there was uncertainty too.

But despite the pain and fear, there was still a truth: They fought off his wishes, maybe his best: And won. So here we are. The final hour. And it’s approaching dawn.

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In: Deadlands, Fallen Flags

Dear Diary, after a laborious and unnecessarily invasive customs process that lost me a rather expensive penknife, I’ve settled into the Mormon State of Deseret in general and Salt Lake City in specific. I’ve lucked into a rather nice room in a social club on the outside of the “Junkyard”, as it’s called, the air of which has left an indelible impression on my lungs. Speaking of, I can’t help but notice from the equally dirty language on the way in that none of the workers seem satisfied with their lots in life. No surprise, given that their bodies are being exchanged for bread and circuses, as it were, and their injuries are resolved at their own expense only insofar as they return them to work. This place is a powder keg, the wick dampened by staccato drips of water from the Church, Hellstromme, and the backbreaking despair of indentured servitude. Which is exactly why I plan to get out before things come to a head, longarm in tow. The rifle, that is. Not a mechanically lengthened arm. Curse this town for making me clarify that.

-Recovered from a soot-stained page in the diary of an unnamed debt collector, written mid-August, 1877

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In: Curse of Innistrahd, Dungeons and Dragons 5th Ed

Raya and Izolda were always together. Twins in shape and spirit. Blood of their blood. From birth under the azure skies of Gavony to their abroad studies in Nephalia and travels with stuffy parents. And when one fell, their carriage turned and destroyed, they fell together. And there was nothing that Strephan Maurer liked more than vanity. A matched set, immaculate but for the blood marks against their feet. He put care in, his focus on his new pets, soldiers, dolls. Eventually he grew bored, and moved on. But Raya and Izolda were still together, still strong together. And the world was so weak to the wills of those willing to put in the effort. And the charms of young children, a hidden vampire was more than enough for most. But they learned their might, of magic and skill. They had eternity to learn. As long as they were together, they would never fall.

As long as they were together.

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In: Non-AP

Another year, another Gen Con down.  The most of our clan came that has ever come, and we have a lot of stories to tell.  Come with us, internet, on a robust adventure.

Check out our other panels and Gen Con content here:

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Agency Internal Dossier
TOP SECRET – US EYES ONLY
Verification Code 20-5-19-12-1
Subject: Dr. Gregory Tremane, PhD/Professorship (Electrical Engineering from Massachusetts Institute of Technology)
Author: “Tom Bondsley”, Field Agent

Dr. Gregory Tremane is, to put it mildly, a doddering old man beyond his years. Interacting with him is almost an exercise in futility, but it’s clear from his works that he is a beyond brilliant, if largely absent-minded scientist. To his credit, he’s found a way to put himself wholly off the junkyard power grid, though there’s speculation that the method he uses to power his house fried his brain years ago. Even still, for multiple reasons, he is dangerous and not to be overlooked. Not only is he the mind behind Smith and Robards’ now-famous “Electrostatic Armaments”, his house itself is a deathtrap of disrepair on top of a mountain. Recommend biweekly surveillance. By more recently recruited Agents. It would not do to lose a more experienced Agent to a ninety-foot drop in the name of checking in on a man that’s barely aware of his surroundings.

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