Var-esh: Ashes to Ashes - Part 3

"Var-esh: Ashes to Ashes" is a narrative retelling of a single-player Dungeons & Dragons campaign run by ChatGPT. The images included in this post were created by ChatGPT's image generator, Sora, based on descriptions provided throughout the campaign, and the story was driven by AI and shaped by decisions made by a human and his dice rolls along the way.

Previously:

• Part 1
• Part 2

After a long and treacherous journey through the woods outside of Gavinsboro, Var-esh and his party, disguised as prisoners, entered The Circle of Ash's territory under the watchful eye of Sheriff Renlow, now a willing if not completely trustworthy ally, who had finally regained his composure after being tied up and interrogated in the woods. Var-esh's other companions—Kaelin, Thalen, and Algren—were in a precarious position, with their main objective being to rescue the kidnapped children, Thomas Darrin and Celia Markham, and to uncover the nefarious dealings of The Circle of Ash.

Upon entering the cultists' stronghold, Var-esh was met by a terrifying, masked figure known the Ash Mother, the leader of The Circle. At the demand of the Ash Mother, Renlow, Kaelin and the two undead bodyguards roughly corralled Var-esh inside a ritual chamber, where stood several hooded cultists next to a large basin that the Ash Mother referred to as "The Vessel."

The Vessel was a large, enigmatic object, seemingly crafted from a dark, stone-like material, with intricate carvings and symbols etched into its surface. It exuded an unsettling aura, as if it held the essence of something ancient and malevolent. Despite its imposing appearance, the Vessel was fragile, its surface cracked and shattered in places, like a relic from a long-forgotten time. It pulsed faintly with an unnatural energy, and its presence seemed to draw the eye, invoking both curiosity and fear. Though its exact purpose remained unclear, it seemed to be a powerful conduit or artifact tied to dark rituals and forgotten magic. And it seemed that this object was the central piece of the necromancing rituals of The Circle of Ash.

The Ash Mother made an attempt to manipulate Var-esh with promises of releasing one of the children, but Var-esh saw through her tricks. He bargained for both children to be brought before him, hoping to find a way to free them without falling into the cult's hands.

After an intense exchange with the Ash Mother, during which she taunted Var-esh and attempted to manipulate his emotions, the heroic paladin successfully handed Thomas his beloved wooden dragon, a reminder of his life back in Gavinsboro. Var-esh then made a move to shield the child, and from that point on, combat erupted as his allies engaged the cultists in a battle to the death.

The fight was brutal and intense. Var-esh led the charge with his mighty longsword, cutting through the ranks of the cultists, while the Ash Mother and her followers fought fiercely. Var-esh dealt devastating blows to the Ash Mother, using his abilities like Thunderous Smite, Searing Smite, and his breath weapon, which caused fiery destruction to his enemies. Despite the overwhelming odds, Var-esh and his allies managed to wear down the cultists, with many falling to their strikes.

Throughout the battle, Var-esh displayed mercy and resolve. Despite the chaos, he considered the cost of vengeance, especially after seeing the toll it had taken on Sheriff Renlow, who had lost his wife and son to the machinations of the cult. Var-esh’s thoughts also drifted to Thalen and Algren, whose mortal lives had been taken by The Circle of Ash and turned into harbingers of evil due to no fault of their own.

Calling upon the power of the Dragon’s Heart and searching for wisdom from the Great Tar-ell—the protector of Var-esh's fallen hometown of Saurothax, Var-esh decided to slay the Ash Mother, once and for all, as a way to restore peace to the land. When the Ash Mother finally fell, the remaining cultists scrambled in disarray. With her death, Var-esh knew that the ritual to bring dark forces back into the world was halted.

Var-esh spent a tender moment with Thomas and Celia, explaining that their mothers would be expecting them back home in Gavinsboro. He also checked on the rest of his allies, particularly Thalen and Algren, whose spirits seemed to be lifted, even if just slightly, by the vanquishing of the Circle of Ash. Var-esh also extended a hand to Sheriff Renlow, offering forgiveness despite his past transgressions.

With the party able to rest for a moment after a truly brutal battle, Var-esh took a moment to sanctify the land with a prayer, clutching the Dragon’s Heart and offering a solemn blessing to banish the darkness and begin the healing process for the land corrupted by The Circle of Ash:

“Great Tar-ell, Keeper of the Flame Eternal… I stand where evil once festered. I ask now for your light to purify this ground. Let no more children cry here. Let no more blood soak these stones. And let this land—though broken—begin to heal.”

After destroying the Ash Mother's robes and carefully salvaging the Vessel, which had nearly shattered to pieces during the raging battle, Var-esh made sure to cleanse the ritual chamber of any lingering traces of dark magic as a way to protect the land from future evil. This act of restoration would not likely be permanent, but it was a start—a chance for the land to recover from the evil that had plagued it for so long.

Var-esh then destroyed the animal-bone wind chime that had been suspiciously tied to the cult's dark activities. Although he never truly discovered its significance, Var-esh gratefully rid himself of its presence, scattering its fragments, then dusting the ground with the vials of Monster Repellent Powder that he had purchased back in town to further safeguard the area.

After collecting what loot remained—coins, potions, and a Cloak of Protection—Var-esh made the decision to leave the ruins behind and head back to Gavinsboro. But the party would not be leaving empty-handed. Algren found a rickety wagon that could be used to transport the Vessel back to the Tomb of Vellin—a sacred place that the party felt would be an appropriate final resting place for the magical artifact. The journey would be long and arduous, but with the children safe and the Ash Mother defeated, Var-esh felt a sense of purpose in returning the Vessel back to the place where this entire adventure started several days ago.

And so, with his mission accomplished—for now—Var-esh and his party began their trek back to Gavinsboro, carrying the weight of the day's triumphs, but also knowing that they had a long road ahead of them.

The journey back to Gavinsboro marked the beginning of a new chapter for Var-esh and his companions. As the group returned, they brought with them several key items: the fractured Vessel, once used by The Circle of Ash in their necromantic rituals, and the two missing children—Thomas Darrin and Celia Markham. These children, who had been abducted and lost for what felt to the town like an eternity, were finally returned to their families after a harrowing ordeal. Mrs. Darrin and Lydia Markham, both mothers who had endured the excruciating pain of their children's disappearances, were overwhelmed with gratitude.

Another citizen who was overjoyed at the return of Var-esh and crew was Jasper, the wiry old scholar who the company had left in town to continue studying the ancient text found in the Tomb of Vellin. He ran through the streets and greeted Var-esh with a hearty pat on the back, although he was quite perplexed to see Sheriff Renlow—once a shining beacon of the community—looking gaunt, exhausted and overwhelmed. Var-esh promised to explain everything on their way back to the tomb.

As they walked, with the Vessel strapped to the wagon, Var-esh told Jasper everything that he had missed—the deception from Renlow, the undead doppelgangers, the fiery fight in the ritual chamber—everything. He also recounted his strange encounter with "Zombie 5" at the beginning of this adventure, as Kaelin, Thalen and Algren were unfamiliar with it. Var-esh hoped that bringing the entire party back to the tomb could provide some additional insight, especially taking into account all of Kaelin's experience, Jasper's continuous study, and the post-mortal perspective of Thalen and Algren.

Upon reaching the Tomb of Vellin, Var-esh descended into the tomb and reflected on the mysterious murals that told the story of Vellin's fall—from a protector to a man whose staff was shattered, representing a loss of his former self and his failed ritual. With this in mind, Var-esh and the others approached the altar at the back of the chamber.

