#(ironically both genasi did that for him)

[cringefaecompilation]

love orym of the air ashari. wish every single character moment liam set up for him didn't take 50 fucking episodes to have satisfying payoff(s)

[raeynbowboi]

Disney Villains in DnD

With the Disney Princesses and Princes, I put them into parties, but for the villains, I’m going to start by listing the ones powerful enough to be a Warlock Patron in descending order of power (by their base form). The rest are ordered by the release date of their film. I’m not going to cover all of the Disney villains in this one post, as there’s just too many, and not all of them map easily onto DnD.

CHERNABOG THE DARK MASTER

AS BIG BAD: Archfield Patron Warlock (Asmodeus)

As Playable Character:

Race: Asmodeus Tiefling Background: Courtier Class: Divine Soul Sorcerer (Evil) Skills: Insight, Deception, Intimidation, Persuasion

The Devil on Bald Mountain, Chernabog stands as Satan and Lucifer incarnate, the Disney-Canon equivalent to the Prince of Darkness, and the ruler of Hell. Like with Maleficent and Hades, Chernabog lacks a stat block, being a Greater Deity, and King of the Archfiends, Ruler of the Nine Hells. As a playable character, Chernabog doesn’t lend out his hellish powers or get them from an outside source. Instead he is a Tiefling with the infernal bloodline of Asmodeus (Lawful Evil) running through his veins. When he was an angel, Lucifer would have been a courtier, standing in the shining Court of Heaven before he was banished to Hell. His skills make him adept at lying to and manipulating people, as Insight lets him learn a person’s desires, and then use lies and honeyed words to lead them astray in his service. Consider this a free “how to play as satan” build.

MALEFICENT THE WICKED FAIRY

As Big Bad: The Raven Queen

As Playable Character:

Race: Hexblood Background: Noble (History, Persuasion Intimidation) Class: Wildfire Druid Skills: Arcana, History, Intimidation, Perception

Lore-wise, Maleficent uses “All the Powers of Hell”, but in terms of Dungeons and Dragons, the Wildfire Druid gives Maleficent the best parallels to her powers, as she’s able to grow a wall of thorns, call a bolt of lightning, Polymorph into a fire-breathing dragon, and spread fire. It also works lore-wise as the Wildfire Druid destroys the very forest they swore to protect. As a Hexblood, Maleficent becomes a fey hag, able to curse princesses and disguise herself as a racial ability. As the Big Bad, Maleficent maps perfectly onto the Raven Queen, ruling over the shadowfell, summoning the Heartless to do her biding, and loaning Diablo to those who worship or swear fealty to the Raven Queen.

HADES GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD

As Big Bad: Hades/Death God

As Playable Character:

Race: Mephistopheles Tiefling/Reborn Background: Charlatan Class: Death Cleric Skills: Deception, Insight, Persuasion, Sleight of Hand

For Hades, the God of the Dead, making him into a Cleric was a no-brainer. But Clerics have very limited options for fire magic. Sacred flame and Flame Strike both deal radiant damage, and their only other fire spell is Searing Smite which they got in the spell list expansion. But as a Mephistopheles Tiefling, Hades can also gain temporary access to Burning Hands and Flame Blade, along with Mage Hand. Mephistopheles is also the demon best known for making a deal with Faust, a trait shared by the deal-making Hades. If you’re not feeling the fire theme, or your DM doesn’t like the tiefling subraces, Hades can also work as a Reborn.

THE HORNED KING MASTER OF THE CAULDRON BORN

As Big Bad: Undead/Undying Warlock Patron (Lich)

As Playable Character:

Race: Reborn Background: Noble (History, Persuasion Intimidation) Class: Necromancy Wizard Skills: Arcana, History, Intimidation, Investigation

Ironically, there is a new magic item that maps perfectly onto the Black Cauldron, the Cauldron of Rebirth. But oddly, it can only be attuned by a Druid or Warlock, and the Necromancy Wizard creates the strongest undead thralls, as he adds his Proficiency Bonus to their attack and damage rolls. But if you’d rather have the Horned King be able to use the Cauldron of Rebirth, then make him a Spores Druid. If you absolutely must go warlock, make him an Undead Warlock. As a Warlock Patron, he would be a Lich. In the Chronicles of Prydain books, he served Arawn, God of Death. But the Horned King serves no such master in the Disney film.

JAFAR THE GRAND VIZIER

As Big Bad: Genie Warlock Patron (Efreeti)

Race: Human/Fire Genasi Background: Courtier (Insight, Persuasion) Class: Genie Warlock (Djinni)/Wild Magic Sorcerer Skills: Arcana, Deception, Insight, Persuasion

Jafar is the only one of the patron villains who themselves is a warlock to another patron. In his human form, Jafar has little to no powers. Everything Jafar is able to do is through either his magic snake staff or Genie’s magic. It’s only once he becomes a genie himself that Jafar has his own powers. So, Jafar here is split between two builds. As a human, he’s a warlock relying on a djinni. As a genie himself, he’s a wild magic sorcerer. Technically, he could be both. Play Jafar however you want. As a big bad, Jafar is stuck as one of the most subserviant types of warlock patron, which isn’t so surprising why he’s this low on the patron scale. Only Ursula is technically weaker than him, but that’s only true when she’s in her base form. Once she wields the trident, Ursula is even more powerful than The Horned King.

URSULA THE SEA WITCH

As Big Bad: Fathomless Warlock Patron (Sea Hag/Kraken)

As Playable Character:

Race: Triton Background: Courtier (Insight, Persuasion) Class: Glamour Bard Skills: Arcana, Deception, Insight, Performance, Persuasion Items: Circlet of Human Perfection (reskin as seashell necklace)

I built Ariel as a Fathomless Warlock because in order for her to be on land, she had to make a deal with Ursula. So, with Ursula on land, she can masquerade as Vanessa, using Ariel’s voice to charm and manipulate people. We even see Ursula do this when she charms Eric, so we know that as Vanessa, Ursula could easily run a successful criminal empire using Ariel’s voice to hypnotize and manipulate people into obeying her orders. The Circlet of Human Perfection allows Ursula to maintain a perfect beautiful human disguise without having to eat up spell slots. As a Fathomless Patron, Ursula in her base form is a simple Sea Hag, being much weaker. But once she gets a hold of Dekella, the Bident of Thassa from King Triton, she can grow in both size and power to rival the might of a Kraken. And with Thassa’s divine bident, Ursula can command the tides and all the beasts and monstrosities within it, puting her nearly on par with the powers of a goddess of the sea. But unlike Hades, Maleficent, and Chernabog, even at her near godlike power, Ursula still has a stat block, her bident can still be taken from her, and she can still be slain and defeated.

QUEEN GRIMHILDE THE EVIL QUEEN

Race: Human Background: Noble (History, Persuasion Intimidation) Class: Alchemist Artificer Skills: Arcana, History, Intimidation, Investigation

I really did consider the Transmutation Wizard for Grimhilde, as it has the power to cast polymorph for all of your Frog Prince needs, and a master transmuter can even Restore Youth. But then, the alchemist can brew a potion of transformation, and the chemistry set is clearly how we see Grimhilde using magic. The only magic she performs without the chemistry set is when she creates a gust of wind in front of her magic mirror. She doesn’t even create the lightning bolt for her transformation spell, it just happens to be storming outside, so she’s not controlling the weather either. Plus, the most powerful spell she has is the poisoned apple and she has to summon a bolt of lightning to cast Alter Self, a 2nd level spell. By DnD standards, Grimhilde’s not really that powerful. She doesn’t even fight the player herself in Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep.  If you want Grimhilde to be more magical, then go with Transmutation Wizard, but if you want to be more accurate, the Alchemist is how Grimhilde does her magic. Yzma from The Emperor’s New Groove shares a nearly identical build.

CAPTAIN HOOK THE GENTLEMAN THIEF

Race: Human Background: Pirate (Athletics, Perception) Class: Swashbuckler Rogue Skills: Athletics, Deception, Insight, Intimidation, Perception, Persuasion

While Hook’s still a putrid coward, he holds himself quite well, and is the epitome of Lawful Evil, maintaining a strict personal moral code to clash with Peter’s frankly Chaotic Neutral “heroism”. Hook’s not really good at the normal rogue skills like hiding or thieving, but he shines as a manipulative double-talking liar. Long John Silver from Treasure Planet has a similar build.

GASTON LEGUME THE HANSOME HUNTER

Race: Human Background: Folk Hero (Animal Handling Persuasion, Survival) Class: Monster Slayer Ranger Skills: Athletics, Perception, Persuasion Stealth, Survival

As the strapping hero of Belle’s Village, Gaston has the favor of his entire community, keeping them safe from any and all beasties that lurk beyond the city. Too bad he’s as rotten as they come. Likely one of the weakest villains in terms of pure power scale as little more than a local hero, he’s still an iconic enough villain I couldn’t resist adding him. Clayton from Tarzan shares a similar build.

SCAR THE USURPER OF PRIDE ROCK

Race: Leonin Background: Noble (History, Persuasion) Class: Oath of Treachery Paladin Fighting Style: Unarmed Skills: History, Insight, Intimidation, Persuasion

Simba was a druid because he was a wise king who could call upon his people to stand beside him. Scar is a paladin because he has devoted himself to a single goal: his own personal power. Scar shows little wisdom, but has a strong character and savvy charms about him that make him better suited as a CHA caster.

JUDGE CLAUDE FROLLO THE JUDGE OF PARIS

Race: Human Background: Investigator Class: Light Cleric Skills: Insight, Investigation, Persuasion, Religion

This was an easy villain to build. As a religious man worshipping God (who would def fall under Life, Light, and maybe Knowledge) Frollo would go for the one that lets him keep witches warm. His background was chosen as an investigator because he’s responsible for keeping the peace in Paris, and there wasn’t a background option for lawmaker. Noble or Courtier might have worked, but didn’t seem quite like the right fit as they deal more with aristocratic authority and royal court politics.

RIKU THE HEARTLESS KEYBLADE MASTER

Race: Human Background: Soldier (Athletics, Intimidation) Class: Raven Queen Warlock/Hexblade Warlock, Shadow Sorcerer Pact Boon: Blade Skills: Arcana, Athletics, Deception, Intimidation

In the first Kingdom Hearts game, Riku spends most of the game being manipulated by Maleficent. His DnD counterpart would surely be a warlock to her. But Maleficent oddly has not one but three possible warlock patron options. As the Raven Queen, she obviously has the Raven Queen Warlock, but the Raven Queen also created the Hexblade, which come from the Shadowfell, which she rules over. The third is unique to Maleficent, as she is a fairy, and a powerful one at that. Making her a valid choice for an Archfey Warlock. Archfey doesn’t quite fit Riku, but the other two do, and as a Sorcerer, Riku draws power from the Shadowfell which his patron rules over.

DR. FACILIER THE SHADOW MAN

Race: Human Background: Charlatan (Deception, Sleight of Hand) Class: Fiend Warlock Skills: Arcana, Deception, Persuasion, Sleight of Hand

It’s kind of hard to deny that Dr. Facilier is obviously a warlock, though his patron options don’t really come close to a neat fit. Among his choices though, fiend comes the closest to selling his soul to the Other Siders or Shadow Folk. It’s possible he could have sold his soul to the Raven Queen and his shadowy friends are the emissaries of the shadowfell, but as he has no raven or crow familiar, that’s a somewhat weak comparison.

[seadeepywrites]

Stormborn

Character: Fathom Tidechaser Words: 2345 tw: drowning, death of a parent, graphic depiction of blood

In Fathom’s scattered memories of that night, it begins with the railing. It tears like wet parchment, giving way with a shriek. Lia and Fathom tumble after it into the raging sea.

A single bright flash of lightning illuminates the tableau: Lia’s tangled hair around her head as she struggles to stay afloat. The tattered ship tossing and heaving above them, its sails rattling, hissing. Splintered chunks of wood around them in the darkness, and his mom’s hand reaching out to him, pale against the night-black waves.

Fathom’s chest clenches with fear that isn’t for himself. Even amid the howling power of the storm, he knows the roll and pitch of the waves. He is plunged beneath the surface, and it doesn't matter — he can breathe in saltwater like air — but Lia can’t, and she is floundering.

Fathom strikes out toward her, desperate strokes with trembling arms through frigid water that is whipped into spray by the gusts of wind. He knows better than to cry out — saves all his breath for swimming — and he is the fastest swimmer onboard — and it is still not enough. The waves are as tall as the ship’s prow, throwing him up and plummeting him down, and even when he knows where Lia is, he can’t seem to get any closer.

The wind screams in his ears and the thunder rumbles and between one moment and the next, his mother is gone.

Fathom ducks underwater, taking in heaving lungfuls of the sea, wriggling downward away from the seething chaos above him. It is quieter here, but dark as sin, and the relentless currents are far too powerful for his small body. And Fathom’s heart calls to his goddess, begging Melora for her aid, but part of him already knows — Melora takes away as much as she gives. One boy’s hopes are nothing, when compared to the furious power of her storms.

Fathom swims through the darkness, straining his eyes and his muscles until he’s lost track of which way is up. Dizzy with fear and exhaustion, he isn’t even sure what he’d do if he saw his mother. If he could do anything except embrace her and sink to the ocean floor by her side. 

At some point, he collides hard with the side of the ship, knocking himself half-senseless. His limp body spins away from the hull, only to meet in the next wave trough with a jagged spar of wood that rips through his neck and shoulder with an all-consuming pain that Fathom is almost too numb to feel. It is excruciating, but his mind has drifted away from the part of him that still swirls bonelessly in the sea. Lia is gone. He has already lost. What else can the water take from him?

When Fathom finally loses consciousness, it is a sweet and alluring relief.

***

Fathom feels like he’s been cast in iron, every limb too leaden to move. He can’t even open his eyes far enough to focus them. He is lying on a deck — that much he knows. Flatter and steadier than the abyss of the ocean. Beyond that, everything seems — hazy.

So Fathom just lies there like a stranded jellyfish, unable to string together a complete thought. There are hands. They grab and prod at him roughly.

“Kid’s alive!” someone shouts from far, far above him. The first half of their next sentence is snatched by the wind. “...very long if we don’t get that cut closed up.”

Oh. Right. The blood, swirling dark in the puddles around him. It’s from the gash in his neck. The stains spilling over his chest are— bad. Something will happen. Something like that last glimpse of Lia between one wave and the next. 

Fathom lifts one shaking hand to the wound, his fingers slipping in his own slick blood. He can feel the way his shoulder is separated, the muscle and bone in ridges and valleys. He explores the terrain with his fingers, and some dull instinct reminds him it shouldn’t feel this way. It should be smoother. Connected. Whole. 

More sounds from above him. Exclamations. His eyelids flutter, and all around him he can see light. A teal the color of his skin, bright as the sun-sparkle on the water at dawn.

As Fathom’s eyes roll back in his head, his hand drops away from his shoulder to flop on the deck at his side. A warmth swells up from everywhere and nowhere, surrounding him. His shoulder wound burns even hotter, scalding through his fragmented consciousness. The pain and the heat intensify.

