I have openings for my Sunday Old School Essentials campaign, every Sunday 1-4pm EST on Roll20, with discord for voice. We use advanced fantasy rules, and characters start at 5th level. -The company moved northeast through the parched, wind-scoured ridges of the Abbor-Alz. Dust rose in thin, ghostlike coils around their boots, as though the land sought to clutch at them, warning them back from whatever doom lay ahead. Yet they pressed on, for Pontyrel—the weary trading city crouched on the far edge of the hills—was their only hope. There  they might secure mounts swift enough to bear them to Greyhawk City before time abandoned them completely. For in Greyhawk’s arcane vaults lay the scrolls they needed—the ancient incantations of flesh restored from stone. Without them, their companions, caught unawares by the basilisk’s merciless gaze in the dungeon’s stygian dark, would remain forever trapped between life and oblivion. Would they return in time to reclaim their friends from petrified fate?

I have openings in my BECMI Campaign, Saturdays at 4pm EST on Roll20, with Discord for voice. We use the Rules Cyclopedia for reference (with a little homebrew), and roll stats down the line in game. Characters start at 3rd Level, demi-humans at 2nd. - Beneath the dimming boughs of the Dymrak, the weary company moved with haste. They had scarcely escaped the cavern—its reeking tunnels alive with rats and goblins, and the thunderous wrath of a lumbering ogre—when misfortune struck anew. One among them now lay senseless, stricken by a venom that burned through his blood like winter’s cold fire. They bore him as gently as haste allowed, yet his silence weighed upon them more heavily than any burden. Yet the company hastened on, for behind them lay darkness and peril, and before them only a slender thread of hope. Suskiskyn was still many leagues distant, but there dwelt an elder woman whose knowledge of healing lore was said to be deep as old roots. To reach her in time was their one chance to draw the poison’s fangs from their companion’s failing heart. And there, too, awaited the chieftain Pyotyr, to whom they had questions about the fabled place of Zitaqa, known only in stories parents told their children. Whether they would reach Suskiskyn before the venom claimed its prey, none could say. The Dymrak is slow to yield passage, and many have found their fate woven into its roots. So they pressed forward beneath the darkling canopy, hoping that dawn’s light would find them beyond the forest’s grasp, and not swallowed by it forever.