Thalen and Algren erected the Vessel next to the altar, then took a container of water and poured it into the basin. In response, a soft and soothing humming noise began to emanate from deep within the tomb. Var-esh had previously noted a heavy stone door behind the altar. I had been open—just a crack—since the first time he stepped foot in this crypt, but he did not dare look inside it. A misty, blue light shone through the tiny slit around the door, pulsating slowly through the darkness.

Jasper produced the ancient tome that had rested within these walls for many years. He opened to a page that he had bookmarked and studied its passages for a moment. He raised a finger silently into the air, then looked toward Var-esh, hopfeully.

Following Jasper's instructions, Var-esh used his Channel Divinity ability and spoke the word "Solarthan," the incantation meant to either complete or bring finality to the ritual that Vellin himself was unable to complete, as illustrated by the moss-covered murals that lined the walls. Jasper explained that only an act of true sacrifice would be able to complete the ritual; Vellin's was never able to complete this part of the ritual—after already having lost a child due to pestilence in the land, he was unable to bring himself to sacrifice something truly dear to him.

After a moment of introspection, Var-esh placed his Signet Ring of Saurothax—the symbol of his fallen family—on the altar, symbolizing his loss and commitment to bringing peace. The ritual was completed. The heavy stone door behind the altar slammed shut with a thunderous noise. The tomb was now sealed.

Thalen and Algren—finally freed from the burden of their past as undead cultists—offered to stand watch over the tomb as permanent guardians. They would stay behind as protectors, forever tied to its secrets, forever able to prevent the misdeeds of ages long gone from afflicting this land again. As Var-esh bid them farewell and climbed up the uneven stone steps, he turned one final time to thank his unlikely friends. As he gazed back at Thalen and Algren, it looked almost as if warmth had flowed back into their faces. They looked... almost human again.

The next morning, back in Gavinsboro, a council meeting was held to determine the fate of Sheriff Renlow, who had been complicit in The Circle of Ash's dark schemes. Var-esh stood before the mayor, the grieving mothers, and other town officials, giving Renlow the opportunity to explain his actions.

The sheriff stood before the council as a shadow of the proud man he seemed to be just days ago. His face drooped with sadness—his hair unkempt and his eyes sullen, as if he hadn't slept in weeks. But, to his credit, Renlow openly confessed his sins, showing remorse for his involvement in the cult’s plans and expressing the utmost shame at the part he played in the disappearance of the children—particularly Thomas Darrin. He begged for the town to forgive him and he swore to protect Gavinsboro from any future threats.

Ultimately, however, the council decided to remove Renlow from his position, but they gave him a second chance to prove his worth, with the hope that he might redeem himself in a future role that did not hold the power of law enforcement. Var-esh sided with the council, thankful for Renlow's assistance but not completely forgiving of his heinous actions, and acknowledged that everyone deserved the opportunity for redemption. He hoped that Renlow might be able to earn respect back from the people of Gavinsboro one day.

After the council meeting, Var-esh parted ways with Kaelin and Jasper. Jasper would be staying in Gavinsboro, permanently. He expressed his desire to continue his research, now with a deeper understanding of the ancient rituals and the history of The Circle of Ash. Kaelin revealed that she would be leaving immediately, moving on to her next hunt, though she left Var-esh with a token to remember her by.

"Show this to the right person in the right place, and word will get to me," Kaelin said. "Monster hunters look after our own." She stepped back, crossing her arms with a satisfied nod. "Take care of yourself, dragonborn. And try not to break the world before I get back." With a two-fingered salute, she turned and began to jog down the first dirt path out of town.

As the day wound down, Var-esh made his way back to the Resting Roost, the inn where he had first found solace when he arrived in town. The weight of the past days settled on his shoulders, but he knew that he had done all he could. He paid for the nicest room in the entire establishment—secretly hoping for a discount, but to no avail.

As he paid, the coin felt heavier than usual, but he knew it was worth it. The innkeeper gave him a key to a room, and Var-esh retired for the night, the quiet of the room offering him a much-needed rest. The flickering candlelight and the soft sound of crickets outside were the only things that filled the space as Var-esh let himself fall into a well-earned sleep. In his heart, he knew that Gavinsboro was at peace once more—its people safe, its future uncertain but hopeful.

Var-esh himself would leave Gavinsboro the next morning—perhaps, for good—but if this town ever needed protection again, its residents knew they could count on the paladin who had once freed it from the clutches of The Circle of Ash.

Six months later, Var-esh received a letter...

To Var-esh, Protector of Gavinsboro,

It has been six months since you and your companions left Gavinsboro, and I wanted to take this opportunity to update you on how the town has fared in your absence. We have felt the weight of your sacrifice, and I can say with confidence that your actions have not only safeguarded this town but have also ignited a spark of hope that we had all but lost.

The citizens of Gavinsboro are no longer burdened by the shadow of The Circle of Ash, and the memories of those dark days are fading, though their lessons remain with us. The children you saved—Thomas and Celia—are growing strong and are beloved by their families, celebrated by the entire town. Their return was a beacon of light in a time when we needed it most. Mrs. Darrin and Lydia Markham have become pillars of strength in our community, their leadership growing more steadfast by the day.

As for Renlow, his path to redemption has not been easy, but it has been genuine. The decision to relieve him of his duties was difficult, but he has found a new purpose. He now serves the town as a steward of its well-being, focusing on what truly matters: peace and service to the people. While he no longer holds the title of sheriff, he has gained the respect of those he serves, and the town has embraced his transformation. We all see the sincerity in his heart, and he’s making meaningful strides to rebuild the trust he lost. Our search for a new, full-time sheriff remains ongoing.

The town council has been working closely with new leadership, and our community has begun to thrive again. With The Circle of Ash gone, the people of Gavinsboro have found new hope, and the town is more united than ever. There is a renewed sense of pride, and we have made strides in strengthening the bonds between Gavinsboro and neighboring regions.

I wanted to take a moment to personally thank you, Var-esh. Your story has become a legend, spreading across the land as the tale of the dragonborn who saved Gavinsboro. Your actions will be remembered for generations to come. The impact you’ve had here cannot be overstated, and I am proud to say that Gavinsboro is flourishing once more.

As for me, I continue my duties as mayor, but often I find myself reflecting on those dark days and the courage it took to overcome them. Your determination and bravery changed the course of our future, and I am deeply grateful for everything you did.

I also wanted to update you on Jasper. He has decided to stay in Gavinsboro for the time being, putting his vast knowledge and skills to good use as a trusted advisor to the town council. He’s become a valuable member of our community, helping us maintain the safety and well-being of our people. His wisdom and eccentricity have found a perfect place here, and I believe his work will continue to help the town grow and prosper.

If you ever find yourself back in Gavinsboro, know that you will always have a home here. The Tomb of Vellin stands, protected by the very souls you freed, ever shielded from any evil that might seek to disturb its peace. Its secrets, and its legacy, are now part of our history, and your role in that history is one we will never forget.

With deep gratitude and respect,

Hallen Murn
Mayor of Gavinsboro

A-Town D&D Landing Page

Var-esh: Ashes to Ashes - Part 2

"Var-esh: Ashes to Ashes" is a narrative retelling of a single-player Dungeons & Dragons campaign run by ChatGPT. The images included in this post were created by ChatGPT's image generator, Sora, based on descriptions provided throughout the campaign, and the story was driven by AI and shaped by decisions made by a human and his dice rolls along the way.

Previously:

• Part 1

After a restless night at the Resting Roost Inn, haunted by dark thoughts of missing children and the unsettling tomb encounter, Var-esh rose with renewed purpose. Determined to get answers about Thomas Darrin, Celia Markham, and the growing undead presence outside the charming-yet-troubled town of Gavinsboro, he prepared to continue the investigation.

