Southern Discomfort

Welcome to your campaign!
A blog for your campaign

Wondering how to get started? Here are a few tips:

1. Invite your players

Invite them with either their email address or their Obsidian Portal username.

2. Edit your home page

Make a few changes to the home page and give people an idea of what your campaign is about. That will let people know you’re serious and not just playing with the system.

3. Choose a theme

If you want to set a specific mood for your campaign, we have several backgrounds to choose from. Accentuate it by creating a top banner image.

4. Create some NPCs

Characters form the core of every campaign, so take a few minutes to list out the major NPCs in your campaign.

A quick tip: The “+” icon in the top right of every section is how to add a new item, whether it’s a new character or adventure log post, or anything else.

5. Write your first Adventure Log post

The adventure log is where you list the sessions and adventures your party has been on, but for now, we suggest doing a very light “story so far” post. Just give a brief overview of what the party has done up to this point. After each future session, create a new post detailing that night’s adventures.

One final tip: Don’t stress about making your Obsidian Portal campaign look perfect. Instead, just make it work for you and your group. If everyone is having fun, then you’re using Obsidian Portal exactly as it was designed, even if your adventure log isn’t always up to date or your characters don’t all have portrait pictures.

That’s it! The rest is up to your and your players.

Excerpts from the Otherworld Observer 1
From April 18



This writer has stumbled on the beginnings of a story that has earth-shattering ramifications, not only for Charleston, but for mankind. Although you, my faithful readers, have been right by my side searching for the denizens of the Otherworld, I have finally seen and experienced firsthand the actual designs of these people, and believe me, this something I not soon forget.

My story begins yesterday afternoon at the Star and Scones Coffeeshop. (Some of the best joe and free wi-fi in Charleston, if you ask me) I overheard some CPD officers talking to Rae Lawrence, the barista on duty at Stars and Scones, about a disturbance somewhere on Grant Street. They mentioned something about plants growing out of control. This perked up my already heightened investigator’s senses, but I had in my heart a certain amount of skepticism since being stung by the Alex Holland/“Swamp Thing” hoax perpetrated by former reader and current juvenile delinquent, Timmyzalive.

Even at the Stars and Scones, my dear readers, the story begins to take on a strange twist. My nemesis of the Bigfoot of the South story, Government official Matthew Avett, was there, most likely taking a break from keeping critical information of that creature out of the public’s hands. I should have known something was amiss, but more about that later. Also, there was Xrenia de Selva a hard working immigrant and college student from somewhere in South America, who was being hit on by a much older fellow by the name of Radigast Vitner, an eighty-something year old man who bore the distinct look of silent elderly desperation. More about Vitner later.

Apparently word from Charleston’s men in blue was that the place on Grant Street was being protested by an unnamed environmentalist group. (Please refer to this blog post about these group’s covert, brave and misguided attempts to stop the Otherworlders from taking control or our resources and food supply). Your diligent writer of the otherworldly was able to collect more information about the happenings on Grant Street from a local dilettante who asked for her name to be withheld. She related that a large wall of kudzu had grown around one of the residences – proof of a government experiment. This information seemed to take Mr Avett by surprise, another example of government secrets being so siloed that other government conspirators are unaware of what is happening.

If any readers do not want to be shown the truth that lurks in the dark corners of our own world, please close your browser and be content that the world is as you know it. If you want to know the real truth, read on…

Many of us from the coffeshop decided to investigate this phenomenon. Rae and Xarina went along as my assistants. I’m sure Mr Avett was to be there to ensure government secrets stayed secret. Vinter seemed to have his own agenda, which made me very suspicious. When we arrived on Grant Street, the young woman was right, a tall thorny hedge surrounded one of the houses on this pleasant residential street. At this time, Ms Lawrence made mention that she was in possession of a magical sword, and then quickly tried to deny it, attempting to reference “Sleeping Beauty”. In all of my watching of this wonderful Disney classic cartoon, never did I once see a magical sword. I’m sure it was a Freudian slip, and indeed, she is in possession of an item of power. I’ll write more on this at a later time.

At the scene, a brave young man by the name of Simon had chained himself on to the mailbox making sure to draw attention to the horrors that lurk within, which I’ll detail in a few minutes. Sadly, the chain he was using was cheap and seemed to break easily, forcing him to end his vigil. He bicycled off sure to fight for his misguided but well intentioned cause another day.