Fathom passes out again.

***

The next time Fathom wakes, it is quiet. As quiet as things ever get at sea, which is to say that the waves shush softly against the hull and the ship groans. But the rocking movement of the waves is gentle, and there is warm sunlight on his face.

Fathom rolls toward the light, cracking his eyelids open. The grimy porthole shows a gem-blue sky, unmarred by clouds.

“You’re awake,” comes a gruff voice from the other side of him.

“Hearugh,” Fathom says. His voice is an indistinct rasp. He swallows against a parched throat and tries again. “Harry?”

A grunt of acknowledgement.

Fathom tries to roll back over, twisting his head to look for the sailor, but a crushing pain grips him like a giant fist. He gasps, seeing stars. Breathing shallowly, he waits for the agony to subside before trying again.

“Careful there,” says Harry. The rugged face he was expecting materializes above him. Calloused hands help Fathom turn onto his right side, facing away from the porthole.

Fathom lies there for a bit, awareness of his surroundings spreading slowly outward from him like widening ripples in still water. He is swaddled in rough gray blankets on a padded bench, in a cabin on the ship that he only recognizes from a few brief trips. An enormous chest bound with brass locks is shoved in the corner, dried bunches of herbs hang with twine from the rafters, and Harry is chewing on the end of a pipe as he squats on a nearby stool, staring back at Fathom with a contemplative expression.

“Lia,” Fathom whispers, squeezing his eyes shut as another bolt of pain lances through his head. He keeps his eyes closed, afraid of what he’ll see on Harry’s face.

Harry’s hand rests heavily on Fathom’s shoulder, rubbing small circles. Fathom can feel the edges of his wound pulling against each other, an agony sharper and brighter than his throbbing headache, but he doesn’t object. 

“She’s gone,” Harry says, voice rumbling low in his chest. He doesn’t say it tentatively, or softly, but there’s a blunt kindness to it. He doesn’t apologize, and Fathom doesn’t ask him to explain. They both already know the way these things go.

Fathom just lies there. He doesn’t say anything in return, but Harry doesn’t pressure him to. After a few minutes, Harry stands, clomping over to the chest. Fathom hears its lid creak open, and the clinking of glass bottles.

“If you can,” Harry says, returning to Fathom’s side, “drink this.” He nests the potion bottle in the crook of Fathom’s elbow, and returns to his stool.

There might be tears slipping sideways down Fathom’s face to dampen the pillow, but then again — it might just be his always-damp skin. Wherever the seawater comes from, it never stops flowing, no matter how thirsty or tired or cold he gets. Just another one of the questionable gifts from his birthright as a genasi. And what fucking good did that do him, if he couldn’t save her?

Fathom cries himself to sleep, and when he wakes up he does it all over again. He eats the food Harry brings him and pisses in the lidded bucket under the bed and shambles around the cabin like an undead creature. Days pass, and sometimes Fathom’s wound shimmers with teal light and knits itself together a little further, and Fathom doesn’t care in the slightest.

***

Eventually, Fathom leaves Harry’s cabin. He doesn’t return to the bunk he shared with his mother, preferring to sit at the prow of the ship for hours at a stretch. The wound at the base of his neck is healing much more quickly than should be possible, leaving behind only the faintest traces of irregular scar tissue.

On deck, he can hear the crew whisper to each other, some in tones of compassionate concern and others in superstitious fear. Fathom can’t explain it to himself, much less speak to any of them — he has no words inside him in those days. Just a quiet, boundless grief, as all-encompassing as the horizon he stares out towards in the same way his mother does — the same way she did.

At the prow, wedged in the narrow triangle of boards, Fathom can feel every rise and dip of the waves like he weighs nothing at all. Like a bird riding the long currents of wind, traveling between continents. He falls asleep there most nights, rocking up and down, hearing the familiar symphony of sails snapping and wood creaking. 

When his aimless thoughts do coalesce, he finds himself thinking of religion. Some sailors on board scorn clerics and organizations of that sort, while others use their precious time during shore leave to donate money and make offerings at even the shoddiest of local temples. When thunderclouds gather on the horizon, however, there is not a man among them who will not murmur at least a word or two to the goddess of wilderness and the sea.

Fathom himself believes as his mother believed — without question and without any particular reverence. It’s not a crisis of faith that fills him, as he watches the wake trailing endlessly outward and backward from the ship’s prow. It’s simple truth that Melora exists, that she lives inside him, that he was created a genasi by her strange providence. The only thing Fathom wonders is why. 

It doesn’t take long after that to recognize that the teal light which heals him at odd intervals is connected in some intimate way to the parts of him that thrum with the song of the sea. As a water genasi, Fathom has always been able to perform some simple magic, no more exceptional than the tiefling cook who can make his voice boom over the clatter of the galley or their elven captain who lights campfires on shore with an incantation and a gesture. Fathom might be young, but he can already tell: this is different.

Is it prayer that he offers to Melora over those long weeks sailing toward the old continent? Fathom has recovered a few words, mostly to refuse offers of comfort or company from his crewmates, but he does not use them for this. He holds the shell his mother kept inside her pillow — Harry retrieved it for him, since he has not entered their bunk since the storm — in his palms like he’s cradling a wounded animal, like he’s safeguarding pirate treasure, like it will whisper answers.

Fathom learns to concentrate when his shoulder throbs and aches, to call forth light from the depths inside him. He traces the spiral painted on the shell from scalloped edges to swirled center, over and over and over, until he is lost in a trance where thought escapes him entirely. By the time the crow’s nest spies land, Fathom can rotate his shoulder without any pain. He can also cause a coin to shine as brightly as a lantern for up to an hour, and stitch together tiny rips in his clothing simply by concentrating. Keeping the shell in his clammy hands at all times, even when he sleeps, he shares none of this with another soul onboard.

When the ship docks in Aranth, Fathom talks briefly to Harry, and then to the first mate. He slips down the gangway on the second night of their stay, carrying nothing but a heavy satchel in one hand and the shell in the other. He knows he won’t leave the sea for long. He also knows he can’t stay on board with a ship full of people that know him as Lia’s funny-colored son.

Fathom works for three weeks on the docks, hands as calloused and quick with sailing knots as those of creatures twice his size and age. The most exceptional event during that time is when he swears at another kid in fear and fury, after the kid’s stupid mistake almost capsizes a small rowboat holding a mother and her infant twins. As Fathom clenches his fist and grips the shell in his pocket for reassurance, ghostly flames lick across the other kid’s skin. At first, Fathom is just as confused as everyone else — the flames look like the strange luminescent glow that sometimes flickers upward from ships’ masts during a storm, but the night sky is clear and this kid is less than five feet tall. And then he recognizes the cold shock of power in his gut for what it is, and he runs.

When the fuss dies down, the cleric at the temple tells him to travel to Talok and swear himself to a life of service there. That actually sounds boring and terrible, but Fathom nods and packs his bags and boards the next ship that plans to make the crossing — well, the next ship that will sail there and will also accept a small teal-skinned boy with white curls who is clearly lying about his age. Fathom proves himself quickly, and none of his shipmates ask any questions, and when he stays on board after they reach Talok, nobody cares one way or the other.

It is the beginning of nearly a decade that Fathom spends on the water without his mother, but most of the time he doesn’t feel lonely in the slightest. Beneath his feet and all around him, there is always the sea.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part four)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word count: 3397

-------------------------------

The sloshing of mud was REALLY starting to get on Katherine’s nerves.

After sleeping through most of the day, Katherine and her companions were on the move. But because of the heavy rainfall the roads had been reduced to an ankle-deep mass of mud and slime. The wetness wormed its way into Katherine’s fur shoes, completely ruining them, and she guessed it wasn’t much better for Joan, who couldn’t even wear shoes. Her hooves and the white skin around her feet were a dark brown color, and Katherine wondered if it would be stained that way forever.

The tragedy was still weighing heavily in all of their minds, especially Katherine’s. Everything kept replaying in her mind- the fire, the violence, the screaming, Anne’s death… Anne may have been silly and loud, but she was still her cousin. They grew up together. And now she was gone.

  “Kat?”

There was a gentle touch on her shoulder; Katherine turned her head to see Catalina, looking worried. She quickly wiped her eyes with her knuckles.

  “Yeah?” Katherine said in her best not-upset voice.

  “Are you alright?” Catalina asked.

  “Yeah,” Katherine said again, this time slightly weaker.

Catalina frowned and took her hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

Katherine sniffled lightly and nodded.

But nothing felt okay. Not anymore. Her home was burnt to the ground, so many of her friends and family and neighbors were dead, she didn’t even know what happened to her father… And now she was on a mission to stop a war that she didn’t even know how it started.

For nearly the entire day, they walked on in solitude, Katherine and Catalina hand-in-hand, the sounds of the forest and the occasional flitting birds their only other companion. Therefore, it was almost a surprise when they all heard the clip-clop of iron-shod hooves, and the rattle of wheels rising from the road ahead.

Soon, the source of the sound comes into view, a handful of riders leading four heavy, covered, ox-pulled wagons: a merchant caravan.

Katherine got a better look as the distance between her group and the caravan slowly closed. The outriders were clearly ready for danger, clad in vests of boiled leather, swords and maces belted to their hips. A few others sit in the wagons, children mostly wearing sturdy, well-made traveling garb.

At the head of the caravan were a man and a woman, both rippling with tension. Katherine sized them up as they approached, but none of them bore the wolf marking of Henry’s troops. The woman was a hard-faced and dangerous-looking centaur, armed and armored in the same fashion as the outriders, with a wide-brimmed kettle helm on her head and the equine body of a muscular shire. The man, on the other hand, was a rather short air genasi with pastel blue skin and halo of crystals growing from his head.          

  “Hail, friend!” The genasi shouted, earning a disapproving look from his centaur companion.

Katherine dared to wave back. “Hail to you as well!” She responded. The caravan guards seemed to relax visibly as she did so.

  “Well met, girl!” The genasi replied as he halted his caravan before the trio. “We haven't seen a lot of travelers on the roads these last few days. What with the war and all.”

The centaur woman beside the caravan master kept her distance. As far as Katherine could tell, she was entirely preoccupied with scanning the road ahead for threats. Judging by her expression, she seemed less than amused by the momentary stop.

The caravan master extended his hand to Katherine. "I am Gale of Edinburg, this is my caravan, and the centaur next to me is my associate, Gaddison. You must excuse her; she thinks threats are everywhere.”

  “They are everywhere,” The centaur replied bitterly, stamping one of her back hooves. She glanced at Katherine’s group and her furry ears pricked up in surprise when she saw Catalina. “You’re pregnant.”

Catalina groaned. “God, is that my entire personality trait now?” Katherine rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, and Catalina crossed her arms and huffed in annoyance.

  “I don’t mean to offend you,” Gaddison said. “I’m just impressed to see that you’re out in these conditions, that’s all. War rages everywhere.”

Catalina ruffled the feathers on her head. “I can take care of myself. I’m very strong.”

  “She is,” Katherine nodded. 

  “Well, that’s good,” Gaddison said. Her eyes slid over to Joan, but she didn’t say anything.

  “By any chance, do you know what has caused the war?” Katherine asked the caravan master.

Gale blinked a few times. “I do not.” He said. “I don’t think anyone does.” He swung his head to the rest of the caravan, but they all either shrugged or shook their heads.

  “I see.” Katherine said.

She and the two caravan masters chat for a little while longer before the wagons take off again in a grinding of wheels, stomping of hooves, and squelching of mud. It wasn’t long before the caravan was just clouds of dust in the distance. Katherine and her companions began their trek once again.

Hours passed. The sun began to set and the last of summer’s humidity weighed thickly in the air. It would be autumn soon, which meant cooler temperatures, but more wind, rain, and snow. Katherine wasn't sure which was worse.

That being said, the sight of a large building up ahead, with brightly lit windows and smoke coming out of its chimneys, and a surrounding village was welcome indeed.

The smell of farm animals and manure floated on the wind, getting stronger and stronger as the trio got near. Bleats and snorts and clucks whisked around the village as they entered. Some people glanced over, mainly at Joan or specifically Catalina’s stomach, but didn’t stop them.

They soon came to a two-story hall accompanied by a row of stables and surrounded by a waist-high stone fence. Sounds of music and laughter spilled out of the open windows, and a bright watchfire burned at the fence's gate, next to a crudely-painted wooden sign of a sleeping creature, hung from an iron post set into the gatepost.

  “The Sleeping Dragon Inn,” The sign said to them in bright red letters visible by the light of the watchfire. Katherine and her companions made their way past the fence, through the courtyard, and into the main hall.

The high-ceilinged common room of the Sleeping Dragon In was bright and filled with the stink of spilled ale, roasting meat, and burning wood--all the aromas of civilization. Maybe half the benches in the big room were empty; the rest were filled with merchants, caravan guards, and other travelers, each busy with their own amusements, whether that be food, drink, dice, or song. A few glance over and whisper something to each other, but don’t speak up directly.

Katherine walked up to the bar. Behind it stood the stout, scruffy dwarf innkeeper, idly polishing a bottle of some dark fluid she had never seen before. She asked him for a bed for the night for her and her companions.

In response, the innkeeper rattled off a long list of options and their associated costs, from the expensive and luxurious to the downright squalid but cheap. Katherine ended up purchasing a comfortable private room and plain dinner for fifteen gold.

Katherine and her companions sat down at a booth as they were served a supper of thick brown bread and a bowl of stewed game birds seasoned with a tiny dash of valuable black pepper. Katherine was given a tankard of freshly-brewed ale, while Catalina and Joan were given a simple glass of water.

  “Do you think they’d let me have some ale?” Catalina asked Katherine, not at all joking.

  “Absolutely not.” Katherine said instantly.

Catalina wrinkled her nose. “Come on! Just one drink!”

  “No.” Katherine said again, and Catalina huffed in response.

Katherine looked over at Joan, and saw that she was looking all around the inn. She appeared to be searching for something, but stopped when she noticed that Katherine was watching her. She slumped down in the booth and nibbled on her bread.

After they ate, they were shown their room on the second floor, which was, admittedly, a little cramped, but it had four walls, a roof, two cots with a straw mattress, and a bed, which was all they really wanted. 

  “We’ll go to the market in the morning,” Katherine said. She and Joan had taken the cots, while Catalina got the bed. “We may need to purchase some things before we get moving.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Catalina said, and Katherine heard the sheets she was laying on crinkle when she shrugged.

  “Alright, let’s all get some rest,” Katherine said. “Goodnight.” She closed her eyes and dreamt of fire for the rest of the night.

------

Colorful flags of different trading companies fluttered in a strong wind above the market square, which was bustling with activity that morning. Though Holm was fundamentally a small town, a fair number of traders bearing mundane goods such as grains, dyes, and cloth were stopped in the square, as did monster hunters and treasure hunters offering hard-to-appraise finds from nearby ruins. The merchants mostly traded from impermanent tents open at one side, but some wander through the crowd and act as their own auctioneers: “Who will give me fifty, fifty for a silver ring from the time of the ancients? Fiftyfiftyfifty thank you fifty-five-fifty-five-fifty-five I have fifty-five…” The air was sweet with the smells of cinnamon and curry spices from the south, and stinky cheese from the north.