That morning, Var-esh reunited with Jasper and Sheriff Renlow at a quiet table in the local tavern, where they hoped to formulate a plan. Their meeting was cut short, however, when a shadowy figure burst through the front door—an elven monster tracker named Kaelin, who was equipped with various knives and blades, as well as leather armor bearing the sigil of a group called The Circle of Ash.

Kaelin claimed to be following a pattern of unnatural animal attacks, which seemed to align suspiciously with the time frame of Thomas Darrin's disappearance. Var-esh questioned her thoroughly, especially about her outfit and weapons and the meaning behind strange events around Gavinsboro. Though guarded, Kaelin proved sharp and capable, and agreed to join the investigation.

Before leaving town, Var-esh bought two vials of Monster Repellent Powder from a local merchant named Old Rusk and retrieved the eerie wind chime from the Tomb of Vellin, handing it to Kaelin for examination. Though she sensed no magic, the object somehow seemed tied to the strange energies afflicting the land. Pocketing the creepy chime, Var-esh and company headed down the dirt road out of town.

With Kaelin leading the way, the group ventured into the forest. The deeper they went, the more unnatural the wilderness became—quiet, still, almost watching them. That silence broke when two monstrous, malformed beasts leapt from the underbrush. With fur patching over scaled skin and warped bone ridges, they were clearly once natural creatures, now twisted.

Var-esh launched the first strike, wounding one of the beasts with a powerful swing. Kaelin and Renlow engaged the second, but it wasn’t long before a hooded figure appeared, watching from the trees. As Kaelin fired an arrow at it, the figure turned and tried to flee.

After dispatching the first beast, Var-esh calmed the second with a masterful show of control and compassion. Realizing the creature had been manipulated rather than evil, he left it unharmed and turned his focus to the true threat. Grabbing the Dragon’s Heart, he invoked his Channel Divinity: Abjure Enemy, targeting the hooded figure. The divine energy surged outward, slowing the figure’s escape and filling it with dread.

Seizing the opportunity, Var-esh gave chase. He hurled two javelins with deadly accuracy, injuring the figure as it ran. When he caught up, he demanded its surrender, warning it not to test him again. When it tried to flee once more, Var-esh unleashed a Thunderous Smite, striking it down with a booming blow and knocking it to the ground.

Pulling back the hood, Var-esh was stunned to discover the face beneath it was… or appeared to be… Sheriff Renlow!

At that moment, the real Renlow stepped out of the woods behind him. But his physical appearance had changed from a few moments ago; his clothes were covered in dirt, his skin had grown pale, his eyes looked bloodshot. It almost looked as if he was surrounded by a magical aura. None of this made any sense to Var-esh, whose confused gaze flicked from the hooded figure on the ground to the sheriff who had just walked out of the trees, as if nothing had happened.

Shocked and furious, Var-esh confronted the so-called Sheriff. Reluctantly, Kaelin joined him as he demanded answers. Who was this man? What had he done? What was happening here? Var-esh demanded that Kaelin tie up the traitor for interrogation.

It all started to click for Var-esh, who thought of his strange experiences over the past day. And as he recalled his memories, he laid out the pieces—the Sheriff's odd fascination as he entered the Tomb of Vellin for the first time, his eagerness to bring Var-esh to Thomas’s family, the hints dropped about Jasper’s role in translating the runes that he didn’t know how to read himself—all of it pointed to Renlow’s involvement. It was infuriating. With burning intensity, Var-esh directly accused the Sheriff of being involved in the disappearance of Thomas Darrin, and perhaps Celia Markham as well.

Under pressure—and beneath a piercing glare—Renlow finally cracked. He admitted that Vellin’s ideology had swayed him and justified his actions as a desperate bid to keep Gavinsboro safe, even at the cost of his own integrity. He even confessed that his dealings were in league with The Circle of Ash—that same Circle of Ash whose insignia Kaelin had been wearing all along. He explained that he had lost someone—someone dear—and now clung to the brittle hope that The Circle of Ash could somehow make his life whole again through their insidious rituals and beliefs.

Infuriated, Var-esh tightly bound Renlow and his evil doppelganger and kept them as hostages—perhaps even as bargaining chips. Surely, they could provide some insight, even if it took a little... coaxing.

Kaelin, caught in the middle of this storm, denied knowing of Renlow’s involvement and swearing that she was unaware of her faction's dark and dastardly deeds. In spite of it all, she agreed to continue onward with Var-esh, even helping by attempting to decipher the map drawn by Thomas Darrin; she recognized parts of the terrain but could not yet understand its full meaning.

Despite the revulsion curdling in his chest, Var-esh could not fully extinguish his hope—hope that, against all odds, Sheriff Renlow might still find redemption, and that justice might yet prevail over mere retribution. But the sheriff, with his hands and feet tied, only laced his words with contempt and vitriol. He mocked the dragonborn hero, insisting that the vanished children and the shambling dead were merely gears in a far greater machine, their suffering only a small piece of a looming design.

In a moment of righteous anger, Var-esh rose in anger, grabbing the sheriff by the lapels, searching his soul for guidance from the Dragon’s Heart, and then—with divine fury simmering just beneath the surface—headbutted Renlow, knocking him unconscious.

The pieces were beginning to fit together. But the truth was still tangled in shadows, and the fate of the children—and the town—still hung in the balance.

Var-esh and Kaelin took a moment to catch their breath after that tense encounter, sitting on a pair of large rocks scattered across the clearing. They scoured Thomas Darrin's map for additional hints and debated how best to proceed with the sheriff and his ghastly double still held prisoner. They ultimately decided to continue their investigation into The Circle of Ash, hoping to uncover the truth behind the missing children and the dark forces fueling the undead threat that plagued the area.

Before departing, Var-esh and Kaelin roused the sheriff’s magical doppelganger that they had previously captured and learned more about his former identity. This undead figure was known in his mortal life as Thalen, but The Circle of Ash corrupted his memories and tortured him to the breaking point of his mental capacities, then used their sick rituals to morph his physical appearance into a grotesque version of Sheriff Renlow. Weak but willing to help, Thalen agreed to join Var-esh on his quest to infiltrate and bring down the Circle from within.

As the group ventured deeper through the woods, they sensed something (or someone) stalking through the trees. Var-esh had Kaelin hang that disturbing wind chime in a nearby tree to draw in the figure. After a tense stakeout, another hooded figure appeared; its initial appearance sparked a brief but intense combat encounter. The figure proved to be a second undead member of The Circle, and after a tense battle, Var-esh and the party pressed it for answers.

The cultist revealed his identity as a man who was once known as Algren. Though initially defiant and hesitant, Algren was convinced to join the party. His knowledge of The Circle’s inner workings and his personal history with the organization made him a valuable asset, giving Var-esh some much-needed intel on the Circle’s operations.

After this encounter, Var-esh turned his attention to Sheriff Renlow, who was still bound and under suspicion. The sheriff had previously tried to manipulate Var-esh, but now, with Renlow at a crossroads, Var-esh confronted him. He called out Renlow’s role in the abduction of Thomas Darrin and the disappearance of Celia Markham. Var-esh pushed the sheriff to reckon with his guilt and seek redemption, not just for himself but for the town of Gavinsboro that had suffered because of his actions. Although the sheriff’s trustworthiness remained in question, he agreed to assist the group in some capacity, a decision that was likely influenced by Var-esh’s firm yet empathetic approach.

Meanwhile, the group continued to engage with Thalen, who continued to question the path he had been forced to walk. Despite his painful existence, Thalen chose to support the party’s mission and agreed to help infiltrate The Circle of Ash. His knowledge and unique position became invaluable assets in this fight—he knew where their headquarters were, and he could lead the group straight there.

