#whisper the tiefling sorceress | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sevi007 · 1 year

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And my third DND character - Belpheis (virtue name Elpis), a tiefling sorceress!

I actually haven't gotten to use her yet, but it's high on my priority list. Despite not playing her yet, I've already got a huge soft spot for her! I think I want her magic to be mostly ice-themed because that's what immediately popped into my head when I thought her up, but she's probably gonna be a mixed-magic sorceress, anyway lol.

Background story under the cut:

Warped horns atop a shock of dark blue hair and lavender skin - even before the tiny girl took her first shuddering breath to start crying, it was clear for all that in this child, the blood of ancient rituals, the blood of demons, has manifested strongly in this child. The exhausted parents share a look of pinched worry instead of happy relief. A tiefling. Their child is a tiefling. And different from her parents, who barely show any signs of their demonic heritage, their child‘s will not be easily hidden.

Perhaps because of this, or perhaps with a sense of cruel need for revenge, they name the child Belpheis - after the demon of Belphegor - and neglect to give her a Virtue Name to hide behind.

Belpheis learns at a young age already what hate and contempt means. It is there in the looks on her neighbors’ faces, in the sneers when she follows her mother to the market. It rings with in the hissed « demon child » behind her back, and becomes loud in the micking laughter of children who throw stones after her and her « weird horns » while none of the elders do anything about it.

But loneliness… that, Belpheis learns only with eight years old, when the teasing and mocking becomes too much for her to bear. She yells « STOP » when another stone comes flying, and everything around her freezes - literally. The ground freezes over, and the very air cracks with cold. The children, formerly laughing, are now running screaming for her and her black-glowing eyes. Stunned, Belpheis is left to stare at her hands, hands glazed with eyes, but the cold does not face her. Magic. She is magic.

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In a human or an elf, innate magic would habe been a reason to celebrate. In a tiefling? It is an bad omen. The whispers bevome shouts, the stones become rocks. Hatred swaps up and over, driven by fear. Vouces grow loud that the demon child has to go. Until the last moment, Belpheis hopes, no, believes, that at least her parents wont listen to all this.

Her hope is shattered when her mother takes her by the hand and walks her out into the forest, deeper and deeper, until the light is swallowed up by thick trunks and there is no more sound of birds to be heard. No matter how many times Belpheis asks where they are going, her mother won‘t answer. The grip on Belpheis hand hurts a lot, but after all her questions have gone unanswered, she does not dare to answer.

Once they have reached a clearing somewhere in the middle of nowhere, her mother stops them, and signs for Belpheis to take off her hood. The girl does so hesitantly, well aware that then, the very signs of her deminc blood will be visible for all the world to see. Her mother puts down the pack she has been carrying along the entire time and kneels down in front of the girl, taking of her own hood. Belpheis eyes widen when her mother reaches out to touch her horns - she has never done that before, ever. She is even more shocked when she glances up into the woman‘s face. „Mama… why are you crying?“ The tears stream silently down the woman‘s cheek while she shakes her head, pulling back her hand from warped horns and swipping it off on her dress, as if removing dirt. „Because… monsters cannot live with humans.“ The words need a moment to sink in, and once they do, Belpheis‘ mother is already standing up abruptl, and turning to go. „No! Mama!“ Belpheis stumbles to her feet and hurries to follow her mother who is walking away from her quickly. But she has the shorter legs, and is tired from walking all day, and her stumbled steps do not let her catch up. „Mama, please! Don’t leave me! I promise I will be good! Mama!“

With each of her shouts, her mother walks faster, never turning back, until she is running and bursting into the underwood. Belpheis follows her, but too slow. She stumbles and falls crying out, and by the time she has flailed back to her feet, her mother is long gone Belpheis attempts to find out where she has gone, calling out, pleading, and padding around the big forest which looks the same no matter where she turns. She only gives up when she grows too exhausted to stand and falls to her knees, eyes swimming with teras.

"Monsters cannot live with humans."

All her life Belpheis had known that she was shunned, mocked, eyed with disgust and hatred. But she had thought that at least her parents saw past her horns and her colorful skin - saw the little girl beneath the monster. Alone and abadoned in the woods, her heart breaks,knlwing that she had been wrong Her next scream is not one of fear or plea, but of rage. With it, the around her bursts into an array of colorful sparks and thundering roars echo from everywhere and nowhere, a cacophony of lights and sounds.

"…. That is some powerful magic you have there, little girl."

Scream cutting of with a terrified "eep!" Belpheis whirls around, scrambling away from the source of the voice. There is an old crone standing between the trees, wrinkled face spreading in a big smile while she holds her lantern higher and takes a step closer. "Little girl," the old woman says, sniggering. "That is a powerful thaumaturgy, for someone so young." Blood rushing in her ears, Belpheis tries and fails to make sense of words like taumaturbly or what not, and gives up with a shake of her head. "Go away," she stammers out, crawling away further. "Stay away from me!"

The crone's smile wavers as she frowns, tipping her head. "Little one. Why do you think I want to hurt you?" "Because… because I'm a monster!" Saying it hurts, but Belpheis persists, attempts to mask her wince as a baring of teeth. "And, and I'm magic!" "A monster? No." Smile widening again, the old woman steps closer, only half a step. "Magic? Oh yes. You are. And a powerful one at that. But you lack practice little one. You need to be able to control that magic, unless you wish to hurt yourself with it." Something about the somber way the woman says that makes Belpheis hesitate and listen, instead of scooting away more. "How… how do you know that?" In her village (which is her village no longer, now) nobidy had known anything about magic, much more than that it is scary, anyway.

"Why, my dear?" The crone snickers, and wiggles her hand - and the light on her hand, which Belpheis had taken to be an oil lamp, turns out to be a floating ball of light, hovering freely over the crone's shoulder now. While Belpheis stares with her mouth wide open, the light turns blue, then green, casting the woman in strange shadows and light while she smiles a toothless smile and stretches out her hand "Because I am, too. And we mages have to stick together, dont we?"

#sevi plays dnd #dnd oc #oc artwork #oc #belpheis - elpis

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theinvulnerabletide · 5 years

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Whisper was a performer. Had been for about seven years of her life, and usually it showed in the way she cast. Her lilting Abyssal incantations started out hushed, growing ever louder, crescendoing to the last word when she released her power into the world. Her motions were fluid and attention grabbing, twirling and commanding hand gestures, slamming the end of her staff on the ground. She was the kind of woman who made her own stage wherever she went.

Today, she didn’t care about her audience. She screamed each spell, the words echoing off of the building’s high ceiling. Each gesture was terse and abrupt and brutal, a close of a fist to create a Maelstrom in the water, a slash through the air to create lightning, a slam of her staff to send a Tidal Wave slamming across the water. She was dimly aware that people were staring at her. People always stared at her. But for once, she didn’t care what they were seeing. She didn’t care what they thought, she didn’t care how they viewed her, if those murmurings were awe or fear or annoyance.

All this power. Enough that she could destroy this building if she wasn’t carefully keeping it to the pool, enough that she could lay waste to a small army all by herself. She’d swept herself and Isao and Thia halfway around the world in an instant with pinpoint accuracy. And yet she couldn’t bring Oriana back.

What use was power if you couldn’t use it for the important things?

She let out another Tidal Wave with a scream, only for nothing to happen. Her temples were throbbing, and a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her. She had nothing left in the reservoir. Fuck.

Her hands trembled as she wrapped them around her staff and pushed herself away from the pool, aware of all the eyes on her. Good. Let them stare.

She wasn’t powerful enough to bend reality to her will yet? Then she’d get stronger. She’d burn herself out every day, practicing like her mother had always wanted her to, until she didn’t have enough left in her at the end of the day to fill a bathtub. She’d spend hours in the library, learning and growing herself, until every kind of magic came naturally.

Then she’d break the world open. Again and again, until Oriana drew breath and was there to play baroness and she learned how to take care of her son properly, until Adoroar had his family back together, until Isao’s monastery was fixed, and Thia had her answers and Frank had his ears, and Shade had his ghosts in corporeal form, and Twiggy had whatever it was that he wanted. If the world wouldn’t give her what she wanted by “conventional means”, then she’d twist it until it’d do whatever she said if only she would stop.

And then she’d twist harder.

She stepped into the too-bright light of the afternoon, only to see Thia and Isao talking to one another just across the street, something that would usually make her smirk, but right now she could barely bring herself to care.

Thia looked over first, saw the way she was leaning on her staff, the scowl on her face, and was there in an instant, hand buzzing with healing energy. “You okay? Do you need—”

Whisper waved her off. “I’m fine. Peachy. Did you guys need me for something?”

Thia let her hand fall to her side as Isao joined them. “No, but we didn’t find anything at the library. Whatever information we need, it’s not here.”

“Of course it’s not,” Whisper muttered. The important answers were never in a library where just anyone could stumble across them.

“So we were thinking of grabbing dinner and then heading back to rest? Unless—”

“Unless?”

“Can you get us back to the keep now?” Isao asked, and Whisper briefly fought off the impulse to hit him with her staff.

It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t possibly know that teleporting three people clear across the prime material plane took more energy than anything else she had ever done, that she’d been the last one out of the pub because she’d had to wait until the room had stopped spinning before she could move. Besides, he’d just catch her staff like it was nothing and then she’d look like an idiot. Her ego really couldn’t take that right now.

“No,” she replied flatly. “I’m not going to have enough energy to do that until I’ve slept.”

His mouth twisted, taking in the sweat on her face and the way she was leaning on her staff, but she turned away from him, looking at Thia, who was all concern and no judgement. “So, where too?”

“Back to the pub?”

An entire island floating in the sky, and it only had one place to drink at. This place was the worst. But she couldn’t say she wanted to be at the keep right now either. There was only so much mourning she could take.

She looked at Thia, who practically was vibrating with the need to move, and flashed her a cocksure grin. The one that said: ‘I’m always alright, don’t worry.’ It did the trick. It usually did. Thia’s shoulders relaxed, if only a tick. “Lead on,” she said, sketching a small bow with one hand, and Thia turned, her face already tilting up to catch Isao’s gaze.

At least she could still pull off a performance when the audience mattered. Good. Those two had better things to worry about then her.

#whisper the tiefling sorceress #sometimes kori writes things #sprin'torel campaign #the Susurrus Society #whatever the hell this #drabble

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americanegg · 6 years

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Me @ my D&D character, getting into their usual bullshit:

#i am in control of 2 dnd characters for 2 different campaigns #is 11 pm i feel like speaking about dnd characters #creed my necromancer has acquired the animate dead spell and has created a new buddy named wilson #name was spur of the moment #so. good happy fun times #she almpst died once if not for him still protecting her unconscious form in this big boss fight we had #now. now shes committed to a couple deals shes made with a possible agent of vecna and in exchanhe for some simple work #with questionable means of doing so ethically speaking #shes got a ring with a powerful sorcerer trapped in it and theyre sharing a headspace right now ever since she attuned to it #the sorceress has strong opinions too so thats fun #this is a homebrew campaign that ive been ins #since feb i think #tiefling necromancer who is selfish but not afraid to have a good time exploring while shes younh #shes 19. so #impulse control is near nonexistant for her #i realize i should be more confident when. posting personal things on a post instead of whispering in the tags #one more thing is that she hates broken promises #her name is creed. best friend is her familiar kidus and her newly acquired meat shield wilson. since the barbarian is on leave rn.#anyway #good night #personal #dnd #d&d

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qhostqizmo · 3 years

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I will, I will, follow you into the storm

when you ‘round the bend // close your eyes and count to ten i’ll walk through hell and back again // anywhere you go

Blood dripped from Essätha’s nostril to pool on her upper lip, leaving it to slowly trickle down her chin. She grimaced, her head woozy and legs staggering as she tried to regain her composure. People weren’t supposed to feel their brain pounding against their skull, last she’d checked. In fact, the sorceress felt like she’d gotten hit by an ox and flung around a barbed fence for the past few minutes, which was definitely not a ‘normal’ bodily feeling.

Garbling out a string of curse words behind her tongue; now coated with a metallic flavor, Essie spat on the ground and turned frantically. Her entire body lurched in agony. She hissed, trying to make out shapes and figures through her dizziness.

“Amon?”

Terror lit up her voice. A pale gray Drow woman had her fingers wrapped around the nobleman’s throat. He was rigid; eyes wide as fingernails caressed his esophagus. The woman leaned in close as though to whisper something to him, her other arm raising to lift the shadow blade from her right hand.

The weapon never made its blow. As she’d moved to strike, a surge of dark magic spear-like bolts pummeled into her back. The woman shrieked, her gaze snapping towards Penimra’s snarky upturned beak. She grimaced at the high-elf, and instead vanished in a flood of dark mist and glowing eyes, to reappear close to the teleportation circle in the room.

“She’s going to escape!” Rava cried out, wiping at her sweaty brow.

“They’re cowards,” Face sneered in agreement, his crossbow bolt narrowly missing a human also fleeing for circle.

Wincing in pain, Essie looked between Amon and the enemy accomplices running for their assured get away. She’d never make it to the circle in time, and her magic was drained of anything of effective offense. On heavy legs, she rushed towards his side instead. Some things were simply more important than winning the fight.

With a roar, Sulhadur let out an inferno of blazing fire towards the closest cult members to him. One fell, screeching and smelling of burned flesh and hair, dead within seconds. The other two; barely clutching to life, also bolted for the circle. Clipping past Adela, the pink Tiefling pulled free a dagger on her hip to bury into one’s throat. They toppled over, gasping through a bloody windpipe, and fell dead.

The final remaining members finally seemed to scramble into the ring. As the recited spell to activate the teleportation circle began to fill the air, Essie grabbed Amon by the shoulders. He jerked into awareness, a sense of confusion still evident in his dark eyes.

“M’lord?” She grasped for his face, her fingers caressing his cheeks.

He gasped, clutching at his throat.

