#by the time he was grown and trained as a cleric to travel and go to the city tav was already decently respected in a way

[hehosts-moved]

my other tiefling —— and my only tav —— a cleric of ilmater turned prophet of selûne.

[ersetu-gazette]

Mother of Learning: A Love Letter to D&D and Downtime

There are so many influences to Mother of Learning’s narrative that you might not be able to list them all. Fantasy novels, real world history, anime, fanfiction, thrillers, video games, and time travel science fiction easily come to mind. But the one major influence that is the most prevalent in my perspective is Dungeons and Dragons.

The world building, the character design, the culture, and the plot itself are grown from a soil fertilized by Dungeons and Dragons. Spells have levels (called circles), cephalic rats were called cranium rats before it was changed to not step on WOTC’s toes, liches are a bloodthirsty and dangerous memento of past norms, dragons are intelligent and powerful threats, and the creation of dungeons are a natural phenomena connected to the origin of the world. I could go for hours on the obvious connection this story has with D&D, but there is one particular facet that interests me. Downtime is a component of D&D that isn’t as well established in some games, but is absolutely vital for having a realistic and spaced out campaign that goes from low level to high level. For those that don’t know, it’s the game play shift from “what to do we do day to day or round to round” to “what do we do over the next few weeks, or months, or sometimes years.” It’s when characters have chance to accumulate resources, enact social change, chase down mysteries, build organizations, or further develop their personal power. It most importantly gives players narrative breathing room to imagine their characters when tension isn’t at it’s highest and live a more reasonable life. Some d&d players don’t care if they level up every day from constant adventuring would be great, but for others it ruins the immersion by presenting them with a world in which anyone can become a god in just a month of adventuring.

Mother of Learning is very much in love with this aspect of D&D play in how it serves the character development, but also the greater narrative and suspension of disbelief.

Let’s look at how a “common” D&D party uses downtime and how Mother of Learning does. The iconic d&d party (acting in a stereotypical manner) would have a wizard that was either researching magic spells or building magical items, a (let’s assume good) cleric would either be performing acts of community service or spreading the word of their god, the fighter would be either training or establishing political/social power for an order/organization, and the rogue would be planning a heist or investigating a lead in the underworld. The DM in this situation might just let the players make progress in their personal interests outside the context of the campaign/adventure hooks, or they naturally set up some of the party’s downtime to lead in the direction of a new adventure.

Either the wizard discovers some dungeon that the whole party wants to go through, an NPC the cleric cares about is in trouble and needs a lost medicine formula to be saved, the fighter needs to go on a quest for some noble, or the rogue discovers an imminent problem brewing that needs to be taken care of right now (or yesterday if possible). The details and specifics don’t matter, the overall point of downtime is to allow players breathing room to pursue what interests them, and a good DM will take that investment to weave it into an engaging and compelling campaign to be shared with the party.

Now, let’s look at some of the activities Zorian does throughout the narrative. Zorian at the beginning focuses on training and research. Some of the research is regarding the time loop itself but with his low level he’s not making much progress. Zorian at one point makes enough progress that he impresses Ilsa which gives him the job of escorting Kael and Kana, allowing him to properly meet one of the important side characters. When Zorian invests in his relationship with Taiven it lets him meet the aranea in a sewer run, characters integral to the plot and investigation and mentors that help him understand and develop his empathy. When Zorian invests in his relationship with Kirielle by bringing her to Cyoria he is able to further develop his relationship with Kael (which later gives him the opportunity to learn about the Sudomir subplot but meet many interesting soul mage characters), but also makes a connection with local shifters, which will be his clue and plot hook to the invasion needing primordial essence. He investigates the spider webs to learn how to read araenea memories and make memory packets, which allows him to learn about the Ghost Serpent’s web that is key to the time loop mystery.

Now, I could go through the rest of the plot but I think it’s clear now how Zorian’s “narrated over” activities map very cleanly onto tricks DMs use to make downtime more engaging. It’s a mixture of Zorian responding to pressing needs and investing in things he likes, and those actions leading to threads connected to either the greater plot or compelling subplots. But most importantly during this is that Zorian’s actions seem to be based on what he as a character would do, what he thinks is a solution, not the only one presented by the hypothetical DM. Multiple times Zorian is presented with a problem and decides to solve it and investigate in his own way instead of a clearly “obvious” solution. If this were an actual D&D campaign and I was Zorian or Zach’s player I wouldn’t think that I was being railroaded at all. This method of narrative and how long it takes is believable, and engaging, and importantly, helps with the suspension of disbelief.

A problem a lot of DMs have with D&D story is that if any group of schmucks can take adventuring jobs every day/week and level up after every other one, then why isn’t everyone level 20? If power scales so quickly and so easily for the heroes, what is keeping everyone from following the same path? Some DMs solve this by having the adventuring party have access to a resource that lets them level up (that not everyone has), or by making every adventure ridiculously deadly, but the solution a lot use is with downtime. Adventures and high sources of xp aren’t easily accessible, and you have to wait long periods of time in between each one. Downtime is what people do while they wait for, or look for, the rare chances of issues that are difficult enough to warrant leveling up.

In a way, Mother of Learning’s plot structure does the same thing, force Zorian to go through downtime before he is able to “access” the next plot point. Many people complained that sometimes Zorian would announce that he had to solve (plot point x) as soon as possible, and then he’d go and dick around with something else. While some people say this is him being easily distracted or whimsical, it was very clearly understood by me that Zorian recognized that he couldn’t solve (plot point x) right then with his information & skill level. Zorian can’t solve a mystery, or make fast enough progress in a magical skill, or anything, and decides to better spend his time in making more meaningful progress in other fields, in the hopes they’ll tie back and help with the “pressing” issue (But few issues are truly pressing in a time loop, not until after the second arc). It’s also believable from the perspective of a D&D metaphor because do you know what’s the most boring thing about downtime? When one player dedicates all their time doing one thing only.

You ever sit at a table trying not to look at your phone while some player is making 50 craft & profession checks with no interesting progress after the fifth? It’s boring as shit. The most interesting downtimes I’ve experienced and done are when a pc does a handful of meaningfully different tasks split out across the time given, and investing enough focus to have something interesting happen in the narrative or in any character interactions. And Mother of Learning simulates this very faithfully.

Overall, even with the occasional flaws of Zorian acting a bit oddly during these periods of investigation, practice, and social connection, Mother of Learning faithfully and skillfully integrates downtime into it’s narrative in a way I fucking love. A lot of what makes fantasy adventuring engaging isn’t just the adventuring itself, but the downtime in between and consequences of both.

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

Mortal Kombat: Born of Deception: Common Cause.

Summary: In the face of oncoming destruction, you’ll take whatever allies you can find.

Chapter List.

Chapter List part two.

The group of Shujinko, Kai, Fujin, Bo’ Rai Cho, and Li Mei journeyed across Outworld in the direction of Shao Kahn’s fortress. With little knowledge of their enemy, it was all they had to go off.

They spoke little; there was no time to waste with idle chatter when reality had unknown hours until irrevocable damage. Li Mei spoke up.

“Are you certain you know where you’re going?”

Shujinko shook his head.

“No, but it is our best bet.”

“Wonderful. Our best hope is a wild guess. Onaga is probably merging the realms while we are chasing taigore kittens.”

Bo’ shut down Li Mei’s frustrations with a stern but warm retort.

“Please, Li Mei, Shujinko is many things, but he has always had a good sense of directions. Have faith in your master.”

At Li Mei’s small sneer, Shujinko turned to the young Outworlder.

“Are you alright? You have been strangely on edge through our journey.”

Although it was difficult to see in the night, Li Mei’s skin was paler than it was when she first woke up, and a perceptive onlooker could see a faint emerald glowing in her eyes. Still, she seemed largely the same, although a bit more focused and goal oriented.

“I’m fine. Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary.”

Fujin and Bo’ Rai Cho shared a look, promising to investigate further details later.

Li Mei paused for a moment before sighing.

“Forgive me, master Shujinko.”

“It is quite alright. I hope we can find Onaga before it is too late-

“Do you need some help?”

Along with his allies, the old warrior turned to combat this new opponent. Shujinko recognized the man but not the three who followed.

“Havik?”

Havik bowed theatrically.

“Ah, you have grown older in your travels. Do you seek to defeat Onaga?”

“We do. Are you here to stop us?”

Havik frantically shook his hands so fast that Shujinko was sure they would snap off.

“No, no, no. We’re here to help.”

“We?”

“He means us.”

Shujinko saw a woman with red hair, a young man in a dirty karate uniform, and a masked man in a long coat. The young man with messy blond hair smirked.

“And if you’ve got a problem, tough shit.”

Kai scoffed.

“Tough talk. Can you back it up?”

A fight looked close to breaking out before Fujin stepped between.

“Enough. Save the fighting for later. We are nearly out of time.”

Kobra huffed as Havik spoke again.

“I know where the dragon king resides. Follow me.”

With little choice, the warriors followed the cleric and his strange companions to their destination.

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

The next warriors to find were a blind swordsman and a warrior in silver and blue armour. He spoke to the warrior, who called himself Sub-Zero. His powers were similar to the Lin Kuei Shujinko trained with all those decades ago.

“We are gaining allies against a new threat; we would welcome your assistance in stopping him.”

Sub-Zero was going to respond before a loud thump got everyone’s attention.

The swordsman had his blade pointed at a woman’s throat. The woman was dressed in a revealing black and red outfit, and her face was desperate in fear. Sub-Zero seemed to recognize her.

“Sareena?”

“I can explain; I’m not here to hurt you! Please put the sword down!”

Sub Zero turned to the heroes.

“We’ll join you when we can.”

Shujinko nodded as he continued the journey. Sub-Zero turned to Kenshi, his stern gaze enhancing his words.

“Kenshi, let her go; she’s an ally.”

“I can sense her demonic energy.”

“I said let her go.”

