Sessions taking place in the dangerous, overgrown territory known as The Wilds.
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The scent of salt and cedar doesn't mask it anymore. The Deep Rift is breathing. I can feel the vibration in the soles of my feet, a rhythmic thrum that matches the pulse in my own scarred neck. The others at the Agora spoke of "Order" and "Freedom" like those things could feed a starving belly or stop a blade. Fools. The Gods are nothing but thieves in golden chitons, sitting on thrones built from the bones of their betters.
So, the new crew arrived. I asked for heroes; the Fates sent me a traveling circus. But hey, they got the job done. Mostly.
Things got off to a "great" start at the docks. Captain Dexios took one look at this group and decided they looked more like drifters than demigods. He was about two seconds away from throwing the lot of them in the holding cells until Vulpes stepped up. Somehow, the guy convinced the Captain he was a local resident of Ephyra.