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#dnd Archivist
ohlovers · 1 month
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YOU want your favourite character to be safe and happy. I want mine exhausted, beaten down, covered in scars and blood, made the wretched plaything of a terrible higher power. is that so much to ask.
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theallegedbird · 2 days
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funny caption
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bonjeacon-peakdeak · 2 months
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THE diddy from the Raphael stream. What a day.
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brighter-star · 2 months
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Meet Kaede Honoko, an oc of mine from a dnd campaign primarily based on Madoka Magica who sold her soul to become a magical girl after a housefire killed her cat
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anglerflsh · 7 months
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subclass-specific spells
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couchtaro · 2 years
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Fixed up some post-adventure Thias. Clothing and tattoo explorations.
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soldier-poet-king · 9 months
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I finally got to write formal professional reports again. It's a sort of RFP sort of functional outline. It's not NEARLY as formal as the ones we did in grad school and wouldn't be up to snuff for literally any proper organization, but my workplace does so much stuff slapdash and disorganized and it drives me insane. I am the model of a would-be burecrat. I love paperwork. Forms. Rules. Reports. It needs to be organized if it's going to be EFFECTIVE and EFFICIENT.
Anyway for this report I basically got free reign bc no one else knows what I'm talking about or how to do it. And it's just??? Such a relief and a delight to 1) get to do things properly 2) get to be competent, and be SEEN as being comptent, and not just a recent grad bumbling around trying to catch up in a workplace that doesn't follow ANY regular rules or protocols and is just. So disorganized.
Like. Given very little sleep and recovering from mild food poisoning, I've been more productive in 3 hours than I am in a lot of full days. It's like being in school again. Competence. Fully outlined and clear, reasonable goals. A PURPOSE.
I should just be given full control of everything as the benevolent dictator of my department, but alas
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ghost-bard · 10 months
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My toxic trait is i constantly mix my favorite media together.
My current favorite examples are my dnd party in trigun (who of the trigun cast they would be mainly) and what TMA entities are present in Mushi-Shi
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griftersbone-s · 1 year
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had a dream where brennan lee mulligan was fancasted as martin and now a part of me can't unsee it
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bugpysforge · 4 months
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Bramblin grew up in the former Viridian Forest, which now make up Deadwood Haunt, before the trees perished. He explores the area for his former home.
Race: Entling Class: Artificer Subclass: Archivist Specialist Location: Deadwood Haunt Alignment: Lawful Good
View the pokedex of all dungeon pokemon by following the link in the menu.
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constantron · 2 years
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Relistening to TMA and this remains one of the best things anyone has ever said
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jonquilandlace · 10 months
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hello friends bad quality picture because it was quick but since its quickly available on my phone look at the precious custom little goblin funko I made for my dnd character!
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mavratt · 1 year
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art dump 2/2
some dnd, some tma (I have redesigned them since this :,).) and one original character
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beholdingsarchivist · 10 months
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finally redrew my dnd character clementine! (they/them) its been Years lmao
theyre a sylph of time btw
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antiparticular · 2 years
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lifehack: write your dnd characters’ backstories as magnus archives statements.
i did this and i’ve never written a more detailed and well thought out backstory in my life (not saying much tbh, i’ve never been great at writing out backstories). it also allows you to put personality into it! so it not only tells your dm what happened to them, it also tells them how the character feels about it and reacted to it.
im going to put the backstory of temerity, my tiefling fighter, below the read more as an example. also im proud of it and want to show it off lol
(disclaimer that i’m not usually actually good at writing, the only time i ever actually write is for dnd backstories. this is an example of what the format can do to make the backstories of non-writers better. don’t expect a masterpiece)
TO BE READ IN THE ARCHIVIST VOICE
I was raised in an orphanage from birth, the one in Klaubury, near to the barracks. Joined the military as soon as I was old enough, of course. That's just how it went there; almost everyone who stayed in that place went on to join the army. If you didn't then- well. Whenever those people's names came up in conversation it was with a sneer, the unspoken implication of coward just behind their teeth. So I enlisted. I was good at it too. Fighting, even killing. That's the hardest part for most people, the killing. It was never hard for me though. I wish it had been.
But I fought and I killed and steadily I rose through the ranks. I never used my magic- you know how people like me have magic? How we can burn someone for inflicting even just a scratch? I hate it. Feels like cheating. No, I worked my way up through sheer hard work and skill. I have never used my magic, at least not... not in battle. And I never will.
I made Captain by the age of 37 and it was the best day of my life. Handed my insignia of rank and a whole company of 136 men to command. I was also good at this, though I preferred fighting on the frontlines; getting my hands dirty, you know. The command came a year into my captaincy. We were to take out an enemy camp, kill them all, take no prisoners. A routine enough mission, Major Ashgrove, my superior, told me. He wasn't wrong - we did this sort of thing what felt like every other month.
So we marched to this camp. It was small, a cluster of tents around several firepits. Couldn't have been more than 50 people staying there. When we attacked, it was clear this wasn't an important camp. It had to have been one of the small local militias, farmers who thought it noble to fight for their king, return home a hero. See, you can tell because armies never bother to properly equip them. Too expensive. They fight with pitchforks and old rusty shortswords, armour themselves by layering all the clothes they own. It was easy. Just set the tents on fire, slaughter those that managed to escape the burning.
It wasn't until they were all dead that I realised we’d been misled. It was- it was the crying of a baby that alerted me, in the end. A screaming, hoarse cry of absolute terror. How stupid are they, I had thought, that they would bring their infant to a battle camp? I followed the crying to a burning tent near the centre of the cluster. I don't burn like normal people do. If the fire is hot enough, if I stand in it for too long then sure it'll hurt eventually, but it's the one part of this curse that I don't have a choice but to take advantage of, that has come in useful.
I was burnt in that tent. I couldn't help it. The second I crossed the threshhold, I froze, the flames that wreathed the entrance licking at my skin. It was filled with bodies- that, I'm used to; can't get far in this line of work if you have a weak stomach. But this was different. Bodies twisted on the floor, choked to death on smoke, or burnt beyond recognition. Small enough that there was no way any of these... corpses were older than 14. By the time I could move again, it was too late. The crying had stopped. These children had obviously tried to protect the baby, keep it as far away from the flames as they could, shield it with their own tiny bodies. Still, it was blistered from the heat, and suffocated from the lack of oxygen.
In retrospect, it was clear. The pitchforks, the ancient swords. These weren't the weapons of an ill-equipped militia, but the desperate defence of a refugee settlement. These people, driven from their homes only to be chased down and massacred anyway. And I had given the command- had even taken part.
The burning is what brought me back to myself, the pain. I had to put a brave face on for my men. I couldn't change what we had done, but I could at least shield them from the guilt of knowing.
The next time I met with Major Ashgrove I saw red. I demanded he tell me whether he knew, and he laughed. I didn't kill him, at least I don't think so. When he tried to fight back, I burnt him. I was discharged. Stripped of my rank and tossed into the streets. I don't know what to do with my life now. Almost 40 years old and with nothing to my name but the meagre savings I scraped together.
I think that one day I’d like to go back and finish the job. To hear his cries fade, and see the light drain from his eyes.
Until then, I think- yes. I want to make up for what I've done. I'm- I'm good at fighting, I can... defend people? Prevent anything like that from happening again. Never again.
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selective-yellow · 1 year
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me daily: my brain is a strainer. i don't remember what I did at work yesterday. facts are a mystery and ive probably forgotten your name even tho you just told me
me sorting through our recorded sessions: oh I can tell you what we did that day anywhere from the gyst of it to a full synopsis just by the silly names I've given them
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