Currently, Katherine was in a tent that sold clothing, and was squinting at a big, jaunty lime green hat with a huge feather. By her side, Catalina ran her hands over a golden robe while the shopkeeper eyed her suspiciously, probably wondering how she would fit in the cowl. When Catalina noticed this and the glances her belly was getting, she scowled and stomped over to Katherine.

  “I hate it here,” The Aasimar grumbled.

Katherine reached up a hand to massage her friend’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, honey,” She said. “I have enough to buy some fresh clothes for all of us. Would you like some?”

Their clothing seemed to finally be fully dried from the perpetual wet of the rain and river, but still bore the stink of smoke and burned flesh. Several people seemed to notice this by the way their noses wrinkled when they would pass by too close by.

  “No, it’s okay,” Catalina said, tugging on her black nun’s robes. Her pregnancy was easily seen through them, earning a lot of incredulous and judgemental stares.

  “Are you sure?” Katherine asked. “I don’t mind, really.”

Catalina shook her head. “I’m good.”

  “Hm.” Katherine said. “Alright.”

Just as they’re about to walk out of the shop, they hear a halfling woman cry, “Thief!!!”

Katherine spun around to see someone in a drab brown cowl brazenly running off with a basket of red apples, leaving a large gap in the offerings of a halfling’s fruit cart. They easily bobbed and weaved around all the townsfolk who try to get in their way. The halfling uselessly shouted, “Thief! Thiieeef!” until she started to lose her voice.

The thief was about to get away when a huge mountain of an orc stepped in their path and they fell backwards. The hood came off, and Katherine hissed underneath her breath.

  “Oh, shit,” Catalina said helpfully at her side. “That thief belongs to us!”

Townsfolk rushed to pick up the fallen apples--the “count of five” rule seemed to be an old tradition for judging the edibility of fallen food in Holm. Then they return the fruit to the halfling, because honesty must also have been a tradition in the town.

Two of the town guards show up, but Katherine and Catalina have to step in before they can strong-arm the thieving albino Tiefling away.

  “I am so sorry about her,” Katherine said. “We should have kept a better eye on her.”

One of the guards looked Katherine up and down. “This rat belongs to you two?”

  “Yes,” Katherine said. “I am so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Thankfully, the guards took mercy on them and left them with just a warning. Katherine breathed a sigh of relief when they were gone, then gave Joan a stern glare.

  “What were you thinking, young lady? Stealing?” She said.

  “Sorry,” Joan whispered, her ears drooping. “I-I just thought that we would need some food… Especially Catalina.”

  “Rude.” Catalina said. “But fair.”

Katherine sighed again, then knelt down in front of Joan, since the little Tiefling was so short. “Then I can buy some. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Joan nodded, avoiding eye contact. Katherine ruffled her hair, then stood up straight. A few people were muttering and glaring at Joan, but the whole matter of the thief was quickly forgotten when a man down the street shouted, “Death cloud!”

Katherine blinked, looking around. To the east, she could see a dark purple-and-black cloud on the horizon. The cloud looked big, maybe as big as the town. And judging, by the sudden pandemonium broken out through the market, its appearance was not a good thing.

Immediately, the merchants broke down their tents, and many market patrons hurried into their houses and basements. Shutters snapped shut all down the street. The animal sellers hastily bargained with landowners, then pushed their sheep through storm doors into basements. A baby cried madly despite her mother’s tense reassurances. Some people uprooted flowers as they passed them; they’ll be no good to anybody else soon enough.

  “What’s going on?” Catalina shouted over the panic. But the only answer she got was more screaming and yelling.

Joan yelped loudly as someone stomped on her tail. Katherine was shoved into Catalina, and then promptly got her foot trod on. They were all going to be trampled if they didn’t get away soon. 

  “Oi!” A voice suddenly called out. “Get in here!”

The three of them whirled around to see a man waving from out of his front door. They hurried over and inside the safety of his home.

The house was filled to the brim with artifacts and art. Various geared axles from larger defunct automated artifacts, and some compelling-looking sleek metal cylinders etched with symbols that look very powerful gleamed in the light cast from conjured glass orbs all throughout the rooms. A whole alchemy set, composed of vials, beakers, and burners that laid out across a mahogany desk; a sculpted dragon egg, which was swaddled in some sweaters; a torc of life and death from an old laboratory; some rather fancy clothing on mannequins; an assortment of spare automation parts; and, of course, a shined bookshelf packed full of hefty tomes of magic- all of these things decorated that household that pulsed with magical energy.

Their savior was a young wood elf man, swathed in forest green robes with sparkling gold hems. He had bronze skin that was speckled with blue and pink paint, dark coppery hair, and deep, rich brown eyes. An amber sparrow earring dangled from one of his pointy ears, and he was wielding a hand-carved paintbrush. He hurried around the house, slamming shutters and curtains, but then turned to them with a warm smile after he finished.

  “That was close,” He said. “You three must be travelers. Mostly everyone in the area knows about the storms.”

  “What was that?” Catalina asked.

  “Death Cloud,” The elf said. “It’s been going on for a few years, now. King Henry conjured it over our village after we refused to fight in the war with him. Better than being raided and killed or kidnapped, I suppose.”

Katherine winced internally. So other villages were being terrorized by Henry, too. She wondered what would have happened if Ghent had gotten a Death Cloud instead of being raided.

Would Anne still be alive?

  “Anyway, I’m Hans Holbein,” The elf said with an elegant bow. “Who are all of you?”

  “Katherine Howard,” Katherine said. “These are Catalina and Joan.”

Hans swept his eyes over the three of them, focusing on Joan. “Stars above,” He murmured. “An albino Tiefling! Wow, I’ve never seen one before! I didn’t even know they existed!”

Joan shuffled her hooves, glancing up at Katherine with an anxious expression. Katherine patted her head comfortingly.

  “Hokka, banos,” Came a deep, rumbling voice.

Katherine’s eyes widened as a large stone golem came lumbering out of one of the other rooms. Its rocky grey body was covered in clumps of moss and streaked in green engravings. Its eyes were glowing bright green as it stared down at the trio.

  “Hokka, slogeils,” It said.

  “Woah,” Catalina said.

  “Oh, right!” Hans presented the golem with a grand gesture of his arms. “This is Rocky, my two ton enchanted stone golem!”

  “You must have been feeling very creative when naming it,” Joan said.

Katherine felt a jolt, but Hans laughed loudly, clearly not offended.

  “You are absolutely right, little one,” Hans said. 

Outside, the storm began to pick up. Katherine heard the wind buffeting the house and heavy rain pelt down on the roof. There was also the sizzling of something. Hans ran over to a ladder leading up to a loft and peered through a periscope. He whistled.

  “It’s real bad out there,” He said, then looked over at the trio. “Wanna see?”

One-by-one, they each took a look through the periscope.

Katherine watched as the black-and-purple cloud engulfed the entire town, building by building. At the cloud’s touch, flowers withered, trees dropped their leaves, and wooden shutters blackened as though charred. Black raindrops fell against tree trunks and melted the bark in grooves.

Finally, the cloud came for Hans’ building, blocking her view of anything but its own darkness. She quickly stepped back, and Hans retracted the periscope and shuttered the hole.

  “Looks like there’s nothing to do but wait,” Hans said. “You all can stay with me until the storm ends. Make yourself at home!”

------

It’s been two days since the Death Cloud rolled into Holm and Katherine had raging cabin fever.

As hospitable as Hans and Rocky were, she hated being cooped up inside when she had a war to stop (even if she didn’t exactly know how to stop it just yet). She read Hans’ wide collection of books, painted, and even tried casting spells, but nothing could get rid of her boredom. She was ready to go back out and continue her adventure. So, on the second day, she approached Hans.

Hans was in a small alchemy room, grinding up some fire salts in a mortar and pestle. Joan was asleep in their bed chambers, curled in a small ball, while Catalina was reading peacefully. Surely they wouldn’t mind Katherine’s plans.

  “We need to get going.”

Hans’ ears flicked up and he turned to Katherine with confusion on his face. “But the storm is still going.”

  “Hosa, banos. Hosa, rauo’nd.” Rocky interrupted to offer a plate of deviled eggs it prepared itself.

  “Thank you,” Katherine said, taking one. “And I know,” She continued. “But we really need to get moving again. We kinda have a mission.”

Hans raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” He put the mortar and pestle down. “I suppose I have something that can help you get through the storm. Come with me.”

Hans took Katherine to his bedroom and presented her a selection of masks and waxed clothes. Katherine ended up choosing a stag mask and fresh fur clothes, Catalina chose a hare mask and padded light armor, and Joan chose a bird mask and grey robes. Hans stuffed the noses of the masks with incense and herbs that he said would protect him from the poisonous fog outside in the storm, then handed them a small, pocket-sized tome of spells.

  “Just in case,” He said. “You three be careful out there. And remember me when you’re legends.” He flashed a smile.

  “Thank you, Hans. You too, Rocky,” Katherine said, dipping her head. “We won’t forget this.”

  “No problem,” Hans said. “Go on, now. Good luck.”

Katherine nodded, opened the door, and then ventured into the Death Cloud with her companions.

[melodythefab]

An Interview with Inferno~

50 Character Builder Questions for your Tabletop Character by Ginny Di

Are you a morning person or more of a night owl?

I am much more of a morning person. I like to wake up early, to start moving as the sun rises and feel sunlight on my skin and feel the rest of the world waking up with me.

What’s the first thing you notice about a person when you meet them?

The way they stand. Do they stand proud? Or do they seem like they have something to hide? Are they fidgeting with something? Do they look comfortable or nervous?

You see a huge spider in your room. What do you do?

Catch it and let it out. I don’t want to kill an innocent creature.

If you could go back and change one decision you made in the past, what would you change?

I would change how I didn’t go to Greenwich sooner. Maybe I’d have met Shortiss, Todd, and Cochann sooner. I was fine, of course, so were they, but I wonder what might’ve happened.

Tell me about your first kiss.

*deadpan* no.

Do you give people second chances?

Of course. I believe there is good in everyone, but also that everyone has a capacity to do evil. We must work with each other to bring the light out in ourselves and others.

Except for Todd. He receives no sympathy from me.

Are you a cat person or a dog person?

Dogs ☺️

Do you think you’re attractive?

By Genasi standards or human ones? I wouldn’t say so, probably, but Basil complimented my muscles the other day, so perhaps? (Me: baby that was for a Bardic no-)

What’s your worst habit?

Letting Todd make any decision with consequences.

(It’s hair upkeep. It might be made of fire, Inferno, but you still have to take care of it).

When was the last time you cried?

It- it’s been a while. I won’t lie, I teared up fighting those black dragons about a month ago, but I also almost died, so I believe I had good reason.

But the last time I really cried- Probably the time I realized I can’t save everyone all the time. That still weighs heavily on me. I’ve come to accept it now, to some extent, but I still wish I could.

Are you a good liar?

In theory, yes. In practice, no. (Read: high charisma, but I always get shitty rolls)

What’s your biggest pet peeve?

Being Todd.

Ok, but really. I’m not sure if this counts as a pet peeve or not, but having a general disregard for the welfare of others.

Have you ever had your heart broken?

In the sense that this is asking? No. However, when we found the Sword of Tyr (I’m pretty sure it’s a homebrew weapon our DM made for her. Basically she has to prove herself worthy to the sword to unlock its full potential.) and I realized that for some reason, I’m not considered worthy by Tyr yet, I’m fairly sure that’s what heartbreak feels like.

It’s okay, though. I’m fine. I just need to do better. I won’t give up.

Are you more likely to use your fists or your words in an argument?

Words first, but then, swords are a fantastic backup option.

What’s something you’re naturally good at?

I’m pretty naturally good at healing. Of course, having Lay on Hands and Cure Wounds helps, but I’m usually pretty good at patching up my friends.

What’s something you had to work hard to be good at?

I have to work really hard to be even remotely passable in anything dexterous. You’d think a warrior like myself would be able to handle a slippery floor or even just hopping into a Bag of Holding, but those are both things that have felled me when my enemies have failed to. (Poor baby has a -2 modifier and I roll really bad for every single Dex check.)

Can you tell when someone is flirting with you?

Absolutely not. Honestly, that entire realm, romance and affection, are just entirely beyond me.

Do you think money can buy happiness?

No. Money can supply temporary happiness. Drinks at the tavern, fancy homes, that sort of thing. But real happiness- at one point, I wasn’t sure it really existed outside of fairy tales. But now I know that true happiness is found in those around you. Shortiss, Cochann, Todd, and even our two additions, Ember and Basil, they’ve all helped me realize that I need my friends just as much as they need me. I don’t think they know it, but I’d throw myself in front of a million dragons if it meant they were safe. They’ve changed my life, and I am forever grateful.

Do you believe in destiny?

Yes. Everyone has a destiny. Life is an ever-winding road leading you there. It’s impossible to avoid, but really, why would you? Destiny is what you were meant to do. Your destiny will see you at your very strongest and push you into greatness. One day I know I’ll reach mine. Until then, I’ll just get stronger and keep growing.

Are you a good cook?

I’m literally made of fire. Everything burns.

Surprisingly enough, though, Ember’s not a bad cook.

What do you think happens after you die?

Well, valiant warriors, those who give their lives for others and would fight ‘til their dying breath, those people go to Valhalla or Folkvangr to dine with the gods and prepare for Ragnarok. For others, Hel most likely awaits.

Did you have to grow up fast?

No. I was blessed with a good father and a good station. I was always mature for my age, but I know that’s not nearly the same thing.

Who do you look up to?

I’m not sure I really look up to anyone. I must carve my own path in this world.

When you go to a tavern, what do you order?

Usually something light, or nothing at all. Todd drinks enough for all of us.

What do you like most about yourself?

I’m persistent as hell. I’m also pretty hard to kill.

What do you like least about yourself?

Sometimes I get caught up and lose myself in my own competitive drive, and it causes me to lose my good judgement. *grins* I blame Cochann. He’s a bad influence. (She doesn’t really blame him. He is, however, a bad influence. Only sometimes, though.)

Are you a planner, or more spontaneous?

Spontaneous. If I make plans, I make them in the moment.

Can you keep a secret?

Absolutely.

Do you like being the center of attention?

Not usually. I tend to stay towards the back of most situations with Shortiss. Basil is far more fit for the attention, anyways.

If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?

I wouldn’t do a single thing different. If I’m destined to die, I’ll go down fighting.

Do you enjoy getting all dressed up for a special occasion?

Not really, but polishing my armor and sharpening my blades gives me a similar feeling, I think.

Where do you feel safe?

With my friends. Sure, they can be annoying, but I know nobody has my back like they do. *laughs* Yes, even Todd.

Do you love or hate being alone?

