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frogblast-the-ventcore · 11 months ago

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Some more Shadowrun/Cyberpunk crossover thoughts

I've been thinking more about the idea, and now I'm wondering, if such a crossover existed, we would definitely have certain characters from Cyberpunk as metahumans (i.e. elves, orcs, trolls, etc).

So then the question becomes: who would be what?

There are 5(6) main metatypes in Shadowrun:

Humans

Elves (they're basically what might be termed "high elves" in some fantasy settings. There is also a variant called Night Ones that are, at least in 4th edition, basically just drow)

Dwarves (they're dwarves)

Orks (aesthetics wise, fairly standard fantasy orcs save for half-orcs not being a thing, and the most numerous metahuman type that isn't bog standard human)

Trolls (really tall, muscular, dermal armor)

T'skrang (funky lizard people; not technically in Shadowrun, but they were in Earthdawn, the prequel game, and there's at least one semi-major NPC that is one, even if they can't use the proper name for licensing reasons)

There are also a healthy amount of "non-metahuman sapients" in the Shadowrun setting:

Naga (talking snakes, no arms or human like features at all; they're usually around the size of an anaconda, and typically resemble the dominant venomous or apex predator snake type in their region of origin - in Brazil you get anaconda naga, for example; in the American Southwest you'd get rattlesnake naga, in India/Southeast Asia, you'd probably get king cobra naga. They're very skilled with magic, often using it as a replacement for things metahuman hands can do)

Sasquatches: what it says on the tin. It's Bigfoot/Yeti, but sapient and capable of limited communication.

Centaurs: imagine a horse-taur - horse lower body, upper body of an anthro horse, and that's a Shadowrun centaur.

Shapeshfiters: essentially reverse were-animals, born a sapient animal, but can shift into the form of a metahuman. Various types exist: wolf, fox, coyote, bear, alligator, anaconda, bovine, domestic dogs, deer, horse, eagles/falcons, jaguar, leopard, lion, panther, seal, tigers, etc).

Spirits (a wide array of spirit types exist, from "standard" metahuman looking summoned spirits, to corrupted toxic spirits, insect spirits that don't always get along with people, etc)

Drakes (essentially miniature were-dragons, that come in all the dragon flavors: Western, Eastern, Feathered Serpent, and Leviathan/Sea Dragon). Originally a creation of dragonkind (the so called "true drakes), there are also one that have inherited the abilities and form (so called "bred drakes").

The many and varied Human-MetaHuman Vampiric Virus Infected - the most common being ghouls (can only subsist on metahuman meat, have an entire functioning and sympathetically presented nation to themselves), vampires and nosferatu (must drink metahuman blood, as well as feed on Essence - the magical energy inherit to all creatures; Nosferatu are essentially super-Vampires). There are variants for all metatypes and most non-human sapients (naga and centaur vampires!). The most ethical and chill of these tend to subsist on cloned metahuman meat (for ghouls) or blood banks and livestock animals (for vampires/nosferatu; the blood bank for the obvious; the livestock animals as an Essence source).

Dragons: the big scaly boys and girls that get a ton of publicity. Split into four main types: Western (ala European style, wings and four legs), Eastern (Japanese/Chinese/Southeast Asian style fancy looking hover-noodles), Feathered Serpents (FASHION in dragon form, pretty much Quetzalcoatl), and Leviathans (Sea Dragons; one of which may have been Nessie). There's a further subdivision between standard dragons and Great Dragons (note the capital letters). Greats are regular dragons who have lived long enough to undergo some form of change process that results in them getting much bigger, much more physically and magically powerful, gives them an innate ability to shift into a metahuman form (lesser dragons make do with illusion spells), and gives them the ability to straight up alter fate, luck, and probability (they can essentially go "oh, you killed me? No you didn't" and can actively fuck with your dice rolls). Greats are, by design, unkillable by PCs, and if you fight them, you lose. No ifs or buts. That said, most dragons, and even most Greats, aren't massive scheming dickbags. Some can be arrogant but pricks (Lofwyr), some can be hippies (Hestaby), some can be beloved talk show hosts and presidents (Dunkelzahn), and some can be terrorists (Sirrurg/Alamais).

There are a few other variations and such on sapient life in Shadowrun:

AI: as it says, Artificial Intelligences, ranging from small programs that emerge from Matrix systems, to the giant Godlike entities like Deus, Megaera, and such.

Technomancers: metahumans that can access the Matrix without cyberware or commlinks, essentially technowizards.

SURGE: An umbrella term for metahumans and non-metahuman sapients who have undergone Sudden Unexplained Recessive Genetic Expression, and essentially magically mutated, with a wide variety of possible features. Most players I've known have used it to make other fantasy races (tiefling and dragonborn) and full on furries (if they don't want to do so via cyberware/bioware).

#shadowrun #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk #crossover

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fanartfic · 10 months ago

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So I had this blurb pop into my head the other day, and I thought how it would be an interesting plot point in a quick fic. So in this BG3 fic our Tav, Meridia, is on a bit of a time constraint.

TW: Blood, puking, eluded loss of a loved one.

Surprise near the end. Enjoy :)

~~__~~__~~__~~__

A Tight Schedule. . .

Part 1

Meridia's body ached all over. She leaned up against a rock to catch her breath. The sky above her began to swirl as the ground rushed up to greet her. She caught herself in time, however, landing on her hands and knees as she felt her stomach churning. Her breakfast was coming back up to greet her.

Great, just another thing to add to the list of terrible things today. After expelling the rest of her stomach contents, she coughed and wiped off her face. Heat from the nearby fire was getting closer to her.

She had to get out of the wreck, and find a healer fast.

~~~~~~

"Meridia, are you alright?"

Meridia felt a warm hand on her back as she wretched next to the stone pillar. She leaned her forehead against it, appreciative of its coolness.

"Sorry, it's a weird thing I have. . . Blood makes me puke." A half-truth. Blood didn't make her squeamish at all, but ever since the crash that coppery scent made her vomit.

It had been around a ten-day since the crash. Since then, she had met up with other survivors. Everyone was so different that it was hard to get along, and for some reason they looked to her, clearly the youngest of them all, for guidance.

She looked up at Wyll, the warlock who had recently joined their group, and tried to smile. "Why do you think I hang back and sling arrows all the time?"

"I just thought you didn't like getting your hands dirty," Wyll teased.

"I get them dirty enough, thank you very much," Meridia said pointedly as she yanked an arrow out of a corpse."

"Will you two please shut up. Lets get a move on before more goblins show up." Astarion sneered across the room.

"I'll just be a moment." Meridia pulled out her waterskin and rinsed out her mouth as she came up to the dead drow that laid on the floor. "I'm going to nab me some armor."

"Where in the hells is the prison in this place?" Gale wondered as he peered at some carvings in the walls.

"I don't know, you could always ask the locals." Meridia pointed at the rats scurrying about.

"Ha ha, very funny.' Gale crossed his arms over his chest. Meridia was young, but she certainly had a sharp tongue on her.

"No, I'm serious." Meridia rolled her eyes and cast speak with animals, a trick she had learned from her father before he had died. She turned to a rat on the floor and asked. "Where are the prisons? I'll give you some cheese?"

A few moments later and the group was trudging up to a large wooden door in a part of the ruined temple that they hadn't explored yet. And a very happy rat had a whole wedge of cheese to himself.

"Can't believe we're taking directions from a rat." Gale muttered under his breath.

"Just get ready." Meridia scolded. "I knew I should have had Lae'Zel come with instead of having her and Shady scouting for that creche."

"If they haven't killed each other by now," Astarion smirked as he pulled out his daggers.

Merida laid her hand on the door and listened for a moment. She held up 2 fingers, then swung it wide open.

Gale was ready with rather thunderous anticipation.

~~~~~~~~~

The bear lumbered slowly towards Meridia after swatting the head off the last goblin. The beast was huge, with scarring above his left eye.

"Free. Finally!" The bear growled. Meridia had cast speak with animals to get directions from the rats. She wasn’t expecting the bear to be so conversational.

There was a burst of golden light, and suddenly there was a man standing where the bear was. One definitely befitting Rath's description. He was huge for an elf, or even a half-orc. He stood easily at almost seven feet tall, with the bulky frame to match.

He flung some goblin blood from his hands onto the floor.

"Pardon the viscera. One should cherish all of nature's blessings, but goblins guts? Heh. That's pretty far down on the list."

Meridia felt positively green about the gills as the nausea swept over her. She almost didn't hear the druid as he continued.

"Not only did you speak with a bear, but you willingly set it free not knowing if it would savage you?" He laughed. "A true friend of nature, or, perhaps, a lunatic."

"At this point. . . Probably lunatic," Meridia covered her mouth with her hand and stumbled towards a nearby bench. The druid, concern written all over his face, was at her side in moments.

"Forgive me, I did not realize you were ill. I am the druid, Halsin." He took Meridia by the shoulders and guided her to the bench.

"Oh, she's not sick. Blood just makes her squirm," Astarion twirled a dagger in his hand as he nonchalantly cleaned the crimson off of it.

Meridia glared at him before introducing herself. "I'm Meridia. The asshole is Astarion, the gentleman is Wyll, and the grumpy one in the corner is Gale."

"We've met," said Wyll, as he shook Halsin's hand. "Good to see you unharmed my friend."

"Glad I was when I saw you in my rescue party," Halsin smiled at Wyll before turning his attention back to Meridia. "That look in your eyes. . . Are you feeling alright?" A warm golden glow emanated from his hand as he surveyed Merida's body. A look of shock, then profound pity washed over him. "Oak Father preserve you, child, you're infected. So that is why you have sought me out."

Meridia found herself zoning out again as Halsin continued and answered questions from the others. She felt so tired she didn't realize she was swaying until she bumped into his shoulder.

"Gods, Mer, you're exhausted!" Wyll rushed over to her to steady her.

"I'll carry her back to the grove where all of you may rest. It's the least I can do." Halsin stood up quickly and, despite Meridia's protest, scooped her up in his arms. "Come to me, little one."

Meridia glared at Wyll for a moment, who merely smiled at her cheekily, before admitting defeat. Halsin picked her up like she was a feather. She felt as if she were being carried to bed by her father again. Without even thinking, she snuggled into his chest, illiciting a short chuckle from him.

As the others began leading the way, Halsin trailed behind them a little. Meridia appreciated the distance from her companions for the time being, even tho she caught Wyll glancing back at them in worry from time to time. Halsin however, appeared to be studying her closely. Meridia found herself growing uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Finally he spoke, quietly, almost at a whisper.

"You're with child, are you not?"

Meridia felt her chest begin to tighten as she looked up at him in a panic. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Was he going to tell them? Make her stay at camp while everyone else searched for a cure? She couldn't get any words out to refute him, so she did the only thing she could.

She nodded quietly.

"How far?" Halsin continued to probe.

"Seven, no, eight ten-days, give or take." Meridia replied.

"Where is the father?"

"I don’t know. We got separated."

"Silvanus save us," Halsin bit his lip and looked away for a moment, getting himself together again. "I am so sorry, little one."

Merida leaned into his chest, seeking any comfort she could. "Please don't tell the others." she pleaded.

"It is not my place to tell," Halsin reassured her. "But make no mistake, I will be keeping a close eye on both of you.'

Meridia's voice caught in her throat. "The-the baby? They're okay?"

Halsin nodded with a smile. "They are fine. Quite strong, in fact. Like I see their mother is."

Meridia sighed in relief and relaxed into Halsin's comforting hold, then, since she didn't have to hold it together any longer, broke down into tears of relief.

Halsin held her closer, shielding her from the concerned gaze of her companions. This little human, barely into her twenties by the look of it, had already endured so much.

He would help her as much as she would let him.

After a few moments of silent tears Meridia sighed and wiped off her face.

"Gods, I hate crying. I always get a massive headache afterwards." She quipped, sniffing.

"Do you feel like walking?" Halsin asked.

"Sure, I'm getting a little cramped."

Halsin set her gently on her feet, then dug into his pouch. He pulled out a little golden berry that almost looked like it was glowing.

"This will help with the headache." He said, placing it in Meridia's palm. "And perhaps the nausea."

"Oh thank gods." Meridia popped it into her mouth. "Mhmm. Tastes like honey!"

"Better?"

She felt a calming warmth spread through her belly and she breathed a sigh of relief as the pounding in her head and nausea began to fade.

"Lots. I might actually get a full meal in me tonight."

"That would be for the best." Halsin offered her an arm.

Meridia looped her hand through the crook of his elbow. She felt so small compared to him, but in no way did he cause fear from her. Not even when he was in bear form. He walked slowly, matching her pace so that she didn't over exert herself. They walked in silence for a moment before Meridia squeezed his arm.

"Do. . .Can you tell me what I will be facing next?'

Halsin looked down at her. "As far as the unwelcome guest? No. Those have proven an anomaly I can't explain. If you are referring to your little one," he glanced up to make sure the others were out of earshot. They weren't, but they were so busy bickering about something that they weren't paying them any attention. "You will have the sickness for at least another ten-day, maybe more." Halsin checked again that the others weren't listening. "Human pregnancies are usually around 26-28 ten-days. You will begin to show probably on the 12th ten-day. From then, it will be difficult to hide."

"Right, so I have around 4 ten-days to figure this out this whole tadpole business before I have to tell the others." Meridia sighed and rubbed her neck. "Gods that's a tight schedule... Why did this have to happen to me?"

Halsin patted her hand. "You will be alright. I will help you every step of the way."

Merida glanced up at him. "Why tho?"

Halsin seemed taken back at the question. "I want to?' he said questioningly.

Merida shook her head. "But you're an Archdruid of a grove. You can't just drop everything and leave. And we literally met less than an hour ago!"

Halsin rubbed his neck nervously. "Well, I also have reasons to go to Moonrise, and since you're going to have to end up there anyways, I might as well tag along."

"Tag along?" Meridia saw right through him. "You want to get out of the grove, don't you."

Halsin chuckled "guilty as charged," he said. "Truth be told, the politics of the grove have me off balance. I have been pulled away, disconnected from nature. I believe my path lies elsewhere now."