The group discussed their approach to infiltrating The Circle’s stronghold. Var-esh volunteered to pose as a fake prisoner, allowing the party to blend in and gain access to The Circle’s inner sanctum. Sheriff Renlow, now reluctantly taking the lead in this deception, would play the role of the captor, with Kaelin, Thalen, and Algren—all members of The Circle, in some capacity—acting as accomplices to lend credibility to the ruse. The stakes were high, and the plan had its risks, but the group agreed to move forward with it.

With the party's numbers bolstered and the plan in place, the group prepared to move forward. Sheriff Renlow, now determined to atone for his past mistakes, led the charge into The Circle’s territory. The fate of the missing children, Sheriff Renlow’s redemption, and the defeat of The Circle of Ash now hung in the balance.

As the adventurers moved toward the Circle of Ash’s stronghold, tension filled the air, and while uncertainty loomed, the party was united in their mission: to rescue the missing children, uncover the truth, and bring an end to the Circle’s malevolent influence.

To be concluded.

Part 3

A-Town D&D Landing Page

Var-esh: Ashes to Ashes - Part 1

"Var-esh: Ashes to Ashes" is a narrative retelling of a single-player Dungeons & Dragons campaign run by ChatGPT. The images included in this post were created by ChatGPT's image generator, Sora, based on descriptions provided throughout the campaign, and the story was driven by AI and shaped by decisions made by a human and his dice rolls along the way.

Var-esh, the young red Dragonborn paladin, cast out of his home after the Seige of Saurothax, trudged down a rutted dirt path under a bright morning sky. But the peaceful veneer of the surrounding woods was shattered when he caught sight of several shambling figures dragging themselves from the shadows—undead. Their decayed limbs and soulless stares turned the once serene forest into a waking nightmare.

Initially, Var-esh lingered, sizing up the grotesque creatures. Their movements were slow, their moans low and hollow. But the scene darkened when four ghouls suddenly jerked toward him, their hunger palpable, their rotten claws reaching for his flesh. There was no time for hesitation. He sprang into action, steel flashing, his breath weapon igniting the air with searing heat. The clash was brutal, the stench of charred rot filling his nostrils as he hacked and scorched his way through the pack.

But amid the carnage, one ghoul stood apart. "Zombie 5," as Var-esh would later dub the creature, was quiet—a forlorn figure that seemed bound not by rage, but by sorrow. Its hollow eyes carried a weight that felt hauntingly human, its stance tentative as though fighting an inner torment. The undead horror made no move to attack, and Var-esh hesitated, struck by the sheer oddity of its demeanor. For the first time in days, his weapon faltered. Var-esh clutched the jeweled pendant around his neck—the sacred relic known as the Dragon's Heart—as he muttered a prayer for a soul long lost. What made this creature different? What secrets lay beneath its decaying shell?

Zombie 5 loomed near a weathered tombstone, its posture stiff, almost... protective? The gravestone, cracked and worn by time, bore a single name carved deep into its surface: Vellin.

Just beside the grave yawned a partially collapsed hole, the earth around it clawed and raw. From the depths of the grave, a faint, unnatural light pulsed, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance in the morning light on the undead's decaying frame.

Var-esh’s eyes narrowed as unease settled over him. Was this creature—the same pitiful, broken thing that had refused to attack him—standing watch over whatever lay buried beneath? The thought was as haunting as the being itself. Against reason, against every instinct honed through blood and flame, the paladin dared something unheard of. He lowered his blade and tried to communicate with the undead.

The creature twitched, its head jerking spasmodically toward him. Its gurgling voice spilled fragmented words, wet and ragged: “Vellin... was...” But before the cryptic phrase could be finished, Zombie 5 collapsed with a sudden, lifeless thud, its grotesque form crumpling at Var-esh’s feet. The magical light from the grave flickered, and Var-esh stood there in grim silence, his unease deepening.

Var-esh drove his longsword into the earth, wielding it not as a weapon, but as a crude shovel, and he began to dig up whatever was in that hole. Each thrust sent damp soil scattering, the blade biting into the ground with a purposeful defiance that mirrored its master. After a grueling effort, the dirt gave way to something ancient—a spiral of stone steps, descending into the gloom like the maw of a long-dead beast. Var-esh hesitated, the air suddenly colder, heavier. But curiosity—or perhaps duty—dragged him forward.

The staircase led to a tomb steeped in foreboding history. Shadows clung to the walls, where faded murals told a story half-drowned in moss and decay. Var-esh traced the figures with a wary eye. The images depicted a tiefling man—perhaps Vellin—etched into the stone like a whisper of glory long forgotten. In one mural, the horned protector stood among his people, his posture noble. In another, he wielded a serpent-crowned staff, seemingly healing the sick. But the scenes darkened. The third image showed him in a state of intense mourning—his anguish palpable even through cracked stone. And then came the fourth: his expression twisted, his staff altered and bent in a sinister way, his fury blazing through time itself. And above Vellin (if this was truly him), a symbol that looked like a twisted tree surrounded by a jagged circle.

What truths did these murals speak? Var-esh could only wonder, the weight of their story pressing down on him like the tomb itself.

Across the chamber, something caught his eye: an ornate pedestal, where a tome rested open and exposed. Its pages crawled with magical runes, their forms incomplete as though abandoned mid-ritual. The air around the book crackled faintly, hinting at dark practices—twisted spells woven through the fabric of life and death. A pulsating purple glow spilled faintly from a stone doorway at the far end of the tomb, cracked just enough to reveal its unnatural light.

Var-esh, no master of magic, felt unmoored in the face of the arcane. He grabbed the leatherbound book, its worn cover protesting under his grip, and turned away from the glow, choosing to leave the ominous mysteries for an expert to decipher. As he ascended the stairs, the silent pulse of the tomb followed him, a sinister reminder that whatever truth lay buried here would not stay buried forever.

Var-esh made his way back to the winding dirt path, his boots heavy with the weight of what he had just unearthed. Ahead lay the outline of a small town, its modest charm standing in stark contrast to the horrors he’d faced. A finely carved wooden sign creaked on rusted hinges, bearing the name “Gavinsboro” in delicate script. The paladin’s eyes scanned the quiet streets, his guard still raised.

The first building he approached was the Resting Roost Inn, its weathered facade lending additional charm to this quaint little town. Inside, a sharp-eyed innkeeper greeted him—a woman whose friendly demeanor belied her rough exterior and the scars on her hands, as if she’d known her share of battles. When Var-esh inquired about someone versed in deciphering magical runes, she pointed him toward Jasper, a local historian and eccentric known for his obsession with forgotten lore, who was sitting alone at a small table toward the back of the lobby.

Following her advice, Var-esh made his way toward the man. The scribe was unmistakable—a wiry man wrapped in patched robes, his fingers stained with ink, his eyes alight with a peculiar gleam. He seemed to radiate an energy that teetered on the edge of brilliance and madness. After a brief but charged exchange, Var-esh mentioned the unsettling events just beyond the town’s borders—the undead, the tomb, the name Vellin. At this, Jasper froze, his eccentricity melting into a razor-sharp focus.

Producing the tome, Var-esh watched as Jasper’s nimble fingers traced the worn pages, his muttered incantations barely audible over the low hum of the tavern. The scrawny scribe promised to transcribe what he could, his voice tinged with equal parts curiosity and dread. Whatever secrets lingered in those crumbling pages, they would not be uncovered lightly.

As Jasper hunched over the tome, his quill scratching feverishly against parchment, Var-esh roamed the town, restless.

The town noticeboard stood at a crossroads, its wooden planks battered by wind and time. The noble paladin scanned the clutter of faded posters and curling parchment, the ink smudged from years of neglect. One notice, fresher than the others, caught his eye:

“MISSING – Thomas Darrin, Age 8. Last seen near Gavinsboro Woods.”