Avett went to investigate around the perimeter of the enclosed property. Gathering my journalists’ tools, I quickly followed, taking some time to conduct a real investigation. I deduced that the wall was impenetrable. Rae splashed some water on it, disturbing the things that lived within the green mass of leaves and fiercesome thorns. Why she did this, I’m not clear. Vitner seemed to be giving some instructions to Rae, and I’m sure that this was her way of making him feel happy and useful at that moment. Meanwhile, Avett managed to get into the separate garage building on the property. The tall hedge seemed to deliberately cut it from the main property. All the more luck for us.

My gentle readers, make sure no government officials come on your property without a warrant. Avett is the very picture of government intrusion, probably an appointee of the Clinton or Bush administration. (Please refer to this blog post about the Carter-Reagan-Bush-Clinton-Bush or CRBCB Conspiracy. Also related to Trilateral Commission). I found Avett rummaging around in the garage, presumably to find some sort of tool or instrument to cut through the hedge. He found a trowel. By this time, brave Xrenia had followed me around the hedge when Avett come out with the hand shovel. Xrenia was using her fine South American senses to ferret out danger — this I’m sure is proof that some people evolve quickly. Xrenia’s case would probably be to sniff out secret South American cocaine and marijuana stashes to make sure she can avoid them. One of the many surprises I’m sure I’ll encounter with her. More about Xrenia later.

Once Avett started in on the hedge, it seemed to respond with a dark purpose its own. Spiders immediately seemed to vomit onto Avett — not small spiders mind you, but small beasts at least the size of silver dollars. They seemed to crawl on him, and I decided to retreat a distance to better assess the situation. There I seen that Vitner had toddled from the truck to the hedge, and Rae with some water in hand. Here I began to see the elderly man’s true agenda. Be still kind readers when you read this – I discovered that Vitner is a “warlock”, a man-witch. At first I was baffled that things happening around me made no sense — the spiders seemed to be blown by an invisible force or suddenly squished on the ground — then he brandished his cane, no doubt handed down from a long line of warlocks to menace his enemies. Once I assessed the situation, I decided to make a bold attempt to get into the garage to get something to fight the beasts.

I managed to get to the garage, but one of the little monsters landed on my arm and bit me, injecting its venom into my blood. It made me feel drowsy, but I fought off the feeling off and looked around the garage for something… anything I could use to destroy the spiders. All the while, Xrenia used her resourcefulness to contrive a makeshift flamethrower. I’m sure the smell of burning hair was from the spiders she was killing off. I discovered a sprayer full of XDDT, which I assumed was insecticide. By the time I was able to get around to help Avett, he had managed to find a larger trowel-like tool and was handily hacking through the hedge. I hiked up my brown bag, readied my camera and walked though the makeshift passage with the others.

From the outside, the house that was hidden by the hedge was a simple ranch-style home. Avett knocked on the door and then tried the knob. It opened easily. Inside was a perverse Garden of Eden. Plants of all descriptions were in the home, and it had a horrifyingly sweet smell. We all noticed a desk with an unconscious man behind it. While everyone looked around at the horrible wonders, I walked up to the desk and looked at the papers on the desk. My journalist instinct kicked in, and good readers I’ll let you draw your own conclusions, but I found documents marked with an “FR” on them. Could this be the in initials of a rather well-known citizen of Charleston? Looking around the place, with some horror Vintner directed my attention to the “Venus Eye Trap”, a nasty and wretched thing that should be found in someone’s drug-addled dreams. Vinter tells me it will actually grab your eyes and display them until another victim is found. I spray the abomination with a defoliant I found near the desk, effectively killing it. With some trial and error and a glimpse of Avett’s darker tendencies (and I don’t mean violent), we managed to wake the man from his deep slumber. He had been asleep for three days.

This man, who will remain anonymous, explained as much as he could. He was a brilliant botanist by the looks of it, but into some shady deals. We discovered that he was poisoned by a spinning wheel spindle. Seems that someone had been reading “Sleeping Beauty”, but it doesn’t let Rae off the hook for the sword. The poison was not deadly, but rather induced a death-like sleep. Nothing like it exists in the world we know, but it does in the other world, my dear readers.