"And it just so happens to be with a ragtag group of vagabonds who barely know each other and might just kill each other before the Absolute turns us into mind-flayers?"

"Nature can be strange in that way."

Merida laughed. "Ha! I guess so."

#baldur’s gate fanfiction #fanfic #baldurs gate tav #halsin x tav #my tav #bg3 halsin #bg3 what if?

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chronicles-of-kats-dnd-game · 1 year ago

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Lost Mine & Abyss Session 12 - Oh Worm?

-As Zoream looks over the strange new gem (and argues with Sen over rights to the hoard), Vierna continues upstairs to inspect the old wizard study, Dakwert's gem in hand. The place is in ruin, one decoration remaining- a framed child's drawing of two orcs, Zoream and his master.

-Zoream continues up the stairs to his rival looking at his childhood drawing- and the remains of the spellbooks pages pressed into the floor. He takes the drawing from her into his pocket, and inspects the ruined pages. He tells Vierna to investigate them, to see the spell. She recognizes it as a minor summoning spell- nothing more. But the drow still considers an accomplice to a mistake guilty. She uses Dakwert's necklace as a stress ball with her mechanical arm, Dakwert's world creaking and shaking.

-The druid tells the party to give him some space while he attempts to work a spell upon the land. The group takes a short rest in the ruins upstairs, Zoream speaking with the gem of the trapped angel some more as it asks for his help, Sid working on his armor and incorporating the scattered scales of Venomfang (to the side eye of Sen), Vierna continuing to squeeze the necklace as she processes, Sen admiring his new hoard, and Dakwert eventually emerging from the necklace to fix the scratches caused by Vierna's arm. Valark and Vierna conspire together for their return to Menzoberranzan- learning they have a common enemy back home.

-Checking back in on the druid, they find him struggling with the spell, having made seemingly little progress. He says a great evil has resided here, and it will take some time to purify- but he should have made enough progress to step away temporarily.

-The party returns to the Neverwinter Wood, Reidoth magically speeding their travel along. Sid watches the forest nervously with the axe's enchantments intruding on his mind, while Sen watches the sky, relieved for the forest's cover from searching eyes. Sid passes around the axe to give a hit of tree anxiety to everyone. How bad could it possibly be?

The druid agrees to lead them to the castle, but not come with them. As the ruined stone structure finally comes into sight, Reidoth stays to watch over the cart while the party steps off. He tells them when they return, he will lead them to Wave Echo Cave.

-Creak begs them them to charge saying she could take them, while Zoream discusses a plan of disguise, as others continue to discuss sending the original party in as prisoners. Looking around the castle, they discover a crumbling wall to enter through. Zoream and Sen cast spells to disguise themselves as a bugbear and hobgoblin. Vierna puts on the purple Tiamat cultist cloak, Dakwert hiding under it. Sid passes as Bearbug, Zoream's deformed brother. A plan half formed, they enter the castle.

-They pass through the goblin barracks, Sen swiping some of their few belongings for his collection. They find a concerning bag of bones and scales, labeled as belonging to "Ek." Sen takes all of these. Continuing on, they pass through the side tower to enter the main entrance.

-Zoream notices a wire shimmering through the light before the door ahead, warning the party back. Backing up to check the door before it, Sid opens the door to a pitch black room with a goblin's reflective eyes staring out at them from a shrine, holding a knife and warning them back from his pet as something slithers above. Sid quickly closes the door.

-Sen throws a rock towards the trapped floor, the stone quickly crumbling beneath it. The slithering from the shrine room rapidly approaches from below, the party hearing a hiss of frustration as it finds nothing. The party makes their way carefully around it to the other side. Valark glances at it while passing, backing away and commenting that its something from his home.

-Zoream: "must be comforting, then" Valark: "not particularly." Zoream: "is there anything that comforts you guys?" Vierna: "Justice."

-Opening the next door, the party walks in on seven hobgoblins feasting in a dining hall, wielding swords and armor. "Bugbear the Wise" speaks up, saying he's new and here about the bounty. When asked who let him in, he gives Ek's name- prompting an immediate negative reaction. Vierna steps forward showing the bounty and the dragonborn- while the hobgoblins decide to simply take the credit instead. Roll initiative!

-Sid's Spirit Guardians leap forward at the attacking hobgoblins, Vierna slashes at the ones in front of her ending one on her halberd, Valark throws an excited Creak towards a hobgoblin as it meets its demise via delighted goblin, and Zoream and Dakwert wear them down with spells.

-The hobgoblins defeated, Sen starts dragging their bodies over to the hole. "Glory to Ek," Bugbear the Wise shouts, as a voice from the shrine room thanks him. They shout through the walls as the creature hisses in delight from beneath, the goblin eventually inviting them in for tea. Everyone becomes much less enthusiastic.

-Sen and Zoream enter the shrine room, still disgusied as a bugbear and hobgoblin, Ek inviting them to take a seat and introduce themselves. They get along, then speak of their plan to overthrow the king- irritating Ek as the King has been accepting of him, and he doesn't really want the place improved. He likes it dark and crumbling, and works for him willingly for free. He suggests they drink some tea and relax.

-Ek continues to pressure the two to drink his tea as they talk, tapping his fingers in an unheard signal to the distracted grick. Sen takes a cautious drink, resisting its affects through his heritage, while Zoream downs it as a power move and is immediately knocked unconscious. Oops.

-The grick finally finishes feasting and slithers overhead, going for a strike at the still-standing Sen from the ceiling as Ek apologizes and speaks of his loyalty to his king. The worm creature circles Sen but finds no hold on him. As it hisses at him, the half-dragon turns and spits a Poison Spray down its beak.

-Hearing the sounds of combat, Sid opens the door to the shrine room with the rest of the party behind him, Spirit Guardians at the ready. The spectral dwarves charge forward and swiftly annihilate the combatants, the grick's body falling on top of Sen.

-Inspecting the grick, Sid removes the clawed ends of its tentacles to forge into daggers, while Sen and the now-awakened Zoream split open the creature and attempt to eat it. Its bad.

The door to the next room opens to a towering bugbear flanked by two hobgoblin guards looking down at the party in disappointment. He tells the party that if they are done tearing apart his castle, that he would like to have a talk with them- in the throne room. Met with the King of Cragmaw Castle, this session comes to a close!

#October 23 2023 #session recaps #Lost Mine and Abyss #lost mine of phandelver #lmop #dnd

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usuallyapirate · 3 years ago

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A short Introduction to the most common Player-Races in Dungeons and Dragons as given by the DnD 5e Players Handbook:

Dwarf

“Yer late,elf!” came the rough edge of a familiar voice. Bruenor Battlehammer walked up the back of his dead foe, disregarding the fact that the heavy monster lay on top of his elven friend. In spite of the added discomfort, the dwarf’s long, pointed, often-broken nose and gray-streaked though still-fiery red beard came as a welcome sight to Drizzt. “Knew I’d find ye in trouble if I came out an' looked for ye!"

– R.A. Salvatore, The Crysta lShard

Kingdoms rich in ancient grandeur, halls carved into the roots of mountains, the echoing of picks and hammers in deep mines and blazing forges, a commitment to clan and tradition, and a burning hatred of goblins and orcs—these common threads unite all dwarves.

Elf

“I HAVE NEVER IMAGINED SUCH BEAUTY EXISTED,” Goldmoon said softly. The day’s march had been difficult, but the reward at the end was beyond their dreams. The companions stood on a high cliff over the fabled city of Qualinost. Four slender spires rose from the city’s corners like glistening spindles, their brilliant white stone marbled with shining silver. Graceful arches, swooping from spire to spire, soared through the air. Crafted by ancient dwarven metalsmiths, they were strong enough to hold the weight of an army, yet they appeared so delicate that a bird lighting on them might overthrow the balance. These glistening arches were the city’s only boundaries; there was no wall around Qualinost. The elven city opened its arms lovingly to the wilderness.

– Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman, Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Elves are a magical people of otherworldly grace, living in the world but not entirely part of it. They live in places of ethereal beauty, in the midst of ancient forests or in silvery spires glittering with faerie light, where soft music drifts through the air and gentle fragrances waft on the breeze. Elves love nature and magic, art and artistry, music and poetry, and the good things of the world.

Halfling

Regis the halfling, the only one of his kind for hundreds of miles in any direction, locked his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the mossy blanket of the tree trunk. Regis was short, even by the standards of his diminutive race, with the fluff of his curly brown locks barely cresting the three-foot mark, but his belly was amply thickened by his love of a good meal, or several, as the opportunities presented themselves. The crooked stick that served as his fishing pole rose up above him, clenched between two of his toes, and hung out over the quiet lake, mirrored perfectly in the glassy surface of Maer Dualdon.

– R.A. Salvatore, The Crystal Shard

The comforts of home are the goal of most halflings‘ lives: a place to settle in peace and quiet, far from marauding monsters and clashing armies; a blazing fire and a generous meal; fine drink and fine conversation. Though some halflings live out their days in remote agricultural communities, others form nomadic bands that travel constantly, lured by the open road and the wide horizon to discover the wonders of new lands and peoples. But even these wanderers love peace, food, hearth, and home, though home might be a wagon jostling along a dirt road or a raft floating downriver.

Human

These were the stories of a restless people who long ago took to the seas and rivers in longboats, first to pillage and terrorize, then to settle. Yet there was an energy, a love of adventure, that sang from every page. Long into the night Uriel read, lighting candle after precious candle. She'd never given much thought to humans, but these stories fascinated her. In these yellowed pages were tales of bold heroes, strange and fierce animals, mighty primitive gods, and a magic that was part and fabric of that distant land.

– Elaine Cunningham, Daughter of the Drow

In the reckonings of most worlds, humans are the youngest of the common races, late to arrive on the world scene and short-lived in comparison to dwarves, elves, and dragons. Perhaps it is because of their shorter lives that they strive to achieve as much as they can in the years they are given. Or maybe they feel they have something to prove to the elder races, and that’s why they build their mighty empires on the foundation of conquest and trade. Whatever drives them, humans are the innovators, the achievers, and the pioneers of the worlds.

Dragonborn

Her father stood on the first of the three stairs that led down from the portal, unmoving. The scales of his face had grown paler around the edges, but Clanless Mehen still looked as if he could wrestle down a dire bear himself. His familiar well-worn armor was gone, replaced by violet-tinted scale armor with bright silvery tracings. There was a blazon on his arm as well, the mark of some foreign house. The sword at his back was the same, though, the one he had carried since even before he had found the twins left in swaddling at the gates of Arush Vayem. Father’s face was as kill she'd been fortunate to learn. A human who couldn’t spot the shift of her eyes or Havilar’s would certainly see only the indifference of a dragon in Clanless Mehen’s face. But the shift of scales, the arch of a ridge, the set of his eyes, the gape of his teeth – her father's face spoke volumes. But every scale of it, this time, seemed completely still— the indifference of a dragon, even to Farideh.

– Erin M. Evans, The Adversary

Born of dragons, as their name proclaims, the dragonborn walk proudly through a world that greets them with fearful incomprehension. Shaped by draconic gods or the dragons themselves, dragonborn originally hatched from dragon eggs as a unique race, combining the best attributes of dragons and humanoids. Some dragonborn are faithful servants to true dragons, others form the ranks of soldiers in great wars, and still others find themselves adrift, with no clear calling in life.

Gnome

Skinny and flaxen-haired, his skin walnut brown and his eyes a startling turquoise, Burgell stood half as tall as Aeron climb up on a stool to look out the peephole. Like most habitations in Oeble, that particula tenement had been built for humans, and smaller residents coped with the resulting awkwardness as best they could. But at least the relative largeness of the apartment gave Burgell room to pack in all his gnome-sized gear. The front room was his workshop, and it contained a bewildering miscellany of tools: hammers, chisels, saws, lockpicks, tinted lenses, jeweler's loupes, and jars of powdered and shredded ingredients for casting spells. A fat gray cat, the mage’s familiar, lay curled atop a grimoire. It opened its eyes, gave Aeron a disdainful yellow stare, then appeared to go back to sleep.

– Richard Lee Byers, The Black Bouquet

A constant hum of busy activity pervades the warrens and neighborhoods where gnomes form their close-knit communities. Louder sounds punctuate the hum: a crunch of grinding gears here, a minor explosion there, a yelp of surprise or triumph, and especially bursts of laughter. Gnomes take delight in life, enjoying every moment of invention, exploration, investigation, creation, and play.

Half-Elf

Flint squinted into the setting sun. He thought he saw the figure of a man striding up the path. Standing, Flint drew back into the shadow of a tall pine to see better. The man's walk was marked by an easy grace – an elvish grace, Flint would have said; yet the man’s body had the thickness and tight muscles of a human, while the facial hair was definitely humankind’s. All the dwarf could see of the man’s face beneath a green hood was tan skin and a brownish-red beard. A longbow was slung over one shoulder and a sword hung at his left side. He was dressed in soft leather, carefully tooled in the intricate designs the elves loved. But no elf in the world of Krynn could grow a beard ... no elf, but...

“Tanis?” said Flint hesitantly as the man neared.

“The same.�� The newcomer’s bearded face split in a wide grin. He held open his arms and, before the dwarf could stop him, engulfed Flint in a hug that lifted him off the ground. The dwarf clasped his old friend close for a brief instant, then, remembering his dignity, squirmed and freed himself from the half-elf’s embrace.

– Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Walking in two worlds but truly belonging to neither, half-elves combine what some say are the best qualities of their elf and human parents: human curiosity, inventiveness, and ambition tempered by the refined senses, love of nature, and artistic tastes of the elves. Some half-elves live among humans, set apart by their emotional and physical differences, watching friends and loved ones age while time barely touches them. Others live with the elves, growing restless as they reach adulthood in the timeless elven realms, while their peers continue to live as children. Many half-elves, unable to fit into either society, choose lives of solitary wandering or join with other misfits and outcasts in the adventuring life.

