In-Character Log: Thergale #003 09/17/2023 I have traveled to a sky full of different stars and yet if one just looks up, without seeking familiar patterns and ignoring the great band in the sky, the night is the same. Stars are stars. Worlds are worlds. People are people. And the people in question, known here as the Returnal, are looking to draw blood, force battle, and consolidate power. My companions seek to stop them, to match the power of their flying battleships with the spark of a shattered deity. What we saw within the circle tells a tale that time is short and the enemy far more advanced than we suspected. I have been transported here and I must make decisions that I can live with, we go to find a piece of the shattered one. We go to find a new hope and a path forward to match the Returnal. We enlisted the aid of the frostriese astronomer and he transported us upon his cloud. Much time was saved and we are in debt for this aid, less so for his singing. Hopefully, we will...

Groundhog Day 2017 inside the head of Jeff Moore What the Fuck! Get yourself together, man! You got this. You wanted this. This stupid, ridiculous assignment. Go to Punxsutawney, take some pictures of Phil, and write a bit of fluff about this silly tradition. You’re like Bill Murray, only without a camera man or a producer. Damn, I love Bill Murray. Probably, everyone loves Bill Murray. But there may have been something to the weirdness that his character went through. What was his name, Phil something-or-other. This isn’t a time loop, but that might be preferable. Maybe coming here early wasn’t a good call. Maybe it was. Fuck I don’t know. It’s a groundhog, right? Sure, it is. A groundhog cared for by a bunch of Pennsylvania Dutch speaking nerds who’ve built a club around their weather predicting rodent. It’s not a cult, it’s a tradition. The rodent isn’t immortal. It most certainly has not been the same groundhog for over a hundred and thirty years. And those guys yeste...

08/06/2023 One moment you're hosting the biggest, best birthday gala yet, talking with the mayor, and thinking that all the sacrifices have quite possibly proven their worth. Suddenly, the night sky disappears, swallowed by the light of a single star, then oblivion. When next you gather your senses you are adrift in a sea of black, slowly falling toward an unrecognizable world, faster and faster, and finally you are deposited in a snow bank dressed in your celebratory finery and freezing your ass off. Things did not start well. Detritus from my home was scattered about, along with a few unfortunate guests whose fall had not reached nearly so auspicious an end as had mine. I retrieved my blade from the former mayor and turned to discover that solitude was not to be a worry. An elf unknown to me, save the briefest of greetings at the gala, climbed from a deep drift of snow and drew steel as I approached. Violent. I noted, more decidedly, that he was holding the purse of one Purcival ...