The news struck a chord deep in Var-esh’s chest, dredging up memories of the Siege of Saurothax and the family he had lost to its treachery and flames. The notice’s crude sketch of a boy with wide, hopeful eyes lingered in his mind as Var-esh turned and scanned the town for help. Not long thereafter, he spotted a sign that pointed him to his next destination: the sheriff’s station.

A man sat behind a desk inside the building. He introduced himself as Sheriff Renlow. He reached out to shake Var-esh's hand. The sheriff was a man cut from stone, his face weathered and his demeanor unyielding. Yet beneath his stoicism, there was a keen awareness, a practical mind honed by years of guarding a fragile peace.

When Var-esh mentioned the missing child—and the zombies—Renlow’s jaw tightened. The undead were no common pest in Gavinsboro, and their sudden presence reeked of something unnatural. The sheriff listened as Var-esh laid out his suspicions, his words laced with grim certainty: the undead, the rituals, and the ominous name Vellin were threads of the same dark tapestry.

Renlow’s brow furrowed as he considered the paladin’s findings. “If what you’re saying is true,” the sheriff muttered, his voice low, “then this is bigger than one missing boy.” He agreed to head back to the Resting Roost with Var-esh to regroup with Jasper once the tome’s secrets were revealed. A flicker of determination broke through the sheriff's hardened expression.

As they turned toward the Resting Roost, Var-esh couldn’t shake the weight pressing down on him. This was no longer a simple hunt for the source of the undead. The tomb, the glowing light, the missing child—they were fragments of a puzzle far more sinister. And as a gentle breeze blew through the empty streets of Gavinsboro, Var-esh couldn’t help but feel the something sinister clawing its way toward him, tangled with the fate of this town and the shadow of his own experiences.

Var-esh, accompanied by Sheriff Renlow, headed back to the Resting Roost, where they regrouped with Jasper, who was still poring over the mysterious tome found in Vellin’s tomb. Jasper and Renlow explained to Var-esh the disturbing patterns of missing children in Gavinsboro, particularly focusing on Thomas Darrin and a young girl name Celia Markham, both of whom had vanished under strange circumstances.

After their conversation, Var-esh and the sheriff visited Thomas’s mother, Mrs. Darrin, and learned that Thomas had been particularly interested in dragons, even possessing a carved dragon toy before his disappearance. He also learned about a strange map with an "X" marked on it, leading Var-esh to suspect that the forest might hold answers.

Var-esh then visited Lydia Markham to investigate her daughter Celia’s disappearance. Mrs. Markham was an odd woman who lived in a home full of strange artifacts. One item in particular grabbed Var-esh's attention—a wind chime that hung above the front porch; it appeared to be made of animal bones and it made an unsettling noise, even without the presence of wind. Var-esh, fearful that this strange piece of decor may be tied to the mysterious happenings around Gavinsboro, asked Mrs. Markham if she wouldn't mind parting with the chime. Reluctantly, she agreed to give it to Var-esh, who wrapped it in cloth and packed it away. Later, Mrs. Markham described her daughter’s last known activities, prior to vanishing several years ago.

Throughout the conversations, Var-esh’s divine sense and suspicions grew, particularly regarding the strange wind chime and the eerie connection it seemed to have to the otherworldly elements surrounding the disappearances. Var-esh became more convinced that these events were connected to dark rituals and possible foul magic.

Afterward, Var-esh led Sheriff Renlow and Jasper out of the town to Vellin’s tomb to continue their investigation. There, they reviewed the murals depicting Vellin’s history, with their disturbing imagery of a serpent staff, healing magic, and a broken artifact. Var-esh had an odd feeling about the wind chime and decided to hang it in the tomb’s archway, hoping it might unlock some answers. Alas, nothing came of the gesture and the wind chime's purpose remained a secret—for now.

The group agreed that there was more to uncover, and Var-esh expressed his need to rest, with plans to continue the investigation in the morning. Jasper and Sheriff Renlow agreed to meet the following morning to further investigate the missing children and the dark forces that seemed to be at work in the town of Gavinsboro.

To be continued.

Part 2

A-Town D&D Landing Page

The Bitter Pill 5: #TankNote Backfires

It's a tough life, being a Utah Jazz fan. The past four or five years have been particularly miserable, from Rudy Gobert's contraction of coronavirus shutting down the NBA to the outright implosion of our roster (resulting in the trades of Gobert to Minnesota and Donovan Mitchell to Cleveland). The Jazz have dwelt in the absolute basement of the NBA standings for some time now, with Utah's CEO Danny Ainge thinking that the best path forward is to trade away our best players and amass a truly insane amount of second round draft picks. Needless to say, watching the Jazz get continually pummeled by 30 points and lost almost every night has not been fun. In fact, for all intents and purposes, I've stopped watching.

Stopped watching, I say, to the extent that my four-year-old firstborn son (named Stockton) has occasionally thought that the Utah Jazz were a hockey team.

Well, the Jazz finally did it this year. We finally came out on top... or bottom, as it were - winners of the ludicrous "tank-a-thon" race to the worst record in the league. Allegedly, this earned the Jazz the highest odds to get the number one pick in the upcoming 2025 draft. The odds, they said, were a 14% chance that the Jazz would get the best pick. But I had to wonder... isn't that just a nice way of saying that there was an 86% chance that we wouldn't get the number one pick? I mean, look at what happened to the Detroit Pistons last year: they were almost historically bad, then fell all the way to the fifth pick. The worst-case scenario for the Jazz before tonight's lottery would also have resulted in sliding all the way down to five, so, naturally, that's where I assumed that Utah would land. I tried to convince myself that I was just being a pessimist... but only time would tell.

I'll cut to the chase. We fell to five. Worst-case scenario. I KNEW IT.

(Also, side note - please, someone, explain this to me: how on earth does it make sense that the Jazz had a 47% chance of getting the fifth pick in the first place? Like, just flip a coin and we'll see if we're #5? That makes zero sense to me. Shouldn't those odds basically be inverted, almost? Of course we got the fifth pick! So dumb.)

Now, another one of the many things that are so stupid about this is that the three teams who ended up in the top three had no business being there.

• Philadelphia is a perennial Eastern Conference playoff contender that had an unusually bad year. They had less than an 11% chance of getting the third pick. Who are we to doubt "The Process" that resulted in drafting Joel Embiid at number 3 in 2014, Jahlil Okafor (lol) with the third pick in 2015, and Ben Simmons (lol) with the number one pick in 2016? Haven't they been rewarded enough??
• San Antonio, who just won the lottery two years ago and has already been the center of some NBA conspiracy theories (like getting the number one pick to select Tim Duncan after their hall of fame center David Robinson got hurt), had a 6% chance of getting the second pick this year. Perhaps, this was one final gift to the franchise, after their long-tenured coach Gregg Popovich announced his retirement a few days ago.
• And Dallas, who made the play-in tournament and barely missed the actual playoffs this season, had a 1.8% chance of getting the number one pick.

What makes this even worse and much more suspicious is that Dallas just made one of the worst trades in the history of professional sports three months ago, when they dealt likely future hall of famer Luka Doncic to the Los Angeles Lakers for the absurdly injury-prone center Anthony Davis (who promptly injured himself several times after becoming a Maverick). Unsurprisingly, social media and basketball fans at large mocked Dallas for the transaction, and Mavericks fans serenaded their home team with chants of "Fire Nico" (Harrison, the Dallas general manager) chants just four seconds into the first game of their post-Doncic era.

Could this be the most recent instance of the NBA rewarding a team and fan base that notoriously lost a megastar? LeBron James left the Cleveland Cavaliers with his infamous "Decision" press conference in 2010, then Cleveland got the number one pick three out of the next four years. (Honestly, I forgot how egregious that was. Insane!)