Half-Orc

The warchief Mhurren roused himself from his sleeping-furs and his women and pulled a short hauberk of heavy steel rings over his thick, well-muscled torso. He usually rose before most of his warriors, since he had a strong streak of human blood in him, and he found the daylight less bothersome than most of his tribe did. Among the Bloody Skulls, a warrior was judged by his strength, his fierceness, and his wits. Human ancestry was no blemish against a warrior – provided he was every bit as strong, enduring, and blood thirsty as his full-blooded kin. Half-orcs who were weaker than their orc comrades didn't last long among the Bloody Skulls or any other orc tribe for that matter. But it was often true that a bit of human blood gave a warrior just the right mix of cunning, ambition, and self-discipline to go far indeed, as Mhurren had. He was master of a tribe that could muster two thousand spears, and the strongest chief in Thar.

– Richard Baker, Swordmage

Whether united under the leadership of a mighty warlock or having fought to a standstill after years of conflict, orc and human tribes sometimes form alliances, joining forces into a larger horde to the terror of civilized lands nearby. When these alliances are sealed by marriages, half-orcs are born. Some half-orcs rise to become proud chiefs of orc tribes, their human blood giving them an edge over their full-blooded orc rivals. Some venture into the world to prove their worth among humans and other more civilized races. Many of these become adventurers, achieving greatness for their mighty deeds and notoriety for their barbaric customs and savage fury.

Tiefling

“But you do see the way people look at you, devil’s child." Those black eyes, cold as a winter storm, were staring right into her heart and the sudden seriousness in his voice jolted her.

“What is it they say?" he asked. “One’s a curiosity, two’s a conspiracy—��

“Three's a curse,” she finished. “You think I haven’t heard that rubbish before?”

“I know you have.” When she glared at him, he added, “It’s not as if I’m plumbing the depths of your mind, dear girl. That is the burden of every tiefling. Some break under it, some make it the millstone around their neck, some revel in it.” He tilted his head again, scrutinizing her, with that wicked glint in hiseyes. “You fight it, don’t you? Like a little wildcat, I wager. Every little jab and comment just sharpens your claws.”

– Erin M. Evans, Brimstone Angels

To be greeted with stares and whispers, to suffer violence and insult on the street, to see mistrust and fear in every eye: this is the lot of the tiefling. And to twist the knife, tieflings know that this is because a pact struck generations ago infused the essence of Asmodeus – overlord of the Nine Hells – into their bloodline. Their appearance and their nature are not their fault but the result of an ancient sin, for which they and their children and their children’s children will always be held accountable.

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drawingdeamon · 3 years ago

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d&d questions 1, 2, and 31

answered 1 & 2 here, but i'll do em again! because there's too many dang customization options!

1. What do you think your d&d race would be? mmmmmm maybe a shifter? mostly human but also not

2. What class? rogue, sneak sneak sneak

31. Tell me about your current party!

CRACKS KNUCKLES

i got two main parties so I'm talking about both!

PARTY 1: ORDER OF THE CHEESEWHEEL

Irezumi: Drow Rogue, my character. Chaotic good, not always great at perceiving things but she found a cat once. Kept the cat, his name is Cheese Wheel. Loves being on the surface, loves greenery. Still reminisces about the Underdark.

Velria: Human Barbarian. The youngest of our party at 17, she ran away from her noble family for adventuring. Likes girls, and likes carrying around a whole armory of weapons on her back.

Reina: Halfling Sorcerer. Came from a cult, had an adventuring party before ours but whatever happened to them isn't clear. Often mistaken for a child due to her size.

Solar: Dragonborn Monk. Raised by his father, but they were attacked by worshippers of Tiamat. In the second session of the campaign he bought as many cheese wheels as he can carry, hence why our party likes cheese so much.

Haddock: Kobold Rogue/Fighter(? Teck if you're reading this correct me if I'm wrong). Was part of a criminal organization once, now adventuring. They're missing an eye, and once had a kenku alchemist fashion sunglasses for themself. Unfortunately the kenku put explosive runes on everyone's sunglasses.

Sylyras: Winged Elf Ranger. Haven't seen much of her as of late bc scheduling conflicts but she and Irezumi are homies.

Volurk: Half-Orc(?) Druid. Like Sylyras, haven't seen much of him, but he turned into a wolf once. That's cool!

Zoltai: Aasimar Warlock. They're a researcher into everything and I respect that so much. Loves books. Once flirted with a vampire to keep her distracted despite being thoroughly uninterested (by aspect of being aroace).

AAAND some out of context OotCW art:

Left: Irezumi reference. Right: Irezumi art, she has a hood up, snake tail and flowers tattoos on the top of each arm, is holding a damascene dagger of frost, and has Cheese Wheel, a black cat, on her shoulder.

Haddock destroying the last two members of a group of enemy mercenaries we fought. Haddock iconically stated, "I'm not done with you yet."

Solar catching and returning lightning from a magic javelin in the same encounter as above. He's also krumping.

Solar emoji. He is looking(tm).

PARTY 2: THE OVERGROWTH CAMPAIGN

Sybil of Hvallatr: Merfolk Bard, my character. Has a cool crown that he can talk to that definitely isn't evil. Started off pretty chill, if up for anything. Now he murdered a man in cold blood and has become a lich (the lich part isn't that big a deal, everyone in the party is trying to transcend humanity so we can go back in time).

Theran: Elf Rogue. His stealth rolls regularly roll above 30. Often sneaks past time itself. Sybil got to turn him into a Therannosaurus once. Got turned into an angel, but the god who angelified him isn't exactly a friend...

S'vatu: I don't know her actual race, but catgirl Bloodsight Cleric. Answers to the luck god Kane. Not really sure if it's worshipping though because Kane just hangs out with us. Anyway she died once but came back to life, and this was before she was in our party. Recently became a lich, got tired of being undead, and has become a fully robot catgirl.

Kal: Human Hexblade Warlock. Was sent on a suicide mission during his time in the army, where everyone but him died. Still keeps his morals, also took out a dragon summon that was at 3/4ths health in one hit. Has magical armor on his very being that protects him from divine magic, *except* for his eye. This armor should also let him time travel as long as he covers the eye with lead.

Henry Moon: Idk dude they were here once because the player switched their Owlfolk Cleric to play this guy but I haven't seen him in session since. I do know he is the Horseman of Death though, and he's helping us because the current world ending threat isn't supposed to be the apocalypse.

All my other sketches of these guys are buried in various Krita files, but I do have Sybil art:

I'M SO EXCITED FOR THE MAGICAL GIRL CAMPAIGN THAT IM IN WITH GIL AND JAY THOUGH i get to play a harengon which will be so fun!!

There's also another campaign that was ehhh. but I did play a tiefling wizard (who im repurposing for a cyberpunk oneshot) and the only other party member i remember was the ace half elf bard who liked coffee!

#deamon speaks #i saw an opportunity to talk and i TOOK IT.

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conceptstage · 5 years ago

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Faith & Trust

AO3

“Your Illuminance.”

Leylas looked up from the paper that she was reading on her desk to look at Essek standing in the doorway. She paused for a moment to wipe off her quill and sit it in the stand so that it wouldn’t drip on her paper and waved him to enter with her other hand. “Shadowhand, you may enter.”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He stepped up to her desk and bowed before relaxing with his hands clasped behind his back. “You have a visitor from the council of Tal Dorei.”

She hummed thoughtfully and moved to stand. “The Voice of the Tempest again? It has been some time since her last diplomatic visit.”

“No, my Queen. A woman named Allura Vysoren, an arcanist.”

Leylas paused and gave him a considering frown. “Vysoren? Lady Keyleth has mentioned the name but I have never met the woman in person. Did she say the purpose of her visit?”

“She claims…” he paused and cleared his throat. She couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes, some strange mix of caution, worry and optimism. “She claims to have news on the whereabouts of The Mighty Nein.”

Leylas blinked in shock and stood up straight with her shoulders tense. “They live? Our scries have turned up nothing for a month.”

He cleared his throat. “When she arrived, before I came to you, I asked my assistant to do a quick scry and she says that she saw them in the Empire.”

Leylas frowned at her desk, suspicion swirling in her chest but she pushed it down. The Mighty Nein had not let them down yet, part of their appeal to her was their ability to move through the Empire uninhibited, there was nothing wrong with finding them there. But where had they been for the past month? Why had their earlier divination been blocked?

“I will meet her in the throne chamber.”

Essek nodded and bowed once more before turning to leave. Leylas milled around in her office for a few minutes, trying to quickly gather her thoughts and prepare her questions, and then made her way to the throne room. The large doors were opened for her as she stepped inside and she instantly saw a human woman standing in the center of the chamber look up at her. She didn’t know many humans but she could tell that this woman was quite a bit older than Beauregard, thought she wasn’t entirely sure how many years would be appropriate. Humans lived for such a short amount of time, it wasn’t until she met the Mighty Nein that she ever felt somewhat sad about that fact. She was a pretty woman with laugh lines and crows feet and long, braided blonde hair with faint streaks of gray. She was wearing very nice clothes which indicated wealth and a large diamond ring on her left hand, a married woman then. She gave Leylas an awkward bow at the waist like she wasn’t sure what was expected of her and Leylas gave her a nod of acknowledgement as she turned sharply towards her throne and started up the stairs. She handed off her staff to the young Prodigy next to her and took a seat, smoothing out her skirt around her knees. Essek stepped up beside the human woman, Allura Vysoren, and spoke quietly with her. The woman blushed and rushed to curtsy instead of bow.

“Your Illuminance,” she said. “My name is Acanist Allura Vysoren of the Tal Dorei Council.”

“I welcome you to our country, Arcanist. What can I do for the Tal Dorei council?” She wanted to jump right into her questions about the Mighty Nein but she knew better than to ask things of an unknown political figure without leverage.

“I am actually here, with the permission of the Tal Dorei Council, on information given to me by a mercenary group called The Mighty Nein, who I believe you’ve had dealings with in the past.”

Leylas raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Yes. They have been a great asset to us.”

Allura bit her lip. “Do you… Do you trust them? Do you trust their word?”

This was an interesting turn. “I do,” she said. “As much as I can afford to trust anyone with ties to the Empire.” Essek looked off the side when his assistant, a young half orc prodigy, waved him over. Essek stepped away from Allura with a short bow to his Queen and they spoke quietly in the shadows.

Allura nodded and seemed to come to a conclusion. “I met the Mighty Nein recently, at the home of a good friend and colleague of mine. He had gotten himself in a spot of trouble and they saved him. I won’t get into detail about it, it’s not why I’m here, but afterwards I offered to look on a friend of theirs who had been forced by magic into the service of an entity called The Angel of Irons.”

“Yes,” Leylas said. “I remember when that occurred, they brought news of a being called Obann and The Laughing Hand who were doing the bidding of such an entity.”

“Well, I did look on their stolen friend, a young woman named Yasha, and found proof that the Angel of Irons was a ruse. The actual hand behind the chaos belongs to no other than Tharizdun, The Chained Oblivion. He and the cults that he is manipulating are influencing both sides into war and attempting to weaken the veil between this plane and the Abyss to bring him through.” Leylas kept her face even as she listened but several voices in the room with them started to rise. “The Mighty Nein are following the trail of Obann to bring a stop to him and to The Chained Oblivion before they can succeed.”

Leylas was quiet for a long moment that hung in the air before giving Allura a considering look. “And you, a member of the Tal Dorei government, have come all this way to bring me this news?”

“No, your Illuminance. Tal Dorei has been neutral in this conflict and we intend to stay that way. I bring you this news because I owe The Mighty Nein a debt of gratitude and they want nothing more than to see an end to this conflict. I am here to ask that you give them that chance. Both sides of this conflict are being manipulated into this to further the goals of a truly evil and chaotic being and I know that that would never be your intention.”

Leylas opened her mouth to speak but paused when Essek stepped back up to Allura’s side. “Your Illuminance,” he said. “I am terribly sorry to interrupt. We just got word from some of our soldiers in the assault on Rexxentrum. A half orc man with your symbol just spoke to him in the streets of the city. The Mighty Nein are in Rexxentrum as we speak. They do not appear to be fighting on the side of the Empire.”

Allura’s eyes widened and she turned back to look at the queen. “If they are there, then so is Obann. He is using your attack to hide his own machinations.”

Leylas tried to keep her face even but, in her mind, her thoughts were buzzing. “Melira,” she called. Essek’s assistant jumped in surprise and stepped forward with her head bowed.

“Y-Yes, Your Illuminance?”

“Would you please scry on… have you met any of The Mighty Nein?”

“Y-Yes, I have spoken to Beauregard, the blue monk.” There was a slight blush on her cheeks that Leylas did not mention or ask about.

“Would you scry on her and tell me what she and her team are doing at this moment?”

Melira nodded quickly and started drawing a spell in the air. Her eyes rolled back and started to glow slightly and it was only a moment before she began to speak. “They are standing in a place of worship of some kind, fighting a… monstrosity with several mouths all over its body. There is a demon above Beau’s head, a red skinned fiend. I- Oh my!” she cut herself off with a gasp. “Beauregard has gone down.”

She felt rage start to bubble in her stomach. How dare this cult use her righteous war to cover for their evil work? She would not allow it. She would never.

“General Trian,” she called. An older drow man stepped forward and bowed low, his dark armor clinking as he moved. “Withdraw your troops from Rexxentrum.”

His eyes widened. “Y-Your Illuminance-”

“Do not question me. I will not help this creature get his way. Withdraw your troops, we will regroup and attack again after The Mighty Nein have been successful.”

“And if they are not?” Trian asked. “I have no knowledge of these mercenaries, I do not trust them to do what needs to be done.”

“Your Queen does. Withdraw your troops, General. Now.”

He cowed and nodded. “Yes, my Queen.” He turned to leave and spoke quietly with his lieutenants while she turned back to address Allura.

“If the Mighty Nein succeed… I will be willing to come to the table and discuss peace. Provided the Empire returns what has been stolen.”

There was worry in Allura’s eyes but she nodded, her face determined. “They will succeed, Your Illuminance. I have faith in them. If you’ll allow me, I would go to Rexxentrum myself now. To bring your message to the King and to do what I can to help The Mighty Nein’s cause.”