“What-?”

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know my head feels… foggy…”

Lifting his head, Essie followed his regard to squint at the flash of light igniting from the circle. With a crackle of energy, suddenly the few hostile enemies were nowhere to be seen.

Silence followed. Penimra’s voice was the first to break it, stating everyone’s sentiment in a single word: “Shit.”

As the others began to bandage themselves and roll over the bodies searching for any valuables, Essätha returned her gaze back on Amon. He stared, dumbfounded, where the teleportation circle was.

“How do you feel?” Essie pressed, her fingertips grazing affectionately over his sideburns.

“I…” Distracted, the nobleman looked around the room. He finally settled back to looking in her eyes, a small but tired smile appearing on his feastures. “I feel… fine, Essie. Considering.”

“Are you sure? Pri’cha should probably have a look at you. Pri-”

“Yes, niss Essätha?” A tiny voice chirped from a few feet away.

“I’m fine Essie,” Amon strained, “really.”

Unconvinced, she stared back into his gaze. He appeared a little shaken; his expression still puzzled, but he was not nearly as bloodied nor frazzled looking as the rest of him. Yet that interaction had been so strange.

“What had she said to you?”

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know,” he ushered vaguely. “Must have been some sort of threat. I was a bit preoccupied by the hand on my neck. I’m sorry.”

How very odd. Her mouth squiggled with indecision, but she felt pressuring him on it further wouldn’t help matters. If he claimed not to remember or been paying attention to the Drow’s words, then there was no helping the case. No one else had been close enough at the time to probably overhear, if they’d have had half the mind to be paying attention.

She let go of his face. The nobleman reached up, idly rubbing his cheek where her fingers had just been. Something in his far-off stare still seemed unsettling, but the sorceress couldn’t name why.

“Lets see if there’s anything useful on them before we check the rest of the building,” Amon proclaimed, offering her a gentle smile. He hesitated for a second as he looked at her, his pupils wide. He reached to his side, pawing at a pocket, before he pulled forth a handkerchief. Essätha remained patient and still as he attended to dabbing at her bloody nose, her eyes turning to half-slits. She’d forgotten to worry when he touched her so carefully. Back to being more like himself; chivalrous and kind.

“Sorry,” he muttered a bit shyly, folding over the cloth to daub at the red smear on her lips and chin.

“You’re doing fine,” she sighed despite herself. “Thank you.”

He smiled back at her, and her heart melted in her chest.

Awkwardly clearing his throat, he stuffed the dirty cloth back into his pocket. “You’re welcome.”

Feeling his shoulder lightly tap hers as he skirted around her, Essätha felt the returning wave of puzzlement. She gazed over to the back of Amon’s head, a perplexed frown on her face.

Must not be important.

Shrugging it off, she proceeded to follow him towards the nearest corpse. There was still work to be done.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“This room’s only a little spooky,” the young elf-child announced with only a little too much cheer considering the entire décor was set up on ritualistic sacrifices.

Uneasy, Essie looked around. There were body parts and stains of blood all over the place. A lingering odor of rotting flesh lay beneath a haze of something smoky; like herbs had been burned recently. She snuffled in disgust, trying not to curl her lip towards the bones scattered in the corners of the room like useless artifacts swept aside.

A few tables, almost randomly placed in the room, had items upon them. Trinkets and tools; some obvious in their use, still coated bodily fluids. Dried skin; of what creature she could not be sure, was curing and pulled tight in racks. A shimmering black curtain lay on the opposite side of the room, concealing more.

More she did not want to see, she reasoned.

“Their interior designing wouldn’t be so bad if kept it maintained,” Face defended, nudging aside a deceased rat that had possibly gotten in to one of the opened containers of poison.

Adela visibly shuddered at the commentary. Essätha felt much the same.

She watched, her stomach rolling as Sulhadur made his way over to one of the writing desks. The Dragonborn turned over some of the documents, a curl of smoke blooming from his jaws. She bothered to move closer, joining him in peering over the paper. It was more of what she’d expect from everything else these losers used; more Abyssal text written in some strange code she couldn’t make out.

“Any idea what it says?”

She shook her head helplessly, glancing over towards the cleric. They held up a tome they’d found on another desk. Though she couldn’t make out what it may say at this distance if it were even written in Common, she could see some of the images on it. Horrific sketches; disemboweled corpses with memos of some sort.

“Be careful what you touch in here,” Adela advised, clutching on to the necklace hanging around her neck. “I don’t like the feel of this place.”

“Because we could all use more curses,” Penimra sarcastically grumbled, picking up a scepter lying against a wall. He eyed it for a while before curtly deciding to use the golden staff like a walking stick.

Wearing a scowl of disgust; this entire room looked like a horror freak show’s circus, Essie gazed back in the direction of the curtain.

It fell aside, and she caught a glimpse of Amon’s cloak as it shifted.

Her heartbeat jumped into her throat.

“M’lord?” she called out, dropping the catalogs back on the desk. He was usually not the reckless one of the party to simply run ahead. That seemed more like the work of one of the other lads; or of Rava when the spunky trickster elf decided to sneak around.

The footsteps of some of the others moved to follow her as she pushed aside the curtain.

Holding a key she hadn’t seen with him before, her nobleman looked poised to stick it into the keyhole of some random door.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Essie ran over to grab his arm hastily.

“M’lord Amon, what are you-”

Her gaze snapped up to his.

His eyes were blank. Lifeless.

Working against her, he tried to push the key into the keyhole slot.

Spitting profanities, the sorceress grappled with his arm; shoving her hip into Amon’s and wrestling to stand in front of the doorway.

“Amon! Amon you beautiful idiot what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer her. It was like fighting a rock. His expression was void, and his only intention seemed to be on the door.

A solid, heavy thump echoed on the other side. Something groaned; snarled, viscous and low.

“Don’t you dare open that door,” she threatened, fumbling with his hand. She sprawled out before it, slapping at his hand with a flinch of her own.

“Amon? Essätha?” Sul’s voice echoed.

Something scratched on the other side of the door. Moaned. Thumped heavily against the wood.

From the floor, some of the skeletons began to twitch and write. They began to rise up, their bones clattering loudly. A horrifying pile of flesh began to twist and pulse as well, revealing that it had been stitched together into some sort of flesh golem.

Panicked and wide-eyed, Essie latched on to Amon. The corner of his lip pulled into a frown as he tried to insert the key once more.

“Snap out of it!” she cried out, shaking him. Her eyes rounded to see that a number of bodies had risen from the floor, their burning eyesockets trained on her friends. She inhaled loudly; her lungs feeling as shaky as her hands, and looked up into her nobleman’s vacant expression.

“Listen, I don’t know what that Drow told you to do, but you don’t have to do it,” she blubbered frantically. “We’re in danger, and I know you don’t want to put us in anymore danger. Right?” She shook him rougher. “Right?”

The key clicked into the keyhole. Essätha grasped at it, struggling to yank it out as he attempted to twist it.

Pri’cha was shouting something, and a wall of light lit up the room.

“Stop!” Essie begged. She let go of the key, flinging herself into Amon to push him back. He grunted, his brow knit.

“I need you here! With me. Please- I- I can’t lose you I love you-”

The door creaked behind them, arcane runes flaring to life along the edges of the door. The key shuddered in the keyhole.

Twisting her hands into the fabric and fur of his cloak, Essätha leaned in to plant a firm kiss to his lips. Amon remained cold and unyielding to her efforts at first; his body unforgiving and taut. Then, suddenly, he grunted, and his posture was rigid with shock as she held to him; her teeth grazing his lower lip and her tongue pressed to his lips.

She pulled away. He gaped at her, awed, and reached up to tentatively touch his bruised lip.

Appalled with herself, the sorceress slapped a hand over her own mouth.

The key rattled in the keyhole, turning a fraction.

Muttering something beneath his breath, Amon reached around her to grab at the key.

“Wait-!”

He yanked it out. She sagged against the doorframe with relief, sighing.

“You kissed me!” Amon declared, his voice ragged and throat moving as he swallowed thickly. He was leaning over her, nearly pining her back to the door as something howled furiously behind it.

“I- Sorry-?” she choked, glancing behind him to where the others were mutilating the reanimated dead.

The Briarton Protector groaned heavily, his face red with humiliation.

Essie tapped him on the shoulder, trying to point behind him. Apparently he did not get the message, his eyes moving down to stare at her hand and then back to her face as Sul physically smashed a skeleton to pieces just behind them with his shield.

“You were going to open a portal to who knew what- I couldn’t just- let you-”

“You… told me you loved me?”

“Well-” baffled that he’d even recall that so well, her cheeks grew pink. “Yeah. I mean- if you opened a gateway to Hell I’d still promise to follow you, there and back. That said: I’d rather you not open unknown thresholds into some sort of hell, especially not of your own choice.”

Jaw slack, Amon stared down at her. “I don’t think Hell could exist, so long as I’m with you.”

Her face taking on the molten-core heat of sun itself, Essie pushed her hands against her nobleman’s chest. “That’s really romantic and all-” she wheezed, “but perhaps you should look behind you at what the rest of our friends are dealing with-”

Something hit the door to her back heavily and she yelped, jumping directly into Amon’s arms.

Grunting, he held her to his chest as he swung around to see the remaining flesh golems and skeletons getting beaten back to dust and splattered smears of remains.

He let go of her to tear his sword free of its scabbard.

“You didn’t lead with this?” he inquired, raising his shield in front of her as he took a swipe at the nearest body.

“Was I supposed to?”

“Probably!”

“Would you two lovebirds quit squabblin’ and start smashin’!” Face cut in, hurling a fire bolt at one of the humanoid beings made of leathery skin.

“He means smashing skeletons, not each other!”

“Thanks for the advice, Penimra,” Essie growled with exasperation, curling her hand to summon the ghastly figure of her chill-touch hand to strangle one of the reanimated skeletons.

Groaning himself, Amon turned to press a kiss to her temple, catching the sorceress off guard.

“Talk later?” he muttered a bit out of breath, side-stepping around to defend her from the lumbering nude humanoid creation to slice and hack at it relentlessly.

She blinked a few times, staring at the ominous door with the scratching noises behind her, back to the boney figure before her as her own skeletal chill-touch gripped its face, and ebbed away more of its life-force.

“S-Sure,” she squeaked helplessly.

What was there to say? Hey, sorry I bit you when I kissed you, I just wanted to wake you up from the weird mind control hypnosis thing you were under? The fact she’d said I love you? How she told him she needed him? She was almost sweating bullets already! There was a lot of unboxing right there.

Her face felt warm, and almost dizzy recalling how he’d just leaned in to rest his lips against the side of her head.

Oh fuck she was so screwed.

#qhost story #OTP: Essamon #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #softly written #no brains only love

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rainbowrocky248 · 4 years

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Looking for D&D Players Again

Game: D&D 5e

Current Level: 3-4

Language: English

Group Type: Online [we use Roll20 and Discord]

My Role: DM

Roles Sought: Players [2-3 for a long term, pre-established campaign]

Timezone: Eastern/Centeral Standard Time

Times Available: Our next game is not currently scheduled as we’re taking a break, but I’m eager to bring in new players anyways even if we won’t start up again in a month or two :D

How Often: Weekly

About Me: Hello, my name is Rocky [he/him or fae/faer]! I’m looking for committed players for a long term campaign! We’re already deep in the midst of one and are looking for two or three more players as most of the ogs have left. We will be using Discord [voice chat only] for communication and Roll20 as our online gaming platform. I am a relatively new DM looking for people passionate about roleplaying! I have seven years of roleplaying experience with Pathfinder, a year with D&D 5e, and six months of DMing for this campaign. Players of all sorts of experience are welcome, but our party is primarily made of new players so we are very open to having you come learn the rules with us. We’re LGBT+ friendly and expect anyone interested in joining to be as well!

Character Creation: A lot of time and effort has been put into the Tales of the Planewalkers campaign, both on my end as the DM creating this universe and from the players who have each created wonderful characters. We look forward to whoever wishes to join us! You have to understand that I would like a similar level of effort to be put back into the game. I don’t want uncommitted players here so if you could create a synopsis for a character idea that would be great! It doesn’t have to be incredibly detailed, just say your race, class, and at least five sentences of background story. You’re welcome to make changes before game play, especially once I reveal more things about the lore to you if you join the party.

World Setting:

You come from a world you call Estrya. Estrya is home to a number of races who belong to a number of kingdoms that worship a number of Deities. Depending on which pantheon you belong to, you believe in differing legends about the creation of your world. All pantheons have agreed however that there are realms beyond the world of Estrya where the Deities reside, these magical worlds unique to the Deities residing within them. Contact with these realms is unique but not rare. A young Tiefling can connect with their Archdevil parentage through a simple spell, a seasoned wizard can astral project himself into the Beastlands when he sleeps, a powerful sorceress can even create portals and venture to and from these realms, and on the rarest of occasions a god can even be summoned to the Material Plane through their highest ranking cleric. Rumors prevail the lands of angels and devils walking among you, whispering words of advice or trickery into your ears. There are histories of Demigods becoming rulers of mighty empires that lasted for centuries. These are the reasons why religion is a core value in Estrya, because it is an undoubted truth that such beings of unfathomable power exist. It is seen as incredibly odd in your world if you do not belong to some pantheon or another and actively worship the gods. Atheistic or agnostic people are treated with an air of suspicion or idiocy by the people who know of their skepticism. Because the world of Estrya is so rich in the influence of the realms outside of the material plane, beings like Tieflings and Dragonborn are not put under the same scrutiny they would be on other worlds. Each race treats other races differently in their own ways, like the incessant rivalry between Elves and Dwarves, or the embracing acceptance Humans have for most other races, or the respect all races seem to have for the Dragonborn as they are seen as the oldest of the humanoid races on Estrya, though the Dragonborn might not return such respect. All in all though the races generally get along. That does not mean that Estrya is a peaceful utopia however. Wars are often fought between kingdoms over land and resources, and between religious sects over the definition of good and evil or the claimant of a holy land. Today the land is relatively peaceful, though whispers of an uprising of evil is being spread amongst the faiths of good.