Another eyebrow-raising draft lottery was in 2019, when the New Orleans Pelicans got the top pick after the aforementioned Anthony Davis publicly demanded a trade (and was ultimately traded to Los Angeles, where he played until being traded for Doncic). The Pelicans would go on to select the draft's prospect, Zion Williamson, that summer.

Of course, the most popular theory that points to the draft lottery being rigged is the 1985 NBA draft, which brought Georgetown center Patrick Ewing to the New York Knicks, one of the biggest media markets in the league. Similarly, one could argue that Dallas sending Luka to Los Angeles (another of the league's hottest destinations) then being rewarded with the top pick in the subsequent draft could have been a conspiracy.

But another layer to this whole fiasco that hurts for Jazz fans is that Utah facilitated the trade that allowed the Luka-AD trade to happen in the first place! And, on top of that, Danny Ainge claims that he wasn't even aware that he was helping the Lakers! DANNY! WHAT WERE YOU DOING??

If nothing else, tonight's draft lottery disaster should prove that tanking doesn't work. Here was an interesting stat tweeted out by ESPN's Field Yates:

I have never been a proponent of teams losing on purpose, nor do I think that teams should be rewarded for (intentionally) playing badly... but that's just how the NBA is set up. Tanking is incentivized, unlike any other professional sport, and I absolutely hate it. But, if those are the ground rules, if that's the way this world works, and if the Jazz really went to all that effort to claim the worst record, why couldn't it have just worked ONE TIME??

Unfortunately (and extremely predictably), the Jazz were as unlucky as possible tonight, and it will almost certainly result in another "rebuilding" (AKA "tanking") season in 2025. We're really going to try to do this all over again next year. I feel so bad for the Jazz players. It can't be fun to be a part of this process, and it seems as though there is no end in sight. Ugh.

I, for one, have no interest in that at all.

Go Utah Hockey Club Mammoth!

*****

If you've got nothing else going on right now and feel like reading about some of my other most painful sports memories, consider checking out these old posts:

• Utah Jazz, 2021 - The Bitter Pill 4: Another Playoff Choke
• Utah Utes and New Orleans Saints, 2019 - The Bitter Pill 3: The Pass Interference Special
• Utah Jazz, 2016 - Another Bitter Pill: Kobe drops 60 against the Jazz
• Texas Rangers, 2012-13, 2015; Chicago Cubs, 2003; New Orleans Saints, 2010; Utah Utes, 2010; Utah Jazz, 1996-98; WCW Bash at the Beach, 1996 - The Bitter Pill: My worst sports memories

All right, somebody take away my technology. I've had enough for the day. I apologize profusely to my family for being a giant, breathing waste of space since 5:00 PM this evening. I promise, I'll make up for it tomorrow.

But the pain will last a lifetime. The pain will never fade. At least I saw it coming.

The Rings of Saturn: Fall of House Namarra - Epilogue

"The Rings of Saturn: Fall of House Namarra" is a narrative retelling of a single-player Dungeons & Dragons campaign run by ChatGPT. The images included in this post were created by ChatGPT's image generator, Sora, based on descriptions provided throughout the campaign, and the story was driven by AI and shaped by decisions made by a human and his dice rolls along the way.

Previously:

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4
• Part 5

Aftermath

The explosion rocked the manor like a thunderclap from the gods themselves.

A column of dark energy blasted upward from the gardens behind House Namarra, erupting through the ground like a black geyser. It shattered stone, blew out stained glass windows, and sent terrified guests screaming into the streets. The sky turned momentarily violet, as if the very fabric of Vandros trembled in the wake of what we had unleashed.

Thankfully, we did make it out.

I don’t remember exactly how. There were flashes—Lady Virelle gripping my hand tightly, Kerret shoulder-charging a collapsing pillar, Lady Seraphina ushering fleeing nobles through smoke-filled halls. My feet hit the cobblestones of the front courtyard, and I realized I was breathing open air again. We had escaped… just in time.

The manor behind us burned—not with ordinary fire, but with a strange, bluish heat that seemed to resist water and logic. The vault, we learned later, had been utterly destroyed. The pedestal was gone. The crystal, obliterated. Whatever ritual power House Namarra had been safeguarding—or suppressing—was no longer their secret to keep.

But the city paid a price.

Two Namarran guards were confirmed dead, caught too close to the blast. Several guests were injured in the panic, trampled or struck by falling debris. Part of the estate’s eastern wing collapsed entirely. In the days to follow, rumors would spiral wildly: tales of cursed artifacts, infernal deals, and noble families dabbling in ancient magics best left buried.

House Namarra’s influence? Shaken to its core.

They issued an official statement blaming “a tragic alchemical accident during a theatrical demonstration.” But no one bought it. Not really. Too many people saw too much. Too many heard the humming, saw the unnatural light, smelled the sulfur in the air.

And as for me, Kerret, and Virelle? We slipped away into the city shadows while the chaos covered our exit. No one stopped us. No one even thought to. We were ghosts to them—whispers in the wake of disaster.

But we knew.

We had touched something ancient and dangerous. We had survived it.

And we had changed the balance of power in Vandros forever.

*****

The Nighthawk, two weeks later

Nestled in a shadowy booth at the far end of The Nighthawk, I found fleeting comfort in the dim glow and the soft hum of muted conversations. This tavern, where so much had happened, seemed like a much better place now, after what we had done. But the world beyond those walls still bristled with danger. Over the past few days, I had scattered secret notes to my allies, urging them to meet me in private—perhaps for the last time. The flickering candlelight played across the room, but the deep folds of my hooded cloak veiled my identity... for now. And so, I waited, the hope of seeing familiar faces mingling with the weight of uncertainty as the night pressed on.

I waited alone for what seemed like an eternity. Maybe none of them would show up. Perhaps, they had all moved on and gone their separate ways. All I could do was keep waiting.

Finally, I saw a face I recognized—probably the last person I expected to see: Lady Seraphina. Yes, that same Seraphina who seemed to skeptical of me, back in the ballroom, before the explosion. Before House Namarra was reduced to chaos.

She stepped through the door like a vision in her elegant dress, her presence as commanding as ever. She crossed the room and met me in my booth, a soft smile playing at her lips.

"Alamir," she said, her voice smooth as silk, "I'm glad to see you again. Thank you for saving my life."

We talked about that day two weeks ago—the complicated and tumultuous way in which our paths crossed. Yet, there was an unspoken understanding now. I wondered if she would ever consider a life of adventure. I doubted it, but I asked anyway. She told me that me her roots were too deeply tied to this city to ever leave and couldn’t follow me into the wild unknown but she hoped to see me again, if I ever found my way back to Vandros. Her words lingered in the air, a thought of what could have been. Maybe our paths would cross again; only time would tell.

Another few minutes passed, when another unlikely ally snuck through the tavern doors: It was Tallow, that stinky old bum from the docks. I raised an eyebrow as he plopped down into the booth, across from me.

"Life any different, now that Big Jarek's gone?" I asked.

Tallow grinned, a bit too wide for my comfort, but there was a real spark in his eyes.

"I’m doing fine," he replies, a hint of pride in his voice. "Found my place, you know? Ain’t all bad now."

We shared a quick drink. It was strange, but Tallow seemed almost content—which was great because I didn’t even have to consider him a spot in my crew. As he got up to leave, I shot him a quick “Praise Kier,” and I let him get on his way. I might never see him again, at that was just fine with me.

Shortly after Tallow left me, I was thrilled to see my dear friend Aelith enter The Nighthawk. Her radiant smile lit up the room. It was great to see. She filled me in on what she had been up to in the past two weeks. Her costume shop at Brillane’s Trunk was thriving again, and I could see the joy in her eyes—the kind of happiness only true success can bring. She embraced me warmly, thanking me for everything I had done for the city.