Kenshi let Sareena drop to the floor with an undignified sound with a grunt. Sareena slowly stood up and cleaned herself off, looking somewhat awkward as Sub-Zero questioned her arrival.

“What are you doing here? I thought I told you to go to the temple.”

“You did. But I didn’t want anything bad to happen, so I followed your journey to the palace and back.”

Sub Zero tilted his head slightly in respect.

“Disobeying orders for the good of your companions? Kenshi and I are on our way to help kill a tyrant. There may be a place for you in the lin kuei. Would you join us?”

“I would love to.”

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

As the group reached the mountain stronghold, they were ready for a fight. Shujinko entered the fortress to find four warriors engaged in battle with five of the mind-controlled servants of Onaga. Shujinko recognized Jade, Sindel, and Ermac, the latter of whom called to Shujinko’s group as he effortlessly handled three warriors at once.

“Go and engage the dragon king; we will handle this.”

Without looking, Ermac slammed his closed fist into the crotch of a man with sunglasses. Shujinko dashed past the group with his small army following behind.

When the group neared the throne room, Li Mei collapsed with a groan of pain. Bo’ Rai Cho turned to support her.

“Li Mei, are you alright?”

Li Mei responded by attacking Bo’ Rai Cho with a backhand. She shouted at the group as though she stood a chance against them all.

“You will not stop the dragon king!”

Bo’ Rai Cho told the others to keep going as he dealt with her.

“Thank you, master. We’ll see you soon.”

The master nodded as the heroes rushed past him to confront the dragon king. Bo’ stared at Li Mei with the hardened voice of a disappointed teacher

“I do not know what has gotten into you, but I will free you from Onaga’s chains.”

Li Mei scoffed in disbelief.

“You cannot free anyone, you drunken slob! Onaga is the only path to peace!”

Bo’ sighed, downing some of his drink in preparation, before taking a stance.

“Forgive me, Li Mei.”

The remaining warriors entered the throne room to find Onaga in a heated battle with Scorpion. The ninja fought well, but his blows caused minor damage to the dragon king. With a swipe of his palm, Onaga knocked Scorpion into the wall and unconsciousness.

The deceiver noticed the army and chuckled.

“Why, Shujinko, you brought friends to watch my grand victory.”

“Your schemes end now, Onaga.”

“Bold words from a fool.”

Shujinko turned to his allies, who stepped forward to engage.

“I will handle him. Wait for my command.”

Shujinko entered the centre arena, where each kamidogu floated atop pedestals. With a hand towards the orderrealm kamidogu, Onaga formed a barrier around the stadium, blocking Shujinko from his allies’ interference.

This would be a battle he would need to handle alone.

“Come, champion, fail one last time.”

Shujinko took a position; this would undoubtedly be the most brutal fight of his life.

[ladyslookingglass]

Name: Ivelian Kiirdal

Race: Wood Elf

Class: Cleric

Alignment: Neutral Good

Stats:

Str: 13 Dex: 5 Con: 15 Int: 14 Wis: 18 Cha: 11

Appearance:  With dark brown hair that just barely brushes the tops of his shoulders and hazel eyes that only show their streaks of gold/green under direct light, Ivelian looks a bit below average for an elf. He’s not ugly to non elvish folk but he’s no ethereal beauty either. Cover up his ears and he could convincingly pass as a good  looking human, his angular Elven features subtle enough to be mistaken as something else. Even undisguised it’s not uncommon that he’s mistaken as a half elf rather then the full blooded  elf he actually is. He admittedly uses this to his advantage in areas elves are less known or, more commonly, to hide his race completely around other Elves as he feels uncomfortable around other members of his  own race.

He’s thin on the cusp of being skinny, with a bit of a lingering lanky look of adolescence, but with enough muscle to suggest he’s used to working labor jobs. He’s often dirty but in a well traveled way and not sheer neglect. He smells like fresh dirt suggesting  he doesn’t use any scented means of cleansing. He’s used to running into or falling from things and minor scrapes and bruises are common place.

Backstory:   Born to a clan of wood elves one always expects one to be full of grace  and ability...but Ivelian seemed cursed from birth. So clumsy his family was forced to leave their tree based house for fear the child would  kill himself, so incapable was he to balance within the branches. Only becoming worse as he grew he became the embarrassment not only of his family but his entire clan.

His peers would jeer and insult him giving him hurtful nicknames and even going so far as to insinuate that he would have been better born to Orcs then among Elves. Training with bows he was so likely to injure himself or his peers he was forbidden from  ever even touching one.

Ivelians clan was particularly xenophobic and lived in extreme isolation from all of the outside world to the point leaving was strictly forbidden, and any outsiders would be lucky to ever leave again. Desperate to escape his life which was spent often in ridicule Ivelian was determined to escape though he knew nothing of the outside world. Many failed attempts eventually led Ivelian to discover his deity who led him to his freedom. He left without a backwards glance and little more then the clothes on  his back.

Personality:  Ivelian is selfless and kind to a fault. Having grown up so isolated from the world he has no preconceived notions towards other races or cultures and his first instinct is to try and make friends...with...anything he comes across. If someone, or something, seems receptive to his offer of friendship he will always be more then happy to oblige. He absolutely hates violence and will avoid conflict whenever possible.

Special Notes:  Ivelian’s low dexterity makes him extremely clumsy. As a result he has  an intense fear of heights, having fallen from the branches of trees and  swaying rope bridges so many times in his youth at home. Any action  that requires careful movement or balance makes him very anxious.

Despite being an elf, Ivelian has no bow proficiency.

He is uncomfortable when around other elves, assuming he is being  judged in comparison and always assuming he is going to be judged unworthy. He finds it far more comfortable to simply hide his Elven heritage completely and pretend to be human when around strangers.

Ivelian has a companion in the form of a Tiny Awakened Construct which takes the appearance of a small floating blown glass sphere containing a Light spell.

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Getting To Know...

Josie Pace.

Hailing from Detroit, Josie Pace is releasing her stunning 11 track album IV0X10V5 today. Josie Pace’s music represents a piece of her solitude. The blistering glow of downtempo post-industrial beats, electro-pop melodies and layered soundscapes are home to Josie’s captivating lyrics; she is a songwriter in the purest sense. The result is a pulsating sound that will haunt you with vulnerability while basking in Josie’s world of self-reflection and unapologetic rock and roll attitude that Detroit is legendary for.

​When musician and producer Ken Roberts saw an acoustic performance of Josie he was blown away. The raw and intimate performance captured the one thing all songwriters strive to achieve: believability. The two started working together with Josie’s songs as the foundation. As an accomplished guitar player, Josie moulds and refines her songs acoustically only to tear them apart and rebuild them with Roberts’ grinding synths, unique production style and the addition of Mark Damian’s live drums. Songs quickly formed into a unique sound that pulled from the likes of Depeche Mode and Nine Inch Nails yet contained a high art fashion swagger as if you just bumped into David Bowie at a Halston Party

We had a chat with Josie all about the album, her background. creative process and more. Read the Q&A below.

Hi Josie! How are you? What does a typical day look like for you at the moment?

"A typical day in the life of me? Well the most important part of my day (in my opinion) is making coffee! I always make a pot of coffee before I do anything else. My producer and bandmate, Ken Roberts, and I usually sit down for a few hours to go over and respond to emails for interviews, advertising, logistics of possible upcoming tours and shows etc. A lot of the clerical work we do right now is for the upcoming release of my first album titled IV0X10V5 (pronounced “noxious”).

"After all of the clerical work, recently, we have been getting ready for the album release party show in LA at Bar Sinister on Feb. 12th. So I pour another cup of coffee and we head over to the studio and set up all of our live gear for rehearsal. We tweak and nit pick every song to make sure that we are putting on the best show we possibly can. We work with light techs for our light show and make sure all of that is running smoothly. Right now we are in the process of switching to a new rack for all of our on stage gear to make it easier for travel on tours.

"I try to post to my socials a few times every day, to promote the album and to share with my fans what I am doing and see what they would like more of. Chatting with a few and sometimes going live at rehearsals to show them what I have been up to.

"After hours of rehearsing I like to try to get to the gym as often as I can to train for performing and work on stamina and breathing exercises. I make dinner which consists of a lot of ramen and salads and I do it all over again the next day."

For anyone discovering you here for the first time please give us a bit of background on your musical journey. Who/what have been the biggest influences on your electro-rock sound and aesthetic?

"I am fortunate to have grown up in a family that was into music from the start. My dad has an amazing singing voice and my mom was always playing Prince while dancing around the house as she cleans. I knew from very young what I wanted to do in my life. I was influenced a lot by what my parents would play on the radio. Some of my biggest influences are The Eagles, Styx, Phil Collins, Joan Jett, Prince and Pat Benatar. I have always been influenced by fashion as well and that plays a huge role in what I do, Alexander McQueen and Vivian Westwood designs were some of my favorites. Joan Jett and her style of female bad assery, Prince and his androgynous glam style and attitude of quiet genius and literal “prince of music” really impacted me and influenced my style. Throughout my school life I would consider myself a little emo/ scene kid. I loved listening to bands like Escape the Fate, My Chemical Romance, Hawthorne Heights, NIN and Paramore while still listening to the classics that I grew up on as a child. The range of different genres molded the way that I write songs and think about the structure of songs.

"Once I started working with Ken Roberts, he showed me bands like Revolting Cocks, KMFDM, Japan, Skinny Puppy a whole range of different bands I’d never heard. We kind of melded both of our styles and influences to created an electronic rock sound that when stripped down to me and my acoustic guitar, could pass as any genre. With the whole production of synths and live drums and my classic writing and melody style. I think we created something extremely unique and yet familiar."

You've released an abundance of awesome singles since 2017. And now you're releasing your debut album IV0X10V5. Why have you chosen now to put a full length out into the world and what does it mean to you? What do you hope fans/listeners take away from it?