Current Location:

Our players have found themselves lost in the Astral Plane with no certain way home. The Astral Plane is a realm of myth and mystery, a place where dreams are reality. The eternal silver sea wraps around you in an opaque fog as you float by with the sheer will power of your mind. Most simply pass through the plane, but there are some strange creatures that live here, most of which feast on the thoughts of others. Why have you come to the Astral Plane? What brings you to join this band of home seekers?

If that setting sounds interesting to you and you’re excited to get started then this is the campaign for you! I would just like to reiterate that this is a long term campaign that’s already fostered six months of play time with previous players, so we are looking for a certain level of commitment here. I hope you find our future adventures a lot of fun and build some meaningful relationships from it in the future as I have so far!

The Current Party:

Ivan - Pakari (homebrew humanoid Wolf race) Fighter

Liliana - Kitsune (homebrew humanoid fox race) Rogue

Setyr - Pakari (homebrew humanoid wolf race) Sorcerer

For Applications: You can message me on tumblr PMs with the application filled out

Name: [doesn’t have to be your full or real name, just whatever you’d like myself and the other players to call you]

Age: [this game will not be accepting anyone under the age of 17 or over the age of 25]

Pronouns:

Timezone:

Availability: [just a rough estimate on what days of the week you can play]

Experience: [please have at least read the first chapter of the Player’s Handbook, even if you’ve never played before]

Discord Tag:

Gaming Style: [we are a roleplay heavy group so keep this in mind and be ready for it!]

Fun Fact about yourself:

Character Race/Class:

Character Backstory:

Any Questions, Comments, Concerns:

#looking for players #dungeons and dragons #dnd #d&d 5e #dnd campaign

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punishandenslavesuckers · 5 years

Photo

Somewhere in Faerûn, there’s a tabaxi, a bugbear, a werewolf, and a tiefling all sitting in a boat. There’s a triton in the water but she’s not alone. In a split second, one of the others will have to do something about it. An excerpt from my last homegame session. Combat-heavy one-shot.

Blue and Will are and have been giving each other the silent treatment for the better part of six hours now.

Rime is professionally friendly, but he can only make so much neutral single party conversation before getting annoyed and settling in to watch the river. Their three-boat caravan of small outrigger canoes continues steadily up river – powered by the tireless efforts of the hunkered bugbear jammed uncomfortably into the lead boat. With him is Bian – their smallish tabaxi navigator who’s perched somewhat absurdly on the back tip of the canoe like a lightly armored counter balance.

The second boat, lashed between Rime and Bian’s respectively, is empty save a single occupant. He lies very still, shivering occasionally beneath the worn travel blanket that Rime very carefully tucked around him some hours ago. Tivas hasn’t regained consciousness since the closing of the water purification ritual that went non-stop these last thirty-six hours. Rime was careful to pack the ritual instrument – the Blossom of Beauties – into the druid’s pack and tuck it protectively under his arm.

Tivas, even thralled by delirium, pulled the sacred thing close (pulled close the vehicle of his death) and Rime had to get back into the third boat. Blue commented, eventually, that the flowers ringing Rime’s headband were a weird silver and he told her, simply, “Yeah they do that,” with no further explanation.

So Rime is still in the back boat when they reach the salt marsh.

Bian has her back to Rime so he can see the twitching white length of her tail going this way and that as she scans the foggy western shore. Occasionally, she shoots Rime meaningful looks and Rime grimaces significantly back. Vorgut, the big black-furred bugbear, rows furiously while likewise sending glances toward the reed-choked river bank. His giant, tattered, bat-like ears swivel nervously.

Somewhere to Rime’s right, Blue rows as well, but less out of geographical anxiety than pure, domestic rage and need to put that rage somewhere. Preferably in the water and not directly into the back of her husband’s half-elf skull. She’s a small, blue and white blur of flexing arm muscle, muttering softly to herself in furious Aquan. So she doesn’t notice Rime taking a more attentive crouch in the boat.

Will looks up from his book and scans the waters.

“Hey, Rime.”

“Mmm,” says Rime, rather than use thaumaturgy to speak just yet.

“What’s going on? I’ve got the heebie-jeeebies.”

Rime snaps his fingers and the spell murmurs almost directly into Will’s ear: “Shh. Lizard folk live out there.” He jerks his head toward the salt marsh. “We need to be careful.”

“They wanna eat us,” Bian says without looking away from what she’s doing up front.

Blue, hearing this, growls something like, “Good,” under her breath.

And, naturally, that’s when the first javelin slams with a loud thunk into the side of Tivas’ canoe. The entire party stares, horrified, for moment. Except of course for Blue, who lunges eagerly to her feet with her wand in hand and anticipating a target. That does not happen because a second javelin already airborne immediately slams into Blue’s stomach with such force it knocks her with a scream into the bottom of the boat and blood splatters across Rime’s startled face.

Will howls, “Blue!”

But the javelins have already begun to rain down.

“Bian!” Rime hooks his arm through his battle shield and lunges back toward Blue. “Get us out of here!”

Blue – teeth bared, screaming like a banshee – is snapping the javelin between her webbed fists. She hurls the long part of the shaft into the water, keeping the head of the spear embedded in her gut. She doesn’t waver or try to rise. She raises her hands and instantly, an unnatural slither of white mist condenses from the river waters. A nearly opaque cloud-wall forms between the shore and their boat, veiling them in a literal smokescreen. Rime feels a wind driving like a kick into the back of the third canoe and Blue just lies there, bright-eyed and snarling, her off-hand gripping the javelin.

Magic floods Rime’s hands.

It courses hot from his heart down the track of his arms to his palms. He wills the magic like lightning courses to ground – Blue, Will, and Bian. The blessing diffuses through each of them. Unfortunately, it happens precisely as Will is attempting to jump from their boat into the middle boat and he nearly biffs it, boot slipping so he topples head first into Tivas’ canoe. Bian is already yelling to Vorgut to row faster and easterly. The boats begin to swing toward the opposite shore, far away from the marsh.

Javelins soar from the fog – hitting the walls of the boats, the water around them. One nearly wings the ropes that lash the third boat to the second. Seeing this, Blue waves a hand and a ripple-like mirage passes over the ropes… then a knotted tangle of a dozen ropes appears there, obscuring the target. Will, meanwhile, wrenches a javelin from the side of the boat and without warning, he swells. His spine bows up. Dark fur erupts from the back of his neck and spreads instantly across his body and as Rime watches, stunned, the newly shifted werewolf winds one massive arm back and whips the javelin right back across the shore.

Then he does it again. Over and over. Across the shore, there’s a scream as a spear going ninety miles per hour surely smashes through several lizard men.

Rime maneuvers to the back of the boat and kneels directly between Blue and the foggy enemy-infested shore. They crouch together behind his shield, peering into the mist but no more javelins come. There’s just… motion somewhere in the long grasses and reeds. As Rime’s vision adjusts to the fog… he realizes the shore is literally swarming with lizard folk. The reeds bristle with spears and glinting eyes.

Rime braces the shield more securely. “You see them?”

“Oh, yessss I do,” Blue hisses.

Rime hears her flick the wand of magic missile somewhere directly over his head. There’s a flash and eighteen screaming beads of neon light rip across the river like tiny, hyper-speed fireflies before arching up, then divebombing into the crowd. There’s a sound of wet screaming and bursting. Gore and skull fragments pop as if from red balloons along the shore. Behind him, Rime hears Blue muttering in Aquan and he’d bet it means, “Fuck you fuck you fuck you, I win!”

Will, seeing his wife at work, lays down his sword a moment and grabs the oars to join Vorgut in furious rowing.

Rime – seeing this and hearing the continued guttural shrieks of torment still issuing from Blue’s blast zone – closes his eyes. He presses one hand to his chest, over the three-star sigil of Lliira and for a moment simply mouths, “Show me,” and looks skyward.

It’s instantaneous. The knowing rushes through his head and through his body, takes possession of him in a jolt of sudden muscle memory. Rime shudders, then grabs the oars from where Blue left them and with a sailor’s stolen confidence, begins to pull them asymmetrically through the waters, swinging the tail boat into Will’s rowing, and then into Vorgut’s.

And the boats are suddenly traveling snug to the western shore, so far beyond the range of the javelins that again, no weapons are thrown. For a full ten minutes, Rime expertly navigates the outrigger along the edge of the shore until the light of Lliira fades like a touch from his mind and he loses that sailor’s expertise easy as amnesia. At the front of the boat, Bian is alertly watching the river with one eye and Vorgut’s navigation with the other.

Will, in his boat, says, “Fuck. They’re coming.”

There are splashes from the far shore. Bodies getting quickly through the waters toward them as about forty lizard folk abandon long-range in favor of swimming directly at their small canoes. Blue, behind Rime, staggers up still impaled by the javelin. She hisses, “Let me at ‘em!” and before Rime can tell her to stop fucking moving with a spear in her gut, she raises her arcane focus and throws a fistful of sand into the water.

Magic flashes. Suddenly about half the charging lizard folk go limp mid-swim. Rime sees their eyes slide peacefully, magically shut as they are sucked down by the river’s current and disappear beneath the dark waters.

A force of over twenty furious, screaming lizard-folk are still powering like scaly, ravenous missiles through the water. Rime again takes position between Blue and the enemy, pulling her close behind him and bringing the shield up in one hand. With the other, he raises it palm out toward the waters… and he hesitates.

He can hear Will yelling and hacking furiously as the first wave of lizard men attempt to swarm his canoe. Bian is hissing and snarling, just beheading and hacking into the water. Rime can smell Blue’s blood on the wood and slick on her dress.

Lizard folk hit the third boat.

Wounded, the water frothing with blood, they claw and grab. Gored by Bian, mutilated by Will, the survivors bump down the line of the outriggers to claw madly at the last boat. The grapple the rigs, pulling themselves up, trying to get at both Rime and the wounded sorceress behind him only to be bashed in the face by a shield, but they’re starting to pile on. Rime can’t… he can’t just drive them off. They dragg the boat like an anchor, water sloshing into the…

“Fuck,” Rime whispers.

And summons his spiritual weapon.

It manifests instantly, a bright spinning ball of carnival ribbons hovering like a giant dandelion tuft just above the water… then it swings down, gliding to skim the water, the ribbons foaming the surface as it hooks down to pass along the right side of the head boat where, in a spray of pureed bone, blood, and meat, the razor-sharp ribbons shear one lizard man’s arm off at the elbow, then beheads the fellow behind him. Then on down the line like a meteorite of frothing water and blood, dismembering and bludgeoning any clinging enemies until it reaches that last boat.

The weapon stops directly in front of Rime and grinds a bloody, screaming, person-free space into the waters next to Rime’s shield. This does not last. There are… far too many and even the horror and losses don’t seem to sway them. The lizard folk bash against Rime’s still raised shield, hooked over the side of the boat and he shoves them again, bashes one of them in the face, watches that face shred off the skull when he falls into the weapon.

Blue grabs Rime’s shoulder.

She hisses a little frantically in his ear, “How do you feel about taking a hit?”

To which Rime grits, cheerfully, using his real, demonic voice in all its hissing horror, “Pretty good!”

“Okay!”

Then Blue dives off the back of the boat like a suicidal swimmer toward the lizard-folk infested waters. She arcs up, twisting midair, arms out. A wind catches her Triton frame like a slender kite on an updraft. It carries her upwards, spinning her so for a strange, impossible moment she is almost vertical, upside-down, white hair blown out around her face with her hand out… and she casts thunder wave.

She casts directly at the last boat, Rime, and all the lizard folk upon it.

Rime slams his shield down, grabs a bench and braces as the electricity hits him in a white-hot, screaming wave of pain. Every muscle seizes with a hideous rigor as the lightning courses through him. It hits him like a blow to blast him back, but he holds the fuck onto the boat. He hears the wood splinter, water flood over his boots. For a horrible moment he sees white, then stars, and then the sky reeling above him. Lizard folk are still screaming. He can hear them scrabbling at the out rigging, banging into the canoe walls as they still, still keep on coming.

Then Blue drops with a little shriek into the boat again, almost knocking Rime over, and Will is bellowing, “Jump! Jump! You gotta get in here!”

Rime moves on a dizzy, static-buzzed instinct. He rolls, pivoting to face the middle boat and Will who stands at the back with one hand frantically out stretched and the other holding a blazing scimitar. Rime staggers, still seeing stars and feeling the buzz in his bones. He reaches the front of the boat, drives one foot down on the bow and jumps, landing directly in the second boat and immediately losing his shield from his static-numb arm.

Blue. Is Blue –?

He turns… just in time to see Blue try to follow him. He’s in time to watch it happen, as if in slow motion, as the sorceress’ blood-slick boot squeaks out from beneath the driving lunge off her right leg… and she loses half of her momentum instantly. Rime watches her fall, one arm outstretched toward them – Will and Rime both staring in horror – as she falls into the writhing, blood-red waters.

Split second: Will is screaming.

Split second: The lizard folk start to swarm.

Split second: Bian yells.

And Rime feels his focus like a razor’s edge along the arcane line from his mind to the spiritual weapon. The cyclone ball of ribbon rockets up the side of the boat and every ribbon in its composition loses any bluntness they formerly possessed. What hits the bodies of the lizard folk hits with molecular-sharp indifference and with no clear difference in texture between bone, meat, and water, the weapon plows down into the river and the waves blacken, then redden, then thicken with blood and body parts. The ribbons are no longer any other color but blood red.

Blue tucks into a ball as the weapon screams a horrifying orbit around her, over and over, clearing a ring of mutilation. It’s so precise, it never touches her. Only the ones it intends to harm.