At one point, I probably would’ve said I love it, but now I can’t imagine being without my friends.

What’s the last nightmare you remember having?

Well, I have horrific nightmares about what will happen if the Cult of the Dragons succeeds exactly every fifth night. That is what drove me to this quest anyways.

Do you admit to mistakes when you make them?

I try to.

Do you want to grow up to be like your parents?

No. My father was a good man, but I have my own destiny.

How do you deal with being sick? Are you stoic, or super whiny?

I legitimately cannot get sick.

What did your parents expect from you when you were born?

My father didn’t truly expect much from me. He always just told me I should strive to be good and do good.

Do you have a strong sense of style?

Fighting style, yes.

Would you rather camp outdoors or stay the night in an inn?

Depends. How good is the inn? What’s the weather like? I refuse to sleep in the rain. It messes with my hair. (We’ve decided she’s like a charmander and if the flame goes out, she, like, dies. Maybe not completely but Bad Stuff happens.)

Is there a food that most people like that you absolutely hate?

I’m pretty tolerable of most foods.

Are you more of a hoarder or a minimalist?

Minimalist. I don’t carry much.

Are you superstitious?

No. (Yes.)

Are you the kind of person who remembers people’s birthdays and pets’ names and stuff?

Absolutely. My mind is an iron lock. (No it’s not. She tries, though.)

What do you do to feel better when you’re sad?

I go to my friends. They always know how to cheer me up. Maybe some friendly competition with Cochann, sitting and chatting with Shortiss or Ember, or doing whatever the hell it is Basil and Todd normally do.

Is it hard for you to trust someone?

Not really. Unless it looks like they’ve got something to hide.

Are you susceptible to peer pressure?

No. Well, not on the things that matter.

If you decided to stop adventuring and settle down, what kind of job would you take?

I’m not sure. I would probably want to be a healer. Maybe find a village to protect. Honestly, though, I cannot see myself giving up this life. I’ve sworn an oath to Tyr. Every day must be spent making sure I follow through.

As a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Truthfully, this. I wanted to be a noble adventurer who helped the innocent and did good deeds. I think if, back then, I’d known one day I’d slay a real dragon, well, I probably would’ve exploded from pure excitement.

[malaismere]

Everything is tied together! Or! A comprehensive theory on exactly what the fuck is going on in Wildemount.

1. Yasha’s Backstory

While we still have no idea what is going on with Yasha’s backstory, we do know who it was going on with - Oban, and the cult/followers of the Angel of Irons. Yasha was part of Oban & Friends, and it looks like they’re going to be c2′s version of the Chroma Conclave. 

What are they up to? Oban and the Angel of Irons are looking to free “The Lost Children” i.e The Laughing Hand and this new guy Juriel, among others. The Laughing Hand was the sealed away champion/chosen one of the Crawling King which leads us to 

2. Fjord’s Backstory

Fjord was saved from drowning by making a deal with Uko’toa (uko’toaaa), who was created by The Cloaked Serpent as a lieutenant during the Calamity. He survived long enough to become a minor god in his own right, before being sealed away. 

The Lost Children (probably) refers to the servants and lieutenants of the Betrayer Gods who were sealed away following the Calamity. Uko’toa is doing a pretty decent job of unsealing himself (two down, three to go) but he’s probably also on Oban and the Angel of Irons’ list, along with the Phoenix and the Worm seen on the temple wall. They’re probably not immediate, but you never know...

3. Caduceus’ Backstory (and Molly’s Backstory? What?)

Caduceus is on a quest to fix his home, and, in general, the corruption of the Savalierwood - which was caused, according to Yussah, by corruption spreading from Molaesmyr, an Elven city which fell shortly after the Calamity. 

How does this tie in to Oban & Friends? Well, we know their next target is partially in the Lotusden Greenwood, a forest in the southwest of Xhorhas that has been corrupted by out of control fae magic. Could the issues in the Savalierwood also be caused by one of the sealed away Lost Children? They certainly represent a big enough issue to destroy an entire city

This also ties into Molly because Lucien’s ritual (was heavily implied to) involve Molaesmyr. There’s a good meta on it here

So, there’s an underlying connection between servants of the Betrayer Gods and the followers of the Angel of Irons. But there’s a bit more to it going on, here. 

4. Caleb’s backstory. 

We know that Vence (Blondie) is another follower of the Angel of Irons. and we know he’s the Annex for the head & founder of the Cerberus Assembly, which makes him important enough to be in meetings with King Dwendal. 

Is the Cerberus Assembly working with the Angel of Irons? Is Vence just using them? That we have no idea of, yet. But the Betrayer Gods have always had a use for powerful wizards who don’t care about little things like morals - that’s how the Calamity happened in the first place. 

Regardless - the War was started by someone(s) stealing the Beacons and giving them to the Cerberus Assembly. It wasn’t until the Beacon was reclaimed that war was officially declared. 

Who stole the Beacons? Well, it could have been scourgers/Empire spies, it could have been an inside job (like Dairon suspects) or it could have been a plan by Vence/the followers of the Angel of Irons to spark a war and unleash maximum chaos! We still don’t know if his placing of the Abyssal Anchors was to help further the war or just a coincidence. 

What we do know? They aren’t going to be able to deal with Vence and any of his allies without dealing with the Cerberus Assembly. And Caleb? is definitely dealing with the Cerberus Assembly. 

5. Everyone else

Okay, so this theory isn’t super comprehensive. but 5/8 ain’t bad. 

The main connection for Beau is the Cobalt Soul, which is investigating all of this (and, you know, holds information useful to Oban) but her past as a criminal may also be tied in.

The Gentleman, the Iron Shephards, and the Jagentoffs have all been pretty prominent. They’re three criminal groups fighting each other, each involved in slaving - and it’s likely they might have ties to either high up figures in the Empire or Oban & Vence and friends, or a mix. The Gentleman did have one of the Cloven Crystals, and the Iron Shephards had the letter from Avantika - exactly how they’re connected in is uncertain. 

Jester is connected by ... the Gentleman? If he is her father. I’m still not sure he is, though, and if it’s some other vaguely shady water genasi, who knows how they might be connected. 

And Nott? Well, Yeza was connected by researching the beacons for the assembly. And she might also be connected by the Mysterious Woman who cast reincarnation (or whatever) on her, who may be the same as the woman with the book from Molly’s past, or the woman who healed Caleb’s mind, who is maybe Astrid or maybe someone tied to the Angel of Irons or maybe someone completely different, or maybe it’s just a random collection of important but mysterious women. 

6. What’s next?

I mentioned it above - I’m pretty sure that this is the Mighty Nein’s version of the Chroma Conclave - a collection of extremely high powered individual targets working together and destroying everything the Mighty Nein love. 

Obann is going to keep gathering Lost Children - and who’s to say he’s the only one? The longer the Mighty Nein delay, the more incredibly powerful beings will get unleashed upon the world. 

But, the longer the war goes on, the more lives are lost - and the fewer resources the Empire and the Dynasty can spend helping to stop the Angel of Irons. If they even want to, of course - it looks like this conspiracy might run deep on both sides. 

Either way, shit is getting intense. Who knows if, in two months time, there’ll be time for Travellercon. Unless, of course, the Traveller is also tied to the Angel of Irons....

He’s not....is he?

also, the level of writing that matt totally tied everyone’s backstories together is brilliant. 

[tigerkirby215]

5e Pyke the Bloodharbor Ripper build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

You look familiar... You. You were on my blog, looking at my builds.

Well here’s yet another League build, and yet another edgelord champion. I don’t know if it’s a problem with me or a problem with League but I seem to be drawn to characters with edgy personas... at least lore-wise. In game I spam Sona and Yuumi like an eGirl thot.

And Kayn. And Warwick. Alright I might just be an edgelord.

Regardless Pyke is always a character I’ve enjoyed more for his lore than his actual gameplay. Back in my DOTA days I used to main Bounty Hunter (and I might branch out to DOTA builds someday; who knows?) and while Pyke captures that gameplay to some extent he’s never really been my cup of tea. Gondar was considerably more light-hearted than Pyke and focused a lot more on information gathering than the raw killing that Pyke does. Even so I think Pyke was a great addition to the lore of Bilgewater with the rest of the region seemingly existing only as an excuse to put pirates into League of Legends. (Ironically enough I actually think the other character that displays Bilgewater’s lore the best is Tahm Kench, and considering that most people see him as a meme that’s really saying something.)

But regardless: you’re here for the build, not to read me ramble about why I made it. I can definitely say that if you genuinely want to play Pyke you’re certainly one for the roleplay, though try not to be overly edgy.

GOALS

Harpooner - Armed with an iconic Bone Skewer it’ll find its way stabbed into the stomachs or thrown into the backs of many victims.

Until it all sinks... - Pyke swims in the shadows before surfacing to pounce his prey. He did also swim in the water once.

Did I “support” right? - While we won’t have any healing Pyke has plenty of utility in his own right.

RACE

Officially Pyke is some sort of drowned revenant, and while I know there is a Revenant race in the Gothic Heroes UA it’s rather unbalanced and unfortunately doesn’t really work for what we’re trying to do here. The Gothic Heroes Revenant has a goal, but Pyke’s mind is warped so he thinks his goal is never done. While the health regen is in character for Pyke’s Gift of the Drowned Ones the other features don’t really help us or retain the aquatic theme of Pyke.

With that in mind I had a few ideas: Water Genasi was my first idea to have a character infused with the strength of the sea but unfortunately it’s focused far too much on magic as well as Constitution, both of which Pyke doesn’t have. My next thought was for a Kalashtar to have the spirit of the drowned one infused into you, but they’re tied deeply into their dream lore and less-so into the two-minds aspect.

But then I realized there’s a race that gets infused with parts from the ocean, and even starts out human just like Pyke! This is going to sound mad but you’re going to want a Simic Hybrid from Guildmaster’s Guide to Ravnica. While in-lore they receive their gifts from the deep from science we can reflavor it as gifts from the ocean itself. Anyways Simic Hybrids see their Constitution increase by 2 and a stat of their choice increase by 1: choose Dexterity for a better chance fighting the beasts below before your line is cut. You also get Darkvision up to 60 feet and Animal Enhancements. Since Animal Enhancement is tied to level I’ll be addressing it in the build instead of in the race section because this is getting long enough as is. And for your language of choice I’d opt for Elvish, mainly because it’s unlikely you’ll meet any Vedalken this side of the sea.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - Fighting the monsters of Bilgewater in their own territory takes a great degree of nimbleness to avoid getting your line cut.

14; CHARISMA - All sea captains fear the Bloodharbor Ripper, and Charisma is a requirement to multiclass.

13; INTELLIGENCE - You need to be smart to hunt any prey, be it a monstrous fish or... more dangerous game...

12; CONSTITUTION - While not in-character for Pyke to be tanky we sadly can’t convert our health into damage in this build.

10; WISDOM - Even if you have to do it to survive jumping into monster-infested waters is not the best lifestyle choice.

8; STRENGTH - While perhaps in-character to drop Wisdom instead we simply don’t need Strength in this build.

BACKGROUND

There are several backgrounds for a man lost at sea but Pirate is the best for one who came back with a vengeance. You get the Athletics and Perception skills to scout out your prey and wrestle with it in deep tide, as well as proficiency with Water Vehicles and Navigator’s Tools to command your own ship someday. But the main feature we’re here for is Bad Reputation so everyone knows that you’re the Bloodharbor Ripper. If you’re in a civilized settlement people will be afraid of being put on your list, and will let you get away with minor crimes. Murder isn’t a minor crime though, so pull someone into an alley if they do end up showing up on your list.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1

Starting off as a Rogue for the extra proficiencies: take Intimidation, Stealth, Investigation, and Acrobatics as your skills of choice. You also get Expertise in two of those skills and you’re going to want Investigation to find your quarry and Stealth to sneak up on them.

But of course the main reason for the expertise in Stealth is so we can Sneak Attack. Once per turn you can do an extra d6 damage with an attack if an enemy is within 5 feet of your ADC or if you have Advantage on the attack by jumping out of water. You must be using a finesse weapon such as your Bone Skewer, which for now would likely just be a Short Sword since you haven’t received your gifts from the deep yet.

But your time in Bilgewater did allow you to learn Thieves’ Cant, a mix of words and phrases that are actually a code among criminals. They may be speaking about the latest big catch but you know what they’re really talking about is cutting your line.

But while you were under the undertow you did receive some Animal Enhancement. As a Simic Hybrid you can choose between three Enhancement options at level 1: Manta Glide lets you fall slowly and glide as you do so, Nimble Climber gives you a climbing speed equal to your walking speed, but Underwater Adaptation is the obvious choice for the drowned man. You gain a swimming speed equal to your walking speed and can breath underwater. You drowned once but it won’t happen again.

NOTE: If you’re playing outside of an aquatic campaign Nimble Climber would be your next best bet to remaining in character. You can also opt to just play a Variant Human instead of a Simic Hybrid if you don’t mind the lack of swimming speed however, since Simic Hybrid was mainly picked for the aquatic implications.

LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2

Second level Rogues get Cunning Action, allowing you to use your quick wit to Dash, Disengage, or Hide as a bonus action. A Bilgewater Harpooner needs to be quick on their feat and always trust their crew. But when that trust is lost...

LEVEL 3 - WARLOCK 1

As you’re lost to The Drowned Ones you receive their blessing to become a Warlock. The Drowned Ones could be seen as The Undying in many senses, as they keep you from death to serve them.

WHY NOT LURKER IN THE DEEP? - Lurker in the deep focuses a lot more on using the strength of those below more directly. Pike meanwhile merely serves them as an assassin. Not only that but Lurker in the Deep has far more of a focus on tentacles than knives, which is more of Illaoi’s thing.

Undying Warlocks are considered Among the Dead. They get the Spare the Dying cantrip and have Advantage against diseases, and undead enemies may not attack you as they see you as one of their own. If an undead attacks you they have to make a Wisdom save against your Warlock spell DC or choose a new target, losing the attack if there is no one else to hit. If you succeed on the save or you hit them they’re immune to this effect for 24 hours, so perhaps don’t pick fights with Sion.

But along with Spare the Dying you also get access to more Spellcasting. You learn 2 cantrips from the Warlock spell list: Lighting Lure will let you throw your Bone Skewer out at an enemy within 15 feet. They must make a Strength saving throw or be pulled 10 feet towards you, taking a d8 of Lightning damage if they’re pulled into melee range. Eldritch Blast lets you throw your Bone Skewer further down range - make a ranged spell attack against a target you can see and on a hit they take a d10 force damage.

You also learn 2 first level spells from the Warlock list: False Life comes from The Undying patron list and lets you “regenerate” some health in the darkness. You gain a d4 + 4 temporary hitpoints when you cast this spell. That temp HP lasts for an hour or until it’s cut off of you.

