Scotts had suggested to me (lordsnarf) that I write an actual narrative to accompany the Book of Madness campaign. I don't consider myself an especially good writer, but nonetheless I will be using this space to flesh out the story of the campaign.

Old Baldwyn sat at a desk in a dark corner of his study. A lone candle weakly flickering by his side was the only source of light in the place. His face was soft, but had clearly once seen it's share of troubles as evidenced by deep wrinkles and the occasional odd scar. He was balding, what little hair he had left was a nappy, light wisp of white. Guided by what little light is there he poured over documents spread haphazardly around him.

A figure in a full black cloak comes just into the light. "Is everything ready sir?" the figure questioned with a flat, near whisper. Baldwyn reaches into a drawer and pulled forth several documents, neatly rolled and tied together. He hands them to the figure, who nods, knowing his master doesn't actually see it. "I will deliver these as ordered, are you sure this is what you want?"

"These men are the closest thing I have to trustworthy servants, present company excluded, of course." With that, the figure leaves the room, and Baldwyn is left to the silence oh his study once more. He takes a moment to reflect on the events of the past few months. He knows he's getting old, he can feel it in his bones. Most of his life was spent searching for the Fabled Book of Madness. He had long since come to the realization that this quest would not be fulfilled in his lifetime. That fact paled though, to the new fear that the tome may actually fall into the hands of the enemy. He sighs, turns to take one last look at his favorite room of the manor he had taken so many years ti build, and blows out the candle.