If you think the story is over, think again friends. Vinter thought it would be a good idea to return some of the plants to their proper place. We thought first it was in the Francis Marion forest, then after a wasted trip we discovered it was in the arboretum near the Medical University. By this time I was in no mood to try to suggest anything, my mind attempted to grasp what had happened so far. We traveled to the arboretum, six various exotic plants in tow. After setting them in a circle, Vitner cast what I can only call a spell and it opened up a portal between this world and the Otherworld. Yes it does conclusively exist! A extraordinarily beautiful woman appeared and conversed with Vitner, who I’m convinced more than ever, is in league with such beings. I will be definitely keeping an eye on him. Rae attempted to mislead this being, and it was able to see through her soul and discovered the lie. Vitner was able to patch things up and the being went on her way.

I apologize to you, my dear readers, for exposing you to the overwhelming truth, and now that you’re in the light, you’ll see more than ever before. We indeed only live in part of the reality before our eyes.

Theatre In the Park
Charleston City Paper Article By Lydia Lochlan


A little birdie told me that the Holy City Shakespeare Company is pulling one over on it’s theater patrons this year. Rather than the noble yet, staid annual performance of King Lear this season it looks like they are going to be producing a rather lavish production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. An impromptu rehearsal was spotted in the Medical University Arboretum in the evening hours. The lights of the gazebo well lit the actors, some already in costume and makeup. My sources say that the woman they’ve picked for Titania is ‘spot on’ and ‘just like a Fairy Queen’.
This reporter can’t wait to see how this distinguished company brings to life one of the most famous plays by the Bard himself!

Eco-Action Website Forum Post


Lind-Z: Flora 911, 1462 Grant Street, need bodies now!
SimonSez: Just finished Yoga, OMW!
TimA: Right on! Just FYI gotta bail at 3:30, drum circle practice
Lind-Z:Anyone else want to help defend our Mother? C-U there!

Explosion Rocks Church Dedication
Newspaper Article from the Charleston Post and Courier

Not one, but two explosions dampened the festival spirit at the dedication of the brand new house of worship for the NuLife Ministries. It was only the actions and quick thinking of the security staff and some attendees of the festivities that there were no fatalities. Among the rescued were office staff of the Ministry and an elderly man who had went in search of the facilities.
Fear caused tempers to flare as a nearby group of protesters were accused of being the culprits. Calmer heads prevailed however, as the Charleston City police stepped in to regain order.
Jimmy Roberts, Faith Leader of the NuLife Ministries has gone on record as saying ’I’m just grateful to he who watches over us, that no one was seriously hurt. And I pledge that all hospital bills for those who were afflicted by this heinous crime will be taken care of by my Ministry’. Pastor Roberts and his wife Sammi stayed at the site all night helping the officers and emergency workers who where there, handing out coffee and sandwiches provided by a local deli.
The FBI has indicated that they will be conducting a thorough investigation into the bombings and ask that if anyone has any information to please call their tip line at: 1-800-555-BOMB

Just Before Bed
Food for thought

The belt driven fan squeaked angrily over Holbert as he reviewed the emailed documents. His friend had come through, a budding financial analysis at a US branch of the deutsche bank, with the papers tracing the church’s financials back to most of their sources.

The email from his distant nephew helped him understand it all; the pastor and some rich friends along with some bigger national venture capitalists that worked the new age faith market had set up the church. Best guess, a mix of genuine interest in people and of course money. And practically a dead end unless some of the local rich types are now in a magic wielding cult.

For now probably best to let someone else look into the mortal angles. If those others were ghouls though they may need dealt with soon.

Speaking of magic, he had run into his old friend during that church bombing. That was both nice and scary. Vitner wasn’t any near the same. At first Holbert thought he was talking in code, but then realized no he had lost his mind with the many years of his life. Would Holbert end up like that, with someone babysitting him too as memories jumbled from age and time made him a dangerous mess too?

Evening Tea

Radagast’s joints creaked and popped as he lowered himself into his small Victorian wingback chair and beckoned a cup and teabag to his hand from the pantry with a subtle gesture, conjuring hot water into the cup with a single word of elemental power. “Nicholas, do stop fussing,” the old wizard said sharply. “You’re going to be nursing quite the hangover tomorrow anyway, what with all that horse-piss lager you swilled at the concert. Don’t make it worse on yourself. I’ll fix my own warming drink; you should go to bed.”