Eventually, the river is clear around her. The remaining lizard folk still alive, screaming, and mauled, swim away back toward the marsh. Blue unfolds herself beneath the water, kicks up, and her head breaks the water by the back of the second canoe now cut free of the third. The water is red around her pale blue face. She blinks up at Rime, bright eyes a little shell-shocked and glassy. Her white hair is pink as Rime catches her arm with a shaking hand and pulls her from the river.

Rime does it carefully, turning her onto her back as he drags her into the bed of the boat.

Will is already pulling Tivas (still unconscious) to the other side of the boat to make room as Rime arranges the tiny Triton woman on the floor and immediately checks the fucking head of the javelin still stuck between her hip bone and her belly. Rime promptly rips her dress open a little to get a better look and presses his fingers into the flesh around the puncture, trying to gauge the depth. Blood pulses around the head of the spear, turning the water puddled beneath her a dark red.

“Blue.” Rime smacks her cheek a little until she looks at him, his real voice grating and seething with whispers. “Are you okay?”

“Eh-heh?” Blue kind of whines.

Rime takes that to mean she’s in shock and therefore not fully aware. So with one hand he yanks the javelin from her gut and with the over dumps a minty-hot rush of healing magic down the tunnel of shredded muscle and perforated gut. Lightly perforated though. Just barely. Rime feels the magic knit her back together until the spell runs dry beneath his fingers. He peels his blood-tacky palm from her stomach… and there’s nothing but a shallow, scabbing cut where a four-inch gouge once gaped.

“You’ll gonna be fine,” Rime says, water dripping from the circlet of flowers around his head. He knows without seeing them, they will be an eye-aching orange. “Dummy. Why the hell did you stand up? You just wanted to give them a target? Give me something to do?”

Blue kinda grins dimly up at him.

“I got ‘em,” she slurs.

Rime looks over the side of the boat, to the receding red waters as the river current eddies and pulls the blood out to sea. He thinks, vaguely, I’ve just lost count. I don’t know how many I’ve killed now. Then he looks back the Blue and Will and Bian perched anxiously at the back of the first boat. Bian’s eyes are big, her tail fluffed anxiously out. He puts on a smile.

“We’re fine,” he says. “Let’s get to Daggerford.”

#homegame fiction #dnd #rae plays dnd #last session got real fun at the end #rae writes #raewrites

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royal-writer · 5 years

Text

Anywhere you go

let me go, too

- - - -

In the deepest dark she’d ever known, no sound was ever so ghastly and hair-raising as that of the unnatural echo of Penimra’s words. They were less words and more horrifying sounds; whispers that clawed at the back of her mind and made Essätha shudder as he read aloud the alien runes upon the pillars and walls in the corroding labyrinth. He had stopped entirely translating them in the common tongue; for which she was grateful. Hearing the twisted language of Deep Speech was enough. Knowing the incantations he murmured were gruesome promises of torture ahead was even more unnerving.

As each gnarled turn lead to more dead-ends, damp corners, and overgrown areas where deadly plants had taken over and the decayed bodies lay stacked, her hope began to fade further and further into away.

They would not be leaving this hellish place alive.

“We should stop to rest,” Ravamora insisted, her sleeve covering her nostrils to block the stench of mildew. “I haven’t smelled any decaying bodies lately. Maybe no one has gotten this far in?”

“Or maybe whatever abominations may yet reside in this hell devoured their victims whole,” Abernathy concluded. Essie had to side-step to avoid a drip of blood falling off the end of his axe from the fiend he had cleavered in half not but just a few turns and twists ago. Or what felt like a few turns and twists. She felt hopelessly lost in the depths of the chaos of the winding maze.

Lingering behind her; still adjusting the darkvision goggles upon their face with discomfort, Sulhadur added in: “Unless anyone is feeling unwell with fatigue, I agree we should keep moving forward. I’d like to get out of this place.”

“I don’t think I could sleep here even if I was exhausted,” Adela choked, wrapping her tail firmly around herself like a security blanket.

“Let’s just keep moving,” Pen stated; his voice hoarse from uttering the harsh ancient language. “There’s more of these scriptures to read.”

Hoping the mental health of their warlock wasn’t becoming obsessed in the texts, Essie shuddered and without argument, pressed on. Her wary legs were tired; feet dragging sluggishly. The walls felt cramped the further they got themselves lost within the realms of tunneling walls. Every second felt endless; spiraling further into nothing with no result.

The scurrying of Pri’cha’s small limbs bounded in random spurts to catch up to them. Glancing back, the Yuan-Ti woman noted the helpless bug trying to make sense of their surroundings. Within their clawed digits they held a journal, which they were scribbling notes on direction and flipping through tirelessly to try drawing an accurate map should they become lost.

Too late for that, she thought sourly. Not wanting to upset the fluffy innocent Thri-Kreen though, Essie didn’t snark her bad mood upon the distressed looking cleric. They were only doing the best they could, in uncertain circumstance.

As something brushed by her right side, Essätha shuddered and flinched warily. With a squint of her gaze, she glimpsed over to where the nobleman, too, had jumped in surprise. His boots scuffled against the slick cool ground, trying to give her space in the cramped quarters.

“Difficult to breathe,” she rasped, her lungs feeling constricted from the stale air and pungent odor.

“Mmm,” Lord Amon agreed in a rumbling echo. His mouth was only parted enough to breathe through; not daring the smells to enter his nose. She didn’t blame him.

A slight haze continuously covered at the lenses of his nightvision goggles, and he wiped at the condensation with irritation from the hot puffy air of his breathing with the linen tightly grasped in the hand baring his shield. As he reached up to repeat the action for the dozenth or so time, she reached for the handkerchief to gently wipe at them herself.

He smiled. “I can do it; I’ve got two hands.”

“And the other is carrying a sword,” she reminded him. “I’m still waiting for you to bonk yourself on the head with the shield every time you raise your hand to do this.”

To her amazement, he rasped a chuckle despite their dire circumstance.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered by your gesture, or offended on the blow to my common sense.”

“To be fair, I’m considering my own intelligence when I say this, not your own.”

He huffed at her remark in a way that said he disagreed. With no further response however, she turned her attention back to the front of the group as Penimra lead them onward further into the black void of passages.

Through the crooks and bends, snaking past crumbling walls and stumbling over cracks and risen blocks, the party trailed along the silent corridors. Only their boots and breathes echoed like an eerie symphony. Essätha felt as though she was going mad, listening to the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

“Hurmph,” Penimra paused, swaying their rounded hips in place as they stood before what appeared to be another dead end. He tilted his head slightly, the mask upon his face adding to the comical bird-like gesture.

“What is it, nister Peninra?”

Ignoring the hushed inquiry from their devoted cleric, the warlock raised a gloved hand to rest upon the stone. The rune upon this one didn’t appear inscribed, so much as scribbled on with ink.

“This one’s different,” the high-elf remarked. “It’s newer; not written like the others.” The transcribing smeared a bit beneath his touch. The Yuan-Ti’s stomach knotted as it revealed a reddish tint beneath the aged oxidized brown.

Blood.

The verse letters began to glitter faintly, and the wall began to part before their very eyes. Everyone shuffled a few steps back warily, as the opening yawned open before them. The transaction was smooth; timeless as though built yesterday. The walls did not groan, and barely any dust stirred from the settled structure.

“Oh thank Torm,” Abernathy brightly explained. “Finally; a way out.”

“I don’t trust it,” Adela whispered. “Pen, what did that rune say?”

With one foot already slid over the threshold, the paladin orc came to an abrupt halt. They appeared torn between running through, and remaining a statue in place from the sorceress’ words.

“Enter,” Penimra validated, standing curiously still. “All that rune meant, was ‘enter’.”

“What do you suppose we do, Adela?” Essätha spoke up; her voice dry and croaking. “Continue wandering in hopes for a better way out?”

“There’s no reason for attitude-”

Sighing, Essie crossed her arms, ignoring the red Dragonborn’s lecture. She was achy, thirsty, and fighting hunger purely through her disgust for her surroundings She didn’t trust to eat or drink a drop here, without something dripping from the ceiling into her food and contaminating it.

“Allow me to go first,” Abernathy politely offered. “If this is a chance at getting out, I think we should take it. I will protect you, Adela, I promise.”

She worried for a moment that the pink Tiefling would reject this notion. Chewing on her lip, her jewelry jingling quietly in the dead silence. But Adela finally and thankfully accepted after a few moments pause, bobbing her head up and down, and with no further argument from the tired remainder, Abernathy proceeded onward through the new gateway.

A light shoulder brushed against hers as they squeezed through the doorway. Essie leaned away instinctively, trying not to suffocate anyone with her presence. With a glance, she spotted the green filters of the darkvision goggles on Amon’s face, stealing away the dark blue of his eyes as he looked back at her.

The contact was not accidental. His hand grazed along hers; the shield to his back. A touch so light it was easy to consider she was only imagining it.

She took his hand and squeezed with a demure smile.

He appeared unsettled.

“M’lord?”

“We’re going to follow the instructions painted in what could arguably be blood at a dead end stone wall?” he contended unhappily. “Does this really sound like the best course of action?”

She sighed uncomfortably. “No. But what if it does offer us a sustainable exit? We don’t know who, or what, made this entry, let alone if it’s still alive.”

“And if it is how it appears: a trap?”

“We’ve had to behead, burn, and assault various monsters so far in this labyrinth,” Essie pointed out. “If it’s just one more, I think we should be able to handle it.”

A long, tired sigh escaped the nobleman. He flexed his hand around hers as he murmured to himself, “Are you sure about that?”

Those had to be some of the most eerie words she’d ever heard. They plagued doubt into the mind like a scavenging infection, raging on the mind. It was the whispering uncertainty of a god’s mockery in the back of the mind, and it made her feel much less certain about her enthusiasm in running headlong into what she hoped to be freedom.

The single path seemed to take them deeper and deeper into the unknown, and further away from the maze left behind them. She began to question the length of the open room, and it’s security, when something crunched beneath Abernathy’s boots ahead.

Everyone came to a deafening halt, to examine what he’d stepped on.

“Rat bones.”

An exhale of relief echoed amongst them.

“You’d expect vermin, right?” Adela laughed almost hysterically with fear. “There’s nothing strange about rat bones scattered around the room, right?”

“Scattered?” Sulhadur breathed. “They’re all pretty uniform to me, Adela.”

“No,” she corrected, her voice showing her confusion. “There’s more, right over here.”

“… And here,” Ravamora whispered. “And here,” Pri’cha chirped.

Sure enough, as Essätha followed their pointing fingers, her eyes zeroed in on the random other pieces of bone. They all appeared mostly small, but none appeared to be part of the skeleton of the rat Abe had stepped on. These were random pieces. Part of a rib here of some small creature, a femur from what looked like another there, and then there was a finger bone there…

“Are they all parts of rats?” Penimra asked almost hopefully.

The tightness of Amon’s hand against hers increased. “Let’s keep moving, quickly.”

There was no disagreement to investigate. In a burst of energy, the cautious footsteps that had began to take them through the new passage began to pick up speed. As it did so, the air temperature; which had been unnoticed to them as growing chillier, began to change. It grew colder and colder the deeper into the rabbit hole they fled. The air seemed to have a draft; or perhaps it was simply them, rushing, feet clamoring, the sound of their footsteps like thunder in the bleak silence.

Walls began to open further and further, revealing a chamber’s space. The air was misted with hanging crystals of moisture. It caused Essätha to shiver not just from the biting cold to her sensitive nerves, but from the liquid suspended in the air. It was almost artful; rain frozen in time, you could almost make out the visible microscopic snowflakes drifting as the air escaped lungs in clouds.

“There’s a door!”

Essie followed the bubbly, sob-like relief in the jeweler’s voice. Sure enough, there was what appeared to be a half-collapsed threshold on the opposite side of the room. It looked like a tight squeeze to pass through for some of the party members, but it was a promising change to the dreary room and nightmare tunnels far behind.

As they stepped inside the misty terrain, a growing sense of paranoia enveloped her. Static seemed to sizzle and crackle in the air; or was it just the chill in her goosebumps? Her eyes moved around the room, and she quickly realized she was not the only one to recognize the charge as some of the others began to gaze around.

To her deepest regret, Amon released her hand to retrieve his shield.

“What are all of you pausing for?” Sul asked, oblivious. He scanned the area like the rest of them, taking up his impressive shield to offer cover towards anxious-looking warlock near him.

Essätha held her breath as she turned in a tight circle. Amon’s attendance shifted from her side, to angular; giving her partial cover with his body and shield as the group formed a loose ringed circle with each other. His breathing was relaxed compared to her own; more ragged, adding to the haze of white swirling around them.

To the right, just out of sight between the fog and darkness, a boulder quivered and moved. It’s bumpy, discolored surface flexed like a quivering egg ready to hatch. It rolled to one side, and then the other.

“I can’t see shit,” the warlock whined.

“Shush,” Abe growled. “Look. Listen.”

Essätha squinted through the darkness with her superior darkvision, seeing something floating independently in the air. It’s shadows moved; a spherical orb of milky flesh white.

A singular crimson eye turned towards them and hovered.

Instead of words, a horrified and breathy hiss burned through her chest as she raised a hand; a flurry of magic sparking in violet hues along her fingers.

The words barely spat out of her mouth, and suddenly, the mound of cancerous looking skin flew in their direction. Her Chill Touch missed the erratic movement of the hovering creature as it twisted out of the way, and her companions all turned their attention in the direction she was.

Emitting curses in the Deep Speech she only recognized the sound from Penimra’s repetitive translations, the creature launched itself at them. Some of the ridges and bumps on its bodies suddenly extended. Arm-like appendages exploded outward; further, and then further still, and the collective screams of half the startled party filled the room in a unified echo as tentacles came swatting upon them from the monstrosity.