"Once the pandemic hit us with lockdowns in 2020, it was a bit hard to create and release things. We weren’t playing any shows, I couldn’t even get into the studio for a few months. Ken and I had talked about releasing a full length album and we decided to put it together over the lockdown. We shot 4 music videos over the course of the lockdown so that almost every song chosen for the album has a video to release along with it. We worked so hard to created this first album, so many people put so much time and effort and creativity into the album and it is overwhelming to have so much support for it. This album means so much to me, it’s quite literally a dream come true. I’ve put my entire soul into this album, all of my feelings and desires and heartaches. I think what I would want people to take away from it is that, we are not alone. Everyone goes through insane up’s and downs, but If I could make someone feel less alone in all this, that would be amazing."

Please take us through your songwriting/creative process. What do you enjoy the most and what do you find the most challenging?

"When I write a new song, I like to let it come out whatever way it wants to. I always write on the acoustic guitar first. Usually playing a few different chord progressions until something I like sticks. Humming different melodies over the pattern, usually words just come to me and as they do I write them all down and record the session into my phone as well. It’s a bit hard to explain but I feel like when I write its sort of an out of body experience for me. It doesn’t ever feel like I’m really there, it’s almost like a dream state. But when I really get something going I can’t stop. Words come to me from whatever I feel, whatever I’ve subconsciously decided to write about. After that process is over and I have a song. I bring it to Ken, and we go through it line by line and transpose it into a synth rock mess of awesomeness. We go through tons of different synth sounds for hours and we have Mark Damian track drums for the song as well.

"The most challenging part for me is just starting, I struggle with doubts and fear of not having any songs left in me. No one wants to be a washed up dried out musician. I try to give every song a piece of my soul."

Finally, what else is next for you? Will you be touring the album?

"As I mentione before, I have a release party show at Bar Sinister in LA on February 12th, and a hometown Detroit album release listening party at Smalls in Hamtramck on February 25th. I am currently planning shows and tours to promote the album and I am hoping to get over to Europe to tour for it as well!

"I am already thinking about my second LP or EP to release if Covid restricts us from playing live."

[inkberrry]

Going through old writing and found something about my half-orc (half elf!) cleric, Eiravel, leaving his home for his first journey!

-

A light breeze traveled through Ruith, carrying with it the scent of fresh blossomed jasmine and peonies. A few petals scattered across the polished stone of the town’s center and made patterns of pink and yellow over the mosaic of swirling tides. Lachadis stood in the middle of the design, her soft felted shoes atop the colored stone. The wind ruffled her hair unnoticed and fanned it out behind her like the train of an ornate dress. Her attention was elsewhere, and even the tickling of loose strands on her neck did nothing to distract her.

A moment passed, noted only by the way the pattern of sunlight on leaves shifted and changed. Lachadis could feel the soft and steady beat of her heart as it worked in her chest, picking up when she sensed movement on the walkway nearby.

“Beloved,” she breathed, and tears welled in the corners of her clear blue eyes. Walking towards her was the ghost of her husband in his youth - tall and proud, the morning sun shimmering on skin the color of growing things.

The illusion faded as the man drew nearer. He thinned out, grew slender and developed delicate, noble features. When the sun caught his eyes they weren’t the warm gold she remembered but mirrors of her own.

“My sweet boy,” she said when he drew close. Her hand reached up to brush the side of his scalp, soft fuzz replacing the long hair that had been there only a night ago. “What did you do to your hair?”

Her son shifted his weight from one foot to the next, his smile looking guilty as he too rubbed at his missing hair.

“I thought this would be better suited for traveling,” he said. “I feared my hair would get tangled and dirty on the road.”

Lachadis replaced her hands to her sides and smiled, though her heart had already begun to ache. Eiravel had lovely, soft hair. The hours she had spent brushing and braiding it for him were as countless as they were lost to time.

“You were right,” she encouraged. “Your father used to come home with sticks and leaves matted in his hair after being away. I think he only kept it long for me.”

At the mention of his father Eiravel’s expression brightened. He clutched at the pack straps around his shoulder, as if rooting himself to the notion of adventure they promised. Lachadis could see in his eyes the spark of a flame igniting, and part of her longed to douse it with whatever she could.

It was the woes of a mother, Allynna told her. The older woman knew what it was to lose a child to the call of the road and had done her best to console Lachadis when she stood on her doorstep with tears streaming down her face. It was not fair, Allynna said, that she must lose her husband to the sea and her son to the world, but it was the nature of things.

It was also Lachadis’ nature to encourage her son to grow. So as she stood in the center of the town she had raised him in she ran a thumb across his cheek and smiled. She could never truly extinguish his fire; doing so would wither her spirit as well.

“There will always be a home for you here, my son,” she said. “No matter how long you are gone, or what you discover in the world beyond this place. You can return and we will welcome you as one of us.”

Sunlight strayed into Eiravel’s eyes and glimmered off of the wetness there, and Lachadis knew her son was still the same sweet, sensitive boy she had cared for these past fifty years. He was grown now, a man in his own right, but still the faint outline of a child remained.

“I’ll be back,” he promised, his hand finding hers and holding it tight. “I’m sorry for leaving you- “

“No, none of that,” Lachadis said with a fond laugh. “No apologizing for following your heart. Your mother is a strong lady, Eiravel. I can fill my days until you’re ready to come home. Don’t waste your heart by worrying for me. Spend it on something you find out there.”

She motioned out beyond the stone pathways and towering trees, out toward the road that led away from Ruith. The world was waiting for Eiravel there, just as it had for his father. It had led him to her, long ago, and she could only hope that it gave her son the same precious things it had given Matuk.

Eiravel’s gaze followed her gesture, then returned to her. For a moment she studied his face, as if trying to memorize each and every line and dimple like she hadn’t already. She did not want to say goodbye, not this morning or tomorrow. Not in another fifty years.

“Safe journeys,” she said, and pulled her hand out of his so she could instead hug him around the middle. He smelled of the peonies and lemon water, and of memories she’d treasure for as long as she lived. “Be good, Eiravel.”

He hugged her in return, the strength of his body almost knocking the air from her chest. She thought maybe he didn’t want to say goodbye either.

“I love you, mother.”

When Eiravel let her go Lachadis saw him rub at his eyes before he turned away. Her legs suddenly felt very weak, and the air around her seemed thinner than it should. Struggling to stay on her feet, she watched her son’s figure get further and further away and his shadow grew taller behind him until both were gone.

[fe-husband-heaven]

How did M! Byleth react to learning he was going to become a father?

mY BOI, AHHHHHH-

HC's:

It doesn't hit Byleth right away, he's delighted but there's no emotional response immediately. He doesn't process it because he's never had experience dealing with pregnancies, as a mercenary, he didn't stick around any towns. The most interaction he had was the kind expectant mothers in villages that would gift him and his father with confections for their travels.

He only truly realizes he's going to be a father when the baby starts to kick, he's absolutely fascinated by it. The idea that you have something living inside you, that was born out of your affection is everything to him.

The irony that he had the goddess living inside of him was not lost on you-

But along with your baby comes Byleth's protectiveness. He uses his stern professor voice whenever he thinks you're exerting yourself ((You aren't, you just want to pick up the rag that fell))

Byleth is extremely grateful for his old students care as well, they often come to visit, inquiring about the child and leaving congratulatory gifts. He is glad that they have grown just as protective as he has, many have already offered to be your bodyguard until the baby is delivered!

Though he was more than glad to take them up on their offer, he felt, that as a father, he should be the one remaining at your side. He knew you very much could defend yourself but paternal instincts were forming in him.

You were not a fan of being barred from doing even the smallest chore but when you saw the content smiles that would splay across Byleth's lips when he was allowed to touch your stomach...well, suffice it to say that you could not deny him that wish.

Byleth's eyes will gloss with tears, and a soft smile will grace his lips when he finally gets to hold his baby, he lost the only family member he had left long ago, and now, he's got a new family to look after. He wants to be as good a father as Jeralt was.

He does wonder briefly if there would be any side effects in the child, with all of the chaos that are his origins, he wouldn't be surprised. But even so, he'll love them regardless.

He's got clerics on standby at all times ((He didn't tell you they were trained for combat as well)) for the babies arrival or to relieve any pains/exhaustion.

When the baby decides he wants to come out, Byleth's grip on your hand holding hurts more than birth;;; He looks so sad seeing you in pain that you can't help but laugh a little in between curse words you're spewing. Knowing he can't do anything more to alleviate your suffering, he almost wishes he was the one having the kid-

He doesn't say much, he's still a rather quiet man, more of an action over words sort of person. So he'll kiss your forehead and murmur a "You did well." before your Class changes to parent in thanks for bearing him a child and pulling through.

Overall, he's protective and a little stern to keep you and the baby healthy but never without the delicate touch of a doting father and husband.

[harpers-tartarus]

I would be very interested in reading the first chapter of the crooked verse because your works are always amazing

:)

LEON WASN’T ALWAYS Leon. In fact, the name had been a gift, chosen by his sister. He’d asked her to before the ritual had begun and when he came out of it, disoriented, two thin scars on his chest, his voice deeper, she was there, in her cleric garb, golden and absolutely radiant.

Her fingers formed four letters. [L-E-O-N. It’s Renouvellian, like your family was. It means ��lion’.]

“Lion?” Leon had felt heavier than lead. “Don’t think it suits me.”

She’d rolled her eyes, knowing he’d wear the name proudly. And he did, for years, and then…

Leon felt like he was drowning, his lungs burning. There was dirt in his mouth and he needed to fucking breathe. His hands clawed through the earth strangling him until he forced himself through the surface, coughing harshly.

The sky above him was bleak, but, even worse, was the silence.

Leon had grown up with the comfort of his sister’s voice in his head, her presence clear, even if her words were not, even if she was miles upon miles away, devoting herself to the god that she loved so dearly, knee deep in ancient history and myths. ([I’ll leave the piracy to you] she signed to Leon but he’d never missed the look of longing on her face. She’d always been more like Brizo than Nomia and Leon had been the opposite) Luckily, as a cleric, she’d had the opportunity to travel a great deal, and if one thing could be said about Leon’s sister, it was that she’d always had a healthy bit of wanderlust.

