The group has decided to take a short rest, and I am setting to paper the events that have led us to this point. To begin with, the roster of the Band of Fools has completely changed, each one setting sail for fairer winds or kinder fortunes. In their stead, Master Croftily...that is, the Boss...introduced [[Marissa|me]] to the newly assembled team, still in search of a permanent headquarters: [[Indra Kallan]], an amphibious humanoid sorcerer, an azarketi, who shares my background with performance of music, and I suspect may hail from sunken Azlant itself; [[Bradish]], a raddish-sellie, a powerful fighter and headstrong opener of doors (literal, and perhaps sometimes figuratively); [[Krerk Grapplecloak]], a gnoll swashbuckler, daring and deadly, and apparently a minor player in the Crusades against the Worldwound; [[Greg Strengjow]], an orcish barbarian, brutal and efficient in combat, if not in investigation - a former gladiator, and it shows - and a truly mysterious individual who only goes by "[[Unit-047|47]]," and wields a remarkable weapon called a 'gun.' We seem to be in good spirits as a fresh new team, and have begun to merge our talents, but I fear our camaraderie has yet to be truly tested in any meaningful capacity. To elaborate: we were resting in the local tavern run by a Crow-form aaracockra - an aara-"Caw"-kra, if I might allow myself a less-than-politic jest - deciding on a course of action to secure funding for our new headquarters, when an elven sister-in-arms entered the room, becrowned in a tiefling's horns and bearing ill omens. Directed by the stars above, she warned us of a wicked light glowing to life in an abandoned, defunct lighthouse - the very one in which the sorceress who plagued this town's creation was finally put down. Fearing this could signal the return of some ancient evil, the Band of Fools agreed to investigate and either dispel the rumors once and for all, or to confront whatever evil might be brewing. ![[ToBoF-E002-1.png]] When we arrived, we were pestered by some form of pixie, which convinced Bradish to consume excrement - but as that is merely fertilizer to a leshie like him, I believe he did not mind. As we pressed deeper into the lighthouse, we uncovered more of the pixies, all of them eager to drive us from their home, and none of them capable. After dispatching most, a few remaining ne'erdowells gathered up what scrap of sense they possessed and fled. A few injuries were endured, but with some dedicated effort, I saw the wounds healed; meanwhile, we discovered a buried stairwell leading below the foundations of this tower. Something to explore later. A bit more exploration yielded treasure, powerful skeletons, and a shocking discovery: that the power infusing this place may stem from Nhimbaloth, the dread elder god of the empty death, who feasts on souls themselves. If such a power, or even something kin or kith to such a power, dwells in this place, it must be stopped. I am not confident that our band will be sufficient to the task, but I will continue to inspire us in every way I can, and pray to Milani that the righteous rebellion of life itself against unnatural death is a cause she might see fit to bless. We are nearly done resting now, and must continue on. ![[ToBoF-E002-2.png]]