Leylas nodded and waved her hand. “Thank you for your initiative, Arcanist, and for the news you bring. Do give The Voice of the Tempest my best when you see her next.”

Allura nodded and turned to leave, lead out of the chamber by Melira. Essek frowned and turned to his queen with his eyebrows furrowed. “This worries me. An entity like the Chained Oblivion interfering so easily with our plans. We have an agent in our midst, high enough to be privy to secret information.”

Leylas nodded and stood from her throne, walking down the stairs to stand in front of him. “Yes, it worries me as well. We must focus on rooting out this infiltration as quickly as possible and then we can begin preparing for this… peace talk, should it happen. And the Mighty Nein…”

Essek nodded, worry in the lines of his shoulders. “I trust that they will survive. If I have learned anything from working with them, it is to not underestimate their ability to crawl away after a fight.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #allura vysoren #leylas kryn #essek theylas #critical role fic

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headlesssamurai · 5 years ago

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My Lazy, Poor, Stupid Person’s Attempt to Paint Tabletop Miniatures

by headless

This has nothing to do with covid-19 really, it’s just something I reckoned I’d share. For several years I’ve played Dungeons & Dragons, and occasionally others like Call of Cthulhu and Delta Green, or Shadowrun. Though, I say ‘play’, when I mostly run games as a Dungeon Master. It’s one of those “hobbies” that is a lot of fun for someone like me, but requires a ton of dedication, so it isn’t always easy to get a dedicated group together.

Anyhow, I generally homebrew settings and adventures, never really been too big on running pre-written games, even if some of them are fantastically written. And one of the most frustrating things is I some times want to have a miniature on the battle grid that looks a certain way. This is hardly a big deal, since miniatures are just markers meant for reference in combat encounters, the real image of the characters is in all of our heads.

Still, I sometimes want to have something especially specific, a lot of the players in my current group appreciate cool looking miniatures, and seeing as I’m usually hard-up for cash, I can’t always buy pre-painted mini-figures, unless I get a good bulk deal on ebay or something.

One of my recent attempts to acquire bulk miniatures came a few years back when I realized during the 4E days, Wizards of the Coast had released boxed board games themed with the D&D style, which all came with a great deal of unpainted miniatures; these came in sets like Wrath of Ashardalon, or The Legend of Drizzt, with lots of themed minis for the board game’s scenario.

Anyhow, I’ve had a ton of these unpainted miniatures forever and use them often for nobody-NPCs and other characters the players run across. Lately, however, the group I’ve been running in a campaign for about eleven months (usually weekly), ran across a problem where their dragonborn ranger Grixxis was captured by and then negotiated his away out of the clutches of this ancient entity who calls herself Gorgoth (who appears to be a pale, beautiful young woman, but probably isn’t; even the not so arcane-y Grixxis intuited that much). She was actually impressed that he resisted her Sleep spell, and offered him a deal, she’d let him go but he needs to complete a task for her in the next seven days, and if it isn’t completed in that time frame his soul will be bound to her forever.

The task was to go to a mountaintop and retrieve something that resides there, though Gorgoth did not explain what the object was, so the party set off to find this mysterious mountain. The journey led them to an area of bad wilderness where no one lives, and where roving bands of orcs constantly hunt and war with one another, so only a few people know anything about that region. The party ended up hiring a guide, who was a wood elf exile named Skaya. They seemed to be intrigued by her because she’s living in a city which is currently at war with wood elves, so there’s a lot of prejudice and racism against her kind. Skaya does have facial tattoos that indicate she’s been exiled from her tribe and therefore no longer truly considered by her people to be a wood elf (their worst form of punishment in this universe), but still, the party seemed immediately fascinated by this single NPC among the potential seven or so they might’ve hired for this expedition.

Anyhow, my players have only gotten truly invested in one other NPC they’ve met before this; a small little orc toddler named Gruuba who they saved from a bunch of slave trading bandits early on in the campaign. I’ve had difficulty finding a good miniature for Gruuba too (because she’s really small and scrawny), but since she’s at the same developmental level as a human six year-old they try to keep her out of combat scenarios (despite Gruuba’s excited insistence that she enjoys using clubs “for smashings”). Since the party have begun to really enjoy Skaya as character, the longer they’ve slowly, slowly gotten to know more about her stand-offish personal history, I really wanted to get a miniature for her that reflected my image of her better than the one I’d been using.

So, even though I got basically no experience doing so, I bought a miniature from Reaper Miniatures, and after looking up a few tutorial vids for beginners like me, I set about trying to paint my first mini-figs.

Two things, if you’re looking into this yourself; First, I’m not totally unartistic, I write creatively and I sketch with pencils and ink. Painting’s fairly new to me, but it’s not like I have absolutely no artistic talent. I also solder a lot of really small wires and components in my normal daily job, so I may have better muscle control for this sort of thing than some people. I only mention this because I may have had a few advantages in this undertaking. I just don’t want to make people overly confident, keep things in perspective. So whatever your level of expertise at this, if you want to start just try to patiently measure your expectations, and don’t get discouraged if your first results aren’t so great. All things improve with time.

And B. if you’re poor, lazy, and stupid like me, there’re ways to get around that. This video I watched gave me a good rundown of the basic steps which are; - scrub the plastic down with some dish soap, luke-warm water, and a toothbrush; allow at least 1 hour to dry (I let them sit for a day because I’m paranoid), and be sure there’s no lingering moisture before you start painting - get a good primer or base coat on the model before you start adding other colors; lighter base coats allow more colors to show up easier, while darker base coats tend to make the colors you paint over them darker - stay calm and take your time - try to paint the colors that’ll go under other colors first, like, if a barbarian dude is shirtless but’s wearing a few pieces of armor, paint his shirtless skin first, then paint the armor he’s wearing second because it layers over better that way - use thinner paints and multiple coats of a color to get an even final color instead of one thick coat - allow each coat of paint to dry for 10 - 20 minutes before applying the next coat - learn about washes, pigments, and inks, because they’re awesome - get a decent varnish for a final protective coat, matte varnishes make the model look dryer and flat, gloss varnishes make the model look shiny and wet, if you do a coat of gloss and a coat of matte varnish it equalizes it pretty good

And this video here sort of laid to rest my fears that I’ll need to spend $600 on paints and washes and stuff. The very helpful lady in that video explains how she uses generic acrylic paints from the craft store (I got mine at Wal-Mart) to paint her Warhammer miniatures, and she even offers a method of making your own washes from a combination of paint and flavorless mouth wash. It’s genius. So try not to stress too much about buying the really nice brand name paints, because it’s not necessary, those paints just have an optimal mix I think, otherwise they’re the same damn thing as generic acrylic paints. Also, you’re just trying to learn, so unless you really, really feel like emptying your bank account, just use the generic stuff.

I started out painting something I didn’t care about. I wanted my miniature for Skaya to look badass and awesome, so I wanted to start with some practice miniatures. Grabbed a few from those 4E board game sets and gave it a shot. But I had also recently gotten hold of a Goliath Barbarian miniature from the Player’s Handbook Heroes sets (also from the 4E days) a rare find, since it usually goes for like $60.00 by itself. Randomly found some dude on ebay selling an unopened box set for $20.00, so I got a wild elf druid and a human berserker along with it. So I started out touching up the goliath’s armor to make it look more like armor and less like weird blue stuff.

Here’s a before-and-after for him (I didn’t take photos of them before because I wasn’t anticipating this, so I just found examples from around the web):

Next I tried a re-paint. A friend of mine had recently guest-played in my campaign and created a half-drow monk (his backstory was fantastic), so since nothing like that exists, I took a Soulknife Infiltrator miniature seen here:

And repainted it to sort of look like his half-drow Monk of the Open Palm:

I finally had the courage to do a full paint, so I grabbed the Dragonborn Elementalist from the Wrath of Ashardalon box, and painted her up with reddish scales (I’m one of those who thinks dragonborn should have physical attributes of their heritage).

In the box her name’s Heskan. I definitely used way too much wash on this one so she looks super shiny.

I then took the orc archers in that same box, and not really paying too much attention this time, quickly painted them, because I lack many orc archers:

At this point, I felt it was time to finally paint Skaya, the wood elf exile. I used the Reaper Bones model Deladrin, Female Assassin ($1.99) for Skaya’s mini.

And taking way more hours than I did on the others, which were only about 1-3 hours each, when you count waiting for the coats to dry, I managed to sort of make her look like Skaya, I guess:

After this, the fact that it wasn’t complete and utter shit, which is what I expected, I was encouraged. So I tried to do out party’s tortle cleric, named Daruuk of Chult (who oddly speaks with a Slavic accent, so that’s how people from Chult sound in our campaign), for whom we’ve lacked an accurate mini-figure for some time. I bought a pack of Spikeshell Warriors ($2.99) from the Reaper Bones line.

But Daruuk characteristically wields a large shield and a warhammer, so for some reason I got super detailed and bought a pack of loose shields from the Reaper Bones line ($0.99), then bought Halbarad ($1.49) a human cleric.

I clipped off Halbarad’s hammer at the hilt, then I trimmed the spikes off of the spikeshell warrior’s club, and used a dremel to carfully mill a hole inside the shaft of the spikeshell’s club, then pinned the hammer inside and secured it with gorilla gel. I used an actual cork board pin to push the shield onto the spikshell’s offhand after cutting off his turtle shell shield in order to pin it before gluing, then clipped off the rest of the cork board pin. Somehow, this ended up making the shield look meaner because it now has a like pyramidal spike sticking out the center. After allowing the glue to dry I painted him up, and my attempt at Daruuk the Death Cleric turned out thus:

I guess his hammer looks sort of Acme-level cartoony, but he’s a giant 350 lb. turtle-man who talks like Omega Red from X-Men The Animated Series, so I’m okay with that. The spikeshell also fits well with the razorback sub-race feature I allowed Daruuk’s player to homebrew for himself. I was really proud of this one.

Finally, because I’m an insane asshole who is getting obsessed with my new hobby, I decided it was dragons or bust. So I bought a pre-primed unpainted Young Blue Dragon from WizKids ($13.99).

And spent, like, three days meticulously testing different paint layers to see how they come out. I tried to paint her in the tradition of blue dragons as they appear in the art of Forgotten Realms material, but gave her a somewhat darker cast, and added metallic blue layers to her claws and spinal ridges. I still need to paint her base, put some highlights on her eyes to accentuate the glowing effect and add my washes to give her a final layer of dimension, but here’s how she came out so far:

Behold, Stormfang! Mistress of Thunder...

Anyhow.

This is super long and I wonder if anyone will bother to read any of it. But just wanted to put this out there. From a dude who, if you asked me a year ago if I thought I could do this, I’d have said I’m too stupid, poor, and lazy. I still think of myself as all of those things. The real pros use crazy detailed techniques with like seven layered highlights on their models, and airbrushes and all kinds of other madness. I use maybe three coats total and I don’t get too worked up if I make a mistake here and there, and I haven’t spent more than maybe fifty bucks total across six weeks, and most of that was wasting paints because I was still learning how to mix different shades.

So if you got something you feel like you’ve always wanted to do but are too stupid, poor, and lazy to figure out, just go for it yo. I managed to crack out these bastards and I still think I suck, but it’s way better looking than I expected. For real though, you should see some of those Warhammer players, they got mad crazy god skills at this stuff compared to me. But your level of skill isn’t the point. The point is to have that moment with that thing you did, and look at it, and just go “Yeh, I did that” when at one time you never believed you ever could.

There’s always going to be somebody better than you, but even they, like all of us, are still learning.

侍 headless

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tactyl-ymon · 5 years ago

Text

Dnd session recap - Broken bonds and bodies

You know what, this is becoming kind of a standard disclaimer at this point. But sweet fuck I am bad at doing these write up’s in a timely manner. Not that it matters, but I’m trying to get better I promise. Anyway, on with whatever I can remember from a session from about 2 months ago!

We start with a bit of a rewind and some Vieraen shenanigans that took place part way through last session. While everyone is out finishing a dark ritual to summon a tower, Vieraen is out to be a menace. He finds some children in an alley and asks them if they know how to delete someone or if there is anyone who would know … how to delete someone. They end up taking him to a ramshackle tent in one of the slums with basically the most kiwi orc ever known named Jake Johnson and then get to talking about poisons and just how good they are. After a bit of back and forth, they come to an agreement. Jake will help Vieraen make some dope poisons, but he needs to test them on the drow rogue … and by test we mean stab viciously in the gut to see how the poison affects someone,. Seeing nothing wrong with this, Vieraen gets poked and takes a ludicrous amount of damage. After a fairly long session of knifey stabby, Vieraen leaves his new friend, both with a greater understanding of how poisons hurt and several minor stab wounds he heads up to one of the main magic shops in town to try and sell some things and get a fancy new dagger. He starts talking with the Halfling shop owner about the dagger he wants and what it would take to reduce the price before he pulls out one of the gems he’d picked up from the tunnels leading to the witches den on our last group assignment. Fun fact about the gems he got, they’re all really good at containing a specific type of magic and the one he was trying to sell was a fully charged fireball set to explode at the slightest nudge. Somehow not noticing the halfling’s wide eyed terror that this drow hooligan basically just walked into his shop with a live grenade, Vieraen mentions he’s got like 10 more in his bag if the owner would be willing to trade. Things escalate, the shop owner wants Vieraen out of his shop, Vieraen reeeeally wants that dagger though. Vieraen mentions he’s not leaving without that dagger as the shop owner uses the moment to cast a suggestion that Vieraen should leave. Under a compulsion to gtfo, Vieraen wanders outside and the shop owner locks up behind him. With that taking up most of his day, Vieraen heads back to the barracks to sleep everything off and wait for everyone to get back from whatever errand Core sent everyone on.

