Tracks one way, a scream the other—and a dead run into hard choices. The bears fall, the traveler doesn’t, and the true trail leads to a ruined temple where the Oracle sits behind a shimmering cage. Plans buckle under fire and mud as a young white wyrm crashes the field; parley turns to prayer, then to steel.

Help vaults the treeline—radiant blades, crackling force, and a barrier that finally breaks. The Oracle answers with flame, the wyrm falls, and the city breathes out: honors, coin, and keys to deeper stacks. Two quieter weeks follow—craft, research, and preparations for darker roads—while something small and wrong still gnaws at Cliff’s gear. The council’s summons looms.

Music: Charterhall by Sydney Fabel https://bradowens.bandcamp.com/album/blades-in-the-dark-by-john-harper-unofficial-ttrpg-soundtrack

Licensed under Scrybe Quill Context License

https://www.scrybequill.com/license

Tech first: we stopped relying on brittle automations, stabilized the rig by driving it manually, and took notes on what actually works on stream. The plan going forward is simple—lean setup, quick scene kits ready to drop (alleys, rooftops, back rooms), and a clear rule: if we’ll live in a space for more than a moment or it affects positioning, it goes on screen; otherwise theater of the mind keeps us fast.

Story second: rumors of people “returning unchanged” kept pointing us to Menest. Cliff’s shadow-mark grew more active, Tim’s tests confirmed it isn’t leaving without a fight, and the table kept walking the line between talking our way through and drawing steel when the clock ran out. We ended with our heading set: track the vanishings, find the crossing, and face what’s waiting in Menest.

The chase quickens. A scream off the trail, four bears in the mud, and a stranger who bleeds out before names can be exchanged. Pelts packed, nerves raw, the road leads to a smoking shrine—wagon, platform, and an iron-etched cage that won’t yield to gold fire.

Winged kobolds wheel, cultists conjure grasping arms, and the lock has no key to pick. Nilar drops, Kolut follows, Cliff sprints through flying stone to drag breath back, and Mecoo’s axe writes the line. Then the clearing shakes as a vast white shadow falls and a voice of ice asks: Who’s invaded my space? The rescue has become a reckoning.

Music: Street Skirmish (City Battle Theme) by Supernova Collective https://supernovacollective.bandcamp.comLicensed under Scrybe Quill Context Licensehttps://www.scrybequill.com/license

The Sacred Wyrmling is missing. Whispers lead from market stalls to slum alleys, an old seer drops a riddle, and a trail of clawed prints pulls the party beneath the trees.

In this recap: a quiet orphanage check-in, political stonewalling in the capital, a cave raid through kobolds and zealots, and one terrified captive who reveals the handoff: a carriage, two hours ahead. Press play and join the chase.

Music: Whispering Door by z3r0 https://www.youtube.com/@z3r0CopyrightFreeMusicLicensed under Creative Commons BY Attribution 3.0 Licensehttps://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

An orphanage stoop, a splintered argument, and a boy who won’t take a gift back. Bricks bake in makeshift kilns while names and nerves harden—Squee Squee, Celeste, Jesse, Zachariah—hope hammered out of clay. Somewhere between goodbyes and good intentions, Cliff’s rations keep vanishing, leaving only a smear of something wrong. Across the bridge, metal gleams and politics sharpen. Bahamut’s garden lends a lighter heart; the council trades sealed letters for slow promises. Raids mapped, patterns found, and rumors that bite. With weeks of deliberation ahead, the question lingers: how far will they go to bend a dragon war—and what’s already eating at them from the edges?

Music: The Legend of Narmer by Ehren K. Wade (WombatNoisesAudio) https://soundcloud.com/user-734462061/Licensed under Creative Commons BY Attribution 3.0 Licensehttps://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

Mid-session the stream flatlined—hard cutoff, no countdown—and we smash-cut back in to our biggest live crowd yet: 24 on YouTube. After that, the show ran clean. Cameras behaved, audio stayed sane, dice didn’t melt machines. Quiet hero? I ripped out the brittle automation and went manual: fewer gremlins, faster flow, momentum on tap.

In the story, Mecoo and Nefir left the Platinum Keep with coin and a quiet directive pointing toward Menest—the city of vanishings. The council’s math turned uglier: the broken portal will reopen elsewhere unless a dragon seals it, and fresh rifts pull orcs like a tide. Cliff chased traces of Sune while Tim mapped a plan to feed worship instead of throwing bodies at a god; a gold-dragon priestess learned the hard way that a certain sigil burns; Bramble kept vigil till dawn; Stepping Stones tilted on its hinges; and by morning, the mark was headed for the Oracle’s elders. In the DM Deep Dive, I lay out how we balance our RP lean with punchy combats: when talk carries, when steel snaps the stalemate, and why the only win condition that matters is whether the table cares.

The broadcast gods took a swing. Mid-fight, the stream flatlined, the VOD sealed itself like a tidy little coffin… and we cold-started back into carnage with no intro, no countdown, just adrenaline. In Tech Diaries, I walk you through the crash playbook—why momentum dies, how to necromancy it back, and the safeguards that keep a severed signal from killing the story (crash slate, local record, split hotkeys, pin-the-link, go).

Then the knives turn inward. In the Recap: a vision of chains and a goddess dimmed, a mark that isn’t just a mark, a spymaster with smoke for answers, and three doors no one wants to open—Menest, the Oracle, or the hunt for an ember that might save a god… or light a fuse. Deep Dive closes us out: Fences, Not Cages—how limits at the table (flight, water folk, banned options, yes even Silvery Barbs) keep the ride fast without caging the players. No answers here. Just the ticking. Come hear which door opens—and who gets pushed.

The boy was found—but not saved.

Drag marks led to a cavern where Nero’s embrace carried a hidden blade, and his eyes burned with a crimson haze. Scarecrows fell to steel, dwarves stepped from stone with moonlit weapons, and enchantment turned kin into killers. Each prayer, each spell, bought only moments before the cave went still again.

But truth weighs heavier than wounds. Parents unmasked. Crystals shattered. Fire and ash rising toward the trees. The road to Meake offered trade, respite, and an orphan’s brief peace—but red shards linger, and the dragons’ charge waits unfinished.

Music: The Amber Temple - Ambience Background by Supernova Collective https://supernovacollective.bandcamp.com/Licensed under Scrybe Quill Context Licensehttps://www.scrybequill.com/license