This wednesday, the Fourteenth of September, officially marked the day when party operability and stability officially croaked it’s last. Perhaps its for the better – hell, it has never been a very strong force. But the faltering flames of party unity got a bathtub’s worth of cold water dumped on them today, when the party lost every last member of the goodly alignment. A good 60% of the party are chaotic evil – the kind of person who would gut you with a harpoon soon as look at you. I forsee a lot of harpoons.
However, despite a conglomeration of races and motivations which would send any fantasy writer into catatonic shock, the party somehow managed not to kill each other off in the first half hour – probably because they were too busy deciding to go north. And north they will go! To the lands of ale and trade controlled by the Starnhelmian dwarves, the Bone Mountains.
The rest, as they say, is going to be bloody destructive horrendous violence.
They do say that, right?