Seeing as the weird sylph didn’t eat anyone in their sleep, the tower crew heads back to the barracks for a quick breakfast and fill Vieraen in on what they found before everyone gets a message from Core about a bar fight nearby he needs everyone’s help with. Feeling the need to brawl, Eridol and Drackuss lead the charge and as they slam open the tavern doors they find absolutely nothing. No brawl, just a couple drunks from the night before passed out on the bar and Core getting playfully batted at by probably the most adorable cat anyone had ever seen. Core introduces his new friend as Whisky Whiskers, she’s a 2 ft tall munchkin cat person and also a monk, also she drunk Core under the table last night. Honestly, it would have been more adorable if she wasn’t here to keep an eye on Eridol and his constant teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. With introductions made, Eridol asks if this was the bar fight he needed help with and with the magic words said, Drackuss starts a one man brawl with the drunks at the bar, breaking a chair over one and piledriving one through a table that leaves most of the poor man’s blood on the outside. Everyone tries to stop the dragonborn juggernaut, but it’s our new friend Whisky who manages to stop the beatdown with a stunning strike that lasts long enough for everyone sober enough to act to restrain Drackuss while Eridol feverously heals the men. Drackuss’s holy medallion slides to the floor in several pieces but this goes unnoticed by everyone but Drackuss and as far as he’s concerned, the less people who know about his broken oath at the moment the better. Drackuss apologises, he’s just been so antsy for a proper fight recently and this got the best of him. Eridol is too busy healing the patrons to notice and everyone else didn’t really care that much. Drack gonna drack.

With nothing really to do for the next day and a half due to Core needing to do more research on the giant tower that apparated out of the earth and Emmi heading back to her ship several towns away for some me time, everyone else decides it’s time to hit the bath house to relax and mostly to clean Eridol because even without the gore from the past few battles still hanging off his armor making him smell like ham and sadness, he’s still not really been taking care of things. Most of the group grabs a communal bath to chat and everything while Drackuss gets a bath on his own away from the group. Whisky gets to know everyone and generally makes Eridol uncomfortable with all the invasions of his personal space, asking if he’s ok and just generally not letting him mope, the group starts drinking away the day and having as much fun as a group of hardened adventurers can do in a communal bath house. Drackuss sneaks out of the bath house and heads into one of the nearby forests, driving by an urge and whispers in his head he ends on coming across the camp of one of our previous allies, Olgum the hobgoblin fighter. They have a tense conversation while Drackuss draws his sword, proclaiming he’s been sent here to retrieve something Olgum doesn’t deserve anymore. A shield Olgum has but refuses to use properly. A shield used to solidify a connection to Bhaal, the god of murder. Drackuss needs it and he intends to take it one way or another. It is less a fight and more an execution as Drackuss murders his once friend and ally. With the final blow a new connection is made between Drackuss and the evil god he now serves. He takes the shield, a ring and some trinkets before setting the camp ablaze and returning to the bath house, the rest of the group none the wiser because we’ve been drinking together in the bath for the past 4 or so hours. They all talk about plans for the next few days, Vieraen wants to head back to the magic shop to see if he can talk that dagger into his pants and Eridol mentions everyone should come to the pits tomorrow to see him fight, it’ll be great. This is definitely not a cry for help, don’t worry about it.The crew heads up to the fight pits to cheer for Eridol as he tries to let off some steam against a hill giant they had all fought as a group several weeks ago that had a bone to pick with the tiny gnome who burst his chest open last time. Bets are placed and buffs are sneakily applied before they fizzle out entirely when Eridol enters the ring. The fight starts with a bang of holy light from Eridol that sends the giant reeling. The show is fierce and comes to a head when the giant throws several boulders, most of which hit Eridol as he is feebly trying to close the distance to the giant with his tiny gnome sized legs. They trade blows for what seems like hours until both are left broken and bloody with just enough energy for one last clash. Eridol gets off a fantastic hit to the ogre’s side, mirroring the last killing blow he gave the giant in the group fight while the giant swung down with his literal tree trunk of a club, hitting eridol dead on. The crowd grows quiet as the dust settles and only one of the combatants is visible. The giant’s hand twitches and a gnome wriggles out from under the tree trunk. Bruised, bloodied and broken but somehow victorious. The crowd erupts in cheers as the fight pit’s healing field brings the giant back to consciousness. Both fighters bow to each other and the crowd, glad to have put on a show and bury the hatchet in each other as it were. The group comes down to Eridol’s prep room to see the gnome slumped against one of the walls, letting the rooms healing aura mend some of his shattered bones as the bruises set in and he starts the process of making sure everything heals properly. Congratulations are given and Eridol gives a shaky thumbs up in response before basically passing out. Thoroughly spent from the fight and mumbling that he’ll see everyone back home once the post fight shakes go away and Eridol gets to take care of what he thinks is a concussion.

Vieraen mentions that they should go back to the magic shop in the mean time and off they trot to the Magical emporium to find it still locked and no signs of life. Which is weird, this place never closes, especially not for days at a time. The group decides this is a mystery worth solving as the poke and prod the building for clues and they end up in one of the back alleys all looking for a secret entrance. Not wanting to cause a scene, Drackuss decides to disguise himself as Core, our government official patron so he can hand wave away any nosey villagers who notice us totally not criminals slinking out behind a shop full to the brim with magical artifacts. After several more failed attempts to break into the place either to look for clues or so Vieraen can steal his dagger, the group decides they should notify Core because this is worrying and obviously someone further up the chain should be told about this. Core arrives out the back of the shop to see the group and his doppelganger that was Drackuss as they go over everything, Core admits it is a bit weird that the shop is closed and if they have any other ideas to get in. Vieraen thinks for a second and pulls out the fireball gem that honestly started this whole mess and mentions if they throw it at the door it should get through and as a group they all decide that yes, this is the way forward and the gem is yeeted at the building. The gem containing a charged fireball. Surprising literally everyone, it explodes and sets some of the neighbouring fences on fire but with no damage to the shop, y’know because it’s a magic shop and has preventative measures for this. Someone mentions that they should get Eridol down here to help treat any of the mild injuries, Vieraen takes it upon himself to call the cleric over their necklaces. With non existent panic in his voice he shouts “Eridol, you should come quick, someone’s about to die”, which gets a genuinely panicked response from the still recovering cleric that he was on his way.Realising that Eridol would be expecting to see some kind of injury, Vieraen turns to Drackuss and asks the now evil paladin if he could “Stab me real bad” which is really all Drackuss needs to hear as he turns on the drow and Vieraen realizes sometime between the first and second hits this was maybe a mistake because Drackuss is actually trying to kill him. Chaos ensues as Vieraen attempts to get away from his would be executioner, Whisky jumps up and tries to stun the dragonborn as Core and Tornur trade throwing themselves in front of the drow rogue with arcane shields a plenty to absorb the hits. No one knows what is happening, Drackuss is on the war path and obviously willing to cut them all down to get to Vieraen. Someone gets on the necklaces to let Eridol know that Drackuss has gone insane which is another heaping spoonful of terror Eridol tries to keep down as he is running through the streets, still covered in gore from his exhibition match in the pits. While Core and Tornur protect Vieraen, Core yells for Whisky to get out and that she needs to find Eridol. Whisky nods and takes off as fast as her tiny feline legs can go. Now without one of their trump cards to slow drackuss down, Tornur comes up with a plan and conjures a thick cube of webbing to restrict the raging paladin and slow him down long enough for Core to cast haste on everyone and get a glimpse of the cursed shield in Drackuss’ possiession. Between the haste, Vieraen’s innate knowledge of the city and Drackuss’ restricted movements they all get away and start running back towards the fight pits to regroup and call on the city guards. With his prey getting away, Drackuss knows the opportunity is lost and starts heading back to the barracks to either funnel everyone into a killbox or to gather supplies and leave to survive another day.

Halfway across the city, Eridol is running as fast as he can towards the magic shop and where the fight should be taking place, hoping the panic he felt from Vieraen’s message mingling with his abject fear that has been there since Drackuss cut him down are hidden well enough by his pure need to protect his friends. Between being so exhausted and being nearly out of spells he almost misses Whisky as she clambers over a nearby roof. He does the only thing he can think off and pushes divine light into his shield to use as a beacon. The two meet up shortly before the remainder of the not evil friends turn up. All looking worse for wear, no one knows what’s going on. Eridol realizes that Drackuss would need to head back to the barracks to pick up supplies and that they would either be walking into a trap or an empty building. Without a second thought, Eridol asks that everyone stay safe, turns to Core and says “We will take care of this … I … I can take care of this” not trying to hide the panic and fear as he starts running towards the barracks, Core curses under his breath and turns to Whisky, Vieraen and Tornur and says he would understand if they don’t want to come before getting in touch with some guardsmen and running after Eridol. Of course nobody listens to either of them as Vieraen, Whisky and Tornur book it after their tiny guardian towards a very possible death.

#Tactyl Ymon #DnD Recap #Eridol #Whisky #Tornur #Veiraen #Drackuss #Emmi #dnd

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iamalivenow · 5 years ago

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Everything hurts.

She's not surprised so much as disappointed in herself. The sun beats down on her so hard, and the light is practically blinding, so she closes her eyes. Easy enough, one of them is already swelled shut, dry blood crusting along her cheek. She doesn't know how long she lays there, waiting for the pain to either pass or finally overtake her. She's angry, she's sad, there are tears slowly pooling, and in the heat, she's surprised they're not just streaming off of her face. And then the sun is blotted out.

“Oban.” He says, after he takes care of her, cleans her up and fixes her wounds and sits her down in front of a fire. His skin is red, and his eyes are yellow, and his wings are flesh where hers are bone. He sits close to her, but for once, she doesn't feel threatened or horrified or irritated by the infiltration of space. Or maybe she's just too tired too. “Orphanmaker.” She says, tries to say, all that comes out is a hoarse whisper followed by a cough, and he pulls off his own water skin and places it to her lips. “Do fiends need water?” Maybe she should have repeated her name again instead. “I travel around a lot. Meet so very many strangers in need of rescuing. If you like, you can hold on to that. I have another one, though it is filled with wine at the moment and something tells me we will both not be in need of it for quite some time.” Yasha drinks more water. He could kill her, he could do it so easily because she sees his blade at his side inches from a clawed hand. She had her weapons taken from her, she had nothing to defend herself with. But he doesn't. Instead, he pats her shoulder and tells her he'll be back. There's not a lot to stare at around the small camp, so she sits against the mountain wall and soaks in the warmth of the fire, and the temperature drops lower and lower. Oban comes back with meat, still dripping and offers to cook it for her but she all but tears it out of his hands. When more than half of it is gone, she swallows and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before offering it to Oban. “Oh, I'm more than alright. After all, I caught it for you, Orphanmaker. I would feel guilty if I were to take it away from you.” So he had caught her name after all. “Alright.” She mumbles, and eats the rest slowly. Well, slower.

.x.

“And you go into town like this?” She asks, leaning against the trunk of an overturned tree. “Of course not.” He laughs. His eyes twinkle and then with a curl of his hand, a thin drow stands in front of her, long hair tucked between long ears, no horns, no wings. “Dapper, no? Those who live here are so accepting if you show them a little coin they don't even bother looking closer.” He places one elegant, dainty finger under his left eye and lowers the skin there, waiting. She humors him and walks over to get a closer look, and sure enough, yellow blinks back at her. His same soft eyes. “Huh.” She says. “I'll buy you a new sword, yes? What kind do you prefer- bigger ones, I suppose. Yes, certainly, bigger ones for someone like you. I'll see if I can find something lovely and special for you.” She'd ask, but if he's stupid enough to buy a weapon for her, there's really no need to waste the breath. The Wastes make everyone a little unhinged. Oban leaves, demure and playful, and comes back with a greatsword broader than his- his current chest. There's good heft to it, and she can grasp the pommel with both hands and Swing, and the blade sings through the air and the vision of it carving through the flesh of those who took Zuala from her come so easily. She can practically smell the iron, taste it on her tongue, when Oban coughs, and she finally notices the other man with him. An orc, almost as tall as she is. He has a measuring tape. Oban rattles off instructions, and the Orc nods along, breathing heavily while he measures her for her new armor. They don't sleep in the town. They sit around a fire Oban makes for them, drow gone and replaced by that warm red again. He tells her about the Angel of Irons and about the Calamity and about the King That Crawls, and she finds it shockingly easy to fall asleep to his voice.

.x.

“You're very nice.” She says, on the back of a moorbounder Oban borrowed from a raiding party they cut through. “For a Fiend.” “And you're very quiet for a Celestial.” She shrugs, and Oban laughs. She doesn't bother asking how he knows she's Aasimar. What else could she be, looking the way she does in the Wastes. His back is warm, and as the moorbounder leaps and lands and they rock against each other, she closes her eyes, rests her head on his shoulder and loops her hands around his waist. “Where are we going?” “To meet more friends, allays, those who know the true calling and want nothing more then to help us free what has been locked away.” His wings twitch under her weight. Big leathery things that she's gotten used to sleeping under with the weather gets particularly awful. They meet with another fiend, this one blue and with a tail that can't stop swishing as they chitter back and forth in abyssal. She only picks up on a word or two. She thinks they talk about battle strategy. Or some kind of strategy. The blue one keeps nervously glancing at her, at her sword where it's seethed over her back. Yasha makes a face, and it actually takes a step back, tail long and nervous, almost ramrod straight. Oban switches to common at some point, and she almost doesn't notice. “Orphanmaker.” He says, and she takes a step forward, lifting her hand up to grasp the hilt. It's been long since she's had a real fight. “Oban-” And then the rest is hissed in Abyssal, sharp and nervous and scared and good, so good, so exactly what makes her blood boil. She unsheathes her sword, and the thing actually takes a step back. She sees so many familiar faces on its body that she can hardly be blamed for lunging. Oban doesn't stop her until there's nothing but mush at her feet. Doesn't stop her even then. “Isn't that better?” He asks, hovering in the air with his beautiful wings so that the filth doesn't get on his boots. “Yeah.” She whispers. It is. It's finally easier to breathe.

.x.

They have a proper camp now, with tents. And others, a small raiding party all her own. Two more fiends, a dragonborn, and a bugbear, all so eager. They listen to Oban preach about their Lady of Irons while she sits beside him and polishes her blade. When she bothers to look up, she sees they believe him, they want her free just as bad as Oban does. They want the Calamity again. They want what's been taken to be returned. She's firmly of the same opinion. She has her own tent. It's lonely. She supposes she should be grateful, when Oban slips into her tent and lays beside her. For a moment she thinks he's going to proposition her, but- no. They just lay side by side, staring at each other. On a whim, she tells him about Zuala. He tells her the Angel could give her back. Somehow, she believes him.