To be without her presence in his head was worse than any torture Leon could dream up.

Leon was sitting in his own grave, feeling as though his sister was just as dead, and it was an agony like no other.

He wanted to scream, more than anything he wanted wail his rage and pain to the heavens, but even if his throat hadn’t felt raw and nearly unusable, Leon had known better than to scream. He always knew better than to scream.

Instead, his fingers dug into the wet earth and he pitched himself forward, almost kneeling against the grave dirt and tried to silence the sobs. She’d always cared more about death than he had, the dead had meant something to her and he’d watched her perform death rites on so many forgotten corpses.

“Why does it matter?” he’d asked her. “They’re already dead.”

[I like to think I help them get back home] she’d replied, her smile bright, dark eyes gleaming. But who would help Leon now that she was gone?

She’d lost the innocence of her youth, but his sister had never stopped in her dedication to both the dead and to truth, even when she herself was contributing to the number of bodies. The last time Leon had seen his sister had been when he’d seen her likeness on a wanted poster for treason and murder.

His sister, the girl that had stumbled on a god exactly once and been so enthralled that she’d joined a temple dedicated to that god and never told another lie. His sister, who’d watched him wince every time someone had called him by that name he’d hated so much and held his hand even when she could barely handle his touch so that he wasn’t alone during the ritual. His sister, who used to stand by the seaside, telescope in hand, searching for The Siren out at sea with their mother at the helm back when she still had her love. His sister, wanted for treason and murder.

She’d left the safety of her temple -but the head cleric had said she did that from time to time, always in the company of Ming Zhu and Rajan, except that time- some time before without a word, leaving all of Leon’s letters unopened. He’d tried to reach out to her through their shared bond but had been rebuffed each time.

It was like she hadn’t wanted to be found, which was an incredibly odd stance to take, especially for her. And, unfortunately, Leon couldn’t even remember what had been happening before he’d awoken in his shallow grave.

He pressed a hand to his brow, struggling to remember, but all he could recall was a face shrouded in shadow and a hood that was golden, obscuring most of their face. The bond had remained silent even as the darkness swallowed him up.

He rubbed the tears from his face, he couldn’t deal with this. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t even know how much time had passed since he’d gone into the ground…he didn’t even know where his sister was.

Leon hadn’t even wanted her to go to that temple in the first place, they’d both just turned twenty and they were so young…but it was like she was enchanted. Nothing had had an effect on her quite like finding Reedspeaker in the woods. She’d said Reedspeaker needed help and she’d given it to her, so Reedspeaker gave her a blessing, but what exactly that blessing entailed, Leon had never learned. She’d packed her things and left the next day to head for her temple.

It had taken years for him to forgive her for that, for leaving him…they were a matched set and she’d just abandoned him…it had taken him even longer to realize that it was a gift; they both needed to figure out who they were without the other at their side.

And then she’d disappeared into the wind like she’d used magic, which was equal parts amusing and exasperating because she’d never had an interest in magic, Leon wasn’t sure she’d even liked it. He had magic, of course, something one of their mothers had called a fluke -he hadn’t gone to school to learn it, he hadn’t made any deal with any unearthly being, and he didn’t even know if he was related to anyone with that gift. He hadn’t appreciated the way she’d said it, but even when his sister didn’t seem to like it much, she’d never minded when he used his magic, and she’d certainly never made him feel like he only had it because of dumb luck.

Leon swallowed thickly and did something he hadn’t ever done before; he prayed.

“Please,” he rasped thickly, “I know…I never liked you, you know that, but I know you cared about her, and-and that’s good enough for me…but I need help, please, what do I do?”

For a moment, there was no answer. Leon was alone, his head was quiet, and it was a kind of torture that he’d never want anyone else to experience.

Then he started to wonder if Reedspeaker even spoke to anyone that wasn’t a devout believer in them…because that was definitely going to make it difficult to communicate.

But those thoughts came to a stop at the sound of a whisper on the wind or perhaps it was in his ears for him alone.

Find your sister.

Find your sister…that probably meant that she was still alive, right? Which was good news…but the bad news was that Leon didn’t even know where to start looking.

She never even gave her true name to the temple when she’d lived and boarded with them, training as a cleric to Reedspeaker.

Leon pulled another folded-up piece of parchment, this time from his coat pocket, where he’d shoved the paper himself.

Medusa, Death-bringer, the paper proudly proclaimed, wanted by the Phlegethon Empire, by order of Her Imperial Majesty, Isolde Bloodseeker, for treason and murder.

The reward had been worn away, but the image of his sister was so unlike how he remembered her.

The woman sketched there was fierce and bold, her curls so wild they could be mistaken for snakes, blackness blotting out the entirety of her eyes, thin, dark veins spreading from the edges of the eyes to her cheeks, a claw-like scar ripped from her brow all the way down to her cheek.

Then Leon spoke aloud into the silence.

“I need a fucking drink,” he muttered harshly.

ͽͼ

The Serpent Tongue was not the most popular pub in town, but it was certainly the oldest, that much everyone knew. It had been around for centuries and many of its first patrons were still patrons, being creatures of long lifespans.

Claude Beaumont was the last of the most recent generation of Beaumonts to own the Serpent Tongue, well, technically, he didn’t own it, his parents did, but he was a decent barkeep and it wasn’t as though Claude could do many occupations with his lame leg.

His mother had never approved of that line of thinking. There were other ways to make a living without needing the use of strong legs, but this was the life Claude was comfortable with. The family loved to tell those old stories about the man who’d built the Serpent Tongue -James Crowley-, their forebear, a human that had once sailed the seas with the Wailing Woman.

It had been a fantastic story to Claude when he’d been younger, knowing he was related to a pirate but now pirates as they had been back then were fewer in number, more often than not absorbed into the Empiric Navy.

No one liked to mess with the Empiric Navy.

Claude was very glad that Renouvel was a democratic country, that much he knew. But that didn’t mean that the Phlegethon Empire wasn’t an issue for them.

It was a quiet evening, the birds were crooning outside the windows and Claude was humming along to them as he wiped a glass with a rag, looking forward to a quiet evening.

Until the door slammed open and Claude almost dropped his glass.

The man framed in the doorway wasted no time in entering the practically empty tavern, making his way towards Claude and demanding, oh so eloquently, for “Whatever you’ve got that’s not utter shit.”

“Uh,” Claude responded just as eloquently. “How about some whiskey?”

The man gave a wave with an air of “Whatever.”

Claude poured him a few inches of whiskey, that he promptly downed, before adding more when the man pushed the glass back towards Claude.

The man, now that Claude could get a right look at him, was completely smeared and caked with mud; not an attractive look.

“You don’t happen to have a bath or something?” the man’s voice was harsh and his fingers twitched like he was used to using them to talk.

“Uh, yeah,” Claude’s tongue started working again. “Upstairs to the left, but it’ll cost you—”

The man threw down a silver coin that was more than enough to cover his drink and the bath, easily, before storming off.

Claude couldn’t help but be a bit miffed by the attitude, though, he supposed he’d feel poorly if he was looking like he’d kicked his way out of a buried coffin and was now immensely regretting the decision of returning to the living.

ͽͼ

It took an age scrub the dirt from his body. Leon must’ve had to empty the tub five times before he could settle into the water without blackening it with muck.

He looked to the mirror balanced on the vanity. His curling facial tattoos were plain to see without the dirt, the only sign of his nymph ancestry. They weren’t like Nomia’s, but it had only been later that she’d explained that they were both adopted, they were a darker and richer blue; Nomia’s had been so faint they were nearly white.

Some days he wished he had all three the traits nymphs possessed; curved ears that came to the faintest point, facial tattoos, and eyes the color of the sea.

His sister had inherited the ears, enough that someone could tell there was something inhuman about her but not enough to be noticed if her hood was up.

Lucky her.

Leon shook off those thoughts. He didn’t have time to think about that…or…

A wide smile with teeth that almost seemed fanged, green eyes with snake-like slitted pupils, and a silky voice that sent a shiver down his spine.

Rajan.

Leon’s voice choked on the name. The first time they’d even met he’d knocked Leon flat on his ass, his gnarly staff with that fluorite lodged in the wood sweeping Leon’s legs out from under him, and he’d been about two seconds away from braining Leon, when his sister had stepped in.

She’d been closer to what he remembered, then. No scars, but that one leg still a stump, an easy smile on her lips. She had never looked more comfortable than she did in the vestments of her god; golden and white and absolutely radiant.

Leon leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, looking at the inside of his right wrist, which bore a tattoo that the twins shared; a snake eating its tail. Nomia’s symbol. Their mother hadn’t been pleased about that tattoo.

It was easier to reminisce than it was to think about the predicament he was in. It was easier to think of his sister or Rajan or his mothers as alive.

They were alive! He thought viciously to himself. And he was going to keep believing that until he was proven otherwise.

He drew himself out of the bath, getting some more clean water to wash his grave-dirt caked clothes. Tomorrow, he decided after hanging them up to dry, tomorrow I’ll get some answers.

ͽͼ

The sun crept up slowly, cutting through the fog of the morning and dancing through the window until it came across his face and Leon scrunched up his nose and rolled over with a groan, trying to avoid the light as much as possible. But he could only escape so much and Leon really needed to figure out where he was and get a clue about his sister’s situation.

He pulled on his dried clothes from where they’d been hanging after he’d cleaned them the previous night, inspecting his long coat closely, only to sigh at how slightly damp it was.

Better than soaking wet and covered in mud, he supposed.

Leon’s stomach growled loudly, twisting in on itself and he winced suddenly. It had to’ve been ages since he’d had a proper meal. He checked his money pouch that he’d nicked on his way into town -in the fashion only a pirate was capable of- and hoped he had enough for some decent food. He had his own coins, sure, just not very much of them and Leon wasn’t totally sure what the currency ratio was and if they even accepted Panthian coins.

The barkeep did a double take when Leon finally wandered down the stairs. Leon could understand that…he’d probably looked half-dead the previous night.