The one directed towards her was quickly adverted; slamming against Amon’s shield as he flung it up protectively. A second limb smashed against Sulhadur’s thick armor, doing effectively nothing. The third slapped Penimra, looping itself partly around his waist.

The high-elf let out the most alarming screech; their beak-mask opening to reveal rows of gnarled teeth. As disturbing as the cursed elf’s face was, Essie had seen it before. Seeing the rows of teeth at the end of the alien creature’s appendages; their color red and pulsing with life-blood, pierce through his clothes and into flesh however was a whole new kind of terror.

Gushes of red swelled around where the tentacle planted itself, and like a vampire to prey, it fed in horrifying gulps from its toothy limb like a ritualistic death kiss.

“Let go of my boy!” Abernathy suddenly roared, lifting the axe from his shoulder as he charged forward. His arms reared back, his legs braced, and Essätha watched as the weapon came down upon the monstrosities rounded, ugly body.

It screeched; the sound coming from seemingly every direction. As it howled and writhed, it’s many-limbs flinging themselves wildly around, Abernathy too let out a startled cry. Arcs of static seemed to burst from the wound; lightning coursing up the paladin’s arms and leaving dark scorch marks and the smell of seared flesh stinging the air.

She sucked in a breath as Amon stepped forward on one side, Sulhadur on the other, and the pair raised their swords to bring them down upon the appendage wrapped around Penimra. The creature bellowed and thrashed further as blood oozed and spurted; the limb nearly detached from the furiousity of the two blows. Unlike the previous blow directly upon it’s body, there was no after-shocks of electricity to catch on their weapons like lightning rods.

Fear overwrote all reason.

Adela casted; a flurry of fireballs zipping past the floating orb of the creature’s mass as it jerked from side to side. Pri’cha, quick as their little feet could manage, barreled to the front to raise their lit candlestick and utter a cry to Pelor. To the utmost misfortune; it was thrown off entirely by the beast’s movements.

Another lashing of its limbs, and the beastly abomination flung its limbs around once again. One struck Abernathy this time; finding nothing to latch to than armor, which cracked a few of its ‘teeth’. The second hurled towards Pri’cha, finding it hard to make purchase on the cleric. The third, still weakly squirming, turned redder in color as it sucked a massive surge of blood out of the warlock.

In a single violent shudder, Penimra collapsed.

Run.

Her legs were stuck. She could not urge the muscles to move. It was as if she was turned to stone.

Essätha watched, transfixed, as Adela howled in terror for their high-elf companion. She flung herself to grab at him, falling with the man as he slumped down. Another rise of their weapons, and Amon and Sulhadur hacked into the squirming limb, leaving it hanging by only tendrils. Almost as soon as they were lifting their weapons again, Abernathy let out a curse of his own as a sneaky tendril throttled him; physically knocking the man- the towering figure of their impervious paladin- flat on his rear and failing to suffocate his arm in a vise-grip.

Ravamora; who had taken towards running for the exit, lifted their bow to fire an arrow towards the orb, missing entirely. “Come on!”

The creature’s eye locked on to Essie, meeting her gaze.

Run, little girl.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She could run.

How far, though? How fast? Would her legs fail her, or would they never stop; never halt, never give her a chance to look back, to see what she left behind, to see the slaughter, the massacre, the failure, the devastation in wake of a lifetime of mistakes.

Amon grabbed hold of Penimra, grunting heavily as Sulhadur’s sword came down once more to detatch the remaining repulsive limb. No sooner, he turned to grab Pen’s legs to help carry him out; a shimmer of magic emitting from his hands.

“Niss Essie, help us!” Pri’cha urged; lifting their candle. The source of light was vanished in an instant; just like their lives seemed to be. A wriggling limb slapped the candle, breaking it, and swatted the tiny bug hard enough to make them trill sharply in agony.

Adela tripped over her own tail, yelping as she lifted her hand. A blast of fire erupted; searing the chilled air and making condensation rain drops drip mid-air. One ray pelted the monster’s body and it recoiled, leaving a guttural sound of pain and anger. Abernathy in turn winced, trying to hack at the creature as embers rained down upon him, spots of blood appearing where the teeth gauged into the side of his neck.

She felt like a detached entity. Her hand raised, the snake-shaped magic missiles warping into existence and volleying across the span of distance. Two seemed to blankly be dismissed, striking limbs, a third to its side, and then the final hit just below, infuriating the beast further.

As Ravamora fired off another arrow; the end jabbing a limb, the monster lunged. One limb pulsed with Abernathy’s blood, and two more came flying out towards her braced position.

Run.

She did not even flinch as the extended body part hit her. One struck her squarely in the face; and she gasped with surprise more than anything. The other hit her abdomen, the winding of the limb dragging against her stomach as it latched on to soft skin beneath her shirt.

It was like being bitten and having electric currents bursting into your blood vessels all at once.

Essie shrieked; her brain screaming at her to function, to release the tension in her legs.

“Follow Rava; we’ll see if we can’t blockade the exit!” Abernathy gurgled, thrusting his axe downward in an arc. Between the pouring blood that spurted out of the wound, and the visible charge of electrical fields zapping outward, the paladin of Torm cried out in astonishment.

Adela, way ahead of Abe, was already with the other two gentleman carrying away Penimra. She said something; something Essie’s muffled eardrums could not make out, before gesturing with her hands and casting yet another bombardment of pluming fire. They sporadically went everywhere in her panic; one lighting Abernathy’s pants leg on fire and another coming dangerously close to Ess as she physically grabbled with the strength of the appendage draining her of blood.

“Sir Adernathy!” Pri’ weakly exclaimed, raising a dagger. They seemed to hesitate with the physical embodiment of a weapon, before bringing it crashing down upon the beast’s limb, and throwing yet another at it’s body.

It roared with fury, twisting and lashing it’s limbs.

Boots and clawed-feet clamoring, Sul joined the bug-cleric in raising his sword to hack at another limb. Another arrow followed; puncturing the animalistic being’s side with a warbled sound of pain. It flung out more of its tentacles, one smashing into Sul’s horns uselessly, another slapping at Pri’, and it’s third and fourth draining blood from its captors.

The color in her cheeks was pale as Essie struggled. Her head felt like it was full of cotton.

Run.

The limb had all but ensnared her waist, and she could feel her vitality faltering.

Flee now.

A blade came flying down at full force, severing the limb nearly in two in a single swipe.

“Run, Essätha!”

She gasped for breath, her head spinning. Pools of crimson dots on her shirt, and growing. She barely staggered in place, disoriented. Abernathy and Sul were yelling distantly; trying to gather the beast’s attention as the remainder of the party headed for the exit, violently waving arms to come.

Lord Amon’s face broke through the surface waves clouding her. He was close, the smell of blood, sweat, and pine lingering on him.

“Essie, we have to go, now!”

The blade came down again, piercing through the limb and forcing it to detatch helplessly, barely in one piece. Amon swatted at it, grabbing her by the hand.

She was a dead weight, and nearly fell against him as he dragged her forward.

One of its limbs not assaulting in vain upon the armor of the paladins was barely deflected from either of them as the nobleman raised his shield.

“Essie, please!”

His voice was helpless. Terrified. She could see the fear in his eyes through the tunnel-vision.

When he pulled at her again, her legs found themselves. Every step felt like an agonizing mile in strained calves.

Another lashing of its legs as fire and arrows came hurtling at it across the room. The beastly thing cursed them some more in the foreign tongue, and a limb came within inches of missing Amon, only to circle back and strike her as she lagged. Her legs stumbled, and she fell against the Illiad heir.

He hit his knees, biting back a groan as she nearly toppled over him.

“Almost there,” he panted, sheathing his blade to take her hand. “We’re almost there, Essätha, come on.”

As he scrambled to his feet, he grabbed her hand and surged her along with him. She was almost dizzy with the vertigo of standing so swiftly, her entire body felt like it was on an entirely different plane than her mind. She sucked in violent gulps of air, fumbling to keep up with his pace as Amon hurtled them through the tight, narrow space to squeeze into the next area.

Sul and Abe broke through seconds behind them.

Slamming weapons and magic into the crumbling gateway, two limbs managed to shoot through before they were trapped. A wall of stone came tumbling down, breaking the monster’s limbs. A distant shriek could be heard as it’s twitching, blood-sucking mouth-ends fell limp on the floor mere inches from them all.

With heavy panting the others turned to glance among each other. A murmur of words, and Sul and Abernathy were busily exchanging the divine healing granted from their God’s to Penimra and each other from glance blows. A dazed Penimra sat on the floor, Adela and Rava on either side of him as they murmured encouragingly to the confused-looking elf with droopy ears. Only Pri’cha, interested by the new and unexplained, cracked open their notebook with a muted ‘fascinating’ as they began to sketch the creature from memory and it’s crushed limbs, jotting down notes.

Essätha breathed out a held breath. Her body visibly shook; grabbing at herself; her chest, her limbs, any part of her she could reach. Her legs felt lead-laid again. Her mind was still in a viscous cycle, screaming at her to run, over and over again. Tears danced in and out of her vision as she tried to comprehend the urgent sense of fight or flight rearing up like a phantom memory.

A hand reached out for her, gently grasping her own. “You’re hurt. Let me-”

Before he could finish his sentence, stepping closer, she jerked away with a winded, wheezing gasp. Her arm fell away from the tender gentleness of his grasp to be held against her shirt, now spoiled with dust and rows of tattered shirt, shredded skin, and blood.

“Essätha, it’s only me,” Amon urged, his voice gentle, but raised to be hurt. He reached for her once more, slower this time, letting her see that it was just his hands, and nothing more.

“May I see, please? Would you let me-”

Another raspy breath, and she ignored him entirely. Run. Run the voice repeated, over and over again. She was afraid and her body hurt; her legs hurt, her tummy especially hurt, she hurt.

Run.

“Essie?” he murmured, more confused as his hands gently, gently, folded around hers.

She met his gaze this time, wordlessly.

His expression was filled with pleading. Worry etched in the lines of his face; drawn deeper than ever. The window to his soul was naked in his gaze. Bruised feelings of worry in those dark blues.

“What happened, back there?” Amon whispered. “Why didn’t you run?”

Warmth like the sun trailed from his touch. She’d forgotten entirely this new magic. The healing artistry of his touch, even before the magic, was pure in just the soft ways he held her hands. Usually it made her so calm, but now, her thoughts were rampant. She wanted to dive her fingers into his hair and fall into his chest and promise it was nothing; and smile up into his endearing face and watch the ways his smile grew. She loved that, most of all; the transition, the way his eyes squinted every so slightly, the softness of his mouth pulled, tugging, trying to restrain himself from a full-blown grin, the tenderness in him and the ease of his expression.

Still trying to find enough air to breathe; it felt so thin and unfulfilling, her eyes could not settle anywhere. Not on Amon; the worry in his face making her insides fidget further. Not on his hands, as she impulsively wanted to ask him to cradle her instead. The floor, mostly, was the safest option.

“I wanted to,” she explained hoarsely. “More than anything.”

“But I was afraid if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I promised you I’d be there. I promised you I’d stay. I couldn’t live with myself, if I broke that promise. I couldn’t live with myself, hurting you.”

Her voice cracked and broke into a faltering silence at the end. The wash of light from his hands extinguished; healing a great deal of the worst of the puncture marks in her chest. It made her breathing no less easier. In fact, her lungs felt more constricted now, than ever.

“… Oh Essätha.”

The wavering notes of her name were so painstakingly drawn out on his tongue. It sounded so beautiful, such a simple thing as a name. It brought her attention up to him, drawn by his voice; a call in the dark.

His eyes were even more lovely than his voice. It was strange to see herself reflected in the dark pools. The center of his attention, and she was unafraid. Quite the opposite in fact; she felt safe, and warm, and special as he wrapped his fingers tighter around her own, taking a step closer into the circumference of her space.

She caught her breath all at once.

“There is no place I wouldn’t follow you,” Amon remarked; his voice thick. “I’d find you, if only to be sure you were safe; and if you never wanted to hear from me again, I would understand, and never bother you again if you desired. If your spirit tells you you need the room to roam free, run until your legs give out, and I will find you if only to assure you that there is still a place for you, at my side.

“But if you ever need to run because you were scared, or in danger, or the world was too much to carry, or you were hurting, you can always run to me. You can always run to me. I will always have room for you, in my arms. I will always take you in; to be your shelter, your shield, your friend, whatever you may need me to be, I will be for you. I am always here for you, Essätha; always.”

He paused, his fingers weaving between her own. “Anywhere you may go, let me go, too.”

With her mouth hanging speechlessly open, she clung to his fingers. They were careful, even in his strength. The returned affection of his squeeze was pure gentle affections.

“… You would chase me, if I fled?” she cautiously inquired, licking her lips.

“To the very ends of the earth.”

“Why?”

His smile was almost pained. “To make sure you are comfortable, and that you are safe.” He paused to take a breath. “I would leave the moment you asked, but I… I would have to make sure you are okay. That you are living the sort of life you deserve, wherever that may be. That you’re happy.”

“I am happy,” she blurted out; all attempts to refrain nonexistent. “I’m happy when I’m with you.”

“I just- I have bad habits; I get frightened and it’s like an impulse, it’s how I’ve… survived so long-”

He held her hands fiercely. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Essie.”

“I feel I owe you that,” she barely breathed. He was so close; the weight of his lashes were half-mast.

Amon gave the smallest shake of his head. “You don’t need to do that, anymore than I wish for you to drag yourself through memories that may hurt you like fresh wounds trying to explain. I understand all I need, and that is enough. You owe me nothing; you haven given me more than enough kindness, and I trust you. You are entitled to yourself and your privacy.”

Her heart squeezed. She loved him so much, her body ached with longing.

She took the last two steps into his chest, and his arms found their way free of hers and around her as hers did to him. He was filled with the suns rays; warm, inviting, homey. Her body relaxed; melting entirely into the embrace.

“Thank you, m’lord.”