.x.

There are years of traveling together. Her and Oban and their party. Ruthless and bloodthirsty and always searching for answers. They fall into bed together once, after a raid that results in a map so fragile she's scared to even look at it for more than a few seconds at a time. She's almost blind drunk, and even Oban tilts after every step. They're both so giddy with the looming promise of finally, finally, finally, that it seems almost second nature. It's not great. Or good, even. It's barely fine. Yasha's only slept with women in the past, and Oban's never slept with anyone at all, and it's only the alcohol that brings them together, but afterward, when her back hurts a little, and her head is already starting to pound, they lay in her tent together, bodies flushed against each other, and he whispers gospels in abyssal into her ear, that's fine. And good. And very exceptionally great. She likes to imagine that Zuala would have liked him, just as much as she does. Not enough to take him to bed, gods, no one should ever take him to bed, but when he talks, it's music and flowers and the skies parting to a brighter future. She likes to imagine their home together, the three of them, close and careful, with a garden of so many different flowers. Stalks so tall Yasha couldn't even see above them. She likes to imagine Zuala with them now, in her uncomfortable tent, hunting for their Lady of Irons together, hunting for retribution together. She could protect them both. So much better then she had before.

.x.

There's a giant between them and the tunnels. Under any other circumstance, Oban would have insisted on a different route, around or deceit or something else, but they can feel how close they are. She thinks she hears singing at nights, and when she asks Oban, he nods too. The first time Oban sees her wings, there's half dead giant between them and answers. And it's raining. Because it almost always rains when she cries. Everything hurts, the exhaustion is heavy, and the tears come unbidden. She screams through them, deep from her chest, in Abyssal like the others do, and when her sword becomes too heavy, too tiring to heft, her wings rip out of her back, and the giant actually staggers back. Afterwards, before they retract into their nest of blood and muscle, Oban runs his fingers over them. “Stronger than mine, Orphanmaker, but of course they are, they're attached to you.” “They don't work.” She bites out as she wipes the smeared ash off of her cheeks where it ran down her face. “Oh, they do.” He says and presses a tiny kiss into her shoulder. “Just because you don't fly doesn't mean they don't work. They make my blood run cold, and my skin stand on edge , and they bring you closer to the Angel. So many wondrous gifts.” “It would be cooler if I could fly.” Oban laughs, and it's so warm that she almost doesn't feel her wings scrape against her spine when they retreat inside of her.

.x.

She remembers it so vividly, so quickly and so brutally that it almost knocks her off of her feet. She's a monster- a monster for leaving him and a monster for betraying her friends on top of that- she drives her blade through Nott- Nott of all people- and grits her teeth harder. More and more memories, more and more of her friends look at her horrified, more and more footsteps that run further and further away from her. Oban's body is mush at her feet, nothing left of him, just like there's nothing left of her friends. She remembers Jester's scream just as much as she remembers Oban's laughter now. She helps the Hand beat down gate after gate after gate, body moving through the motions, and so many faces keep freezing themselves in front of her, frowning, crying. She's lost people she still can't remember. She wasn't even there when- Monster.

#cr #critical role #cr2 #cr spoilers #writing #full fic #long post

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dungeoneering102 · 7 years ago

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Monster Mondays #2: Goblins

Goblins. How can you not love them? They’re tiny, adorable, mischievous, adorable, horribly brutal and bloodthirsty... OH and really damn adorable. But recently, a DM friend of mine was telling me how she has trouble with goblins. Due to them having very low stats, most DMs send a handful against a party, and end up causing a TPK, because they underestimated the gobbos. So, let’s take a close look at the little green scoundrels.

STATS

AC: 15 (leather armor + shield) or 13 (without shield)

Average likelihood of being hit by PCs: 30 - 45%

HP: 7 (min 2, max 12)

Highest skill: Stealth +6

Senses: Darkvision 60 ft.

Average Damage dealt per Round: 6 (3-8) slashing or piercing.

Probability of hitting the PCs: 50 - 75% (on average)

Unique Features:

.Nimble Escape: The goblin can Disengage or Hide as a Bonus Action

Language: Goblin. The goblins can fluently talk, write, and read goblin-ese.

Other Creatures that Dwell in the Same Environment: Goblins are civilized. They hang out with other goblinoids (bugbears & hobgoblins), more powerful humanoids (orc bandits, drow wizards), and with animals that they have tamed (worgs, dire wolves, blood hawks, owlbears, bears in general, almost any forest critter you can think of , death dogs). Other creatures that accompany goblins include druids, ogres (and onies), hill giants, and sometimes kobolds.

With the numbers done, lets move on to Strategy talk...

ANALYSIS

From reading the facts above (and the stat-block in the book), the following things should be made clear...

Goblins are hard to get a good hit on. With an average attack modifier of +3, most players will miss half the time, remember this! That said, most goblins will go down in 1-2 hits (for a level 1 party). That said, a single goblin won’t last long against a Party of PCs.

Goblins have two attacks: scimitar (melee) and shortbow (ranged). This makes goblins very versatile creatures, able to fight both face-to-face, and from afar. Keep in mind, on average they deal about 6 points of damage. This means a few hits against your Lv.1 Wizard will KO him. Keep this in mind when you consider...

Goblins are very good at stealth. The Nimble Escape feat allows them to run out of most battle encounters and attempt to stealth into the background. Remember: an creature in stealth cannot be hit by direct attacks. Being able to pop in and out of cover gives goblins a major advantage.

So then, let’s talk strategy...

STRATEGY

I’ll let you in on a little secret. In D&D, combat is primarily influenced by the number of participants. Whichever side has more people will have the greater advantage, because that side will get to attack more. A band of 3 goblins is disadvantaged against a party of 5 PCs, because each goblin will get 1 hit in, while the party will get AT LEAST 5. Meanwhile, a band of 6 goblins already means one of the PCs will get hit more than once, which at levels 1-3 could be deadly. So consider the following strategies for making a compelling goblin fight.

Strategy 1: United We Stand.

Goblins are rogue creatures. They are not meant to fight anyone alone. So first off, never just throw 1-2 goblins against your Party. Even if you party consists of 3 players, 1-2 goblins is nothing to them. You could make the fight tougher by throwing some 6-7 goblins against your 3 Level 1 PCs. But that’s just unfair, and you can’t expect the Party to try and fight their way out of it. Instead consider the term of the month: diversity.

And I don’t mean in terms of representation. I mean enemy diversity. See, the fastest way to make a fight hard, is by throwing in two different TYPES of enemies. If you have a bunch of fighters, that’s fine, anyone can deal with those. But add a goblin shaman (fancy name for “wizard”) and suddenly, the Party formation is broken, they have to multitask. Add a few sneaky ranged goblins, some super tough goblins, and voila, the Party has to keep switching their combat strategies. They can’t just stand and swing their swords anymore, they have to coordinate, protect one another (especially the wizard).

If you want to take this another step further, don’t just stop at goblins. Goblins are civilized (somewhat) and can train wild animals or use food to bait ogres and giants to guard their camps. Use this to your advantage. Imagine: in the middle of the fight, goblins trying their best to hold PCs when suddenly BOOM a hill giant climbs over the battlement and attacks the PCs. Using a different type of an enemy will result again in PCs multitasking, which is where difficulty comes in hand. They’ll have to prioritize, plan, and actually think, instead of mindlessly rolling d20s. Remember, the more diverse your baddies, the harder it becomes for your PC.

WARNING: Don’t go too crazy with this either. Don’t over-diversify your band of goblins, or have there be some 20 odd goblins against your 3 level 1 PCs. Remember to keep it fair. Look at their AC and HP and try to imagine how easy it would be for your PCs to bring it down, before you throw it into the fray.

Method 2: Cannon Fodder.

Goblins are hard to hit, move fast, hide well, and die in one hit. For this reason, goblins make PERFECT cannon fodder. They are great at making PCs burn resources and chipping away at their health. So send small bands of goblins (2-3 goblins). Or instead, have the PCs infiltrate a base filled with goblins, forcing them to either sneak past (which your Paladin will not be able to do, trust me), or fight through small guard posts filled with goblins (and some accompanying allies, like worgs, wolves, etc.) The main focus shouldn’t be on the goblin, instead it should be at their leader.

Goblins are sneaky and very survivable, but they are also somewhat dumb, and easily fall under the influence of their, smarter goblinoid cousins. Consider: hobgoblin. A goblinoid with both intelligence and brawn [we shall discuss goblinoids at a later time]. The whole point of the goblin outposts, of the small skirmishes the Party has with the goblin guards, is to build up leader of the goblins. With their resources wasted, the Party comes up against some hobgoblin or bugbear, with a big pet wolf or something of the like, and suddenly, this fight that seemed pretty easy becomes deadly difficult to the PCs. They are drained, tired, and barely can stand together. The goblin here, sacrifice themselves, for the sake of helping their leader have an easier time fighting the Party. Because even with easy battles, the Party uses up potions, scrolls, spell slots, daily feats, etc.

If the fight is still easy, you can always just throw in a few more goblins that have come to help their boss, or were awaiting in their bosses chamber for an ambush. Whatever you want.

And with that we end our talk of goblins. I hope you have learned some new cool things from this. If not, I still hope you enjoyed the read. Please message me telling me what parts you liked, disliked, what could I change, what could I keep the same. Your comments are priceless to me.

The Unfair DM

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wigmund · 7 years ago

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Thanks to binge-watching Critical Role and the ever-present influence of Adventure Zone, I’ve been trying to remember all of the RPG characters I’ve played over the past 18 years. Sadly I can’t remember most of their names as I’ve lost/thrown away the character sheets.

D&D 3.0 and 3.5 (All pre-2004 except for the last one which was last year, everyone after Corwin were 3.5)

Half-Orc Paladin, very first character from 2000 when 3.0 was first released and a friend’s family ran a campaign. I think I named him something like XXXX Warhawk because my early online screen names revolved around that.

Drow Rogue, first character as part of a misfit characters campaign

Lizardfolk Fighter, second character in the campaign after the drow died

Corwin, Halfling Fighter (Sling-focused) heading towards the halfing slinger and houndrider prestige classes. Campaign ended up being reset

Killian Thunderwyrm, Human Barbarian/Monk/Fighter that was executed for absolutely murdering someone in a bar brawl (possibly possessed after torching a book of vile darkness during a fight in a vampire lair)

Raphael d’Waterdhavian, Tiefling Rogue who had a half-Celestial daughter he was protecting (named Celeste because I’m so damned creative), he ended up dying HARD in a fight and she transformed into a fiendish thing

Orson, Human Barbarian/Druid who was a pretty scary spellcasting shapeshifting tank - ended several fights using baleful polymorph and raging magic-boosted wild shaping. Campaign ended due to fallout among the players

Antonin Blackblade, Human Anti-Paladin as part of an evil campaign of backstabbers exploring a tomb. Died

Krogan Bonebreaker, Half-Ogre Fighter replacement in the evil campaign which ended abruptly shortly afterwards

Griff the Mercenary, Human Fighter who died when I could do nothing but roll natural one’s in a fight against some orcs

Hob, Hobgoblin Monk that was sadly short-lived as well

Yung, Half-Elf Psion (Telepath) who was to be a replacement but the campaign ended before he could show up

Michael Sorel, Human Fighter (Spiked Chain/Trip nastiness)

Bran, Druid in a campaign I played last year. Campaign ended quickly due to infighting and so on.

D&D Online (from 2006-2007, stopped playing due to everything costing money)

Baccano - Drow Monk

Crowchild - Half-Elf Ranger/Rogue (Two-weapon fighting)

Dustbin - Warforged Necromancer with a jaunty top hat from that circus event

Heksdottir - Human Fighter - two-weapon fighter named such because hell was a censored word

Mawr - Warforged Cleric

Morgrave d’Ghallanda - Halfing Barbarian/Bard

Orson Thunderwyrm - Human Barbarian/Fighter (Warhammer and Shield)

Shadowrun (~2001)

Harry McDougal - a hacker/explosives expert that was named while I was watching Outlaw Star. He started a running battle with the Seattle police that involved him shooting several police and news copters. Became a villain

Malcom - a pistol-focused detective that was in no way inspired by Vash the Stampede

Deadlands (~2001)

Some gunslinger that I never got to play because it never got past the character creation stage

Might as well toss the main characters I’ve done in Fallout games and Skyrim too since I’m listing out RPG characters. I generally played item-hoarding snipers who also maxed out other skills until recently because I was just out to complete the games and get 100% as much as possible, however in Skyrim and Fallout 4 I did develop a couple of specific characters

Skyrim

Lyka - very tiny Breton Two-Weaponsmaster and Werewolf, she likes to smash and tear and hang out with her reformed vampire not-girlfriend (Please patch to allow option to romance Serana without marriage) despite joining Dawnguard. Also backed the Empire because fuck racists and being called nasty names by Nords. Her greatsword was as big as she was in human form.

Bashful - Nord War Mage who was predominantly out for the big explosions and summoning meat-shields allies. Backed the Stormcloaks and the Vampires just so I could see their miissions at least once, otherwise he was neutral on the Civil War and the Dawnguard-Vampire war. Ridiculously apathetic about stuff, except for Miraak because the asshole kept sending cultists to harass him at home. He looked like Lemmy Kilmister because you could do it with the character creator.

Whisper - Khajiit Assassin/Thief who abused the game’s sniping tactics because fuck having to pull a sword. Backed the empire because fuck racists along with the Dawnguard because Vampires aren’t as fun to steal from. He had a habit of sneaking into people’s homes to steal everything not nailed down and then stare at the homeowners.

Fallout 4

Ripley - Power armor specialist with an intense affection for melee weapons and big heavy guns. She was rather upset her husband was apparently dead. Before finding out he was alive, she was being recruited by the Brotherhood of Steel because they had all the fun explosive shit.

