Lo, this unworthy scribe must beseech the dear reader for forgiveness for allowing nearly two fortnights to pass before continuing his tale. Thus, the details of our heroes’ journey to the cavernous depths in search of the tainted aether rift are largely lost to the ravages of time and a foggy memory. Yea, a reader might even question the qualifications of a bard who, through his own malfeasance is unable to fulfill his primary duty as a weaver of tales. While sound in its reasoning, this criticism falls fatally to the dearth of bards in the present age. When taken to its logical conclusion, this line of reasoning concludes in stating that you, beloved reader, can fuck right off, because I’m the only game in town.
So the odd trio of adventurers decided to go investigate the tainted aether. They ran into some weird underground society who needed help getting rid of a giant spider-demon with nasty venom spits. They sent some of their own along with the team to destroy the Weaver, but Elzalath made a mental connection with the Weaver by leveraging its connection to that one death-god we all know and Elz loves. Then we found the aether rift, Elz stuck her arm in it to gain a shitload of power, and the rebellion lady and her helper came to try to figure shit out with the heroes. The crew simultaneously suspects the cavern is rotten with the city guard folk as well.
Will our heroes get out of this jam? Will they empower the disenfranchised or save Faerun? Will I write the next play session in a timely enough manner to actually include details? Tune in next time to find out!