The strangest things get picked up and grow throughout a campaign. One of those things was a gnomish holiday called Undsday. It quickly became the word for our D&D days. In spirit every D&D day it's no work all play, perhaps one day it will be a reality. 

The Ballad of Wimbly Unds tells the story of how it came about that one day everyweek, the gnomes decide it's time to just hang out and have a good time. Enjoy!

The Nildorin reach Nord’s Helm, and meet Harding's moms, and sister. They find lodging for the evening and begin some downtime. Selene takes a moment in the moonlight, Hal asks advice from Dante & the Gleeman. An old friend pops up in the Tavern, and something mysterious happens with the tomes. Oh and Harding is hearing a voice telling them to "kill."

High above the jagged peaks of the Monadh Deargs range, where the winds howl like mournful spirits and ancient stone guards forgotten secrets, a desperate coterie of disillusioned seers, ambitious sorcerers, and exiled warlocks gathered many years ago. They sought not power from distant gods, but a primal, untamed force that could reshape their blighted world, and on that perilous mountain summit, they enacted a perilous ritual to birth the Cult of Chaos.

The Nildorin break camp high in the frozen mountains and continue south toward Nord’s Helm, but their day collapses into terror when a horror gives chase. A warped aberration of unknown origin crashes into their path and the first blows fall as the mountain itself begins to give way. Claws, spellwork, and snow all come down at once, and survival is no longer guaranteed.

In the quiet after the battle, the Nildorin finally stop moving. Grief, doubt, and exhaustion settle in as each of them reaches for something to hold onto, a voice, a memory, a promise, a direction. New truths surface, tempers flare and soften, and the need for hope becomes louder than any plan. By morning, they are not healed, perhaps steadier, ready to try again, setting back out into Truistria.