“Got any food in this place?” he grunted, sitting on the same stool he had the previous night.

“…uh, we’ve got some eggs and meat left,” the man admitted after giving himself a mental shake. “It’s covered on what you paid last night for the bath and room.”

“Thanks,” Leon muttered as the man limped off to get him food and drink. “What’s your name?” he asked when he came back with the food, eagerly taking the plate from him and devouring the eggs with ease before moving onto the sausage and bacon.

“Claude Beaumont,” the man smiled helpfully. “And you?”

“Leon.”

“Just Leon?” Claude arched an eyebrow.

“Just Leon,” he agreed.

“Well, Leon…never seen a male nymph before.”

Leon froze too long in taking a drink, nearly choking on the water, just managing to swallow it without making a fool out of himself. “Not a nymph,” he rasped.

“Oh, sorry,” Claude said quickly, “it’s just the facial tattoos—”

“I’m half,” Leon forced out, albeit with great reluctance. And it had taken decades to find out the other half and its deadly capabilities; his throat ached as he swallowed again. “So’s my sister…she’s the one that got the nymph ears, though. Never quite forgave her for that.”

That startled a laugh out of Claude, probably trying to imagine a woman identical to Leon -dark, gleaming skin, blue facial tattoos, hazel eyes, broad shoulders- and it was always amusing to Leon when people saw the twins together; they couldn’t have looked more different.

“So…what country am I in?” Leon thought it best to start with the basics.

Claude stared at him dubiously for a few moments. “Are you serious?”

Leon arched an eyebrow.

“You don’t know what country you’re in?” Claude couldn’t seem to get past it.

“Give me some leeway,” Leon drawled, “I pulled myself out of a grave yesterday. I don’t even know what year it is.” Not that he’d really paid attention to that sort of thing back when he’d been alive the first time (or was it still considered only time since it wasn’t as though he’d been reincarnated or anything like that since coming out of the ground? Leon wasn’t totally sure).

“But…you have an accent,” Claude was flummoxed.

“Yeah?” Leon’s eyebrow twitched. “What’re ya tryin’ to say?” Leon knew he had an accent. He sounded Renouvelian, at least, that was what his sister had said the last time he’d seen her, but Captain Médée had been Renouvelian, as had most of her crew and Leon had been with them for decades, so it made sense that he talked like them. His sister had always had a Panthian twist to her tongue as hoarse as her voice was on the rare occasion that she had spoken aloud.

But she’d always been more like Brizo, their other mother, Leon thought. Kind and loving and patient, good in a fight, if it called for it. But she hadn’t much liked traveling by sea, and being in a family of sea-farers, there was nothing more ironic. She loved traveling as much as the rest of them, but preferred it on her own two feet.

Rajan and Ming Zhu had been the same. Birds of a feather and all that…it was hard not to be jealous of how tightly knit those three were.

“You’re in Renouvel,” Claude had evidently decided to save some face. “It’s the year 1420.”

Leon grunted. “That number doesn’t mean much…how long has it been since the Ash Blight?” That had been a rough time. A curse that had gotten out of control and ended up consuming an entire country. Chikolli had become a funeral pyre overnight and the last thing that Leon remembered was that no one wanted to go near it, by land or by sea, believing the curse still held strong, keeping anyone from setting foot on its ashen soil, lest they become ash as well.

His sister had wanted to go there, Leon didn’t know why, but at the time it seemed so important to her, like there was something waiting for her at Chikolli. Or someone. Leon had told her no; he knew more about curses than she did, magic was his thing the way truth was hers.

She hadn’t spoken to him since then.

“Ash Blight?” Claude’s brow furrowed. “Never heard of it.”

Okay…so it had definitely been a long time since then. Leon wasn’t good with history or the passage of time. The days always seemed to bleed together when all you saw was the endless sea. And Leon really loathed to ask, but— “Is there a library or something around here?” he asked in annoyance.

His sister was the one who’d loved history, especially ancient myths and legends, but Leon was more of a ‘making history’ kind of guy. But she’d never wanted that, she was content to sink into the background and remain unseen.

“Uh, yeah, there’s the Colas-sur-Mer Library.” Claude gave a half shrug, a bit confused. “It’s a big building down the street on the left, you can’t miss it.”

Leon didn’t even thank him, for the food, for the information, he just stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly on the ground, out of the door before Claude could say anything more.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Claude muttered to himself.

ͽͼ

The good thing about big libraries: there were lots of books to help you find what you were looking for.

The bad thing about big libraries: there were lots of books to help you find what you were looking for.

It was moments like this that Leon wished he had his sister’s head for academics. She could find the book she was looking for with minimal effort. But Leon didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

And he sure as hell wasn’t asking for help.

It took him hours and upon hours before he figured out he was looking in the wrong place. Powerful magic like that was illegal these days, which was honestly the most ridiculous thing that Leon had ever heard, but it was the kind of thing that would end up in a terrifying children’s story.

Which it was.

The Red Death.

Seemed appropriate, Leon supposed. It was a tragic story -but those were the best ones, weren’t they? - about an evil witch cursing a land that refused to bend to her whims, searching for a treasure she thought buried within the earth instead of in the heart of a small child. She burned everything away to ash only to find the treasure had been lost with the land she torched.

…how long had it been?

It had to have been more than a couple of centuries, long enough for history to become legend.

So…Leon was officially old, then. Yay for him. And he was the older twin.

[I’ll outlast you] she’d once said with certainty, smirking at him when he squawked in outrage. She was good at that, getting under his skin with a joke.

Or verbally shouting “Coward!” over the roar of waves crashing against a shoreline.

That still stung.

Air whistled through the library and Leon shut the book he was looking through a bit louder than he meant to. Even if he wanted to look for his sister, he had no idea where to start. She had hated their house growing up, he’d never been allowed up to the temple devoted to her god, and he never knew where she and her friends traveled to when they were together.

A piece of parchment, appropriately ancient and ripped, like someone had shredded a page pulled from a book. It had a single name on it.

“What the hell is an Ahnankhem?” Leon demanded out loud.

[bekahdoesnerdshit]

Pip Backstory!

Hey guys! It’s Pip Backstory! This post actually started as an archive of the backstory I wrote into my Roll20 sheet when the DM said she was taking the game down, because I didn’t want to lose all the writing I had done. I didn’t plan to do anything with it, but I thought it would be nice to have it later to look back on! But now that this blog is more than me just tagging pictures of frogs and making myself laugh, I thought it might be fun to clean this up a bit and put it out there! 

(Subtitle: I took a lot of liberties with Grung Lore)

(Subtitle 2: Brevity? Idk her)

NPCs You Should Care About:

Eed and Row, Pip’s parents. He’s not exactly ashamed of them, he just knows he’s better than them

A’toog’uh, Pip’s not-mom

Nay’luk’ta, Pip’s wizard magic teacher

Tl;dr: Weird Jungle Powers gave Pip magic, and that initial “surge” is the reason for his surges today. Trained along with a bunch of baby wizard grung, and surged Bad the very first time he cast a first level spell. Left home in the wake of that before he could be chased out, and hasn’t looked back

—

Grung aren’t really familiar with the concept of sorcerers.

Or warlocks. Or clerics.

That isn’t to say that they’re unfamiliar with magic itself! They have an entire caste level dedicated to magic users, and have an established system to ensure the knowledge from one generation is passed on to the next. But when so much of the survival of your race hinges on having magic users who can help take down threats that would otherwise wipe out your tribe, relying on the irregular benevolence of some mysterious force to empower your casters is, in a word, ill-advised. As a result, most Grung magic comes from studying and mentors and years of practice: the kind of magic that breeds accomplished wizards, not sorcerers.

So when Te’pip’ren hatched, when the translucent green-gray of his tadpole skin begin to show streaks of bright red and a clear affinity for magic made itself known, no one thought twice about beginning to prepare him to train alongside his peers once he was old enough. And while the fact that neither of Pip’s parents were red, magic wielding Grung did turn some heads, the phenomenon wasn’t entirely unprecedented. Magic was a tricky thing, there was no real way of knowing who it would reveal itself to. However, it was unthinkable that two low caste green Grung be responsible for caring for a tadpole that so greatly outranked them. Fortunately there was an elderly red Grung in the village -well past her prime, but excellent with children- and Pip’s parents agreed it was for the best propriety was maintained. Within days of the issue arising it was resolved, and Pip was bundled off to stay with ‘Grandma A’toog’uh’ until he was old enough to begin learning magic properly.

Once a young red Grung reaches maturity, they and their hatch mates from several tribes are sent deep into the jungle, to learn from a more accomplished Grung caster the spells and techniques they need in order to serve their tribe. After several months of studying the basics of magic and learning cantrips, the apprentice Grung then briefly return to their tribes in order to participate in a ceremony to demonstrate what they’ve learned and, by casting their very first level one spell, show that they are looking to the future and will be returning to their mentor to finish their education.

For a while, Pip’s studies went very well. He took to magic like a Grung to water, keeping pace with and even surpassing his peers as they studied simple spells under their mentor Nay’luk’ta’s direction. Despite being, at best, inconsistent with his studying and note-taking, Pip loved learning magic. He was completely fascinated by the way a few words or gestures could be used to affect the world around him to such a substantial degree and, if his peers envied him for the ease with which he absorbed each of their lessons, he didn’t notice.

When it finally came time for the students to return home, to take part in the ceremony that would mark them as fully fledged students of magic, Pip was beside himself with excitement. He had spent weeks vacillating between nearly every possible spell he could show off with before finally deciding on Silent Image and setting to practice.

Finally, after months and months of study and practice, Pip and his classmates were sent back to their tribes to complete the ceremony. He and his three hatchmates made their way home and found themselves greeted by a bustle of excitement from the tribe they’d left behind. They were excited to see how much their little tadpoles had grown while away and hear absolutely everything about their training and newfound arcane skill. A makeshift stage had been erected in the center of the village, and one by one the little red Grung made their way up to present their spells.

