A happy new year to all of our friends and those friends yet to come.
With the holidays behind us we are looking to restart our adventures as soon as possible. Our first sojourn into the Shadowlands is due to begin this week as the group throws themselves beyond the veil in order to stem the tide of darkness ebbing from the Shadowlands. There is alot the Host is yet to grasp about the Shadowlands. But let us hope our time in Bastion can give us clarity.
Having undertaken a daring venture to stem the tide of undead and the Jailer the Host has crossed the veil only to find themselves in an unfamiliar place. The realm of Bastion has so far been very accomodating but clearly all is not well in the realm of the Kyrian.
Bastion? Too bright and shiny. Imagine a platoon of zombies and death knights, eachfighting with a parasol in handâŠ
âŠfight them in the shade indeed. 
And so, the Hallowest Host venture to Maldraxxus. A haven for some of our Death Knights, an almost ideal afterlife if one could be granted that. To others, however, a nightmarish realm of slime and mushrooms and too many angry people.
Oh, you in Maldraxxus? Give me hello while there
We will! If we can ever drag Mioria out of the Theatre of pain! 
Maldraxxus is proving both fascinating, illuminating and awesome!
When we reach the Shadowlands, we will be urging you into the Theatre again with us 
Because I was bored, and now my goblin finally getting wages for the work they do.
CRASH!
With a wide sweep of her arm the wooden door slammed open. The small tinkering workshop of Ratchet making a series of clinking noises as vibrations and wind sent a few projects scattering. There were several workshops and emporiums set up by a variety of aspiring engineers in the town, any good decent Goblin port needed several for mandatory market competition reasons. She however liked to find the most desperate and run down workshop wherever she went, always find a diamond in the rough. This particular one had a Goblin and Gnome stood behind the counter with shocked angry faces aimed at her. The workshop itself split in half as if a literal line had been drawn down the middle, each side having a certain Gnomish and Goblin flair to the ongoing projects.
âHow are my fine favourite dysfunctional tinkerers doin on this sunny mornin?â
The bearded Goblin behind the counter began to open his mouth to reply before the angriest squeal possible roared from the Gnome.
âWHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING CRASHING A DOOR OPEN AT THIS TIME OF THE MORNING? DECENT FOLK DO NOT DO THAT!â
Suzie popped a head outside noticing perhaps for the first time the rising sun still very low down raising an eyebrow. Then looking back inside nodding and slowly closing the door.
âApologies, night and day all the same to us corpses ya know. A lack of proper sleepin habits I say, but never the matter. For I have coin and I am willin to pay.â
With a small juggle of her backdated wages in a bag jingling about angry faces turned to forced customer service smiles, the greatest way to make friends was always with a gold coin or two and a pleasant smile.
âI need a new hammer, summin fierce. Summin that can bring down folks bigger than me, maybe summin that packs a lil punch more than just a club ya know. Perhaps a lil runic action goin on, a lil spreadin of the unholy variety. A channel for all sorts of personal forms of magic.â
The two tinkerers pondered for a moment, tapping their chins and scribbling down notes and sketches. They stopped to look at one anothers work and swapped papers making notes on top of each other. Before finally showing a sketch for a massively oversized hammer with lots of wavey lines coming out the head which she took to indicate something impressive.
âI will take it.â
With a slap of the coin purse she smiled at the two of them. At last the Host had begun to pay her wages, not that they knew half the time what they signed. An honest omission, legally covered and all in writing. The best kind of victory.
The screams echoed up and loud into the night. The stonecellar could not keep the screams inside, but instead only amplified the sound of agony. GarnâOgar shook his head at the elf before him. He thought to himself, why elf give in? The serum was right, the pain was obviously excruciating. Garn leaned forth and started to slowly twist the small stick that was shoved in between the nail and the flesh if the elf victim.
The death knight did not even care if the elf would spill the beans, it was no matter to him. But the orders were clear, the ebon blade needed the information. Someone on the side of the living was causing trouble, and this elf had the intel about it. But again, why did it matter to Garn? He was neither dead nor living, why did he even bother⊠He sighed in his pondering and as the elf cried out in pain once more. He shook his head and peered at his table, the tools of his trade were all bloodied, all but one. The last tool, the last resort. He hoped to not have to use that again. But the elf was so stubborn⊠GarnâOgar stood up and reached for the tool, it was now or never he thought to himself. Now, or the maw.
hefts upwards ⊠there much better,
The Hallowed Host is disbanded and has been for approximately two weeks now.
Those looking for individuals in the guild, donât worry, most of us havenât gone anywhere.
My forumchar still says Im in it so, yeah. Im literally nowhere else yet 
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