Velsharoon's Revenge Campaign Group: The Tower of Infinite Sadness

Cain Lethellon lowered his cup and peered into its innermost depths, confirming that it was indeed, assuredly empty. He muttered a litany of long-forgotten gnomish profanities under his breath, mostly relegated to gnomes smelling of orc dung or being possessed of questionable heritage, once again, referencing orcish involvement.

This was now weeks on end, where the whereabouts of those villains weighed heavily on his mind. He’d thought to cow them into submission, when he teleported directly into their camp, but submission was the last thing on their minds.

Instead, it was hatred.

That’s what he saw when he looked into their eyes. Specifically, the eyes of the necromantic witch leading their party. As for the others, he contemplated that the gnome illusionist and the barbarian lass were perhaps just completely insane and the wrath chanter completely bereft of any intelligence whatsoever. As for the others in their monstrous employ, were they still even alive? Personnel turnover was a real thorn in the side of these scoundrels, given all of the bloodshed left in their wake.

And the witch was rapidly amassing such power that soon enough, her dead comrades would simply be undead comrades. At the rate they were proceeding, that could mean an army.

At the doorstep of Riverthrow.

And beyond.

Somewhere outside, a raven’s cry jolted him out of his stupor, as he peered back into his cup and shook his head.

It was high time for a refill.