Illusory Script meanwhile is the perfect spell to write your list. You can cast this spell while writing with lead-based ink worth at least 10 gold to imbue the words with powerful illusion magic for 10 days. Creatures you designate can read the message normally but any other creature won’t be able to read it, or will see a completely different message as long as it’s written in a language you know. If the spell is dispelled the message is dispelled, so no one will know that your list is truly unending... unless they have truesight, as they’ll be able to read it under the light of a pink ward.

LEVEL 4 - WARLOCK 2

2nd level Warlocks get Eldritch Invocations and the only one we really need is Grasp of Hadar. Every time you hit an enemy with your Eldritch Blast you can pull them 10 feet closer, so you can drag ‘em under and get your hands dirty. You other choice of invocation really doesn’t matter: Armor of Shadows can be a good boost to your AC but I personally like Mask of Many Faces to hide behind your facemask before finding your prey.

You also get another spell and Hex will let you mark your prey as a gift to the Drowned Ones. Whenever you hit a target that’s Hexed you do an extra d6 Necrotic damage, and the target has disadvantage on a type of ability check of your choosing. I’d personally choose Strength so that they can’t swim up when you pull them down to drown.

LEVEL 5 - ROGUE 3

3rd level Rogues get access to their Roguish Archetype and the Soul Knife subclass from the Psionics UA will make sure you always have a Bone Skewer. The Soul Knife gets a Psionic Enhancement: you can either have a 30 foot Telepathy, some extra health and Toughness equal to your Intelligence modifier plus your Rogue level, or 5 feet of extra Walking Speed. These all have their uses but while it’s perhaps not in-flavor Toughness is probably your most consistently useful enhancement.

WHY NOT REVIVED? - Revived focuses far more on the manipulation of death, and has a heavier skill focus than the Soul Knife. But put in simple terms Soul Knife has nearly all the abilities I’d want from Pyke without having to multiclass too much. Undying Warlock is already more than enough undeath for Pyke, and it also helps give him some Deep One patrons.

I should also mention I made this build before the latest Psionics Options Revisited UA. This build uses old features so discuss with your DM if you want to use the newer version.

But of course the main reason to go for the Soul Knife is your Psychic Blade. You can create a bone skewer in your hand, or two bone skewers if you’re feeling particularly vicious. You can’t hold anything in the hand you hold the blade but you can choose to dispel them without using an action.

The blade has the finesse and light properties so you can dual wield them and use your Dexterity as your attack modifier. It deals 1d6 psychic damage on a hit and you can throw it 30 feet normally or 60 feet with disadvantage. Regardless of if you throw your knife or stab with it you can proc your Sneak Attack, which now deals 2d6 damage. If you throw the blade as part of an attack it vanishes immediately after it hits or misses, and the blade(s) disappear the instant it leaves your hand or if you’re incapacitated.

You also get another Animal Enhancement as a Simic Hybrid so you may as well get more AC from the Carapace enhancement, which increases your AC by 1 as long as you’re not wearing Heavy Armor. The only other enhancement I’d maybe suggest is Nimble Climber, which you could’ve taken at level 1. But simply put more AC is more useful, and was limited to us for a reason. You can consider the extra AC as the salt soaked into your skin, and your lust for vengeance allowing you to shrug off attacks.

(Artwork by FMM CAT)

LEVEL 6 - ROGUE 4

4th level Rogues get an Ability Score Improvement: increase your Dexterity for deadlier strikes with your Bone Skewer.

LEVEL 7 - ROGUE 5

At 5th level Rogues get Uncanny Dodge, letting them reduce the damage of an attack by half as a reaction. Is a female bounty hunter shooting you? Dive in the ghostly waters and set yourself up for the kill, especially since your Sneak Attack is also increased to 3d6 at this level.

LEVEL 8 - ROGUE 6

6th level Rogues get Expertise in two more skills: I’d choose Intimidation and Athletics. A frightened target won’t be able to lie to you, and Athletics Expertise will compensate for your low Strength score.

LEVEL 9 - ROGUE 7

7th level Rogues get Evasion: if you’re targeted with a Dexterity-based skill shot you can dash out of the way and take no damage on a successful saving throw, or only half damage if you fail. Pyke is far more evasive than the average support, and can get up and personal to do 4d6 with Sneak Attack.

LEVEL 10 - ROGUE 8

8th level Rogues get another Ability Score Improvement and we’ll max out our Dexterity for even deadlier strikes with your Bone Skewer.

LEVEL 11 - ROGUE 9

At 9th level you get the Terrifying Blade Soul Knife feature. When you damage a creature with your Psychic Blade you can force them to make a Wisdom saving throw based on your Intelligence modifier. If they fail the creature is frightened of you until the start of your next turn, but on a successful save they become immune to this feature for 24 hours. Traitors run from their past, or face them head on. Regardless you’ll kill them all, especially with a 5d6 Sneak Attack.

LEVEL 12 - ROGUE 10

10th level Rogues get another Ability Score Improvement, and you may have noticed our uneven Intelligence score? The Observant Feat will let us see when traitors talk about their coin. You can increase one of your mental stats by 1 (we’ll improve Intelligence) and you can read a creature’s lips to understand what they’re saying as long as you share a language. Your passive Perception and Investigation also increase by 5, so you can be aware of any backstabbers trying to slip away.

LEVEL 13 - ROGUE 11

11th level Rogues get Reliable Talent, meaning that any roll below a 10 in a skill you’re proficient in is treated as a 10. This means that your lowest possible roll with the skills your proficient in is:

25 on Stealth

22 on Intimidation or Investigation

20 on Acrobatics

19 on Athletics

15 on Perception

Your Sneak Attack also increases to 6d6.

LEVEL 14 - ROGUE 12

12th level Rogues get another Ability Score Improvement and we’ll want more Intelligence to know how to truly terrify our foes.

LEVEL 15 - ROGUE 13

13th level Soul Knife Rogues can dive into spectral waters with Psychic Veil. As an action you become invisible for 10 minutes. This invisibility ends if you make an attack or if you force a creature to make a saving throw. You can become invisible a number of times equal to your Intelligence modifier and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest. Your Sneak Attack also increases to 7d6 now, and just so you know attacking out of Invisibility counts as a Sneak Attack.

(Pyke concept art by Riot Games)

LEVEL 16 - ROGUE 14

14th level Rogues borrow some techniques from the monk in the jungle and get a 10 foot radius Blindsense to chase your prey.

LEVEL 17 - ROGUE 15

15th level Rogues get Slippery Mind for proficiency in Wisdom saving throws. It’s not much but considering that you have a +0 to Wisdom it certainly helps. Your Sneak Attack also increases to 8d6 now.

LEVEL 18 - ROGUE 16

16th level Rogues get another Ability Score Improvement and more Intelligence will lead to more Ghostwater Dives and better Terrifying Blades.

LEVEL 19 - ROGUE 17

17th level Soul Knife Rogues can Rend Mind for a powerful Phantom Undertow. If you have a Psychic Blade manifested you can force a creature you can see within 30 feet of you to make an Intelligence saving throw. The target takes 12d6 psychic damage and is stunned until the start of your next turn on a failed save, but only takes half as much on a successful save and isn’t stunned. If you are hidden from the target it has disadvantage on the save, and one of your Psychic Blades vanishes after using this feature.

You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Intelligence modifier and regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest. Pro tip: attacks against Stunned enemies automatically have Advantage so you can use your 9d6 Sneak Attack damage.

LEVEL 20 - ROGUE 18

Our final level is the 18th level in Rogue for Elusive so that no attack can have Advantage against you. "Death keeps spitting me right back out."

FINAL BUILD

PROS

I smell panic - Soul Knife on its own is a very powerful subclass. Having an unlimited supply of weapons that are viable at both melee and range, the ability to turn invisible, and tons of crowd control with both fears and stuns makes for an incredible damage dealer who can provide a lot of utility to the party.

Big Beast - It wasn’t my intention when making this build but for a Rogue you’re remarkably tanky. You have an above-average constitution and Psionic Enhancement buffing your health to a respectable level, and the Carapace Animal Enhancement turns what would be a +5 to AC (from your Dexterity) to a +6. This means that you have 17 AC with Leather Armor, 18 with Studded, and a 19 AC with Armor of Shadows! As a Rogue, meaning you have Uncanny Dodge and Evasion to further increase your survivability! Not to mention you have two Warlock slots to cast False Life is the fight starts to go south.

Crews share the wealth - Expertise in Intimidation and Investigation are helpful, and having Spare the Dying means that your Cleric can focus on stronger cantrips instead. But having 10 minutes of invisibility is insanely helpful for infiltration.

CONS

Every kill makes the voices louder - The two levels in Warlock are done almost entirely for flavor, and while we do get some useful features it does still mean you lose out on Stroke of Luck. If you have a DM who likes roleplay you can take the Magic Initiate feat for Wizards to get Lightning Lure along with potentially Ray of Frost to simulate a long-ranged “pull” and be a Warlock without actually being a Warlock. But the honest truth is that Soul Knife on its own is strong enough and the ability to pull people closer to you is largely redundant.

My list just got longer - Soul Knife uses their Bonus Action a lot more than other Rogues, meaning that you can’t use your Cunning Action to hide as often. Yes you can make two knives at a time but this still means that you’ll have to spend another bonus action to “reload” after throwing two hooks. And if both your hands are full you can’t hold your list!

Swim or Sink - Unfortunately you don’t get to max out your Intelligence modifier, which is needed for a lot of your class features. However the far bigger issue is your saving throws: proficiency in Wisdom saves help but your Charisma and Constitution are stuck at +2 and your Strength is forever at a pitiful -1. While you can compensate for strength checks with Expertise in Athletics your saving throws are less than desirable.

But problems only come for those without a plan. Make your list, check it twice, find out who’s naughty or nice before gutting them. Make sure your crew’s got your back and that they aren’t going to cut your line too. You’ve died before, but it doesn’t hurt not to do it again.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME.  Andrea Romeijnders AGE & BIRTH DATE. 26 & November 19th, 1995 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Shapeshifter (Siberian Tiger) OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Chloe Bennet

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, fire, drugs, alcohol ) Andrea’s story begins in the city of Harbin, China, with an American witch who was on holiday. Mina James was visiting the city as a tourist when she happened to run into Zhao Fen, a local who was one of a handful of remaining shifters in his line. Even without recognizing the magic inside each other, it was like a lightning strike, and the two were nigh inseparable during her entire trip. So much so, that when it came time for the witch to head back home to her family and coven, she found she couldn’t do it. Instead, Mina uprooted her entire life to move to the city where her love resided, and less than half a year later the lovebirds were married. It was a difficult adjustment, and many thought the two of them crazy for rushing into things, but their bond only grew stronger as they adapted to their new lives together, and made a happy home for themselves. Mina found a local coven who took her in and gave her the same sense of security she missed from her old life, and Fen was by her side to support her every step of the way. When their family grew in the form of a bouncing baby girl a few years later who they named Li, it seemed as if everything in the world was going right for them.

And for a while, it was. The Zhaos, while by no means wealthy, lived a comfortable and happy life. But as most stories go, it did not end happily ever after. It was a snowy winter evening when a friend of Mina’s from her circle showed up at their doorstep, asking for a place to stay. The other witch would not say what was wrong, only that she could not go home and needed a chance to figure out what to do next. The Zhaos were quick to offer her the couch of their two bedroom house, and the promise that they would help her get everything sorted in the morning. Unfortunately, that would be the last night of their lives. For reasons that never became known, the witch decided to take matters into her own hands and perform a dangerous ritual in the middle of the night, right there in the living room. It was a success, her connection with Hecate severed and a new genasi was born in a mass of fire, but the ensuing flames consumed the house. Li was asleep in her bed when the smoke entered her room, awoken by the smell and the screams that filled her childhood home. A terrified child who sat wrapped up in her bed, she likely would have been consumed as well, but for the great beast that broke down her door. Her father in his shifter form was a familiar sight, and Li ran to him, where he dragged her out of the burning house and left her in the snow outside. But when he went back inside for her mother, neither of them ever emerged again.

Orphaned and alone at the age of five, she likely would’ve died from the cold had the flames not burst into the sky, a beacon for anyone around to see. Though help came and the small girl was ushered away, no one else was pulled from the inferno. With no biological family stepping forward to take in the child, Li was put into childcare services. Fortunately, her story had become something of a news sensation, both in the country and outside of it, and it wasn’t but a few months that she found herself adopted by a kind Dutch family. And so Zhao Li became Andrea Romeijnders. It was a tough adjustment for the little girl, to be taken from everything she knew to a new country and new people. But her new parents were patient, and loving, and did their best to help the traumatized child settle into her new life. And it helped; while one couldn’t say Andrea was a completely well adjusted child, she turned out better than she could have after such an experience. But ultimately, human parents could only do so much to help a young shifter.

When her problems truly began could probably be pinpointed to when her older brother left. He was the only other person that was different in their family, not a shifter but something else magical and even that was a small comfort. But he shared no such feelings, and when he ghosted their family, it was just another hard hit to the adolescent’s stability. The older she got, the more Andy began to act out, and become rebellious. She quit going to therapy and started skipping school, hanging out in places she shouldn’t with people who only had bad intentions. It was through such actions when, at the age of sixteen, she finally met someone like her. Another shifter, though reptilian instead of a big cat, he was everything she felt she needed, and everything bad for her as well. He encouraged her wild behavior, introducing her to drugs and alcohol, and later, into thievery. He was the one that taught her how to pick a pocket, pick a lock, and rob a place for everything it was worth right under the owner’s nose. A part of Andy knew it was wrong, but the larger part didn’t care. She finally had someone who understood her, and was willing to look past everything else if it meant keeping that. But such a relationship can never last too long.

Unknown to Andy, it wasn’t just petty theft and rebellion that her lover got up to in his time. He took joy in perverting his purpose as a shifter, using his second form to kill humans for his own amusement, and viewed himself as his own version of a hunter. But he was careless, and arrogant, and soon caught the attention of something much more dangerous than him. It happened one evening when they were hanging out, smoking together outside a nightclub. Like an avenging angel she appeared, a fury in the name of Tisiphone, who had come to reap justice for all the humans who lost their lives. Right before her eyes, Andy’s boyfriend was killed, taken to the Underworld for punishment. Andy nearly lost her life as well when the fury returned, until she realized the other shifter was truly unaware of his crimes and ultimately left her in peace. Deeply shaken, one might think that would’ve been the wakeup call for her to fix her life. However, one would be wrong. If anything, it just made her worse. Andrea fell even deeper into her misery, focusing more on partying than school and could rarely ever be found sober. She graduated by the skin of her teeth, and then promptly quit schooling entirely, refusing university or the idea of having to do anything more with her life.