Pip was the last to go, with magic absolutely bursting at his fingertips. He bounded up onto the stage and barely waited to be given permission to begin before starting to cast.

Looking back now, it was obvious what went wrong. The way the magic crackled and caught in his veins instead of flowing out smoothly, the way his chest went almost painfully tight as the spell manifested before him, there were the telltale warning signs of a surge. But in that moment, as Pip cast his very first level one spell, all he knew was that something about his magic was deeply, deeply wrong. For a moment, no one in the crowd seemed to notice. They were deeply impressed by the tree Pip had caused to ’sprout’ behind him on the stage, and had even begun to applaud the show of skill. The spell ended, the illusion faded, but there was still magic burning in the palms of Pip’s hands that he couldn’t make go away. There was a moment of silence and then— chaos. It was like every bit of magic inside of him was exploding out at once in a way he could do nothing to stop or control, burning through him with a searing pain that had never accompanied his casting before. It might have gone on for hours, for all Pip knew. But when the spells finally stopped, when the world around him was quiet once more, Pip slowly raised his head to find himself sitting -alone- in the smoking, deserted remains of his village.

He ran.

After that, it was a long, long time before Pip could bring himself to cast so much as a cantrip, and even longer before he would even consider anything stronger. He was terrified of his magic, and for good reason. If he didn’t understand what had happened, how could he understand what had caused it? And if he couldn’t understand what had caused it, how could he keep it from happening again? At best he’d destroyed his home and caused his tribe to flee. At worst… At worst, they hadn’t fled. And Pip didn’t know what he would do if that was the case.

It wasn’t until he met Kur’rok a long while later that he let himself risk using magic at all. No longer being alone, having someone who trusted him to watch his back, it made it a little easier to stomach the risk. Because if it came down either some monster definitely hurting him and his new friends, or Pip possibly hurting them? It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but it was a decision with a clear right choice. And as they traveled, as Pip began to practice once more and reclaim his magic, he began to get a better handle on it. Eventually he learned that more powerful spells had a higher chance of causing a surge, learned how to tell if a surge was going to happen so he could try and minimize damage. And since being taken to Barovia, as much as evil and darkness engulf the land, being there and fighting alongside a steadily growing group of friends has only strengthened his conviction that, while sometimes scary, his magic is not inherently bad. Regardless of tonight’s outcome, that is a lesson that I am proud that he got the chance to learn.

[moderndaybard]

CR Inktober, Day 17

CROSSOVER: POKEMON (Because imagining hypothetical teams is fun.)

 It was that time of year again, and it felt like the whole of the Tal’Dorei Region was abuzz with excitement as the opening rounds of Tal’Dorei Pokemon League Championship drew near.

There were quite a few challengers turning heads that year—some, like the rival ghost trainers Kvarn and Vecna, had trained solo; others, like the dragon-type specialists of the Chroma Conclave had formed loose alliances to reach this point.

But, far and away, the biggest talking point of the tournament was the band of eight trainers who’d taken up the name Vox Machina (though some people who’d encountered them early in their journey still spoke of the SHITS). Like many, they’d found the journey to this point easier in the company and with the assistance of others, but after all their adventures, challenges, obstacles, and unexpected encounters with more than one evil team, their bonds were stronger than most, more of a unified, cohesive single unit than any other group that had competed in previous years.

The talk around and about them (positive and negative) was partially due to their unusually strong inner-group loyalty, partially their extremely diverse team composition, mainly their more-than-usually dangerous/adventurous path (in and out of region) to that point , and (perhaps because of that) the fact that every one of them had a Legendary Pokemon anchoring their team, in addition to the Pokemon on their team capable of Mega-Evolution (a pre-requisite for tournament entry, at this point).

There’d been some grumbling about how fair that was, requiring League President Uriel Tal’Dorei to step in and make a formal ruling/statement: They had begun their journey at an appropriate point and time, along with everyone else, and if circumstances beyond their control had made their path here more roundabout and hazardous than most, it merely proved their skill, determination, and luck to have made it through. Yes, they had briefly and occasionally traveled to other regions, but only out of sheer necessity, and the bulk of their training had undeniably been done in the Tal’Dorei region. And finally, as a Legendary Pokemon will not condescend to fight for just any trainer, their remarkable achievement (which, he reminded people, was not entirely without precedent) stood as further testament to their ability and right to compete.

(The fact that Uriel himself has been saved from the evil organization Team Treachery by Vox Machina was well-known, and some detractors claimed he was therefore biased. Still, his points stood as sound as his ruling was both final and official.)

Officially entered in the tournament, then, Vox Machina was an undeniably odd assortment of Trainers and Pokemon:

For instance, there was their newest member, Taryon Darrington, who technically hailed from the Wildemount Region, but who’d come to train in Tal’Dorei after an argument with his family, soon falling in with the already-formed Vox Machina. He’d started out with only Rich, his Furfrou, though admittedly his Rotom, Artificer, had been with him nearly as long. No one was really sure how Tary of all people had acquired a Metagross (or even a Beldum), to say nothing of a Megastone for it so early in his journey, but Doty was undeniably devoted to its trainer. After joining Vox Machina, Taryon had added Sanctuary, his Mr. Mime, and Slayer’s Cake the Slirpuff. Finally, after an unexpected trip home to Wildemount, and even more surprising confrontation with his father, Tary had finished out his team with the legendary Keldeo, who he affectionately referred to as the Darrington Brigade, for some reason that made sense only to him.

Or consider Scanlan Shorthalt, the ladies’ man of the group: his Exploud, Bard, was already growing in fame before Kaylie, his Mawile, found him (as frightening as the little Steel/Fairy was, she was downright deadly when Mega-Evolved). He’d apparently split off on his own for a while, returning to rejoin the group with two new members on his team: Meatman the Zoruark, and Prodigal the Leipard. If Scanlan rarely spoke of how he came to train his Espeon, Ioun, he was even more reticent and uncharacteristically comber if questioned about his Jirachi, simply called Wish.

Pike, Scanlan’s long-pursued, long-suffering girlfriend had begun her journey with an odd-couple pair of partners: Trickfoot, her Gengar, and cleric, her Granbull. Her Zebstrika, Guiding Bolt, had an odd habit of circling his opponents to attack their rears, but it was her Mimikyu, Astral Form, that was considered the powerhouse of the four. Still, most attention on her was understandably split between either Monstah, her Mega-evolving Tyranitar, or the Legendary Ho-oh she called Seranrae—though underestimating her or any on her team was a serious mistake.

Pike’s childhood friend, Grog, had an interesting blend on his team: his first partner the aptly-named Machamp, Barbarian, was usually the first in any battle, supported by the exceptionally-dense Slowbro affectionately (and ironically) called Intelligence. Waddling about and finding, storing, then producing the oddest assortment of items was Holding, the Delibird. It was half-joking quipped that no one could tell if it was grog training Craven Kas, the Aegislash, or the other way around, but the synergy he had with his Gallade, Fighter, was blatantly obvious even before Mega-Evolution. And anchoring it all was Titanstone, the Legendary Regirock.

Vax’ildan and Grog may have often teased each other, but Vax’s seemingly-average team was no joke in battle: Assassin, his Houndoom, was both his first partner and the one capable of Mega-Evolving, but Vax poured just as much care and love into training his whole team, even his trusty, if often-overlooked Arbok, Simon. Boots, the hasty Luxray was a speed demon, to be sure, and his Croviknight, Paladin was a much-needed defensive boost for the whole team. His Florges, Snowdrop, seemed almost out-of-place on his team, but some story behind her presence never failed to earn a small, sad smile from her trainer, though he never spoke of it. And watching over them all was the ghostly Legendary, Lunala, who Vax called the Raven Queen in the most reverent of voices.

Often seen hand-in-hand with Vax was Keyleth, who hailed from one of the Ashari Tribes of elemental-focused trainers.  Zephrah, her first partner, was an Altaria capable of Mega-Evolution, and had been, along with her Sawsbuck, Circlet (a gift from her mother), with her along every step of her journey to learn of the other elements though new Pokemon on her team: Terrah the Golurk, Pyrah the Pyroar, and Vesrah, the Gyrados. After a return to her starting point, Keyleth was surprise to encounter, much less near the loyalty of the Legendary Tapu Bulu who she came to call Mantle after responsibilities she’d been given in her home village.

Vex’ahlia, twin sister to Vax’ildan, began her journey far more comfortable in the woods and on the routes than in the villages and towns, and there had bonded deeply with her firs two partners: Ranger, her Decidueye, and Trinket the Ursaring. She was just as fond of her later additions: Haggle, the Persian, and Rogue, the (Mega-Evolving) Absol. And if her partnering with the Honchkrow, Witchbroom, was under somewhat-dubious circumstances, one could still not deny the trainer’s care. Perhaps even stranger was her coming to have on her team the Legendary Solgaleo, called Pelor by the girl, but it seemed undeniably fitting that the twins have counterpoint legendaries anchoring their respective teams.

Never too far from Vex was Percival—hardly the first (and certainly not the last, if rumors around his sister Cassandra were anything close to true) of the well-known, if somewhat strange de Rolo family to enter the tournament. Of course, he had the signature Pokemon of his family: Glaceon, his named Whitestone. There were some that questioned the inclusion of his second Pokemon, but the general consensus was that there must be some sort of sentimental attachment to an early—perhaps first—capture that led him to keep on his final team Spectacles, the Watchog. Gunslinger, his Mega-Evolving Blastoise was a powerful force, but not nearly as feared as Contract, his Spiritomb. There was something almost laughable about the Klingklnag, Clocks, but all laughter died in the face of the Legendary Yveltal, his dark Orthax.