The broad sweeps of his palms rubbed the length of her spine in soothing circles as he nestled beside her ear. “You owe me no thanks, Essie.”

Oh but I do, she wanted to cry. For all the gentle ways you nurture my heart, I owe you that and so much more. Everything. I owe you everything for your kindness.

Stay, her heart whispered.

Stay, her brain echoed in agreement.

For what felt like the first time, a peaceful, coherent agreement. The pair of them, surrounded by their crumbled walls of fear from a lifetime of solitude and agony. Now they were sharing the sun, dancing in the wild unknown, interlocked. His breath tickling against her ear so she shivered. A yearning more profound than any words echoing through her in an endless cycle; filling the chasms of her voided soul.

Stay.

The idea was tantalizing. Tempting. Filled with want.

Gods, I’ll stay the rest of my days, if he’ll have me, her thoughts mused. A flutter in her chest, and her heart twisted and hummed and raced with agreement.

Home is where the heart is, they said. And that was all the reason she needed to stay.

#royal writes #essamon ship #amon illiad #Essie rw #ooohh the sweet sweet fluff my heart

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islanderscaper · 5 years

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Adoraor Zanfire Gallentara (human fighter); Frank (goliath barbarian); Isao Ito (human monk); Keithia (half-elf ranger); Oriana Wright (aasimar human pladain); The Shade of the Darkwood (firbolg druid); Yah-ar ‘Twiggy’ Galanodel (elf ranger); Kalista Nethespire Whisper (tiefling sorceress)

The Susurrus Society

#my stuff #my edits #whatever the hell this is #wthtidnd #whatever the hell this is dnd #the susurrus society #chronicles of sprin’toral #sprin'toral campaign

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master-of-evil-lord-of-the-dark · 6 years

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Session 1

*Featuring no pictures because apparently I didn’t take any*

You live in The Empire. Its the unified conglomerate of all peaceful humanoid races. Life in the empire is great. Everything is prosperous, everyone is happy, and everything is wonderful. Basically, we've got world peace. ...but therein lies the problem. World peace ... is ...well, its actually really *boring*. Some people, though they are few and far between, want more. They want thrills, they want excitement, they want ADVENTURE ... and maybe a little danger. They want to explore the wild unknown in search of gold and glory, even if it means risking their lives to do so. If you're reading this, than that sounds like you! ...fortunately, you've realized that there is a solution to the doldrums that you're in. For the empire spreads only so far, and past its western edge lies The Great Untamed Wilderness! So for now, you gather your belongings, and head to Westmarch, the last town on the farthest edge of civilization. ...who knows, maybe when you get there, you'll find some like-minded individuals to help you on your journey... (Or maybe that's just your cover-story, and you've got ...other motivations. All that matters is that you're comfortable leaving civilization behind, and seek to explore the great unknown!)

That was the prompt I gave to each player who was interested in the campaign. That and to create a level 1 character in the 5e rules. Of the ~10 players having shown interest. 6 were able to make it to session 1, and we were off!

(I lied)

The heroes arrived in town all around the same time. I explained to them that the Western Edge of the Empire was built along a great chasm that ran from the north to the south. It is of indeterminate depth, and anywhere from a hundred feet to a mile across.

At the narrowest point, a bridge and a town was built. At first, the empire began to expand across the chasm, but ultimately logistical complications resulted in the western side declining and ultimately being abandoned. At this time, Westmarch is the only remaining town on the border. The population, for the most part, is a garrison force to protect civilization from the wilderness, but it is well known that between the danger pay, and the fact that nothing ever actually attacks, this is a cushy posting. The garrison spends most of there time drinking, gambling, and carousing.

As our heroes arrive in town, they inquire at the local BREWHAUS if there are any expeditions heading out. The congenial barkeep, Johnathan Bartlett, laughs ... and upon realizing they are serious, explains that no, no one goes out there because its dangerous and that would be fucking stupid.

However after getting this request a half a dozen times withing several days, he eventually suggests that that these individuals might be able to form a band so that they might be able to venture forth and at least die together.

They meet at a table... to awkward silence,

Barton, the Bugbear Barbarian

Killgore Trout, the Triton Wizard

Maiirien, the Elven Sorceress (Arcane)

Dell Cherrycheecks, the Halfling Monk

Sammel, the Tiefling Ranger

Halifax, the Aasimar Sorcerer.(Divine)

Barton, featuring a legendarily slow conversation speed, was fascinated by these interesting characters, and inquired after their names. (shoutout to Barton’s player for getting things off to a great start when I failed. In the future, I should just have the barkeep do the same)

We went around the table with everyone introducing themselves in character, and they decided to set out. ...after first gathering some supplies. They headed to the general store in town, wherein they got to meet one of my favorite (and only) NPCS, Heironeous Heimdall, of Heimdall’s IMPorium. (There’s an imp on the sign, I know, I’m hilarious.) And thus begin the fast-talking and figety Heimdall’s blooming hatred of Barton and ... their ... very ... very ...slow ...way ...of ...working ... through ... each ... word ... in ... a ... sentence.

With arrows, javelins, and a few healing potions in tow, they set out, to the west!

They made their way across grassy rolling fields along an overgrown gravel path until they eventually reached an old crossroads. They examined a sign post, and after discovering a half-buried, missing sign, established that “The Mines of Morkul” lay to the north, “Grey’s Bridge” to the west, and “Pike’s Retreat” to the south. After a brief discussion wherein they decided to check out the mines, one of them spotted movement to the south west, in the direction of some standing stones out on the plain!

Several of them stealthed, and moved towards the stones, only to spot, and be spotted by a small orange humanoid, which turned, fled, and hid among the stones. As it did, Killgore fired a blast of magical energy and combat was off!

Sammel, who had been stealthing closer, reached the stones first, and rounding the one he had seen the creature disapear, came face to face with a pair of zombies! His squishy level 1 ass was ill equipped for such a close encounter with the living dead, and he went down. The party rushed forward, laying into the zombies, as Halifax quickly got Sammel back on his feel. Barton and Dell swung wide around the stone and came face to face with a pair of kobalds! The kobalds lunged uselessly at Dell, and were each dispatched in short order. One to a broken neck courtesy of Dell, and another to a caved-in cranium courtesy of Barton! The rest of the party wrangled with the zombies, putting one down while under magical fire from the remaining kobald, a sorcerer.

Realizing the tide was turning, the sorcerer ordered the zombie after Killgore, and then began to flee, pursued by Dell, throwing javelins while riding on Barton’s shoulders. Killgore was in for a rough time, being repeatedly downed by the zombie (and some friendly fire from Maiirien!) and stabilized as the party struggled with the remaining zombie. (For 3 rounds undead fortitude roles, I could not role below a 15!) The sorcerer had nearly escaped, when Sammel, exasperated with the zombie, turned and fired a max-range longbow shot towards the sorcerer. The arrow arced through the air, gently, the silent whisper of wind in fletching, before burying itself in the sorcerer’s spine, dropping him. Moments later, the casters dealt with the zombie and the fight was over. Exhausted and bloodied, our heroes decided that they should perhaps return to the town, but not before looting the bodies, wherein an interesting piece of loot was discovered on the sorcerer...

A mysterious map! (The picture is recent, and the party has started using it for their own hand written notes since)

What will be in store for their next expedition...?!

#dungeons and dragons #D&D #d&d 5e #west marches #homebrew campaign #session reports #omgwtfrealtags???#hehe... it was a fun session!

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needledreamweaversrpgideas · 6 years

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My current fave character is Whisper, my pan, petty af tiefling sea sorceress. She does not know the meaning of danger and talks back to dragons, orc chieftains and flirts with hot vampire ladies.

#submission #ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo #Good

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theinvulnerabletide · 5 years

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Kiss Prompt: 10, whisper & Adoraor

Waking up feels like rising out of dark water, a breath at a time, and by the time enough awareness has collected that she can feel herself in her body, the pain hits her. Her body is stiff and sore all over, and her head is throbbing in time to her heartbeat. She hasn’t had a hangover in years, but this is what she remembers it feeling like, her mouth arid and dry, her body one giant ache, and as she tries to open her eyes vertigo hits her like a punch to the chin.

She lets out a groan and lets her eyes slide shut.Something tugs at her chin, tilts her face upwards. “Ah, there she is, our curious little fish. Tried to drown you like all the other little ducklings, only to find out she’s not a bird at all! Curious and curiouser.” A finger jabs at her throat, and she flinches. “Breathes water, yet she’s got no gills!”The hand drops away and her chin falls to her chest, head ringing

Where is she? The last thing she remembers is leaving the bar… a bar. She was at that bar for a reason. She was trying to…

Whoever is in the room with her keeps babbling. She ignores them, trying to concentrate, but her thoughts are liquid and seep away as she tries to collect them.

She was trying to accomplish something, wasn’t she? By leaving the bar. Alone. Right, she’d been alone, which had been on purpose for some reason. And that was because…

There’s the scrape of metal on stone, and the sound is so visceral her head shoots up of its own accord, causing her head to swim all over again. That’s not a good sound. And that fear is enough to make her narrow back in on the continuous ramble:

“—you may not drown, but you do still have eyes. We’ll start there, though it is a little unorthodox. A little off mode. Eyes first, and then I guess we’ll just see what else I’ll have to do to kill you. Can you breathe acid, I wonder? Oh, where would I get enough of a vat of acid to—” it cuts off then, an sharp inhale, then a gurgling sound, and the sound of several somethings flying through the air. A heavy slap against the ground, and then a softer patter. Footsteps, she thinks.

She tries to open her eyes to see, but there’s only a painful blur. She moves a little and discovers the reason she isn’t in a puddle on the floor right now is that she’s bound. Her shoulders and back and arms ache because her hands are tied together behind her back, she can’t move her legs because they’re tied to the legs of the chair she’s sitting on. She can’t move her head too far because her neck is tied to her hands.

She starts to panic, breath coming in gasps as she feels someone come around behind her.

“Hey, calm down,” someone new murmurs in her ear. It’s a familiar voice. Good familiar. She stops struggling. “I’m just going to cut you free, alright?” Then there’s a hand on her wrist, holding her still, the sense of motion behind her.

“‘Don’t worry guys, I’ve got this,’ she says,” the person behind her mutters under his breath. “‘I can’t drown, and I’m the best at magic, I can get out of anything. I’m definitely not going to be murdered by the serial killer.’ And yet here you are, having to have your ass saved. Typical. Oh, shit.”

The ropes holding her up loosen and she slumps forward, just barely being caught by a pair of hands pushing her backwards onto the chair.

“Come on, Whisper,” the familiar voice says in her ear. “Wake up. We’ve gotta get you out of here.”

Her heart jumps in her chest as he says that. Whisper. That’s her name. Right.

She tries to obey, struggling to clear her vision, and after a few heartbeats of blinking away tears, the world resolves into focus, and the pain in her temple recedes. Just a bit. Just enough.

There’s a man in black at her feet, a knife in his hands, cutting away the rope around her ankles. Dark hair pulled back away from his face. A crossbow on the floor beside him. Familiar, and safe. She knows she’s safe.

And then he looks up at her, frowning slightly, and her heart flies into her throat.

He’s, well, he’s not pretty, but there’s something about him. Something that makes warmth pool in her stomach. Her gaze flicks from his, to his lips, and then away. “Whisper? Shit, are you okay?”

“I think…” she frowns, and then tries getting up, pushing herself off of the chair and overbalancing. Her legs seize, and knees crumple and she pitches forward as they give out completely.

He panics, shoots up to catch her as she slumps against him. “You’re not okay, are you. Come on, we’ll get you to Oriana, we’ll—”

Her eyes fall to his lips, at the way he shapes his words, and there’s this impulse she can’t describe. She should resist it. She doesn’t know why she should want to. So she pushes herself up on her toes, and she leans in, and she kisses him.

He freezes. And of course, that’s the moment that the fog in her head clears, just enough for her to remember why she never gives in to impulses like this.

Oh no. Oh no, oh Miren what has she done.

The warmth in her stomach leeches away to dread, and she very gently pushes herself off of Adoraor, fixing a smirk in place as she draws away. “A kiss for the conquering hero,” she says, batting her eyelashes at him. That wasn’t serious. Please, she projects. That was just me being an ass. Ignore it. Ignore me. “But yes, I might need to see Oriana. You can handle the rest of this, I hope?”

And without waiting for an answer, despite the screaming in her legs and the rapidly cooling corpse on the floor, she forces herself to walk away. She doesn’t look back.

#oc kiss week #also quite a bit of whump i couldn't help myself #whisper x adoraor #whatever the hell this #sprin'torel campaign #whisper the tiefling sorceress #islanderscaper #fic prompt

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buttflap-of-my-soul · 6 years

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My tiefling sea sorceress Whisper is fabulous and powerful and vain as all hell get out but she Cannot Feelings Well. But a fellow party member (the one she has a crush on) revealed some backstory last session and she is panicking because she wants to sympathise and connect but also her backstory is a secret for a reason and also being emotionally vulnerable is the Worst.

lemme just say that “tiefling sea sorceress” might be the coolest character description ive ever heard. ahh backstory is so hard!! but inner party romances are so much fun - good luck with whatever you decide to do!!

k so this is for a chracter i havent played yet but i know none of the other players follow this blog SO my next character is a deep gnome druid who used to be a semi-famous adventurer but she shut herself in a cave for like. a century. after the rest of her party got killed and she felt guilty that she couldnt save them. im planning on keeping her backstory as secret as possible for as long as possible - ive talked with the dm and he’s on board with my previous party being pretty famous so the new kids would know about them, but im gonna play up the “old, crochety grandma who keeps being unintentionally badass” thing for as long as possible. but that could change once we get to the table ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#ask meme #percy rambles #dnd #oc #werewolf-in-the-sheets #talkity talk

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nether--prince · 7 years

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this is the best scene from my online campaign yet. it’s long under the cut, so be warned

Babby Boucha is Arcadia, a Raven Sorceress

Drane is Drane, a Tiefling Rogue

Bungo is ORGAN KING, a Dwarforged Bard/Paladin

Gale is Gale, a Wood Elf Ranger

I am the Gaymaster, currently playing an NPC named Kara, a Human? Fighter.