"You're a risk-taker, Alamir," she says, her voice full of admiration. "And look at what it's brought us. Vandros is better for it. And we’ll have songs to sing for a lifetime.”

We shared a quiet moment together, and she pressed a tender kiss to my cheek before leaving. I understoond that she wouldn’t be able to leave her business right now, but I knew that I would have a rock-solid ally in dear Aelith for many, many years to come.

The tavern traffic eventually died down. I worried that I won’t see some of my old allies. Vessa, Kerret, Lady Virelle… I hoped they would come find me. But, sensing that I had got a few minutes to stretch my legs, I got up and approached that big, scary, beautiful bartender.

“Ma’am,” I said. She brushed it off, not recognizing me right away. “May I speak with you in your private office?”

Suddenly, a smirk crossed her face. There it was. She knew me now. She led me into the back office, and, to my surprise, she closed the door behind us.

“How can I help you, Rings of Saturn?” she asked, gruffly. “You’ve got five minutes.” The space felt intimate, charged with a history between us. Part of me feared for my life.

“You gonna kiss me goodbye or what?” I teasingly asked, knowing the answer beforehand and bracing myself for a punch to the face or a knee to the groin.

But she picked me up and planted a whiskey-flavored kiss right on the lips. I was stunned. Did not see that one coming. I wrapped my arms around her, as far as they’d go around that bulking figure, and kissed her back one more time. She had earned it, I suppose.

I wasn’t sure whether I’d see that mountain of a woman again, but if I was ever back in Vandros, at least I knew where I could get a good drink. I slowly wandered back to my booth and sat, hoping, praying that any of my other friends might stroll through that door at any moment.

But none did. No blue-collar dock worker, no gorgeous noble, no mysterious alchemist. Maybe they all changed their minds.

Just as I had begun packing up my things and preparing to leave, the door burst open. It was Kerret!

I pulled my hood back down from over my head and rose to my feet. "Praise Kier," I said softly, an enormous smile crossing my face. Kerret snorted a little laugh through his nose, clearly moved despite himself.

“Praise Kier,” he echoed with a laugh, resting his forearms on the table and leaning in, that familiar glint dancing behind his eyes. “Glad you made it out. And glad you waited for me.”

He lifted his hand and signaled the bartender without looking—two fingers, lazy and sure. “Two Black Feathers for the end of a darned fine story.”

"Ladies and gentlemen," I said gently. But then my voice started to rise. "We are in the presence of true greatness." I attempted to leap on top of a barstool, then up to the tavern bar, but my boot caught on the edge of the stool, I thudded onto the bar, knocked over a half-empty glass and sent a bowl of stale nuts scattering across the countertop. There was a moment of awkward silence, but my arms shot into the air regardless. My voice carried with wild, unrestrained glee: "Vandros' finest, ladies and gentlemen! A voice like velvet and fists like thunder! I give you Kerret the Crooner!"

There was a scattered chuckle or two from nearby tables—confused, entertained, mildly alarmed. “You maniac," Kerret teased, looking equally proud of himself and embarrassed by my antics. "Come on. Let’s get a drink in you before you break a rib.”

We drank together, toasting Kier and reflecting on our wild journey—from toppling Big Jarek to saving local businesses, even turning him into an opera star. We had done it all, including blowing up House Namarra. I extended my hand to Kerret, offering a handshake that could bind our destinies forever.

"You know," he said, leaning in, his voice low like a shared secret, “I spent most of my life staying invisible, just a shadow’s voice. Never loud, never known.” He chuckled. "Then you showed up—grinning like a fool, spinning tales of rings, schemes, and nobility."

Kerret hesitated, then gripped my hand firmly. “Alamir, you crazy fool, you know I’m with you,” he said, locking eyes. “Brotherhood’s forged in chaos, and you, my friend, are a walking storm.”

He pulled me into a rough hug, the kind reserved for those who had bled, laughed, and burned pieces of the world together. Nearby patrons raised their glasses in a cheer, swept up in the wave of raw emotion.

The celebration had gradually died down, and a calm finally settled over the once-wild night at the tavern. Then, the door creaked open again, and she entered: Lady Virelle, not dressed in her usual ball gown but in leather adventuring gear, a mask and a hooded cloak. Her beauty was as striking as ever, but it was the sharpness in her eyes, the secrets she carried, that continued to draw me to her. I bolted toward her, wrapping her in an embrace, relief and joy surging through me—she had come back for us.

I glanced at her nervously as she made her way to the booth and handed me a handwritten note.

I unfolded it, and my heart sank. It wasn’t a confession of love or even a sweet farewell, as I had hoped and expected. Instead, it was a warning. A cryptic message about the dangers still looming over Vandros, threats left unaddressed, and challenges yet to come.

“To the Rings of Saturn,

I trust you’re not getting too comfortable in your success. Vandros still holds many secrets, and there are whispers of another game being played behind the scenes. Consider this an invitation to make one final mark on this city, if you are brave enough to take on what lies beneath its glittering facade. There is always more to uncover, always more to be found. I would be honored to have you by my side again... if you wish to see the truth unfold. I have come to learn that the vault was just the beginning.”

Her lips curled into a mischievous grin, but there was something else behind her gaze—an unspoken invitation to follow her into the shadows once again.

"What do you think?" she asked, her voice teasing yet edged with something more serious. "Are you ready to see what’s next? The city’s not quite done with us yet, I’m afraid."

I looked from Virelle to Kerret, then back at the bartender, whose eyes lingered on me from the doorway. The weight of the moment pressed down on me. Vandros was far from finished with me, and it seemed—for better or worse—that my journey was only just beginning.

As I glanced around, the enormity of the decision I faced threatened to overwhelm me. My lips parted as I prepared to speak, and then I said...

A-Town D&D Landing Page

The Rings of Saturn: Fall of House Namarra - Part 5

"The Rings of Saturn: Fall of House Namarra" is a narrative retelling of a single-player Dungeons & Dragons campaign run by ChatGPT. The images included in this post were created by ChatGPT's image generator, Sora, based on descriptions provided throughout the campaign, and the story was driven by AI and shaped by decisions made by a human and his dice rolls along the way.

Previously:

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4

House Namarra

Kerret, Lady Virelle and I arrived at House Namarra just as the city’s late afternoon sun filtered through the estate’s high windows, turning golden against the polished stone. Virelle had donned the crisp attire of a household servant, her posture poised, her hair tucked up, her eyes sharp. She moved with the confidence of someone who belonged here—though I could tell her heart was pounding just as fast as mine. Kerret and I were back in our traditional clothes, of course, having donated our legendary opera costumes back to Aelith at Brillane’s Trunk—but who was to say that we wouldn’t have a couple more surprises in store for Vandros’ elite?

Our destination: the ballroom. I remembered it from the masquerade—the way the light shimmered on marble, the acoustics that could lift a voice to the rafters, the secret nestled around a corner and down a mysterious hallway. But first, we needed to get in the front door.

At the entrance, two guards stood dutifully. But I’ve always said: confidence is key, and panic is power. So, I gave them both. I stormed up, breathless, spouting nonsense about scheduling conflicts and rehearsals, Kerret the Crooner and his upcoming performance… I nudged one of them and winked as though we were co-conspirators. Aelith’s ring warmed on my finger, lending just enough gravitas to make it all believable.

To my surprise, they bought it. Within moments, Kerret and I were inside the ballroom and Virelle was slipping off into the servant corridors to prepare for our next move.

Kerret—Kier bless him—took to the center of the room, testing the acoustics with a few glorious, drawn-out notes. I used the distraction to scout the hall and plan our next move. The vault entrance wasn’t far, but we needed time. So I played the fool. Or rather, the entertainer.