It was generally considered that the one advantage any opponent of theirs would have would be that each of the eight would have to fight their way through the tournament alone, rather than the group that they’d grown accustomed to working as along their journey. Even then, many didn’t fell that nay challenger outside of Vox Machina had any shade of a chance at victory. Except…

…Except, perhaps, for the mysterious, last-minute entry…

The only name he gave was ‘Matt,’ and though no one knew where he’d come from or where he’d trained, his team was as stacked as any of theirs: His (Mega) Gardevoir, Allura, led the powerful line-up, backed by Kima, the Hitmonchan, and the Alakazam, Gilmore. His Voltorb, Victor, promised to be a Wildcard, and was, in its own way, just as terrifying as the final two members: Briarwoods, the Malamar, and his own Legendary, the Zygarde he called Raishan.

No, there was absolutely no predicting how this year’s tournament would go, but one:

 It would be a story told through the years to come.

[funslayer]

( unprompted meta! in what ways, if any, do you think growing up / spending time mostly around girls has influenced who boey is? )

ooc; 

so after all the mbti types greeking out yesterday, i think this is about time i answer this.

firstly, thanks for the interesting question, rai! i haven’t really thought about this in depth before.

- 

secondly, now without further ado…. this got long, so i’ll put it under a readmore.

i’ll be bringing up mae frequently since that’s a major character that helped instrument a lot of boey’s inner character workings in game, plus she is his only support conversation. but it did reveal a lot in there. 

but back to the beginning: 

he comes from a family of five; a fisherman pops, a mystery mum, apparently two older brothers, and himself

at the novis priory, he knows/once knew: celica, mae, genny, silque ( until she left shortly before act 1 ), and nomah

nomah is the only known man at the priory school, who’s also the elderly sage and teacher. boey already has his own dad, so he didn’t see to him like a father figure, but rather as someone who guided him through his studies and shared wisdom. the priory most likely has a 75/25 female:male ratio with their clerics and mages.  as most valentian men seem to largely prefer physical jobs like the paths of being knights, merchants, traders, fisherman, sailors, mercenaries, ect. 

i would imagine boey’s older brothers followed in his father’s footsteps undertaking similar physical work, so boey was the only male of his poor family to be in a female-dominated area like the priory.  i also have a headcanon he’s the only one in his family who’s proficient in reading and writing, that the rest can’t write and can only read if it’s market-related ( prices, very basic words of food listings ). 

i don’t think he was intentionally resisting to the societal structure norms by taking the path of non-physical job instead, but that he was just tasked to protect celica along with mae and genny when she came to novis. it was only then he decided to join them at the priory to stay close by her side to better protect her as it was his shared duty. 

pursuing on being fisherman or a travelling mercenary for a kid at the time isn’t exactly the best way on sticking to his duty to protect someone of high status. attending school with celica where they study magic, read books, write texts, be more connected to the earth mother ( like fodlan’s faith ) was far more beneficial and efficient. 

and because of that, he tries to compensate for his poor background by donning on a more eloquent persona one would see in nobles. he isn’t actively trying to pretend like he is one, but he considers respect, presentation, and proper etiquette to be very important to be taken seriously as celica’s guard and vassal.

with all that said, i definitely do think being around mostly girls his age did have some impact on his mind and personality construct.

back to the main question: 

a person’s childhood and influences can play a key role in how they turn out, and this definitely is no different for boey. growing up over the years, as more girls come and go at novis, he spent most of his day to day life either studying and training from crack of dawn to twilight at school, travelling to the harbor alone or escorting one of the girls there to run errands, or spending whatever free time he had with them. 

protectiveness

this is very real in his psyche. 

with his brothers and father, they all looked out for each other but also could hold their own. it was a non-verbal understanding between them and even though boey was the youngest and the least conformed to the masculinity structure, he didn’t get teased for not being able to carry his own weight… much. 

with his childhood friends, however, he finds himself always acting as their bodyguard or escort to keep them out of harm’s way. if either mae or genny got hurt or killed, that wouldn’t bode well for keeping celica protected. he likely did have an overbearing phase as a kid where even a cut or a scrape would make boey stress out over them until he calmed down after some time. 

some of that returned ( but in a different form ) after mila’s blessings was disappearing, and there was a steady rise in thievery, banditry, terrors, and just all around chaos. having learnt better from prior experience, he was more adamant than ever on keeping his friends and celica safe from harm. he had feared for the day one of them would steal one of the girls away at the harbor and sail away with them ( or a case like silque’s in act 1 where she got kidnapped into a shrine cave ).

we… don’t have much at all about silque’s side of the story with the novis gang, so there’s not a lot to go off on. but until we get a silque, this part is up in the air for some possible changes later. with silque leaving, i’d think boey and the others accompanied her to the harbor and made sure she got on a safe ship, since banditry and piracy was on such a high rise during that time. he would have escorted her to mainland zofia personally, but since he had a more important duty to do, he had to stay behind at the priory despite his own wishes. wishing silque and any other leaving novis a safe journey was all he could do.

when celica and mae were about to board the ship to leave novis to go on their pilgrimage journey, boey was very adamant on not letting them go off alone, not without his protection. it’s what makes him feel valuable as an ally, as he cares very much for their safety but also lending a helping hand to get to their destination, so that he isn’t be a hindrance and trying to shelter them like much of the older folks.

more in-tune with emotions

it still doesn’t trump his natural rationality-driven mind, but it’s been nurtured and grown over the years to a somewhat better understanding of them and his own feelings.

being around girls a lot come with other packages that open up a side or two. he has likely listened to a lot of girl gossip about how they feel about their families, friends, loved ones, or mundane things that happen in daily life. there’s no end to these things, and he’s simply accepted it of hearing or being told things. he’s also the type to be an active listener and give feedback, so this particular trait is probably another reason he appears more approachable.

since he can come to find girls to be so… different than how he usually worked, he wanted to better understand where they’re coming from… kind of, and hope to better relate. from that, he became more knowledgeable about what he may feel at a lot of times ( friendship love, familial love, romantic love are big things, but also annoyance, happiness, relief, anxious, proud - a large array of emotions that bubble underneath his grounded outward persona ). 

i found it fascinating that they subvert a couple of the tropes in boey/mae’s supports. i’ll do a quick rundown:

not oblivious to what he’s feeling -we can see in their A support that boey is subtlety confessing to mae. he didn’t wish to be blunt about it since that’s opening up his heart to let the love bleed out too much. in popular tropes, we see this as the other way around where the girl is obviously in love and confessing, but the guy’s too oblivious to Get It.

doesn’t tell her to back down or stay off the battlefield -in their B support, boey ( coming from their C support ) confronts mae if she was sure she could handle fighting as he misunderstands it as her not liking it nor enjoying being out in the battlefield. he could have just simply told her to get behind him as he’d protect her or tell her to give up fighting if she doesnt like it… except he didn’t. he simply asked these things to better understand where she’s coming from as he misunderstood her prior, and thought there was something wrong when he thought about her feelings on the matter but there wasn’t anything much wrong. just from these, he’s rather considerate and keeps others’ well-beings in mind.

he still isn’t perfect at reading emotions in others ( and likely never will, but may improve bit by bit ). he still resorts to thinking with the approach of logic or rationality to matters and calmly confronts those he doesn’t fully understand ( especially if they’re coming from with the carefree/spur-of-the-moment feelings approach which he doesn’t think of to view from, and even if he did consider that side, he doesn’t a hundred percent get the exact inner workings of… why they say or do as is ). 

so being around the novis gang all throughout childhood and schooling years did open some more doors. not all of them and not all rooms are enlightened with full understanding, but it’s more than what other boys his age would probably be set with on this particular fundamental of being human. 

[artofthero]

i made a post about this a while ago, but it got lost when i accidentally deleted the blog and i don’t think anyone reblogged it (that i could find at least)

so! i wanted to share the backstories for my hetalia/DnD au that i have so far, as well as a bit of their time as party. it’s not a complete story and some parts are lifted from other DnD shows bc i haven’t actually played much myself and don’t really have any other inspiration lmao, but i remember it being a well-received au so hopefully someone will enjoy this!

e.stonia/eduard – high elf bard

the heir to a long-standing family of elven military officers who offered their servitude to their king. the alliance had lasted so long, the position was practically hereditary. eduard studied military tactics and strategy dutifully, along with his music, but when it came to practice, he froze in the face of battle. raivis’s quick-thinking saved him and his soldiers, but he surrendered the position, ashamed of his failure and filled with dread at the thought of getting soldiers killed by his poor command. his family was equally shamed and shunned him. he left for the life of a bard, cutting his hair to signify his exile. he grew up privileged but not spoiled and adapted quickly to the lifestyle of a traveling musician. he is a studious reader and skilled with the kannel, with which he casts his spells. as a caster, he is rarely in the midst of a battle, and has proved himself a brilliant tactician from this distance

l.atvia/raivis – halfling trickster rogue

one of many street urchins who grew up in a large city. he scraped a living together through a combination of thievery and deception, using his small stature to gain sympathy, posing as a human child even as an adult. he never stole for the sake of stealing, just for survival, but became quite adept at slipping authorities by navigating through tight, small spaces. despite his skill, the life of a thief made him anxious and paranoid, and he is often quite fearful. he generally covers this with bluster and snark but can break if pushed. his greatest vice is his drinking, but his biggest virtue is his loyalty. though he struggles to make friends due to his paranoia, once he makes them, he will fiercely stand by them in the face of danger

l.ithuania/toris – tiefling sorcerer

his family’s demonic bloodline had remained dormant for several generations, so when he was born with demonic features, it was a horrifying surprise and he was abandoned, perceived as a bad omen. he was found by a traveling family and adopted, raised by the eldest sister, a cleric named katya, alongside her younger siblings, ivan and natalia. they helped him train and hone his inherent demonic magic, eventually finding he could channel it safely through amber. he grew up cared for, but his presence often created trouble for his adopted family. the guilt eventually drove him to leave, thinking they were better off without him, and he became a mercenary sorcerer, facing a lot of hardships on the battle field. having seen some of the worst of life, he aims to be kind and peaceful when possible, but will fight when needed