The younger man sighed heavily, scratching his mutton chops and rubbing his eyes as he dug through a first aid kit looking for some ibuprofen. “You’re the boss, boss. What the hell was going on there tonight, though? I’ve heard you talk about zombies before, but I always figured it was exaggeration.”

“Nothing to exaggerate, Nicholas. They’re very real, and their presence here in Charleston is a troubling development indeed. Creating a walking dead is a clear violation of the Fifth Law of Magic, you see, and possibly the Third and Fourth, although there’s considerable debate about that amongst the Council’s legal scholars. No wizard dabbles in necromancy lightly—to animate the bodies of the fallen is a grave transgression against our traditions.”

“The nutjob who thinks she can talk to angels, that Laylah chick… she said she thought the singer, Agatha-whatshername, was using magic on people when she played. Doesn’t that break a Council law too?” Nick asked.

“By strictest interpretation, yes, if indeed she is a mortal and is using magic to produce the effect. But there are a number of less sinister explanations for that phenomenon. The transfixation effect could be attributable to any number of supernatural causes—she could be fey-blooded, for example, or unknowingly possessed by a muse spirit, or even a demon or angel. The most likely explanation is that she is a wild talent—a budding young wizard whose powers were never identified, and who has not received proper guidance in the use of the Art. She ought to be investigated further, and put in contact with someone who can help her control her abilities. Unfortunately, the White Council won’t see it that way. If they get wind of what happened at the concert, they will brand the young woman a sorcerer, hunt her down, and kill her. It may be for the best that Mr. Collier wasn’t present to see her perform. As a Warden, he’d be obligated to report the incident to the Council.”

“Aren’t you obligated to do that, too?”

“The Council made it plain that they no longer need my assistance in conducting their business. The fortune I have amassed over the centuries is my own, and although they gave me this house, they have only to ask for repayment and I’ll gladly provide it. No, Nicholas, I owe the Council nothing at this point—and I’ll not bloody my hands just to keep myself in their good graces. If this singer is an unidentified practitioner, I’ll do my best to help her so long as she harms no one else.”

Nick popped three pills into his mouth and gulped a glass of water to chase them down his throat, then flopped into a recliner in the colonial living room. “Hey boss, one of your books I was looking at awhile back mentioned that rhythmic music could be used to keep walking dead running, like a battery or an electrical current. Is that what was happening here tonight with that band Moturi and their Danse Macabre cover? What if the Moturi guys and Agatha are in this together somehow? She lulls the audience into a daze, and the zombies can feed more easily on the people she jinxed.”

“Your supposition is not without merit, Nicholas. Yet I find it difficult to believe that the girl and those ruffians are working together. She seems unaware of having done anything but play her lute and sing for the crowd, and I’m inclined to believe her. Moturi, though… their music was definitely being used as a means of animating the dead. What I can’t deduce is, how did the bodies get there? Were they planted by Moturi or an agent? Or did someone siphon life energy from the concertgoers to power the spell that created the zombies? The advanced stage of decay seems to indicate that these corpses weren’t fresh… unless magic dessicated them instantaneously.”

“That is some creepy stuff, old man. I dunno how well I’m gonna sleep tonight.”

Radagast sipped from his tea cup and puffed on his clay pipe, pondering. “There is another possibility, you know. These musicians might simply be innocent pawns in all this. A third, more powerful practitioner could have been present and using the songs as a thaumaturgical focus for whatever effect they desired to create. That would make more sense to me than the idea of the musicians working together. Occam’s Razor, and all that. But it is a more disturbing explanation. Scarcely a score of barely-sentient zombies sent to attack a mob of hundreds, maybe thousands? Whoever did this ought to have known that their puppets would be put down all too quickly by the mortal authorities. That suggests to me that this wasn’t meant to be a full-scale attack.”

“So what the hell was it, then? A joke? ‘Cuz if so, it wasn’t funny.”

“Perhaps…. That, or a test. A trial run for a future endeavor. The timing of Warden Collier’s departure was all too fortuitous as well. But judging by what we saw at the marina, I’m not so sure the events were related. A terrible coincidence, to be sure, but just a coincidence. I wish we could have done more to help Collier, wherever he is, but my powers are spent for the time being. If indeed the Warden has been drawn into the Nevernever by that serpent, then I shall need all of my strength and mental faculty to determine where he ended up and open an appropriate Way to reach him. I can’t possibly go myself to rescue him—I’m too old for swimming, and my body doesn’t do as well with transfiguration as it did when I was in my 500s or so. The others may need to undertake this mission without me.”