Deckard - Sniper who met his wife during the Great War as support to her armor squad, headcanon storyline is he actually survived the headshot but was unconcious in the still-working cryo chamber for a year or so. He was rescued by settlers from Sanctuary exploring the vault for tech and resources. Ended up tracking down his wife and managed to convince her to join the Minutemen and Railroad because fuck racists and eugenicists.

#long post #wig ocs #d&d #dungeons and dragons #shadowrun #d&d online #deadlands #fallout #skyrim

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diceprophet · 7 years ago

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D&D 5e Game #7 Notes

Session 7: Chamber of the Eclipse

Last time, we left our chaotic band of six as they found themselves face-to-face with a murderous zin-carla and its sired zombie minions. Link to Previous Session Notes The undead drow declared itself as Dewein’agal, a loyal sword to Matron Mother Kovarra, and planned to add the party’s corpses to his growing army. The moment we resumed, the battle was on!

Part 1: Return to Sender

The aarakocra Cheedit and Kweh took to the heights and unleashed deadly accurate arrows and scorching fireballs upon the undead, respectively. The piercing strikes barely affected the undead (house-ruling from Pathfinder), but their desiccated flesh and tattered armor caught flame easily. Thus they uncovered the properties of zombies and how to counteract their resistances and exploit their weaknesses. Lyra also learned about the ease of igniting the undead, and Lao was forced to put aside his fists and resorted to fighting with a chef’s knife. Gradually, they whittled away at the thrashing corpses until they were no more. The half-orc barbarian Vakgar (surprisingly) held his own in a mostly one-on-one duel with Dewein’agal, and both were reduced to a bloodied state over the course of an intense clash. As Vakgar is within arm’s reach of a glorious victory, a dark shadow emerged and stole away his joy. And by that, I mean that the drow rogue Tebryn entered the fray at the last moment and dealt the slaying blow to the zin-carla, in a hilariously well-timed kill-steal.

As the zin-carla expired, the remaining zombies under his control also perished. During the fight, Tebryn almost lost his cowl, which would’ve revealed to the party his true identity as an Underdark fugitive. Thankfully, none of the players were perceptive enough to notice. But before the wraith perished, a disembodied female voice called out with an accusatory “YOU!” as it viewed through the eyes of its undead servant. Tebryn realized not be a safe as he thought in the coming days. Along with securing the kill, he also haphazardly picked up the defeated wraith’s two-handed greatsword after Vakgar scorned the elvish weapon. “A crossguard? Really? Are drow that afraid of hurting their delicate little fingers?” Upon grasping the handle (OF THE CURSED SWORD, GODDAMMIT), Tebryn felt a surge of cold and necrotic energy enter his body, followed by thoughts of wanton murder and destruction. This will go well.

Part 2: The Secret Tunnel

With all threats neutralized, they could easily explore the dark tower. At the top floor, there was a lighthouse-like chamber containing a heliocentric model of realmspace (i.e. planetary models). The orb representing Sol (i.e the sun) was glowing with radiant energy. Beside the the model, at the center of the room, the party beheld a plaque containing an elvish poem.

What had two faces, but now only shows one? What shines brightest, and is second to none? What’s caught between two, a torn-in half soul? Aligned but apart. Separate, but whole. To touch would be an impossible feat. Under a hole in the sky is where we will meet.

Being savvy players, they easily solved the riddle, and arranged the planets to simulate a solar eclipse (”a hole in the sky”). This action opened up a secret path underground. The party deduced that this is what Dewein’agal was guarding, but was unable to re-enter due to the nature of the sun orb’s radiant energy greatly damaging his zombie-like form. The six took an extended rest before descending into the depths.

The next challenge was a large stone corridor that could seemingly roll over and cast the entire party into a void. The door at the far end of the hallway had an elven-looking statue engraved upon it. At the beginning, both hands were crossed over its chest. But once the mechanism activated, one of the hands uncrossed and presented an open palm, as if expecting something to be placed there. On opposing sides of the entrance, there were two heart-like jewels presented by a pair of elf statues. Vakgar and Lao both took a wild guess as an unseen gear turned with a rhythmic clicking. One at a time, they transferred the two heart jewels to the other side, ultimately giving both hearts to the door sentry. With this successful solution, the party safely entered the deepest level.

Inside the final chamber, they beheld a scenic artificial river on the far end of the room. Above, there was a glass ceiling that showed a wondrous view of the night sky. Along with the beautiful architecture, there were also remnants of a vicious battle, as evident by the charred and shredded corpses strewn across the floor. A path lead even deeper underground, and the tunnel was outlined with countless claw-like marks, indicating the passage of some horrible creature. The party was interested in an Underdark excursion, so they kept searching for more clues of what exactly happened.

Part 3: Forbidden Love

There was an ornate door that displayed the scorched outline of a humanoid. Below the haunting silhouette there was a pile of burned remains amidst fine grey ashes. This person was obliterated by a massive fireball, but not before placing an arcane lock upon a door. Tebryn attempted to outsmart the constantly shifting pins, at great danger to his own personal health. Cheedit searched the dust pile and procured a partially expended Necklace of Fireballs. They realized that this poor soul had detonated their own magic item in a last-ditch, suicidal attempt to protect whatever or whoever was behind the door. After getting fed up with Tebryn’s fumbling and futile attempts to make progress, Cheedit offered using a fireball to destroy the door outright.

Beyond the door, they found a large bed laid with fine cloths. A slain moon elf laid facedown, one hand still holding a curved silver sword, and the other...clutching the hand of a dead drider. Tebryn then realized that this well-decorated (save for the dead bodies) and elaborate chamber wasn't a dungeon; it was a site for a lover's tryst. But it would've taken two people to pass the trapped bridge. A few INT checks later, the party finally understood.

An unnamed drow priestess, through some series of unknown events, had come to love a sun and moon elf. The three met in secret for some time, but their happiness did not last forever. Calamity bubbled up from below as the drow was discovered, captured, and cruelly punished. She was transformed into drider, which broke her physically and spiritually, and unleashed upon her former lovers along with a squad of killers led by the aforementioned zin-carla. In the end, only the latter "survived", but was trapped on the surface. So there he stayed to keep the truth from ever spreading. With Dewein’agal’s death, the party had closed the chapter upon a tragic dance of the sun, moon, and the darkness between them.

Part 4: The Hungry Darkness

After looting the final area, the group prepared to leave the depressing site. But suddenly, a trio of hungry carrion crawlers, drawn up by the commotion, emerged from the Underdark! And this is where we adjourned our session.

WILL THE PARTY SURVIVE TO SEE THE NEXT SUNRISE?! Only the dice know.

Part 5: Dungeon Master’s Closing Thoughts

When I first sat down to design this dungeon for my Storm King's Thunder party, I wanted to keep it simple and direct. Four hours later, the dungeon became the site of a forbidden polycule of a drow, sun elf, and moon elf. I realized that I had completely gone off the rails from sleep deprivation and holidays-induced stress. But I also decided, “Fuck it. I'm just gonna run this shit. 50 Shades of Fey up in this bitch. I'll throw myself upon my own vorpal sword in disgrace after the session completes.”

I’d admit that the end result was some straight-up Korean drama level schlock; melodramatic, cheesy as fuck, and cornier than anything I've ever written.

But apparently, the players enjoyed it. WHEW! So I will count that as a win in our book! As long as we all have fun, it can’t all be bad, right? I can’t wait for the next session, and to continue the adventure with these most excellent players! Farewell for now!

Please check us on out Twitch, and follow for more tabletop skullduggery!

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nevofthewilds · 5 years ago

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Session 13: The Tournament of Champions (Part I)

With the lots having been cast into the chalice, the Mudwangs waited expectantly. Though only 3 had entered their names- Rucker alone, Taerus and Vax as a team- Shakan and Gusten both shared in the excitement, along with the other tribesmen of Kijiwan’s clan. After some celebration in the combatants honor, they found their rest in expectation for the event to come.

The next day, they found a notice at a local crosspath, notifying combatants to meet at the amphitheatre at midday. With a few hours before the presser, the group again split to attend to personal errands. Taerus joined Vax in going to fetch his commissioned pieces, while Shakan and Rucker aimed to try and gain some intel about the games or the Wild Wevir leader, Hallehaig.

The knight and the warlock made their way back towards the entrance of the camp, where Vax had met with the armorer the day previously. Finding his tent flap closed, the two tried to mingle with the neighbors. Two leatherworkers, frightened by the drow’s complexion, at first could barely utter a word. After convincing them he wasn’t there to kill them and declining their wares, it was suggested to Vax he try knocking on the tent, which he admittedly hadn’t tried.

As Vax moved to the armorers tent, Taerus went to speak with vivacious dwarves, who appeared to be preparing for the tournament. A loud and boisterous dwarf by the name of Kazrik Stormbringer teased the knight, recommending he stay out of his way in the arena. Taerus skillfully avoided offending the proud band, and in fact earned their begrudging approval as they discussed strategy in the upcoming fights.

Vax finally roused the dazed half-orc and inquired about his orders. The armorer proffered a specially made targe, highlighting it’s defensive and offensive features. Vax gratefully accepted, but then wondered about his custom rapier. At this, the armorer seemed to shudder for a moment, and then uttered a gravelly warning about his gifts not being appreciated. As Taerus rejoined his partner, and before Vax could respond, the half-orc shook his head and apologized for not fulfilling the order, as he wasn’t feeling himself. With the extra savings, Vax and Taerus purchased matching half-cape and bandana from the leatherworkers.

Shakan and Rucker moved through the crowds, keeping an ear out for any discussions about the tournament. The genasi came across a well armored knight, who was in the midst of wooing a young, doe-eyed girl. Overhearing him speaking about the challenges of combat, Shakan attempted to work his way into the conversation with great difficulty. As the knight grew increasingly annoyed, Shakan was able to glean some information regarding the formats- the single combat (which the knight was entered in,) would be a straightforward affair, while the team events featured a sort of race or obstacle course. Not wishing to press his luck anymore, Shakan removed himself from the courting.

The four reunited and made their way to the Western end of the lake, where they were joined by several dozen other combatants. A great and brooding goliath, dressed in robes and armor, approached the assembly. Rucker’s attention was quickly grabbed, for he had not seen another of his kind for a great while, and this one was older, heavily scarred, and had lithoderms that had grown and hardened from his previous wounds, giving him an sense of being almost erupted from rock itself.

With the groups clamor quickly brought to silence as he stepped forward, the goliath before without preamble. He made it clear that the Arena was for entertainment, and that whether they fought for honor or glory he cared not a lick. Rather, it should be noted that Hallehaig would be watching, and that he was not looking for good sports. Furthermore, single combatants would be allowed a single weapon and no shields. The teams could carry what they wish, as their hands would be full. With that unceremonious and short briefing, the goliath turned to leave without waiting for questions.

One of the warriors called out, asking what the rules of combat were, or if they were supposed to hold back at all. At that, the goliath muttered out a single word: Win. As the brute returned to his encampment, Rucker rushed after him and tried to gain the acknowledgement of his kinsman, without much success. Taerus and Vax tried to follow, but were held up by a Wild Wevir barbarian clothed in a heavy white pelt of stinking fur, who laughed and warned them to watch themselves in the arena, for there would be many surprises. With a snarl, the barbarian skulked away.

The rest of the day, the Mudwangs planned and thought on what they had learned. Taerus looked in vain for Kijiwan, who had not been seen since the day in her foul mood after returning from a meeting with Hallehaig. Vax pondered the meaning of what an obstacle course would entail, while Rucker meditated and focused his energy on the coming battle. Shakan spent his time writing in his new Enduring Spellbook and researching spells. Gusten offered his services to the Mudwangs, hoping to aid them in the coming bouts. As night overtook the Rattlesnakes Nest once more, each of them thought of their own plans for the morrow, consumed with the excitement and fear of what the Tournament of Champions might hold.

#stagstory #sosm #s13 #rattlesnakenest #tournamentofchampions

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heroineimages · 7 years ago

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Pikes vs Gnolls: Part 1

Hi folks! Hey, so here’s part 1 of another Bree story. I’ve long had kind of a soft-spot for gnolls in the D&D settings and feel like they’re an under- and often poorly utilized monster race---a throwaway monster for leveling adventurers. So it was kind of fun to get to use them as a primary menace in this story. The story takes place a few years into Bree’s mercenary career, shortly before her courship with Becca. As always, any kind of feedback is welcome. Image courtesy Ben Wooten (seriously, folks, check out his awesome gnoll artwork!).

“You’re awake early,” Draxa commented as Bree leaned against a nearby wagon to sip her tea and watch the stars.

“Which is surprising,” Bree admitted, taking another sip. “What Whisperleaf lacks in stature she makes up for in vigor and enthusiasm.”

“I haven’t gotten Halfling cunny in a while,” Draxa mused, leaning against the wagon but keeping those creepy red eyes on the darkened savannah. It was less than hour before dawn, but it was still best to stay alert for gnoll raids. “They’ve got a lot of energy for their size. Tomorrow night I may have to see if any of Lady Clover’s girls are available.”

“And it requires a definite mindset adjustment just to kiss one,” Bree added, scowling into her tea.

“What do you mean?” Draxa asked, glancing up at her.

“They’re the same size as a human child,” Bree answered, still feeling self-conscious about it. “I’m almost twice Whisperleaf’s height, and almost four times her mass. All three Halfling women I’ve slept with said humans are silly for it, but I have to convince myself I’m not a pedophile every time I take one in my arms.”

“Gods, humans have the weirdest hang-ups,” Draxa snorted, smirking that infuriating Drow grin of hers.

“No argument there,” Bree shrugged. “Any gnoll sightings?” she asked, glaring into the darkness. She couldn’t see shit out there, but knew it wasn’t much darker than an overcast morning for Draxa.

“Several,” she reported. “Skulking through the rocks and brush, biding their time, waiting for someone to wander away from camp or do something similarly stupid. They’re surprisingly patient bastards when they want to be. We’ve got a lot of things they want, and they’re willing to wait until they’ve got the numbers to come take it from us.”