Though they tried their best, her adoptive family could only do little to help her fill the hole in her chest that made her so lonely and destructive. To their credit, they supported her the entire way through, sometimes with gentle understanding and sometimes with tough love, but nothing really changed until her twentieth birthday. It was a package that showed up that day, addressed to her with no return sender. Inside, what she found were pieces of her old life that she had nearly completely forgotten. Family photos, her mother’s journal, documented information on who her birth parents had been. It wasn’t a lot all put together, but it was enough for these people that had been little more than fantasy in her mind to suddenly become so much more real. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, pulling her out of the stagnant state she had fallen into. Deciding that she had no real idea of who she was, and that she would be incapable of figuring it out while still under her parents’ roof, it was at that point that Andy decided she needed to move on. Not completely cut off, for she still loved her family deeply and refused to hurt them the same way that her older brother had when he left with no contact, but she set off with little more than a backpack and a few of her things to see the world. She kept in touch frequently, calling and visiting often even in her travels, but always kept moving, looking for that place where she belonged.

She didn’t find it immediately. In fact, she ended up in jail more than once — more than five times, even, though ironically never actually for theft. But she didn’t find anything close to what she was looking for until Andy ended up in France. And home was less like a place, and more like a girl, with colorful hair and pretty hazel eyes. They met at a party, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Andy was smitten from the start. From there it only grew, and she started to think that maybe France would be a good place to settle down, but her girlfriend had other ideas. Concerned for her missing sister, she came to Andrea with the idea of traveling to Greece to look for her. With little to lose herself, a traveler by nature and not much more to her name than what can fit into a go-back, Andy agreed. And thus the pair set off together, towards the city known as Corinth Bay. She doesn’t know how long they intend to stay, or even what they’re going to do when they find her sister, but if there’s one thing the shifter is good at, it’s finding trouble in any city. Greece is new grounds for her, and she intends to make the most of it. If only she knew that her older brother had also found his way into the city, and that a collision was only inevitable.

PERSONALITY

+ spontaneous, adaptable, outgoing - dishonest, petulant, temperamental

PLAYED BY ABBY. CDT. She/Her.

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

34 (how they act when they're nervous) + Zephyr

I think these have gotten away from me as like. A concept. But I think this highlights the idea that, uh, Zeph drinks hard and gets distant and weird when she’s nervous pretty well, despite being, you know, long as shit.

Including the Tea Party crew, with Mira, the aasimar cleric belonging to @colonelcupquake and Fàilbhe, the faun druid belonging to @kombits! With my genasi drunk monk, Zephyr. Obviously.

3000 words.

—-

“You’ve noticed her shaking too,”said the words in Fàilbhe’s book.

He flashed it quickly Mira’s way, just long enough for her toread, then gestured to where Zephyr was sitting, cross legged and silent, aboutthirty feet away. She had taken a post by the road when they stopped to restand take their midday meal, and had neither moved nor said a word since; thelatest in a long string of oddities that had started since they set out for herfamily’s estate two days ago. Mira stole a quick glance at her back, thenturned to Fàilbhe and lowered her voice.

“A couple of times,” she whispered back. “Like she’s cold, eventhough she says she isn’t. And she keeps grabbing her flask every time ithappens. It’s probably empty by now.”

Fàilbhe shook his head, and scribbled furiously in his notebook. “Sawher steal a wineskin from my pack.”

“She what?”

Fàilbhe shrugged. “Not worried about that. Worried forher. Acting strange. Wine isn’t going to help.”

Mira frowned, and chanced another glance over her shoulder towhere Zephyr sat, picking slowly at her lunch and staring intently down thelength of the road.

“What do we do, then?” she asked softly.

“Nothing,” Fàilbhe’s book said. “Watch and wait.”

—–

The waiting lasted until halfway through Mira’s midnight watch,when she caught a shadow creeping along out of the corner of her eye.

She didn’t turn her head, but her hand went slowly to thewarhammer at her hip as the figure stole over to where Fàilbhe was curledaround Delia just outside of the light of the fire. The dog’s head rose up asit approached, and Mira heard the faintest thump-thump-thump of a tail poundinghappily against the earth. The figure froze and made a gesture that Miracouldn’t quite make out; Delia just yawned in response, then dropped her hadback onto her paws and fell promptly asleep again. In the darkness, Mira hearda soft snort, and then saw the figure duck behind Fàilbhe’s turned back andbegin rustling in something that she could not see. One of Fàilbhe’s eyes slidopen, and found Mira’s across the camp. She nodded slowly, then fixed herattention back onto the fire as the rustling stopped, and she heard the figuresteal quietly into the woodline beyond.

She counted to thirty in her head, slowly, then stood andfollowed. As she passed Fàilbhe, she heard him push upright with a sigh, andtake her place at the edge of the fire.

Zephyr was not hard to find. Even with only half a moon to lighther way, Mira spotted her silhouette tucked up in the low branches of a widecoral tree after a few minutes of walking, her unbound hair caught up in aconstant, unfelt breeze. She had another wineskin in her hand, which she wasnursing slowly as she stared up through the treetops at the darkened sky.

Mira waited for a few long moments, then stepped forward into theclearing, deliberately shuffling her feet.

“Is this why we can’t ever get you up in the morning?”

Zephyr shot upright, one hand already clenched into a fist. Herunfocused stare landed on Mira a few seconds later - a few seconds too long,Mira thought with a frown - and then narrowed.

“I thought you were supposed to be on watch,” she sneered, andtook another, longer draw off of the skin before tucking back against the tree.“So much for any of us feeling like we can sleep soundly.”

Mira felt annoyance twinge at the back of her neck. “When there’sa thief in our camp? Yes, I think you’re right.”

Zephyr paused, head cocked her way, and Mira braced herself foranother burst of anger. Instead, the genasi tugged her wineskin a littlecloser, and put her eyes everywhere but in Mira’s direction. “He wasn’tdrinking it.”

“That’s beside the point and you know it.” Zephyr mutteredsomething in a soft, airy language under her breath. “Zephyr, please.”

“‘Zephyr, please,’” she mocked, and kicked at a piece of bark sothat it scattered over Mira’s head. “Merciful gods, you sound like my mother. Ididn’t realize that I had to ask for your permission too.”

The annoyance lingering at the back of Mira’s neck suddenlyflashed to life again, bright and angry as a hornet’s nest. Zephyr turned totake another draw off of the wineskin, and without thinking, Mira surgedforward, pushed up onto the bough and plucked it neatly out of her hands.

She landed hard in the dirt, knees buckling with the impact andwith a sudden, giddy rush at what she had done. That vanished as somethingshifted in her periphery, and she turned to find Zephyr on the ground too now,and stalking forward with both fists clenched tight at her side. Her lips hadpulled back into a ferocious animal snarl, and the wind that toyed with herunbound hair suddenly seemed more tornado than gentle breeze.

Mira clutched the wineskin to her chest and took a generous stepbackwards.

“Are you going to hit me?” she asked, the words tight and spillingout in a rush that she tried to hold them as steadily as her ground. “Over wine,Zephyr? Really? Is that all it takes for you?”

For a moment, it seemed like Zephyr had been fully deafened by herfury; her fists came up in a fighting stance, one already cocked back for aswing, and Mira felt the familiar panicked rush of adrenaline that always camebefore a fight. She latched a hand around the grip of her warhammer, and bracedherself to run.

Then Zephyr stumbled, her unsteady feet not the usual conjuredsort but the brutally honest stagger of a true drunkard, and the lines of furycutting across her face suddenly fell slack. She blinked, once, twice, and thenMira watched realization pool behind blue eyes that had been steely with angernot two seconds earlier.

The next step she took was backwards, and came with a lowering ofher fists.

“I’m….” she stammered, eyes darting back and forth between thewineskin, and Mira, and the camp beyond. Then she cleared her throat, squaredher shoulders, and without another word, Zephyr turned neatly on a heel andfled back into the boughs of her tree. This time, when she tucked herselfagainst the trunk, she put her back firmly in Mira’s direction.

Fight and adrenaline fled almost immediately. Mira sagged aroundthe wineskin pressed to her chest, hoping the sound of her heartbeat didn’techo in the half-empty container. Half-empty, her mind pointed out.Zephyr’s night had been a bad one, and coping alone had been her first and onlyanswer. Mira’s stomach suddenly knotted around itself, and climbed up into herthroat.

Slowly, as movement and strength returned to her limbs, she creptover to where Zephyr had pressed herself into the long, snaking shadows of thetree. She saw blue eyes flick back to meet her, then snap away with a quicknessthat seemed to imply a sniff of disdain. Don’t bother, the motion said. ButMira still had the wineskin in her hands, and it still felt too empty by half.

She hauled herself up onto the branch beside Zephyr, leaving afull foot of empty space between them.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, settling herself over the edge sothat her legs dangled. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I…. we’ve been worriedabout you. You’ve been acting strangely since we left the aerie, and thenFàilbhe said you were stealing the wine they gave us from his pack and I…"

She trailed off, hoping Zephyr would pick up the conversation onher own. When she continued staring forward, silent, Mira sighed and held thewineskin towards her.

“Are you afraid of going home?”

This time Zephyr looked over, a bonfire heat suddenly blazingbehind her eyes.

“I am not afraid,” she hissed. Mira recoiled, and somethingabout the motion sent the fire scattering out of Zephyr’s stare. She huffed andsank back against the tree, tucking both arms close to her chest. “Not in theway that you think, anyway.”

Mira waited for a moment, watching as Zephyr stared daggers intothe darkened woods. Then, slowly, she shuffled over, closing nearly all of thedistance between them and offering the wineskin again. Zephyr’s gaze flickedsideways, hard as iron. Then she sighed.

“My mother is a sorceress,” she said finally, plucking the wineneatly out of Mira’s outstretched hand. “A proper magical one, you see, not thehaggish sort you always read about in stories. She used to travel when she wasyounger, and that has, apparently, made her very powerful. I wouldn’t know,myself; I only saw the fruits of her labor when I found enchantments on my doorto keep me locked behind it, or when she compelled the few guards that didn’toutright dislike me to tell her how I’d gotten out that night.”

She took another deep draw of wine, and must have seen Mira’swide-eyed stare in her periphery, because she nearly lost the whole mouthful inone very undignified snort.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. She never used anything on me,as far as I can tell. I guess she still wanted me to have something remotelylike dignity left. But I…” She hesitated. “I think it will be different, if wego back. I have never left like I did last time. Certainly not for as long. Andif she decides that she would like me to stay this time, well…”

She shrugged, but any nonchalance the motion might have hadvanished with the stiffness of her shoulders. Mira just looked on, silent.Zephyr had never been quite so open before. More than that; she had neverdeigned to answer anything so directly, had never spoken about herself asanything more than deserving of the highest praise and respect, and she had certainlynever done so with such genuine worry scoring the undersides of her words.Mira briefly considered taking the wine back, but Zephyr had it clutched in herhand like a holy symbol, and she greatly preferred her fingers in their currentorientations.

“Still,” Zephyr went on, clearly trying for casual, “if we don’tget my mother’s aid, then we let the world end. So, here I am. Stealing yourwine.”

She shot Mira a sidelong look as she said it, but all of the drysmirking in the world could not hide the way her eyes drifted just a little toofar past, off into the darkness, where she didn’t have to convince anyone ofher ease. Mira felt her heart catch in her throat.

She reached out and dropped a hand onto Zephyr’s bare shoulder,which jumped like a startled cat’s.

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Zephyr,” she said firmly.“Fàilbhe and I, we’ll make sure that nothing happens to -”

“Oh, please,” Zephyr muttered, and rolled her shoulder to dislodgeMira’s hand. “What are you going to do, exactly? Storm the estate? My mother isnot some cheap conjurer, Mira. She’s stronger than you and Fàilbhe combined,and she commands the entire martial force of a city. You would have to be verypersuasive, or very lucky, to even think -”

“Then perhaps we will be lucky.”

Zephyr paused, startled out of speaking by the force in Mira’s words.Then a deadly scowl crawled across her face, and she snorted under her breath,tucking into the shadows of the tree once more.

“Of course you will.”

“We will,” Mira insisted. She scooted herself the last few inchesacross the branch, until her thigh was pressed against Zephyr’s, and she couldfeel the phantom breeze that stirred her hair. “You don’t belong locked up insome room all day. You belong out here. Up there. Up, with thesky and the sound of wind pounding in your ears. You’re like me, Zephyr!You’re one of the Winged Mother’s children. She protects that for all of us.”Mira’s smile twisted wry. “Even the ones who don’t know her yet.”

Zephyr rolled her eyes - rolled her whole head, really - andturned to Mira with a word already half-formed on her lips. Then she paused,and Mira watched as a curious series of expressions stole their way across herface, like shadows over the moon. Thoughtful turned to terrified turned to aweturned to several hundred other things at once, all in increments, like everyemotion fit just a bit too tightly to remain. Her hands, still clutched aroundthe wineskin, had gone white at the knuckles.

Eventually, she caught Mira staring, and the strange, flutteringexpression snapped closed like shutters drawn in a storm. She turned away andtook another swig off of the wineskin.

“Well,” she said after a moment, her voice soft and unsteady, “Isuppose that I can use all of the help that I can get.”

Mira smiled, more broadly than she had in the last several days, andput a hand on Zephyr’s shoulder. She snorted, but didn’t shrug it off thistime.

They sat in companionable silence for a few long minutes, takingturns staring up at the darkened sky as Zephyr slowly but steadily wore throughthe rest of the wine. As she was tipping back the last few swigs, Mira clearedher throat.

“You, ah, probably shouldn’t drink much more of that,” she saidgently. Zephyr snorted.

“I’m a big girl, Mira. I can handle it.”

“Oh, of course,” said Mira, nodding. “I’m not worried about you.It’s just, well…that’s the wine the aerie gave us, right?”

“Yes,” Zephyr said coolly. “Is that a problem?”

“Well, no. I mean, not really. It’s just that, since it’sceremonial, it’s…it’s really more of a tincture than proper wine. We temperit with certain ingredients to bring us closer to the Winged Mother, and…”

“And?” Zephyr’s eyebrow rose. “Mira, what did you temper it with?”

“Um…griffon piss.”

Zephyr’s throw sent the wineskin hurtling into the center of theclearing, sending wine scattering across the ground with a dull thud. Shewheeled, purple-faced with fury, as Mira scrambled back out of her reach,laughing almost too hard to breathe.

“I’m kidding!” she wheezed, holding out a hand. “I’m sorry! Ididn’t think you would actually believe me!”

Zephyr just stared back, her brow a collection of furrows andhard, angry lines as her gaze shot between the wineskin and the still-gigglingMira. They softened only slightly as realization took hold.

“That’s not funny,” she sneered. “You’re not funny! It’sjust…it’s disgusting, is what it is! You’re disgusting!”

Her indignance only made Mira laugh harder, and when Zephyrdropped from the tree hard enough to nearly knock Mira out of it, she took thescrapes and bruises as earned.

—–

Fàilbhe was still sitting by the ire when they stumbled back intocamp, Zephyr still storming, Mira still picking twigs out of her hair. Hiseyebrow arched as Zephyr stormed off to the far side of the camp, mutteringunder her breath. Mira just smiled and offered him a quick thumbs up behind herback. It hadn’t been her swiftest or most graceful conversation, certainly, butfew things with Zephyr ever were.

“Thanks for waiting,” she said as she stepped back into the ringof firelight, hiding a yawn behind a hand. “I can take over again.”