“I’m with you on that, old man. You are definitely getting too old for this shit, if you’ll pardon the cop movie cliche.”

“Much as I hate to agree with that sentiment, Nicholas, you are quite right. So instead, I will get some much-needed rest, and then do what I do best: research. And I suggest you do the same. Come the morrow, I’ll have great need of your help as I begin my work.”

Writing Lessons
Xarina Learns

Mr. Novac says that to better learn English I should write. He says I speak good but to read and write is more good. He tells me to write down my words and what I see and he will read.
It is hard. I can speak many words but to make them is hard. He said I should learn to make the words for my friends and for places. I will need to know.

Xarina de Selva
Eugene Novak
Beau Hatcher
Rosario Orellana
Laylah Camael
Andrew Collier

Charleston, SC
Stars & Scones
The Red Ribbon

I worry when I leave Rosario. She fights inside. In Brazil my friends would be calm when I was there. She is strong but she is a cub. She knows this Charleston. It is not the same jungle. Everywhere there are eyes. It is strange. I must learn to survive. I cannot yet go home.

Life's Not Fair

The smell of cilantro and lime still hung in the kitchen, and a stack of Vilma’s textbooks leaned precariously on the corner of the table. Her younger cousin was taking her finals this week and would be graduating next Sunday- the first in the family. The top book on the stack threatened to topple as she shut and locked the door behind her, and she straightened it with a small smile. Pre-Calculus. Once she’d thought that would be her life too- studying, finals, graduations, maybe even college one day.

But life’s not fair.

Por Dios she was hungry. She opened the fridge, removing the milk automatically to pour some out for Xarina, searching for something to take the edge off the Hunger. Nothing really did, of course, she’d have to be very careful these next few days. She would have been in trouble anyway if that payaso Price hadn’t cut his hand, but seeing that bright red blood, smelling its tang…

She was disgusted by her appetites, by the monster she had become. By what her father had made her. She pulled out the grape jelly, then went to the cupboard for the bread and peanut butter and started angrily assembling sandwiches.

It had been two years, but the betrayal of her fath- no, she decided. He didn’t get that name anymore. It had been two years since she had confronted Rutledge, hoping in her naivete for his blessing, for him to recognize her as his own. For wealth, for citizenship, for a chance at something beyond following the harvest and slowly withering under the heat of the sun.

What she’d got was much worse. This hunger. These changes. The constant battle to stay human. She chewed discontentedly on one of the sandwiches as she opened up a can of tuna for Xarina, moving quietly so as to not wake up any of her family asleep in the other rooms.

And now la migra was after her. Zombies and sea monsters were almost an afterthought- the police had her scent. Her estupidez, trying to be a hero, trying to help people, now it was going to get her family in trouble. She should have just avoided the cop- crushing his phone and fighting those things in front of him just made her more of a target.

She was going to have to watch herself. If not for her sake, for Xarina’s. And Vilma’s. For the family that depended on her to make rent so the little ones could go to school. For her mother, her mother who had fought so hard to make it back to the States so Rosario could have a future.

There was a bump in the pocket of her shorts as she sat down. Reminded, she pulled out the fold of soggy bills that Xarina had made running beer. They’d taken an unnoticed dive in the bay when they’d been looking for the mago, but it looked as if they were all still there.

The wizard. She owed him her life. And now he needed help. “A ver que podemos hacer.” she mumbled to herself around a mouthful of peanut butter. Let’s see what we can do.

June 18th Evening News
WMMP-TV. Charleston

Strange happenings at the local WMGL 107.3 ‘The Magic’ 5th Annual Battle of the Bands tonight. What appears to be a flash mob gone wrong during the performance of the band, Morturi. The mob seemingly comprised of band fanatics dressed up as Civil War Zombies and shambled their way toward the stage. Nearby attendees of the concert understandably panicked and fled the chaos out into the streets. If not for the quick thinking of officers on hand things might have gotten dangerous. However, there was one casualty in all this, all the TV cameras that were covering the event either were damaged or malfunctioned. A reporter at the scene did however do a quick artist rendering of what the flash mob looked like.
Local Historians confirm that there were documents in the archives that mention that the Centennial Park may have been an unmarked grave site during the war between the states.
And now…for the Weather.


I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.