As the group bolts towards the noise, a person goes flying past them- a half-orc, to be exact, which aren't particularly meant to go flying. There's a round of laughter, and a round of people, though there's a gap where the half-orc went through, and between the cheering masses, a short, questionably human girl with tied up, purple hair can be seen, dusting blood off of metal knuckles and laughing. "Who's up next, you pesky fuckers? Who wants a piece of Kara?"

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 2:35 AM

The scene they encroach on isn't quite what she expected to see, but Santa Cora is a vast city, ever fully of drastic surprises. As they stop she settles on ORGAN KING again, taking perch, and very slowly, considering the girl's offer. "...What do we get out of it?" She called out.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 2:41 AM

She couldn't take as much of a beating as you, ORGAN KING, but she could probably break your head if she wanted to, judging by the fact that she just bashed some poor fuck's battle axe into its new life as a battle accordion. Drane thinks this very rich man with bodyguards would be a great mark."You, birdie? You get a lifetime's supply of feed, is what you get," Kara shouts back, kicking a sack of gold sitting by what are very obviously her people. "No magic, no weapons, just what the gods gave you- and whatever you put in yourself," she cedes, flexing her silvery fingers.

Drane Sylas (holy?? thief)-Yesterday at 2:48 AM

Drane throws his wicked knife into the ground by the gold sack as he walks up, "No weapons? No magic? Any other terms?"

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 2:49 AM

For as much as she wanted to take her shot, Arcadia, begrudgingly, had to back down - even if the other's taunts gave her even more of a drive to fight. But physical combat was not her forte, for obvious reasons - without magic, the sharp gauntlets on her talons wouldn't be nearly enough to save her hide, and she wasn't about to put herself into such stupid danger. Someone more capable, however. "Well," she sighed, just loud enough for her party. "I suppose one of you poor eager sods can take my place, then."

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 2:51 AM

Gale glances at Crevan, who bares his teeth at the challenger. "Down, boy". She's intreauged, but hangs back- while she's not the strongest, she can hold her own- though, she prefers her range. She'll wait and scout the competition, first, before jumping in.

Bungo-Yesterday at 2:54 AM

ORGAN KING stays silent for the moment; They very much would like to fight this woman, a clash the likes of which would make for an excellent song... but they would also like to see how she fights first, aside from the eventual hurling out of a back-alley, and Drane seems more than happy to oblige.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 2:57 AM

"One on one, to keep shit clean. No killin', or the guards come and it gets real fuckin' messy. Number three, if you get pushed out or dropped down and you don't get back up in five seconds, you're out, doneski, and gotta try again tomorrow." She flexes her arms behind her head, grinning. "You think you can take me, big boy?"

Drane Sylas (holy?? thief)-Yesterday at 3:08 AM

Drane grins, and runs his tongue over his sharp teeth, and for once, is grateful for his horns. "Oh, yes, I do believe so," he runs his fingers over the curvature of his horns, pricking a finger on the tip, before extending a hand in agreement, "A fair fight then," he says, the other hand crossing fingers behind his back.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 3:11 AM

Kara grins back, all bloody-mouthed and wild- the one eye that she can see out of is gleaming with excitement. This is obviously just how she is. She takes Drane's hand in her own, squeezing tightly. "Rule five, no cheatin'."

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 3:12 AM

She's picked up the fox to curl around her neck, so he doesn't get stepped on, and smiles. "Guess we'll be cheering him on in a more literal sense", she says to the others.

Bungo-Yesterday at 3:14 AM

ORGAN KING pumps a fist in the air and lets loose a mighty toot while screaming "CERTAIN VICTORY!"

Drane Sylas (holy?? thief)-Yesterday at 3:15 AM

Drane steps back squaring up and keeping his chin low. His tail swings out behind him, off the ground just so slightly, ready to strike.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 3:19 AM

Kara crashes into Drane- for someone that only comes up to his chest, she hits like a fucking truck. Her own crowd cheers her on, especially another woman in a robe, and a dwarforged with a face painted on.

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 3:21 AM

Gale has to stand on tiptoes- for an elf, she's not very tall. But she cheers for Drane, regardless.

Drane Sylas (holy?? thief)-Yesterday at 3:28 AM

Drane buckles down, gathering his strength, preparing for the tackle, and... his legs fly out from under him, and he eats a mouthful of dirt as he hits the ground, standing and shaking himself off.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 3:30 AM

Kara laughs with joy as Drane goes sprawling, dancing back towards the center of the wobbly ring. "C'mon, loverboy, that all you got? Come get a piece of me."

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 3:36 AM

After two more attempts from Drane at goring this chick, Kara grabs Drane by the horns, kisses him between them, and throws him out of the ring. "Who's next?" She calls, spinning as the crowd loses their goddamn minds. The dwarforged on her team is clapping with a metallic sound, and the dog that was waiting patiently has come over to lick her face.

Drane Sylas (holy?? thief)-Yesterday at 3:40 AM

Drane can hear the crowd, and though for the most part, he is physically unharmed, he remains still in the dirt hoping no one notices him as his ego dies.

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 3:41 AM

Gale sighs, and reaches down to help him up. "Bad luck, buddy. ORGAN KING? You or I?" she asks.

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 3:44 AM

Arcadia on him, quite literally, in an instant - as soon as he crashes to the ground, she jets from ORGAN KING's shoulder, fluttering to land on Drane's shoulderblade, and she ducks her head down, inspecting him carefully with great concern. "Are you okay?" As Gale lifts him she adjusts herself, settling on his shoulder properly, and sits perhaps a little closer than usual.

Bungo-Yesterday at 3:47 AM

"(HMM...)" ORGAN KING says, in a very broad approximation of whispering, "(LET ME HAVE A CRACK AT IT NEXT; I HAVE A FEELING THERE MAY BE SOME BAMBOOZLING GOING ON.)" They bend down to Gale's height and continue; "(I SUSPECT THERE MAY BE HELP COMING FROM OUTSIDE SOURCES, BUT IT WOULD BE IMPERTINENT TO ACCUSE WITHOUT EVIDENCE; KEEP AN EYE ON HER FRIENDS WHILE I SQUARE OFF.)"

Drane Sylas (holy?? thief)-Yesterday at 3:50 AM

Drane laughs, a dry, resentful laugh. "Aye, I'm fine. Just a broken man with a broken ego, who wishes his hood were no longer a memory," he raises his head to ORGAN KING'S.... eye.... zone... area.... "I can't tell you if she's cheating, but I can tell you... she's a helluva fighter," he begrudges.

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 3:51 AM

Gale makes sure Drane's steady. She nods to ORGAN KING, and looks to Arcadia. "Can you keep an eye out for anything magic? I can spot traps and things like that, but magic isn't my forte", she asks, quietly.

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 3:55 AM

ORGAN KING's suspicion is enough to set some mistrust off in Arc, too, and Gale's request only helps fuel that. "I'd be happy to," she replies lowly, dubiety heavy in her tone.

Bungo-Yesterday at 3:57 AM

ORGAN KING wrenches their body upwards at their assent. "VERY WELL!" They boom, pointing at Kara, "I, ORGAN KING, SHALL BE YOUR NEXT OPPONENT!"

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 3:58 AM

Kara is a little concerned about fighting a giant dwarforged, but it wouldn't be the first time. She looks them over, nods slowly. "Mind if I wear gloves, Ruby? Don't wanna break my fists open."

Bungo-Yesterday at 4:09 AM

"WEAR WHATEVER YOU DEEM NECESSARY, BUT DO TRY NOT TO DENT ME; THIS BODY IS NOT MANTAINED CHEAPLY!" ORGAN KING booms, waiting for her to prepare. And when she does He Throw A Punch

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 4:13 AM

She puts on her gloves- heavily padded, patched, and ragged- and goes to what she loves best; fighting really big things. Kara ducks under the punch and slams herself into OK, at the very least rattling him- and herself, a little. "Fuck, you're well made."

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 4:13 AM

As they fight, Gale's eyes track the fight and nearby viewers carefully, looking for signs that things aren't as they seem.

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 4:15 AM

Arcadia does the same, but reaches a little further, scrutinizing every movement, every exchange of blows, for any sign of arcane intervention.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 4:17 AM

What a great roll. You can tell that something's been shoved in her, and you can immediately tell it's keeping her alive- not enhancing her abilities, just keeping her from being dead on the ground, and that it's working better the more she moves and gets excited. Kara doesn't seem to know it's there, and somewhere in yourself, that concept feels familiar. Like a dream.

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 4:21 AM

Immediately she's distracted - whatever's keeping Kara alive isn't any of their concern, not when it doesn't affect the battle, but it still claws at her, and she drives herself mad trying to remember, losing focus on the battle and becoming too pensive, lost in her thoughts and staring at the ground, to follow. But what she wants never comes.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 4:22 AM

You can see signs of the same thing, Gale. Of how when Kara slows down, her breathing does a stutterstep, and a cleric in the back of her group looks concerned. But no one interferes, no one pulls her away or casts spells- her fights are her own.

Bungo-Yesterday at 4:24 AM

ORGAN KING reels a little from the blow, but quickly finds their footing; She hits like a truck, and if they existed ORGAN KING would be comparable to such a vehicle. He stands up straight and Adresses Kara; "HAH! I OUGHT TO BE WELL-MADE; I WAS CONSTRUCTED BY THE FINEST DWARVEN CRAFTSMEN, THEN REFORGED BY HALLOWAY HIMSELF. I... AM THE ORGAN KING!" After their boast, ORGAN KING lunges in for a second go at it.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 4:27 AM

The crowd loses its entire shits. People are screaming, cheering from both sides- there are mixed cries of both 'KING KARA' and 'ORGAN KING' mixed together. They only pitch louder, in greater excitement- and with more than a few showering coins- as Kara ducks again, slamming into the metal friend. She's laughing and smiling- she's having the time of her life.

Drane Sylas (holy?? thief)-Yesterday at 4:33 AM

Drane is screaming, he's completely forgotten about his loss, as he hollers and whoops and screams "ORGAN KIIIIIIIING," at the top of his lungs.... though his eyes spend far more time on Kara.

Bungo-Yesterday at 4:33 AM

Great tracks are left in the dirt as ORGAN KING is sent flying again, feet firm on the ground, but the ground not quite so firm on their feet; Their opponent is strong AND swift, a deadly combo indeed, and ORGAN KING was going to have to pull out a risky move to get the win.

And so they did

As they leapt into the air and prepared

ＴＨＥＢＯＤＹＳＰＬＡＳＨ

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 4:34 AM

Gale is also yelling and cheering- now satisfied there's nothing funny, the fight has wrapped her up. "GO, OK!" she calls.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 4:42 AM

For the first time in a year, Kara goes down. And she goes down hard. Thankfully, ORGAN KING'S arm catches her across the chest instead of his whole body, but it's enough to put her down, flat on her back, wheezing and stunned. The crowd chants out her defeat- "ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR- FIVE!!!!!" And all are crowing with victory, and pride- it took a metal man to put her down, no being of flesh and bone. As soon as she can breathe, she rolls out from under the arm, rolling over and panting. As she always does, in the rare case of defeat, she leans over, plants a kiss right on the ruby, and grins. "Good fight, you giant piece of fuckery." Kara's only swaying a little.(edited)

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 4:45 AM

The overwhelming roar of the crowd is enough to pull Arc out of her state, having to crane her neck from Drane's shoulder to catch a glimpse of what just happened - when she realizes that ORGAN KING just won, she crows with delight, adding to the uproar of the crowd, wings and feathers ruffling in excitement.

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 4:46 AM

Gale's cheers are just as good, as she practically launches herself past the crowd to hug ORGAN KING. "You did it! You were amazing, OK, oh my stars". She's grinning, proud of her friend.

Drane Sylas (holy?? thief)-Yesterday at 4:49 AM

Drane runs into the crowd using his slightly above average height to get some leverage past the throngs of people as he approaches ORGAN KING, one hand in the air. "Please do NOT leave me hanging OK,"

Bungo-Yesterday at 4:52 AM

The deafening cheers ring through ORGAN KING, and they pick up on the heat signiatures of everyone in the crowd, all jumping and waving wildly, all for the sake of their victory, and they are satisfied; Another successful performance. The victory stupor is only interrupted when Gale slams full force into them, and stumbles slightly, despite it not being the hardest hit they've taken in the past ten minutes; "HAH! I SUPPOSE I WASN'T HALF BAD, CONSIDERING." He replies. When Drane walks over, hand outstretched, they react immediately, forcing their palm into Drane's maybe a little too forcefully.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 4:57 AM

Kara's cleric and what looks like her orc grandmother come to make sure she's okay, and, with a few unsteady blinks and some shakes, she's back with it. Kara pats ORGAN KING and grins at Drane, pushing back some of her hair with her free hand. "What, you just had to bring in a ringer, huh, Blueberry? But, hey. You shits win. And to the victors go the spoils, y'know." While her dwarforged brings over the goods- a heft bag of gold and a certain knife- Kara gives each of the godlings a kiss, brief and warm. Arcadia gets a pat because Kara can't figure out how to kiss a literal actual bird.

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 5:02 AM

Arcadia chitters, pleased, at the affection, but frankly, wouldn't have minded a kiss on the top of the head, either - it's not going to ruin her day, though, delighted and prideful over her companion's outstanding victory. With Kara right in front of her, though, and not in the distant ring at the center of the crowd, she's reminded of the nagging, familiar feeling of a dream you can't quite remember when you wake up from, and she's distracted again, unintentionally scrutinizing and studying the girl.