Fàilbhe smiled and shook his head, then pointed to her bedroll andmade a shooing gesture. She opened her mouth to protest, but he turnedpointedly back to the book in his hands.

“Fàilbhe.” The faun’s ear twitched, but he didn’t move. “Fàilbhe,c’mon.”

“Oh, let him stay if he wants,” Zephyr’s grumbling came fromsomewhere behind them, along with a dragging sound as she appeared from out ofthe darkness with her bedroll dangling from a hand. “If he would like to sit upall night being eaten alive by flies, he can certainly be my guest.”

She tossed her bedroll down beside Mira’s without a word, thencrawled inside and pulled it up to her ears. Fàilbhe did look up now, frowning,and turned to write something in his notebook.

“Zephyr,” Mira said over her shoulder as he held it out towardsher, “Fàilbhe says -”

“That I have next watch, yes,” came the muffled voice from herbedroll. “I heard his furious scribbling from over here and guessed what hemight be on about. Hold your applause, please.”

Fàilbhe gave Mira a long-suffering look, then scrawled in hisnotebook again.

“She seems to be back to normal. Good job.”

Mira hid a small laugh, and then a slightly larger yawn, behind ahand. Fàilbhe raised an eyebrow and made another, more insistent gesturetowards her bedroll, and this time, Mira didn’t have it in her to fight him.Yawning, she waved him goodnight, then staggered her way towards the sleepingfigure curled up beside her bedroll. Zephyr had made a big show of being casualabout where she had thrown her bedroll down, but the bare few inches between itand Mira’s seemed a touch too well-placed to be an accident.

Smiling to herself, Mira shucked the rest of her armor into a pilebeside her pack, then crawled gratefully inside. Her head had barely met thepillow when Zephyr’s voice hissed out of the gloom behind her.

“Mira.” Her voice was so low that for a moment, Mira was certainshe had imagined it.

“Mhm?”

“Don’t tell Fàilbhe what I told you unless things go badly,alright? He’s got enough on his mind already.”

“Mm. ‘kay.” Mira couldn’t quite conjure the energy to fight withZephyr now either. “I won’t have to, though. It’ll be okay, Zeph.”

“I know,” said the voice behind her, too small and quiet by far.Mira felt her heart suddenly pound harder in her chest as something shiftedbehind her, and muffled the last word almost entirely away.

“Thanks.”

[officialmollymauktealeaf]

Tell me about your dnd character/campaign! I didn't know you played!

Ok so there’s a Bladen backstory post coming through soon so I’ll talk about Oz and Samandriel! We have two (technically three) campaigns running. We have two that are the starter set (I’ll refer to our first starter set campaign as the mistake) and our Ravenloft/Curse of Strahd. 

In the Mistake the party was as follows (name/race/class):Unnamed (because my friend is wild) Tabaxi RogueDrofus the Dragonborn PaladinSin the half-elf ClericBladen the Tiefling Cultist (me)Remus the Drow Druid BiggieSmalls the Aasimir WizardMasego the Human WarlockNot much of the plot was developed because Bladen is a thirsty fuck and eventually tried to fuck the dragonborn which led to an orgy and a very memorable scene which was the Tabaxi robbing the innkeeper blind, reducing him to tears as his best room was absolutely wrecked! Second starter set campaign:Unnamed Tabaxi Rogue Samandriel the Dragonborn Bard (me)??? the Wind Genasi Bard??? the Halfling Rogue Cos the half-elf Cleric (we bullied the player that played Sin into naming all his characters after the math thing. So his next character is going to be named Tangent) ??? the half-giant Barbarian ??? the Aarocka Monk Yeebibus the Halfling BardYes I know that the party comp is an absolute disaster but none of us can be bothered into giving a fuck. We also haven’t gotten that far into this one but let me tell you its twice as much as we managed to in the first one. We’re currently gearing up to go against a Banshee and you’re wilding if you think I won’t try to seduce her. 

About my character: She’s a black scaled dragonborn whose family ran a circus. Her family was constantly threatened not only for their race but because the people in this part of the land weren’t to receptive of strangers. Eventually humans decided to take action and set fire to the family’s little caravan. Since they’re not red scaled the fire was effective against them. Sammy survived because she wasn’t present, she was out trying to, ironically enough, change the town’s mind. After the tragedy the circus disbanded and she turned to a life of crime. She came across another circus, ran by a Yuan-ti pureblood that lived for attention and found that being a carny was a great way to attract it. The woman adopted Sammy and used the dragonborn’s talent (both the musical and criminal) to help strengthen the circus. At some point Sammy left for Phandalin where she was hired to escort some goods and blah blah segway Ravenloft:Oz the Tiefling NecromancerUnnamed Tabaxi RogueSin the half-elf Cleric Yeebibus the Halfling Bard ??? the Aarocka Monk We cleared Death House but not without absolute mayhem. In no particular order:-My Necromancer one-shot the shadow creatures which our DM was so fucking sad about, I felt so bad for like, months. I still do -Speaking of. Our DM was bitter about the ghost lady with the baby so she gave her a name (Maryse) and a chance at redemption. The bard touched the cradle which got the lady absolutely pissed, as she does by script, but we didn’t immediately go into initiative! Instead Oz stepped up and spoke to her. Got her to calm down, promised her baby would be ok and that the party would help her crossover. (I swear I was almost fucking crying by the end of it, it was actually a super genuine moment).-The DM didn’t let me fuck Maryse or even try >:[-Oz is a fucking dumbass and kept insisting on checking every single fireplace (why the fuck did the house have so many fireplaces) which the DM used against me because he had Yeebebus fall from one when she was introduced into the story and almost hit me in the face. But didn’t because I convinced Sin into looking instead of me. It also led to this whole subplot about the father hating the cook and just... throwing plates into the fireplace-Our party rolled a Nat20 on Persuasion against the cult members in the basement and our DM shut that shit down by giving us a raincheck on the 20. We ran from the mound because we weren’t about to kill someone (but apparently a lot of our characters are self sacrificial assholes so we did discuss who would die). But we did manage to get the appeased chant from them, not the bad one -Tried to get the mound under our control but that was also shut down-Kept a mimic as a pet -Carried around corpses -CSI’d the bodies in the basement because my Necromancer has a Gravekeeper/Undertaker background -The Cleric swung on the chandelier at the basement, rolled a nat20 on acribatics, and the DM decided that the cryptic chanting now turned into a beautiful rendition of Sia’s Chandelier-Oz was hit on the head by that fucking broom you know the one I’m fucking talking about but managed to survive and just close the door on its stupid face-Managed to get out without a party member dying lmao And a bit more but I don’t want to spoil the rest for you! Plus, we’re retconning it soon anyway 

[tomerasange]

Chapter 8: Tresendar Part 2

As we stood steadfast in front of the new opening, a sudden wave of fear filled my person. I didn’t know whether to embrace this emotion or start worrying again for our safety.

Walking through a small corridor, the room opened up into a crevasse that stretched on, nearly encompassing the width of the manor. From beyond our position, we could fathom how deep the expanse fell. It was beginning to set in that Tresendar had been quite abandoned for some time, but to think this damage had been incurred over any period of time would be difficult. This used to be, assumably, a grand foyer where the head of the estate would entertain guests and hold the parties assured to be the talk of the town. Now, it was desecrated, the floor giving way and only traversed by two wooden bridges.

As I entertained flights of fancy which included restoring this manor to its glory of yesteryear, I saw Fardahr begin to approach the edge cautiously. His gaze seemed fixated on a point when he paused, frozen. I couldn’t see his face, but he seemed to be talking lowly. He then said, “I am Fardahr”, as though talking to a hidden force. We were not alone in this room.

I approached the edge with caution, so as to see if the dwarf was fixated on a point when a malicious voice came into my head. It spoke with the intent of fear. “Ah, traveler. What have we here? Perhaps a young man with a sword. State your name.” “I am Tomera Sange of House Sange.” “I am hungry. Feed me.”

I realized the voice was coming from the crevasse itself, and as I peered over, I caught wind of the stench it was emanating. Beyond the edge lie a drop, manageable to traverse but deadly if one lacked the dexterous capability. At the bottom of this pit, I could make out several items that did not instill a sense of security. The floor was caked in a layer of sanguine, producing the noxious iron scent that was giving me quite the vapors. Sets of fractured and scattered skeletons and bodies dotted the ground, the victims of overeager greed and foolhardy trust in a lack of skills. The bodies must have been here for some length of time, and yet here they sat, still decaying as if killed within the week. Clearly, the work of the disembodied voice.

I realized I had the chance to aid, or at least satiate, this voice. Should it have been the pit itself, I was to feed this without pause lest we meet a fate. I withdrew a dried ration of food from my pack and threw it to the pit. As Fardahr and I stood in anticipation of what was to arrive, there came a blur that ran out into the pit. As it happened upon my ration, we could see the creature.

It stood roughly as tall as I and appears gaunt and sinewy, as though a tarp of bloodied flesh had been stretched over the skeleton of a particularly large goblin. It scratched with claws at the ration and bit with a fierce gnashing that resembled starved wild pigs. But most concerning was its brilliant eye, iridescent green, a violent all-seeing orb whose shade struck me as traumatically familiar, and I could not help but gasp.

As I reeled in slight shock, Fardahr, still beside me, held his head in anguish. The eye was focused on him and it was clear the creature meant us great harm. I drew my bow and managed to retreat from the edge of the cliff. As I did, it leapt the massive height in one jump and fell upon the bridge to my left.

Urnig cast a blast of ice towards the beast and Aurora unleashed her harp’s dissonance, both finding their mark but not causing too much in harm. I lined up the shot and fired with all confidence, which was shattered like my arrow, as the beast used an uncanny speed to catch the arrow and break it in two. I backed away even further, knowing to get even close to that thing could spell the end.

Epide, still floating in his magic bag, held his arms out and commanded movement. The ceiling shook and a massive portion of the stone from above gave way, falling nearly tall as the crevasse was deep. The demon dove away, taking shrapnel in the form of small rocks. Without any hesitation, it struck back at Epide, with claws and gnashing. The only way he didn’t take damage I imagine was his size and dexterous nature.

As the impasse settled, Urnig suddenly held his hand aloft and stared down the creature. “You said you need to eat. What if we were to feed you?” It held its stance. “Feed me now.”

Urnig threw his pack on the ground and opened the top. From the recesses, he withdrew a jar of pickled vegetables. He later recounted to me that these were mild peppers, retrieved from a supply closet next to the holding cells we had absconded the Dendrar family from. Tossing the now open jar in the general direction of the beast, he held his breath as did we. It approached the jar on the bridge with mild interest, cocking its head, as if it had never seen a food such as this. It grabbed at the peppers, and shoved them immediately into its maw. The sight of the food grinding and chewing nearly turned my stomach. “More” the beast demanded.

I remembered in a flash that there were stockpiles of food to satiate the creature in this very manor: the salted meats. I turned to Fahrdar and recounted this. “Perhaps it would be advantageous if we were to use this time to collect these meats, for our safety.” Addressing the beast now, I said, “We have plenty to feed you if you would allow us time.” Despite its vicious appearance and massive eye that consumed the form, it stared with incredulity but resignation.

Within minutes, we had procured two barrels of meat and placed them at the feet of the beast. It consumed with such ferocity still, and the sight was too much to bear. The violence enacted was total and unrelenting. As soon as the consumption began, the creature halted and pointed into the crevasse. Fardahr stared into the pit and cocked his head. “I have a feeling the beast demands us to enter into the pit.” He slid down into the hole and traveled north into darkness.

The beast continued to eat the meat and peppers, a feast I would have loved to perchance nibble upon were it not for the greed of our diner. Fardahr let a whoop of excitement as he returned. It was clear the previous tenants had fallen into the hole with their wealth, as he laid a king’s ransom before his feet, which including a mighty sword engraved with the phrase “TALON”. It seemed the further we traversed, the rewards for my comrades grew in numeration while I stood in silence, bare and meager. This day continued to fare poor in decrescendo on my behalf.

As I looked away from the continuous sight of the feasting demon, I heard a cry of “NOW” and two bursts of light illuminated the room in total brilliance. Urnig and Fardahr had let loose their bolt of magic towards the beast, the holy light of a cleric providing the killing blow on top of our previous salvos. All that remained was a beastly goo and ash. We took this time to hunt around for further valuables.

Epide found himself a room of beaver pelts, surely worth a fetching sum, but the glint in his wild ruby eyes said he had other thoughts on their uses. He recounted to me. “You there! Help me with these! Epide will make pouches, big ice bolts! Fire at enemies!” The very notion of wasting beaver pelts on artillery. Whoever heard of such a scene? Yet, there I was, hoisting beaver pelts into my pack.

As we scrounged around, we heard a familiar voice. “I leave for a few minutes and you take on a beast and find a treasure without me? This is a raw deal, not going to lie.” Artemis found herself back into the chamber. I recounted. “Terribly sorry, darling. I would have believed you would returned to Phandalin in safety with your earnings.” “And miss the opportunity to run these pricks out of town? What do you take me for, fancy lad?” I’ll admit, her tenacity was admirable. only undercut by the sudden noise of retching.

Fardahr had attempted to collect some form of ectoplasmic sample, and the stench of meat hitting acidic fluids was so raw, he doubled over in nausea, vomiting his breakfast on the floor. He stood up in an attempt to gain some traction in our eyes, but only still fell again, moaning in pain.

My hand immediately drew a kerchief to hold on my person, lest the entire week of food I consumed meet the same fate. Fardahr waved any assistance off, and eyed his way back to the door outside. He shuffled back, pale as my normally porcelain visage.

We reconvened and took our time in shuffling over the bridge to another chamber. A small hallway met us, as well as two branching paths. The small and cramped area forced us to line up in a file. We took the advantageous situation of not having anyone actively hunting to wait and plan our next move. To our left, we could suddenly hear a scream of terror and peals of laughter, which increased our need for expedient planning..

Having well and truly found myself in a foul and sour mood, I elected to cover the rear, as a method of feeling out the situation. Should the battle turn in the favor of our enemy, I would abscond myself to the door behind me, where I could hear very little in the way of movement. From the front, I heard Epide cry, “Rogue, behind me”, as Artemis backed up behind the floating Genasi.

What occurred next, I have very little understanding of, given my inherent lack of magic. Effectively, Urnig and Epide combined their forces to see inside the room. Each instigated a spell of illusion that 1) hid the fact the door was being opened and 2) removed traces of a person entering. This plan was concocted for nearly ten and five minutes, and in theory could have done wonders. What i can tell you about Illusion magic, courtesy of a teacher of mine, is that very small illusions carry with them the flaw in that they are easily broken.

As Urnig entered the scene, he could see two bugbears and a goblin. The larger creatures were taking their time in toying with their smaller and defenseless cousin, in terms of taxonomy. As Urning stepped into the room, the two bugbears immediately turned their heads. but did not react in knowledge of another presence. Artemis took this as the signal, and fired a shot through the illusion. The bolt struck a bugbear, and they drew their weapons.