I announced an impromptu performance: Kerret the Crooner was in town, and he needed to warm up for his performance later in the evening! (Truth be told, I had no idea what was going on at House Namarra later that night, but enough people believed me that I guess it worked out.) A few folks trusted me straightaway but some seemed to have no idea who "Kerret the Crooner" was. I assured them whole-heartedly that this was the opportunity of a lifetime, to witness one of the fastest-rising singers in all of Vandros—and beyond! Truly, it would be something to write home about—a dress rehearsal not to be missed.

With enough convincing, the noble guests who had been meandering the spacious rooms and palatial halls began to drift in, curious. That’s when she arrived—Lady Seraphina Althrun, of House Althrun. Beautiful, sharp-tongued, and entirely too perceptive. I could tell that she was skeptical from the first look she gave me. It made me sweat a little bit, but I turned on every ounce of charm I could muster: I flirted, spun her, dipped her, whispered sweet lies in her ear, told her to take a front row seat to the greatest show on the planet.

Kerret took the cue and belted out a brand-new number that he, once again, composed on the spot: “Three Ravens, Two Rings, and a Big, Giant Boom!”

Three ravens flew at midnight’s toll,

Past gilded gate and manor wall,

With feathers black and secrets deep,

They sang of rings, they whispered “fall.”

One ring forged in silent flame,

One passed down through noble name,

Together they unlock the past—

And maybe make the present… blast.

They danced beneath a stolen moon,

He sang the tune, they stole the room,

And through the lies and grand disguise,

A secret waits where shadow lies.

The crowd was entranced. Lady Seraphina might’ve seen through my bravado, even she was drawn in by Kerret’s masterful performance. With her attention drawn away by Kerret, that beautiful bard, the moment felt right. I reached in gently, snatched her coin purse with a subtle flick of my wrist (25 gold pieces richer, thank you), and slipped away into the corridor.

As I snuck back through the crowd, I motioned to Kerret to stretch the song out for as long as he could—at least a few more verses. With a subtle nod and a smirk, Kerret raised his voice and continued to sing all the louder. A good man, indeed.

Virelle was waiting for me by the entrance to the vault, her servant’s disguise still intact. Two guards stood watch, as we expected. I enthusiastically praised the music, remarked how I couldn’t wait for the real show later tonight, and gave Virelle the nod. She stepped forward, radiant and warm, weaving compliments and misdirection like a true performer. She smoothly recommended that the guards head out to witness Kerret the Crooner, live and in person; we would be happy to watch the door for them. Surely, it would only take a few minutes, and they probably deserved a break anyway. The guards melted beneath her gaze—and moments later, we were alone.

There was no time to waste.

I polished my obsidian ring with my sleeve, watching as the companion ring on Virelle’s hand shimmered with anticipation. The vault gate—12 feet of dark, pulsating metal—looked like it had never been touched by mortal hands. Glyphs spiraled around its frame. The emblem of House Namarra, that raven with ruby eyes, seemed to stare right through us.

Together, we held our rings to the twin mechanisms. The magic responded instantly—lines of light spidering across the surface, ancient machinery groaning to life. The gate rotated inward, releasing a breath of cold, ancient air.

The vault had opened.

The Vault, House Namarra

Virelle and I stepped into the vault, and the atmosphere immediately felt off. The walls of this place felt like they were holding secrets—secrets that had been buried for too long. A deep, eerie hum emanated, seemingly, from inside an obsidian pedestal that I could faintly make out at the back of the dark room. I could tell that whatever was hidden in this vault was the very thing that had terrified Big Jarek and his men. Something about this aura of power was clearly tied to House Namarra’s troubling history.

But I wasn’t here to be intimidated. I was here to find the answers, to uncover whatever it was that House Namarra had buried away for so long. My fingers twitched at the thought of getting closer to that power. Out of anxiety, I slipped my hands into the pockets of my cloak.

That’s when I remembered: Big Jarek had given me two random trinkets after we brought him down: an onyx chip and a silver token bearing the sigil of House Namarra. I hadn't figured out what they were for, but perhaps they could come in handy for me in some way here. I fidgeted with them nervously as I paced around the room, looking for anything that might enlighten my mind.

Virelle and I stepped into the vault, and the atmosphere immediately felt off. The walls of this place felt like they were holding secrets—secrets that had been buried for too long. A deep, eerie hum emanated, seemingly, from inside an obsidian pedestal that I could faintly make out at the back of the dark room. I could tell that whatever was hidden in this vault was the very thing that had terrified Big Jarek and his men. Something about this aura of power was clearly tied to House Namarra’s troubling history.

I asked Virelle if anything in the room was familiar to her, if she had any kind of personal attachment to any of it. All we could find were dusty old treasures, some ornate and intricately locked chests, and some jewelry, but nothing stuck out to her. We pushed through the darkness until we reached the large obsidian pedestal. The humming noise grew deafening. I examined the pillar for any sign of danger, and glimpse of hope. I discovered that it was damaged on one edge, which I thought was odd. I pulled out Jarek’s trinkets. I pressed the Namarran coin against the pedestal and moved it to several different spots along the cold, obsidian stone, but it didn’t seem to have any useful effect.

However, the onyx chip fit perfectly into a recess on the broken edge. With a satisfying click, the mechanism seemed to respond, but nothing prepared us for what happened next. A secret compartment on one side of pillar snapped open, revealing a strange, glowing crystal within—a pulsating, ominous object with a low, rumbling sound that felt like it was reaching into my soul.

And then, I could have sworn that it spoke to me. I don’t know how to describe it—this low, throbbing voice that echoed in my head. I think… I think it said, “Join me!”

It felt ancient, full of power and darkness, and I realized that this wasn’t just about treasure. This was something much more dangerous. Whatever it was, it wasn’t meant to be disturbed. The pressure was getting to be too much. The air felt thick, as if the very vault itself was watching us, waiting for us to make a mistake. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.

Virelle and I made the call to destroy the crystal with the explosives we brought with us: that glowing vial of liquid from Warehouse 43 and the flare dust given to us by the alluring alchemist Vessa. I took all of the necessary components and set them down cautiously at the base of the pedestal. We backed up to a safe distance and I pulled out my bow, hoping that my aim would be true. I uttered my final “Praise Kier” (and a phrase Virelle had definitely never heard and certainly didn’t understand) and shot the arrow at the Flare Dust. As the arrow flew across the vault, I grabbed Virelle by the hand and turned for the exit. We sprinted toward the door and never looked back.

The explosion was deafening. I could feel heat from the flames against my back as we reached the exit. We burst out of the door and slammed the vault shut behind us

The Grand Ballroom, House Namarra

We flew through the hallway and back into the ballroom. With the whole manor on the brink of destruction, we didn’t waste a second. I sped toward Kerret, interrupting his grand performance—which was still going!—and, at the top of my lungs, yelled, “EVERYBODY RUN!!”

The chaos had already started to spread. Crashes, shouts, and the sound of people realizing the manor was in danger echoed through the ballroom and its adjoining halls.

We bolted. Virelle stayed close, and Kerret was already on his way, pushing through the crowd with ease. I had no time to think about anything other than getting to the front doors. I spotted Lady Seraphina in the crowd, panic in her eyes, but she was already moving, too. At least she wasn’t going to be left behind.

I waved frantically to Kerret as he got ahead, and with every step, the sounds of panic grew louder. We were almost to the ballroom’s entrance. Almost to the front doors.

The floor shook beneath our feet. Smoke and heat poured into the hall behind us. The crystal's terrible voice still echoed deep inside my skull.

To be concluded.

Epilogue

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