Drane Sylas (holy?? thief)-Yesterday at 5:02 AM

Drane's cheekbones start bleeding into a shade of violet darker and warmer than the flowers, "Hey, I never asked my friend here to lift a finger; he just loves to put on a good show," he quips back, as he accepts the knife and hands the gold off to Arcadia, what with the magic satchel they had and all. The quick kiss leaves Drane stunned, and for once, at a loss for words, as he stumbles towards the Lounge, for.... something, he'd figure it out when he got there.

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 5:04 AM

She lets go of ORGAN KING after a moment, and just grins at them. "That was. A spectacular fight. I think everyone can agree", she tells them. Turning to Kara, Gale blushes at the kiss, and smiles. "Oh! Uh, thank you. You were. Amazing out there".

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 5:08 AM

Arcadia squawks, fumbles with the mass amount of gold because she's a literal fucking bird, and all but falls off as Drane runs, only last second able to flutter safely to the perch of ORGAN KING's shoulder.

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 5:10 AM

On a closer look, the tiniest crack further opens in the deep, deep magic. Staring at this girl with her unknown magic, Arcadia gets a simple, small impression. Smiling at a blue pendant she's just recovered.

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 5:14 AM

She reels, briefly, a wing coming up as if to clutch at her head, and swallows thickly, unable to quite make out exactly what she just realized. And she's really deep in her thoughts now, all but completely tuning out the world around her as she settles down a little more comfortably on OK's shoulder and just tries to push past the fuzziness and think.

Bungo-Yesterday at 5:19 AM

ORGAN KING, despite being lost in the revelry, isn't quite so lost as not to notice the reeling bird on their shoulder; lowering their voice as best they can, they speak to Arcadia; "(AH, IS THE NOISE GETTING TO BE TOO MUCH? IF YOU SHOULD REQUIRE QUIET, WE CAN BEAT A HASTY RETREAT.)"

Gale Aurora Silverloft (Airri)-Yesterday at 5:23 AM

Gale's concern also shifts to Arcadia, and she frowns, softly. "...That might not be a bad idea", she admits. "It's... rather busy here, and regrouping is never a bad thing".

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 5:26 AM

"...aw, man, I think I killed Blueberry," Kara comments, but laughs. The laugh falls a little, seeing joy turn to concern, and she frowns. "Hey, hey, if y'all need to scram, I got the crowd. They're here for me, anyways, babes. Just hit me up sometime, hey? Don't be a stranger, or I'll have to cross the Empire looking for the golden fuck that kicked my ass, and I've done shit like that before."

🅱abby 🅱oucha-Yesterday at 5:28 AM

ORGAN KING's question is only just enough to break her out of it, and she shakes her head at all the attention at first, but slowly changes her mind, nodding, the situation bordering on a headache for her. "I'm just... thinking. Perhaps we ought to go find Drane; we can always catch up with you later, Kara."

gaymaster 👑 jared-Yesterday at 5:33 AM

"No problem. I swing by the Lounge, or I'm around here, Raven. Get your Blueberry, don't die." With that- and a wide grin- Kara strides into the adoring masses, who immediately divert their attention to their champion.

#jay #j's online campaign #long post /

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qhostqizmo · 3 years

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Favorite Spot

fever haze does crazy things, man

- - - - - - - - - -

Gently, the sun lowered itself beneath the western skyline as crickets and katydids began to sing their twilight song. Among the soft lighting of stars and crackling of the flickering fire, Amon grinned only to himself; watching the tired sway of Essätha’s silhouette against the campfire as she danced. Much of her artistry had already been lost; no longer proving skill but lazily stepping to and fro. It should not look so elegant as it was, but her every movement still had him captivated. Her wild splendor and spontaneous nature of such innocent enjoyments never ceased to cause him marvel.

“Essätha, a little room by the fire so I can turn the spigot, please.”

“Oh, sorry,” she sheepishly replied, side-stepping out of Sulhadur’s way. The dragonborn chuckled quietly, watching her retreat.

Don’t stop, The nobleman wanted to plea; tongue-tied. What grace. Even in the simplicity of her movements, he felt a deep ache in his chest. She was so fair and lovely, it was difficult not to be captivated by her.

“It would be better if we had someone to play a tune,” Rava remarked; a tinge of remorse in her voice. The reminder seemed to cause a moment’s unease among the entire group, and even Amon felt discomfort in his stomach. There was no telling if the two bards they’d known were even still alive, and the unspoken names lingered in the air.

“Dancing and music don’t always need to go hand in hand,” chirped Adela, offering an impish smile and side-eyes glance the former Illiad heir’s way. “A dance partner might be nice though…”

He swallowed, trying to shake off his nerves. She still looked pointedly his way. It was irritating as it was embarrassing.

Shrugging; her back turned away from the Tiefling, the other sorceress sighed. “Everyone’s a critique.”

“Not a critique,” Adela sang. “Just an observation. I never said the dancing was bad; just looked like you could use company.”

A rolling chuckle emitted from a few members of the party. Amon tried not to scowl at any particular one.

Stretching skyward; an angelic figure reaching for the heavens, Essie exhaled loudly. She apparently brushed off the commentary with little to no reaction, unlike his own twitching brow. Her feet dragged across the ground, trailing around the campfire. As she approached the log-seating that he was sitting upon, the nobleman cleared his throat, and shifted to give her more room.

“Thank you.” A whisper; soft and light.

His throat tightened. “You’re welcome.” His voice cracked like a pubescent teen. Fuck.

Raising their hand, Pri’cha began to wave their antenna excitedly in the air. “Oh! Is this meant to have been a mating dance?”

Loudly, Penimra sputtered and began to wheeze. Adela slapped a hand over her mouth to giggle.

“What would give you that impression, Pri’cha?” taunted the pink tiefling, her tail curling up with the jingle of jewelry.

“Well-”

“Ssstop,” Essie hissed; a warning in her tone.

Confused, the little cleric dropped their antenna, and looked upon them yet with curiosity.

Conversation avoided, there was a loud huffing exhale from the Yuan-Ti sorceress at his side as she slumped forward. An instinctive reaction was pulled from Amon, reaching out to lightly press the tips of his finger to her shoulder.

“If ya’ll want to see a mating dance-”

“Face- stop!”

Amon was never more thankful for the bumbling distraction of his teammates. Heat burned into his face as Essätha shifted, and moved to lean heavily into his side. He breathed in deeply; the soft lily on her skin and quiet sigh from her lips stirring his emotions once more. She sounded so at peace. He wanted to give her that peace.

To his surprise, she boldly took hold of his hand that had dropped to his lap, and pulled it around her shoulders.

Nervously, he snickered. “Comfy?”

“Mmmhm,” she hummed, burying her face against his collarbone. “My spot.” Definite. Unquestioned.

His breath caught, and a shudder moved unwillingly down his spine. Hers. Hers. Hers. Hers.

Her spot. All hers. Everything was hers.

Drunk off euphoria, Amon pulled her in closer, his nose brushing atop her hair as he rested his head atop hers. She graced him with a great honor, curling herself closer. Her leg hooked around his ankle. She could almost fall in his lap if she sat up straighter.

“Glad I can be of service,” the nobleman tried to tease, aware how anxious and breathless he sounded.

Essie snorted. “You act like it’s some sort of chore.”

“No- I-”

Before his panic could settle in; fearing he’d somehow hurt her, upset her, wounded her pride or joy in any way, she reached up to cradle his face, her thumb stroking dangerously close to his lips. Just a tilt, and her digit would carve against his mouth. The wanting in his stomach almost made him feel sick.

“Shhhh, I’m teasing you,” she murmured, evaporating his tension. “Your side is always my favorite spot.”

Fighting an urge to spit up his heart, the nobleman swallowed deeply and rubbed his hand down her arm. Whatever it said to her he wasn’t sure, but she almost seemed as calmed by the presence of his touch as he found hers. Her body relaxed further; appearing to let go of her worldly troubles against him, and she dropped her hand from his face to find his hand.

He took her fingers between his; finding sanctuary. His face still felt flush. His nerves kept him from looking to see if anyone staring at them. There was nothing about the way he was holding her that said simply platonic.

Of course, he could not see the way she smiled so blissful and free beneath his chin; eyes closed, rising on cloud nine. Clearly far from simply being platonic.

Carefully running his hand down her arm to install warmth, the nobleman allowed his guard to drop for a few moments, and simply absorbed his every sense and thought into the wonderful feeling of Essie; bright and brilliant and oh-so-beautiful, snuggled up into his side.

A few stray eyes around the campfire gleamed amongst conversation, and looking away knowingly as they went on with conversation.

Sometimes the teasing could wait for another opportunity.

#qhost story #OTP: Essamon #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #softly written

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tera-vee · 7 years

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This is Virtue! She’s my Tiefling Warlock in the D&D 5e game I’m playing with @replacethemwithturnips! I created the character portrait using HeroMachine, which has a TON of premade assets to use.

Virtue is 5′3″ and weighs 122 pounds. She is slender, wiry, and not exactly graceful. Her skin is a pale lavender and her hair, long and straight, is midnight blue. Her horns erupt from her temples to curve straight back over her head. They each split into 2 prongs about two inches from the ends. Her tail, thinner than most other Tieflings, ends in a hard spade. Her silver eyes shine brightly, almost like a beacon to dispel the shadows within.

Virtue’s father, Amadius, joined a thieves’ guild sort of by accident by distracting a shopkeeper by simply existing, allowing a thief to rob the guy blind. The thief approached him later and offered a him a position as a decoy. If people weren’t going to trust him anyway, why not get paid for it?

The whole gig came to an end when a client didn’t do their research and a mark ended up being another Tiefling. Obviously unable to distract the shopkeep with his existence alone, he attempted to charm her. The shopkeeper, a powerful sorceress named Angelia who had taken a break from adventuring to sell her spoils, was not at all impressed. The thief ended up leaving more than a little scorched and Amadius just barely convinced her not to have him thrown in prison.

Despite their...rocky...beginning, Amadius felt a kinship with Angelia that he hadn’t felt with anyone else before and tried his best to win her heart. Surprisingly, she didn’t blast him to cinders and over time came to appreciate his companionship. After several years of friendship and courting, the two were wed, ending Angelia’s adventuring days and allowing them to run the store jointly full time.

It wasn’t long before Virtue was born. A very inquisitive girl by nature, she so dearly wanted to know everything about magic and Angelia was excited to teach. Unfortunately, Angelia’s sorcerous powers did not pass on to her daughter and try as she might, her own intuitive grasp of magic did not leave her in the best place to teach Virtue HOW to use magic. Virtue, for her part, did not let the disappointment curb her desire to learn everything she could and greedily soaked up everything her mother taught her.

As an adult, Virtue was, in part due to her mother’s powerful nature, asked to join a college as a teacher of the arcane. Eager to finally have a use for the boundless knowledge her mother imparted on her, as well as her own private studies later in life, she accepted with boundless gratitude. For awhile, everything seemed like it was going perfectly. Virtue loved her classes, loved teaching, loved all the shared information. However, she had caught the eye of a member of the Zhentarim. He approached Virtue and offered her a place in his organization. He promised her magical power, in exchange for supplying him with rare, dangerous, and valuable reagents.

With the promise of finally being able to use magic at hand, Virtue would have done just about anything, so she agreed. Using her position at the college to gain access to the alchemy labs and arcane material repositories, she was able to smuggle artifacts to the Zhentarim. In return, the man hired a wizard to tutor Virtue.

Before she even could get the basics of magic down, though, disaster struck. A large dragon attacked and destroyed one of her shipments and she defaulted on the payment. Rather than face up to the Zhentarim in fear of what they might do to her, she disappeared into the wilderness.

For several years she stayed in self imposed exile, contemplating the stars and nature of the universe. One night, as she was gazing at the starlit night sky, her mind soared among them, deep within the Far Realms and touched a demiplane that few mortals were even aware of: the Demiplane of Imprisonment, home of Tharizdun the Dark God. Countless millennia of forbidden and unknowable memories flooded Virtue’s mind before the darkness took her.

When she awoke, little was left of the unfathomable knowledge that had assailed her, but she felt a burning desire to know. While she had been curious before, now she felt an insatiable hunger for more. But there was something else. A thrumming power inside her, the taste of pure arcane might on her tongue. She had become connected to the Chained God, and a modicum of his power now resided in her.

Unsteady and reeling from the sudden rush of eldritch power, Virtue almost brushed off the whisper in her mind as a foggy thought, but something made her stop and focus, and her blood chilled. For with her new power came something far more sinister. There was a plan writing itself in her head, and while all the pieces were not revealed, she knew that if this plan came to pass, Tharizdun would break free and ravage all of existence.

Shaking her head, Virtue shoved the thoughts of oblivion away and turned towards the new day. With her yearning for knowledge driving her, and her newfound magic bolstering her, she would go forth to learn. And if she got rich and paid off her debts to the Zhentarim along the way, that wouldn’t be bad at all.

Now she was no longer a teacher. Instead, she is a learner, a warrior, a Warlock.

So Virtue is the first character I’ve made that I’m actually able to play a game with and I am SO excited to play her. I’ve decided to go with a dex build Bladelock with a GoO patron which, while not optimal, is what I really wanted to do. I’ve decided to flavor her with chains and binding, which kinda goes along with the GoO pact in general, and Tharizdun’s name in particular (even if there’s not really a whole lot to do with chains in his motif). The plan is for her to manifest chains when she uses her pact weapon, but they’re ethereal and intangible (which is why they’re transparent). Flavorwise, a lot of her spells are going to have chain elements (Eldritch Blast is a flaming chain that winds down her arm and launches at her enemies, Charm Person causes ethereal chains to manifest and bind a person momentarily, etc.) and the higher her level grows the more chains manifest on her person (like around her neck) and the more solid they SEEM.

#d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons #5e #tiefling warlock #because that's original #anni's characters

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