The melee, confusing and rampaging, broke down as such: Urnig dove into the room and commanded his ray of frost against the two bugbears. They took the full impact, and swung wildly, nearly catching Epide in the crossfire. Aurora commanded fire to be born from the floor, catching a bugbear. Epide also floated in the air still, and was caught this time, scorching his obsidian flesh, Epide commanded the earth beneath the fire to be rough and coarse, forcing the bugbears into a disadvantageous position regarding movement. As everyone took their shot, I leaned against Urnig’s abdomen, as he had retreated following the ice bolt. I whispered, “Excuse me, pardon me.” and fired an arrow down the line, calling “Arrow!” The hallway, seemingly cleared of most people standing above 4′ tall, was not a moment of certain friendly fire, and my arrow sunk into the bugbear.

Again, Urnig commanded ray of frost, silencing one of the bugbears for good. Artemis took this chance to reemerge from her side hallway. In her haste, she nearly tripped into the fire, but prepped her shot in a hold. Urnig later recounted he heard the goblin shriek, as the bugbear commanded it. “Fight them, or face my wrath alone!” The goblin quivered in fear, and threw itself over the fire, choosing to fight us. Artemis called out as the goblin was singed. “Do you want to save the little one or the big one?” “If we’re going to save him, I’d prefer something be done now,” Aurora said.

The spell scale dropped the fire and reignited it where the bugbear was standing, the smell of burning unwashed fur flooding the hall. I caught myself and held firm, knowing this was, at most, the fourth worst smell I had to endure this week. As a precaution, I pressed my ear to the door behind me, and could now hear a group of men shouting incoherently in a row. Just then, I also heard the sound of clinking coin and tankards. A gambling den.

Urnig spoke a bit of goblin to the melee’s newcomer, who seemed well terrified of the ordeal. As a way of intimidation, Urnig flash froze a wall, proving his continued attitude of murder first, speak later, only scaring the goblin in my direction. Epide dipped and dove around the bugbear, screaming, “Ha-ha! Missed my pouch!” all the while. Artemis took another shot at the bugbear but tripped on the uneven ground Epide had commanded.

There I stood, face to face with a goblin, he scared half to death. I felt bad for the creature, but not so bad as to forego subduing him. I reached for my axe, and swung lightly with the broadside. The goblin, well scared, dove out of the way and swung his morningstar in retaliation. I took a shot for my want of helping him. He seemed to gained a bit of momentum from his strike, when his head exploded in front of me. His brain struck the wall, the result of an ice bolt. I couldn’t prove Urnig was the culprit, given he was out of my line of sight, but all of my instincts told me Urnig was the culprit. Aurora, must likely as sick as I of our fellow fighters, ended the battle. Her rapier swung true into the back of the bugbear, who fell with a crash.

As the silence returned, the party had a realization, courtesy of Aurora. She began, as we collected ourselves, “While this was the perfect opportunity to see what lies in the other room, if we continue on this trajectory, we will alert Glasstaff to our intent.” I did agree with her, but in addition realized several drunkards would be slim pickings. We could subdue their numbers and draw out information pertinent to our cause.

We drew up a split. I would lead Urnig and Artemis in reconnaissance and instigation against the four men inside, while Aurora and Epide would swing around the back using the crevasse and search for Glasstaff. If we came across a fight, they would elect to choose to fight or keep searching for our foe. Before we concerned ourselves with the execution of this plan, I had come to the conclusion Epide had taken quite a few shots in the last encounter. I rummaged through my sack and retrieved a potion of healing and presented it. “Epide, drink.” “Thank you, Genasi,” and he greedily gulped it in haste.

Urnig took point at the door, Artemis held a bow ready, and I drew my rapier and shield, the dragon of Silverymoon royalty crest on the latter commanding my being and psyche to war.

Nearly an hour passed as we rested. We held fast, waiting for any one moment to gain a foothold using sound as our ally. The men inside were imbibed so that our presence was not detected. In a moment of calm, we stood and I gave the signal. Urnig threw out an ice bolt and Artemis came with an arrow, striking two men square. They retreated and I stood forth, ready to command my attack. I swung with all confidence... met with a face full of off-smelling liquid. One of the drunks was so frightened by my presence that he threw his beer in my face in terror, cutting off my plan.

Something inside me shifted a bit. I was alone in this room, staring down four men inebriated and shocked. My backup had already found themselves back in the hallway, and had no doubt seen this sudden change of fortune for me. The four men drew their weapons.

There is an art in diplomacy, but there is beauty in war.

The men, one by one, swung their maces and each one was blocked by my shield in turn. “Your form is sloppy,” I bit from my silver tongue and spat out. Dancing in time, I stabbed one, but his lack of perception forced him upright. As I believed myself abandoned, an ice bolt shot past to my right. Artemis danced into the fray and jumped on one of the men, stabbing him and killing him without mercy. I cried, “Finally! Someone with form!”

This is what I craved for so long.

One of the cowards fled out of the room through another door. I turned to face one of his fellow fighters, and with decadent malice, stabbed the rapier through the side of his throat. There was no hesitation. The arterial blood spray coated my face and leathers.

This is ecstasy.

We subdued our final man, and the vagrant who fled had run head first into Epide, poking him with a stick, crying a taskmaster’s shout. The two survivors were tied up to the quick by Artemis, restrained in their chairs. I side-glanced at the knots and realized, hot under the collar, what her dexterous halfling fingers were doing. I quickly jotted notes on parchment, swearing none of the others would see them.

One of our prisoners was crying spittle and weeping. In a sudden reaction, Urnig hefted a barrel in the room and cracked him over the head, his body slumped over. That left the one man, all for me. I started by gazing at the table, a mountain of gold and electrum, silver and copper. These high rollers would not see their hard fortunes again, as I collected my prize, my earned wages. With the table cleared, I began my interrogation. I propped myself up on the table, and crossed my legs, staring our prisoner down with a wry smile.

All for me to play with.

[daddyimmaru]

Something spooks the Bard, other than the pack of cayote that had been tagging along behind them.

It takes Leon a few paces before he realizes he doesn't hear Michael anymore. There's no clunk of heavy boots hitting the forest floor, no soft strums on the lyre. It's silent, for a moment. He turns, fully prepared to ask what was keeping the musician, and stops when he sees him frozen just steps behind.

Michael wasn't moving. If he didn't know any better, he wouldn't know that the town hero was even breathing; that being said, there was certainly an issue. Leon could tell in the way that the Bard had frozen up, eyes wide and shoulders brought up in a nearly defensive posture. Their eyes meet, only for a second, and then the earth Genasi is flitting his gaze around them, into the dense underbrush.

It's now that Leon hears it. Something is breathing, labored pants and rough growling sound just quiet enough it takes a moment to place it. It wasn't Siren, which stood as still as his master, fur raised and the whites of his eyes showing, silent as Michael. It certainly wasn't Leon, which didn't leave any more options. There's padding footsteps, but it sounds like there's too many. Either multiple things walking, or one thing that had many legs. A voice crooned through the leaves, whispering in tongues that Leon didn't understand but filled him with a sudden spike of fear nonetheless. It wasn't a terror he was familiar with- more like a sudden pump of adrenaline being shot directly to his heart, clouding his thoughts with the immediate fight-or-flight response. Michael began to speak.

It sounds like it's in the same tongue as the Thing is using, but he speaks in a warbling manner that gives the impression he's struggling. Leon would have been, too; as it was, his jaw was locked while the cold sweat broke out over his skin. He doesn't know what the bard says, but suddenly there's a flash of movement and the hero bursts past him.

Leon doesn't know when he started running along, but Siren is nipping at his heels and there's something chasing them, screeching with what sounded like sobs even as it crashed through the underbrush after them. Michael grabs his sleeve, twists both of them to the left and Siren tears ahead of them both to lead them through the twisting roots and branches. For just a second, the ground disappears under their feet. Then Leon is tumbling, falling through sand before he's covered in water. A creek- freezing, hitting his legs hard enough he almost falls over, but Michael grabs him by the back of his head and tilts it down until he's crouched, staring into the water and gasping for breath.

Siren and Michael are doing the same, and he hears something huffing from the beach just a few mere feet away. It cries, imitating a baby while it stomped over the sand and wailed unhappily. He wants to see what it is, but Michael still has an iron grip on his neck and doesn't give any sign of letting up soon. Another cry, and the underbrush crunches while the Thing creeps off.

Michael stands up, tugs Leon along with him until they reach the other side before he let's go. They're both soaked, Michael's lips are blue and he's shivering so hard his teeth chatter, but he starts walking near immediately once they catch their breath. Leon risks a glance back and feels his breath catch. There are eyes glaring back at him from the other side of the creek, big, angry eyes that look far to human to be releasing those wails and screams. Leon hurries after Michael and Siren.

-

It's only later, by the campfire close to the waters edge (but far enough there was trees between them), that Leon turns to the tired bard and speaks again. "How did you know? To go into the water? And that it was following us?"

The musician offered a meek little smile and pressed his weight into Leon's side, so that he could drop his head onto his shoulder while he stated into the dancing flames. "Running water is pretty good about those types of things. An educated guess." Leon nodded slowly. "And cayotes don't hunt in packs." That seems to be all that the Bard is going to say, because his eyes slip closed and he sighs out a long breath. He's finally warming up- unlike Leon, who thrived in water, the Earth Genasi had froze in their little nighttime adventure- but he seems happy in soaking up as much extra heat as he can get from Leon while their bags dry by the fire.

Leon doubts he can sleep, not with the image of the human eyes he gets when he closes his own. But this feels alright, and if the Bard is relaxed enough to doze, he supposes that he can, too.

Siren takes the first watch.

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Erik Miller AGE & BIRTH DATE.  230 & November 4th, 1790 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Werewolf OCCUPATION. Baker, Farmer FACE CLAIM. Travis Fimmel

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: child death, murder, violence, depression ) Born adjacent to the Häljesta, Erik came from a proud line of werewolves that had long served the ancient coven. Not a shifter like the dire wolves that the witches welcomed, but a protector and guardian just the same. One who would grow to defend the coven from vampires, genasi, and any other threats that the coven faced. His parents owned a farm, both werewolves, their curse was one that he was born into, though he never saw it as such. The Häljesta had created them from shifters in an age long past, their gifts were a boon of the hero Hakon, a man who had given his life so that theirs would be extended.

From childhood’s hour Erik was tethered to a witch of the Häljesta, Astrid, eldest daughter of the coven’s present leader and someone who was set to someday lead. They were of similar age, and through him the young woman would learn to control not only her magic, but his as well. They trained together, and when the time came to defend their territory and those within, they fought together as well. It happened slowly at first, then all at once; Erik fell in love with her, though she was a witch her heart contained a warrior’s spirit that burned just as hotly as his own. Her nature was not of water like so many others in the Häljesta, but fire: controversial, stubborn. Astrid’s temper was hot iron: malleable, searing, remarkable.

She agreed to marry him, somehow, and they remained together for nearly three decades. Always together, they had a son, a daughter, and purpose together. Astrid was a smith by trade, and Erik, large but gentle, had hands better suited for kneading bread than working a forge. Small incidents came about, disputes, but none that could not be settled with fangs, claws, or magic.  That is until their children were taken hostage. Held by vampires under the spell of a genasi, they three were agents of the Cult of Persephone, set forth to uncover information that the Häljesta possessed. The coven’s secret was acquiesced, and still, the children were slain. In her fury, Astrid sought to strike down those who had attacked her family, and with Erik at her side they sought to do just that. Yet, all that came of it was three funerals instead of two.

Widowed, alone, Erik called out for vengeance, and in his desire for justice, a fury and protector of the Häljesta came forth, Njáll. Drawn away from the conflict, he was trapped in the Underworld before the children were taken. Njáll returned to find that tragedy had befallen the coven. His ustice was swift, but the pain of Erik’s loss remained. Bitter regret haunted the wolf nightly, Erik turned to rage, to hate, and in his despair he buried himself in every vice that he could find. When the Häljesta cast him out for being reckless, possibly dangerous, it was the life of a mercenary that he took to instead. He traveled and committed unspeakable acts for whatever money people would fill his pockets. Bones broke beneath his teeth, flesh was torn wide by his claws, everywhere the wolf treaded, death followed. Uncaring, unfeeling, it was a spirit of the deeds he sewed that warned him of how his life thread thinned. Revna told him that she was the one who shepherded his family across the veil, but if he continued along his chosen path, then Erik would never join the woman he loved in Valhalla - that his actions soiled her memory and the memory of their family.

Erik returned to Häljesta one final time, to seek guidance from the witches who had called him family in a generations prior, men and women that when children had called him uncle. Now fully grown, appearing older than him, with children, and even grandchildren of their own. He visited Astrid’s grave, and the graves of his kids, then Erik left once more, and did not return. The werewolf wished to start anew, in a place where he had never been, in a city that did not know his past or all that he had done. It was the mid-sixties when Erik chose to move to Corinth Bay, and it was Katerina who approached him to join the Argos. At first, Erik was unsure if he even deserved to be part of a pack, after all that he had done, a pack was a family, and that sort of love was not something he had earned. She argued against this logic, and under her Erik joined willingly.

Erik used what money he had earned in the past to purchase a plot of land, on the property he built a farm on the outskirts of the city, not unlike the one that he and Astrid had owned together. It was here that he returned to his preferred trade, a quiet life, among flour, eggs, and horses. There was a freedom here, a sliver of happiness that the werewolf had managed to distill from an otherwise tragic existence. But he had the Argos, friends, a sort of family that he greeted at least every month, when they ran together on all fours. Katerina’s death struck him hard, and for the first time in decades Erik has come to dream of sinking his claws into flesh once more, of holding all those responsible for the horrors of both his past and present: the Cult of Persephone.

In Corinth Erik found a home, friends, and a place in the pack. In time he found love again as well in the form of a fury, Njáll Runeson. They fought together as the veil fell and both having died in battle led them to the gates of Valhalla, where they fought, drank, and fucked alongside all those they had known and loved over the years. With the reparation of the veil they two were torn from Valhalla and returned to Midgard, losing his family for a second time dealt a harsh blow, and after tasting mead from Odin’s curved horns Erik fell into a depression. Njáll had a home on Lofoten Islands, and it was there that the old wolf decided to retire as he waited for the fury to conclude his business in Corinth

As it happened the Northern wind was what Erik needed to remember himself, he visited the places he’d once known. The place where he had been raised, where his children had been raised, and slowly the memories of Valhalla ebbed away. It wasn’t long before he met a newly-turned wolf, one that had been bitten and abandoned, young and feral Erik approached with caution. When she was ready she told him her name was Therese, or Tessa. She bore a striking resemblance to his daughter and he quickly opened his home to her, there they remained on the Lofoten Islands together, but Njáll was never far from his thoughts. Erik’s will to fight once more returned, and he alongside Tessa set out for Corinth once more.

PERSONALITY

+ patient, gentle, thoughtful - passive, isolated, aloof

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. He/Him.