“Goods they can trade to the orcs and bugbears in the mountains to the north or the desert-folk to the south, and I’ve heard gnolls love the taste of horses and oxen,” Sergeant Orrin commented, stepping up beside them.

“Don’t forget slave-taking,” Draxa added. “As well as the orc tribes, gnolls trade with several human kingdoms where slavery is legal.”

“Y’know, I’m still kind of surprised you’re here, Sergeant. Didn’t your wife just have a baby the day before we left?” Bree asked, glancing down at him. He was above average height for a human, but still a half-head shorter than Bree.

“Yeah, a beautiful little quarter-elf girl,” Orrin smiled, looking distant. “We named her Adorabella. She’s got my hair and eyes and Becca’s ears.” He grimaced, shaking his head. “Dammit I want to be there—gods know I do. But with a new baby we’re going to need the money more than ever now.”

“But you should be there!” protested a halfling voice that somehow always sounded ironically somber, no matter what his actual mood. Bree glanced up at Tomi Smudders, one of the wagoners for the caravan they were escorting. He sat on the roof of their wagon, endlessly practicing tricks with a yo-yo. “My dear Sergeant Orrin, your wife just had a baby—she and the baby both need you there. Why, if he’d known, Master Thistleprong would have insisted you stay home!”

“Several of us did insist. He didn’t listen,” Draxa commented, crouching to focus on something in the darkness. “Yeah, I see you, ya smug fucker. You know I do,” she murmured into the dark, smirking.

“And Captain Andrew offered me paid leave when he found out,” Orrin admitted, scratching the back of his head over their concern. “But I just can’t accept that kind of… charity. There’re others who need it more.”

“Voin, we’ve got one who won’t take a hint,” Draxa barked suddenly. “Fifteen degrees left, between two bushes, about a hundred and ten feet out, see him?”

“Aye,” the dwarf answered from his hiding place behind a nearby barricade.

His crossbow snapped off a lead bullet into the dark. A canine shriek and chorus of yapping met his shot.

“Hah! Good one, brother,” Draxa celebrated, grinning and pumping her fist as she stood. Bree grinned as well, while Tomi laughed and applauded.

“Well timed, too,” Sergeant Orrin agreed, scratching at his three-day stubble. “Surprisingly, gnolls actually respect those kinds of defiant gestures from their prey.”

“Not that it’ll stop them from skinning you alive and eating you,” Bree added.

“Hells is that racket?” Lieutenant Voria demanded. The black-bearded dwarf matron crossed her arms as she strode up.

“Nothing much,” Draxa shrugged. “Had one cocksucker sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Voin dissuaded him from the notion.”

“That’s the most painful-sounding thing I’ve ever heard of,” Orrin scowled.

“What is?” Tomi asked from his perch atop the wagon.

“Having one’s cock sucked by a gnoll…”

The caravan set off early the next morning, after an uneventful dawn and a quick breakfast. Bree and her pike cohort were part of an eight-hundred-man taskforce from Lady Theodora’s mercenary company, assigned to escort Master Thistleprong’s merchant caravan. The caravan consisted of around a hundred Halfling merchants, workers, and guards with thirty-seven freight and supply wagons of varying sizes.

Led by Captain Andrew, a nephew to Lady Theodora, the taskforce consisted of Lieutenant Jarl’s three-hundred pikes, Lieutenant Voria’s three-hundred-and-forty halberdiers, Lieutenant Dorn’s hundred crossbows, Sergeant Pack’s thirty-four zweihanders, and Sergeant Fiddler’s twenty-two wolf-riding Gnome and Halfling scouts. Additionally, they had around two-dozen healers and spell-casters who had combat training similar to the infantry. Unlike other merc companies Bree knew of, support personnel such as smiths, engineers, cooks, and hunter/foragers also fought in the infantry and crossbow units.

Also unlike many other mercenaries, Lady Theodora’s infantry humped most of their kit and supplies in rucksacks designed to be quickly discarded in combat. In fact, day-marching fifteen or more miles with full armor and kit was the second thing trainees learned—right after learning to march that distance in just armor. This had the dual benefit of keeping the soldiers in shape while reducing the size of their baggage trains.

Not that the infantry failed to bitch about it constantly.

The morning breeze hadn’t warmed as the caravan set off across the savannah. The scout-riders loped off into the brush and tall grass, watching for gnoll-sign. Bree settled the pike on her shoulder as they set off down the eastern caravan road.

In what came as a minor blessing, her unit’s pikes were shorter than usual for this mission—nine feet compared to the usual fifteen. The reason had to do with usability on the brushy savannah: the longer the pike, the better the chance of it getting hung up in the sage. Aside from their pikes and halberds, the mercenaries carried side-arms at their hips and kite shields across their backs for when fighting got too close. But, frankly, with the gnolls’ size and reach advantages, polearms and great swords were simply better options than broadswords and maces.

Padded surcoat over steel chainmail over quilted gambeson was standard-issue armor for all of Lady Theodora’s mercenaries—scouts, healers, siege engineers, and spell-casters included. Those who wished could purchase mithral, darksteel, or enchanted mail or pay for metal or hardened-leather breastplates or pauldrons to go with their mail. The only exceptions were the lady’s banner guard who all wore full-plate infantry armor. There were twelve of them currently marching as part of Sergeant Pack’s zweihanders.

A human abjuration sorceress named Penelope marched between Bree’s formation and the wagons, using her spear as a walking stick but carrying a mace and buckler as well. Like the rest of the infantry, she wore mail with a surcoat and kettle helm. The ability and willingness to march and fight in armor were requirements for all spell-casters in Lady Theodora’s company, whether sorcerers, clerics, wizards, or druids. Her ladyship expected her casters to be right in amid the rest of her soldiers, ready to aid their fellow mercenaries with protective or strengthening spells at a moment’s notice. Too, making spell-casters dress like the rest of the army helped camouflage them from wiseass enemy archers who liked to snipe the magical-support at the outset of battle.

The Halfling caravan guards, for their part, wore padded, leather, or light chain armor and carried spears, slings, and various short blades. They were competent, scrappy little fighters, but Bree had yet to see them demonstrate much soldierly training or coordination. The wagons rolled along in two lines with plenty of space in between for the guards and mercs to move about.

Bree marched with Sergeant Orrin’s half of the pikes, three abreast along the right side of the caravan, defending the southern flank. Lieutenant Jarl’s half defended the north flank. The halberds were divided into four units, marching before and behind the pikes, thus defending the phalanx’s flanks when they turned to meet an attack. The crossbows and zweihanders marched between the wagons, but in position to respond to attacks from either direction.

Since this was an escort mission, the archers carried light, quick-reloading crossbows and wore light pavises across their backs in lieu of the tall, tower pavises used in open-field battles. The pavises provided cover from projectiles while reloading or skirmishing. For melee they carried swords, hand axes, or maces.

Along noontime, there’d been a few sightings of gnoll scouts when a crossbowman hollered a warning, pointing southeast. A flurry of dust in the distance heralded one of their scout-riders, riding hell-for-leather toward the caravan, a small horde of gnolls in pursuit. The Halfling’s riding-wolf was faster, technically, but the gnolls could pivot better and knew how to navigate the rocks and brush supremely well.

It soon became apparent that the rider had a passenger with him, slowing his wolf considerably. The wolf juked and dodged supremely well, gnoll arrows and darts striking the dirt all around her. The skilled rider somehow managed to keep himself and his charge from spilling from the saddle.

Bree heard Captain Andrew order forward the front column of pikes and halberds with crossbow support to cover the rider’s retreat. Dropping their kit and charging in with pikes ready, Bree and thirty of Sergeant Orrin’s group formed three lines with a dozen halberds on each flank. She heard Penelope and two or three other mages behind the line, casting Mass Protection from Arrows on the front line of infantry.

Around twenty yards from the pikes, the fleeing wolf took a hit to her left shank, tossing both riders. From her position in the second rank, Bree grimaced as the Halfling and his charge hit the dirt, tumbling several feet further. The passenger looked to be an elf or half-elf girl, very young and only slightly smaller than the Halfling rider. Neither seemed to be rising.

“Secure the wounded!” Sergeant Orrin barked, ordering his pikes forward.

Bree and the others hollered the company’s battle-cry, charging in, pikes lowered. As they rushed in, at least fifty gnolls charged in from the scrub brush, yapping their noisy-assed heads off. The lead gnoll took Sergeant Berl’s pike in the face as it tried to pounce on the wounded Halfling rider. A second later the air filled with dust, screams, yaps, and the clash of weapons as the charging gnolls clashed with the charging mercenaries.

Ahead of her, Bree saw a mace-wielding gnoll swat Corporal Grom’s pike out of the way, attempting to charge within the pikes’ reach. Reacting as she’d been trained, Bree stabbed her pike forward as the gnoll advanced, catching him in the flank. Though the blow didn’t break the gnoll’s chainmail, the spearhead’s tip lodged far enough between the links to slice a wicked gash in its side. The injury threw the gnoll off balance, allowing a Tiefling pikewoman beside Bree to stab the fucker in the side of its neck, killing it.

Perhaps a half-dozen gnolls fell with several others wounded before figuring out that they couldn’t just batter their way through the wall of pikes. Sergeant Orrin’s formation continued to shove the fuckers back, pushing forward until the medics could secure the wounded Halfling, his passenger, and the injured riding-wolf.

Seeing no way through the forest of pikes, the gnolls fell back, drawing bows, javelins, darts, slings, or even just hefting large rocks. Most of these bounced harmlessly off of the Protection From Arrows spells.

“Knees!” Sergeant Orrin bellowed next, ordering the pikes down.

True to their training, the pike soldiers dropped to one knee, angling their pikes forward and bracing them against the ground. Behind them, twenty-odd crossbows let fly against the enraged gnolls. At least a dozen fell, some dead but most wounded by the salvo. Snarling and yapping, the mangy bastards retreated back out of range, using sage and scrub as cover.

The pikes and halberds maintained formation until the medics secured and evacuated the injured Halfling and wolf, their passenger, and four pikemen wounded by projectiles. Though the gnolls stayed well out of range, Corporal Elira’s crossbows kept the infantry covered as they broke formation and withdrew back to the wagons.

“…I figure around two thou, but there weren’t enough time to really count. Fiddle’s keeping up a running skirmish with the slobbery fucks, trying to take some of the pressure off the defenders, but there’s just too many buggers out there,” the scout, Orni, explained as Bree and the others arrived back at the wagons. Orni’s arm hung in a sling as one of the medics gave him a sip from a water skin. “Tha’ elf convoy’s bad outnumbered. I just barely managed to rescue this lass ‘fore I came back to warn ya,” he continued, gesturing to the unconscious sun-elf girl being tended by another pair of medics.

“And goblinoid mercenaries, you said,” Captain Andrew frowned as he considered. “Gods, I hope we didn’t just blunder into an organized uprising. Mostly smaller gobs, or larger ones too?”

“Ah, hobbos, it looked like mostly,” Orni answered, considering. “Hobbos, and some mail-clad bugbears.”

“Master Thistleprong,” Captain Andrew ordered as he stood, turning to the caravan master, “form your wagons up in a defensive encampment. We’ll go no further today.”

“Aye,” Thistleprong acknowledged, turning to issue orders to his wagoners. A former campaigner himself, the master knew well when not to argue with military types.

“Voria, Dorn,” the captain continued, turning to his lieutenants, “I’m taking Sergeant Packs and the zweihanders to try to rescue that convoy. I want volunteer task forces of halberds and crossbows along as well, extra pay for anyone who comes.” Both lieutenants nodded

“Jarl,” he continued, turning to the dwarf pike-master “I’m putting you in charge until I get back. It’s still afternoon, but if we aren’t back by morning, lead the wagons back to the Yewbranch Ford and then north to the Steelforge Townships. They’re closer than trying to get all the way back to Greenhollow.”

“Aye,” Jarl nodded. “Good hunting, Captain.”

“So which caravan are they rescuing? I missed that part,” Bree asked Draxa a quarter-glass later. Their squad stood guard along the south flank as the Halflings circled their wagons and set up barricades.

“Baroness Valarmir’s,” Draxa answered with notable distaste. Bree could relate, having helped escort the stuffy high-elf noblewoman’s caravans in the past. A former lover to the Lady Theodora, she had a notorious disdain for humans and dwarves in particular and yet still commissioned the company to escort her caravans every few years.

“Wait, weren’t Duke Werthery’s highlanders escorting them?” Bree asked, having shacked up with one of their infantrywomen back in Greenhollow. Their caravan had departed east two days before Master Thistleprong’s.

“Yes,” said Berl, the big half-orc pike sergeant, in a tone that said enough talking.

Bree grimaced as she kept her eyes on the savannah. Werthery was an exiled human nobleman from the highlands who’d gone mercenary with his house and men-at-arms. It began as an all-human company, but within a few years had absorbed a dwarf company that’d taken heavy losses. Though not as old or as large as Lady Theodora’s company, they were still a formidable outfit. They were most famous as a crossbow and claymore company, but also fielded pike and poleaxe infantry as well as a highly competent sword-and-board medium cavalry.

Exhaling to calm her sudden apprehension, Bree stole a glance at the retreating dust from Captain Andrew’s taskforce. An Aasimar, the captain was a good man and an exemplary officer. But Bree worried that he was biting off more than his group could handle. Attempting to rescue the beleaguered convoy was all well and noble, but dividing their force up left their own caravan under protected if the gnoll horde decided to turn its attention this way.

Two-thousand, including hobgoblin and bugbear mercenaries, Bree grimaced again as she thought about it. That many gnoll tribes working together meant that some strong war chief had taken control and united the tribes. That they’d hired mercenaries said they were smart and well organized.

In the grand scheme, it wasn’t a big deal. Eventually the Praetorian Guard would send a force to deal with the uprising—assuming the Harpers’ agents didn’t come up with a way to diffuse the situation first. But that could be weeks away. Master Thistleprong’s company might not last the night, Bree realized.

This was going to be bad.

#my writing #my stories #Bree #lady soldiers #adventuresses #mercenaries #medieval fantasy #gnolls

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