a.merica/alfred – human champion fighter

a native resident of a small village that bordered on two rival principalities, along with his twin brother matthew. as part of a farming family, he grew up doing significant physical labor and became very strong and durable. frustrated at the abuse his friends and neighbors suffered at the hands of both principalities’ armies, he began standing up to the soldiers, picking fights and often ending up beaten, bloody, and lying in the dust. however, he remained determined to defend his home and neighbors, training and continuing to fight until both armies went from seeing him as a pest to a threat. along with his brother, he drove the soldiers out of the town, even facing off against the armies’ officers. together, they chased the armies out and warned the princes to leave their home out of their petty fighting, lest there be consequences. incredibly brave, bordering on foolishness, he will rush headlong into battle, especially if someone needs to be defended. he has a strong sense of justice and makes friends easily. his fighting style is as loud and boisterous as he is, swinging his fists wildly and wielding massive weapons with ease

c.anada/matthew – human druid

a native resident of a small village that bordered on two rival principalities, along with his twin brother alfred. as part of a farming family, he grew up close to nature and animals, finding a deep respect for the natural world. frustrated at the abuse his friends and neighbors suffered at the hands of both principalities’ armies, he slipped into the surrounding forests to learn magic from the local fae, mastering the druidic arts. he grew powerful, especially after finding his familiar – a massive white bear being dragged around by one of the armies as a living weapon, which matthew freed and befriended. along with alfred, he drove the soldiers from their town, and made clear to the princes that their home would no longer be a part of their fight. generally quiet and reserved, he tends to be calm and logical, but has a sharp sense of humor. his magic tends to manifest through trees and ice

u.kraine/katya – human cleric

a traveling healer, she fled a destructive fire in her hometown with her two younger siblings, only to return to find they had no home to go back to. softhearted and strong, she prefers not to fight but will stand firm when needed. she worries often for her family, and sometimes fails to take proper care of herself because of it. ultimately, all she wants is a happy and safe life for the people she cares for

r.ussia/ivan – human caster (warlock? wizard? unsure)

fleeing his burning home with his sisters as a child, ivan grew up without much, and became very protective of what he did have. after he and his siblings took in toris, he began to quietly resent the tiefling for his inherent skills in magic. when toris left, he became determined to keep his sisters safe, seeking magical artifacts to use as weapons. though usually amicable and friendly, something dark lurks under the surface, something a more malicious artifact seems to be taking advantage of

b.elarus/natalia - human rogue

forced to flee her home due to a devastating fire when she was very young, natalia has grown up going from place to place with her older brother and sister, never quite knowing what “home” was. she has difficulty forming attachments outside her family and can come across as distant and forceful. though not an assassin by trade, she certainly wields the knife and stealth skills of one. she cares deeply for her siblings, especially her brother, who she fears is going down a dark path

eduard and eaivis met first, while eduard was still living with his family. raivis attempted to pickpocket him but was caught by family guards and quite violently roughed up. eduard stepped in, saying he was just a street urchin who didn’t know better (which raivis didn’t appreciate but he did appreciate eduard getting the guards to stop). the family demanded some form of penance though, and raivis was “appointed” as eduard’s attendant (it was either that or a dungeon…). though he was bitter at first, eduard proved to be kind and sensible, and raivis grew fond of him. he was the one to snap eduard out of his shock in his first battle, keeping his senses about him so he could call a retreat

as a mercenary, toris was hired to fight in the same battle as eduard’s failed debut and consoled him at the camp after the retreat. following his exile, raivis chose to stay with eduard, much to the latter’s surprise, saying he had no idea how to live out in the world and he needed some street smarts to survive. they sought out Toris, still staying nearby, and the three set out to adventure

on their travels they came across alfred and matthew’s village, under siege from the two rival principalities who aimed to starve out the pests who kept interrupting their fight. they slipped through the blockades and helped the two brothers fight their way out from the inside, dealing significant damage to both armies. assured that the princes were gone for good, alfred and matthew joined up with them

the party met up with toris’ adopted family by chance in what was a relatively happy reunion, but toris noticed something was off. ivan had gotten a hold of an artifact called the ring of winter, which gave him elemental power over ice and snow but subtly manipulated him, and it was already making katya and natalia uneasy. before long, ivan’s paranoia and jealousy, exacerbated by the ring, got the better of him and he turned on the rest of the party, only breaking its grip when natalia managed to sever the finger on which he wore the ring

from here on, the story is still unknown. but, i may be adding to this in the future!

[themuffinbee]

Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast

Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Touching, Caleb is touch-starved, He also has a crush on Jester, He does not know either of these things, Touch-Starved, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Widojest 

Summary:

What if a certain inquisitive cleric and a certain scruffy wizard had taken watch together in that crystalline cave on the way to Xhorhas? And what if she wanted to get a better look at what he’s been hiding under those bandages?

A little missing scene that could have happened in episode 50.

A/N:  Many, many thanks to Jadesabre301 ( a.k.a. Jade_Sabre on Ao3) for beta-ing this fic. She’s an amazing beta AND a fantastic writer, go read her sweet, fluffy Widojest stuff!

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

A stream of droplets trickled down the side of the bubble, no doubt from one of the jagged crystals gleaming up above. On the other side of the magical hut, the Mighty Nein slumbered away under the cover of Caduceus’s stone shell, the air punctuated with an occasional snore from Beauregard.

Caleb scratched at his arms.

Try as he might, he just couldn’t help but dig under his bandages to get at an itch that wasn’t actually there. Their current surroundings were stunning, true, but the glittering shards covering every visible surface only served to stoke unpleasant memories. Some much more recent than others.

“Hey, Caaay-leb, whatcha thinking about?” his companion whispered to him in a singsong melody.

Five minutes and forty-six seconds. Jester had lasted longer in the silence than he had expected.

“Oh, nothing much. You?”

“Just trying figure out if there’s a way to hollow out a cake, like, a small one, and fill it with the jelly they put inside doughnuts,” she replied, plopping her head onto her hand and tapping her chin, “The problem is, it would glop all over the place when you cut into it, and maybe make the cake all soggy.”

He pondered this for a moment, more than happy to escape his own thoughts, “I don’t know much about baking, but what if you made it thicker with some kind of starch? Or gelatin? Would that work?”

Her eyes brightened. “Maybe! I don’t know too much about baking either, but it would be delicious, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded. “That it would.”

“Thank you!” She paused, brows beginning to furrow. “I was also trying to make sense of the last few days. Things have gotten pretty crazy.”

Caleb stiffened and made a vague noise of affirmation, gaze drifting off to the side. His mind flashed to all of the things he had said, and left unsaid, two days ago. A subtle sense of panic began buzzing along his nerves, years of practiced self-preservation taking hold in an instant.

Change the subject, you don’t want to open the door to this conversation.

He could ask about her mother, but that might make her sad…Maybe her art? Better yet, asking her about the Traveler might–

“You know, that’s actually why I wanted to keep watch with you tonight.” She scooted closer to him. “I have a question for you…”

Scheiße. Too slow.

Thinking back, he should have turned her down the moment she volunteered for second watch right after he did. She had been far too eager, raising her hand with such force that she practically jumped off the ground. Why hadn’t he suspected anything then?

“…And you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.” She waved her hands in front of her. “It’s totally fine if you don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Jester, I don’t think I–”

“Oh, and I wanted to thank you,” she cut in.

“Thank me?” He frowned. He had done nothing worthy of special thanks.“Whatever for?”

“I wanted to thank you….” she plunked her words out one by one, like a child practicing an instrument “…For trusting us. I know that must have been pretty difficult.”

She beamed at him, and he felt something loosen and tighten in his chest all at the same time. That had been happening a lot as of late. Far too often, actually.

That needs to stop.

He swallowed and cast his eyes to the ground, “Ja.”

Why was she looking at him like that? With those violet eyes filled with sincerity and a smile so warm it could melt winter itself within half a second? He had revealed that he had been lying to the Nein for months, using them as a shield, a front, and she thanked him for it?

She would never look at him like that if she knew what he was, everything he had done. His general allusions of being trained to torture were the least of his sins in his past life.

She doesn’t have to know any more than she already does. It’s not too late, change the subject.

Gluing his eyes to a pebble by his foot like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, he asked, “So, what was your question?”

It was a rare thing for him to ignore his instincts. After all, his abundance of caution had kept him safe for years, kept him from getting caught, from getting killed. Tonight, however, he found himself rebelling against his better judgment. Whether it was out of curiosity or masochism, he had no idea. Maybe he was just tired of hiding, of peddling in secrets and lies, of fearing what she thought of him.

“Well, you see, I was wondering if it would be all right,” she leaned in and whispered, “if I could take a closer look at your arms.”

Caleb blinked. “You what?”

“Your arms,” she motioned to his threadbare bandages, “I’d like to look at them. I just wanted to check them out, healing being my thing and all.”

Well, that made perfect sense, now didn’t it? It wasn’t the worst thing she could ask of him, not by a long shot. He had expected the ever-inquisitive cleric to dig straight into the sizable holes he had left in his story. But still…

“I’d really rather not, they’re a bit of a…uh…a bad memory.”

“Oh.” Jester’s face fell a tad, then brightened once again. “That’s okay. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

He frowned. “Why do you want to look at them anyway? They’re far beyond healing, there’s nothing you could do.”

“Well…” she began rummaging around in her component pouches, “I figured, now that we may be coming up against some big bad magic guys, it might be a good idea to know if they have a little extra somethin’–somethin’ up their sleeve, and maybe how it works, you know?

“Aha! There you are!” she whispered in triumph as she pulled out a tiny striped lollipop, a miniature version of her confectionary Spiritual Weapon. She held it out to him. “You want one too?”

“No, but danke.”

“You sure? They’re reeeally good,” she half-sang in that cadence of hers. “I got a bunch of them in Nicodranas right before we left, so they’re still pretty fresh.”

He shook his head with a wan smile and a small chuff of air through his nose that might be construed as a chuckle.

This seemed to appease her. Jester nodded happily and popped the sweet in her mouth, speaking around the candy. “Could I ask you another question instead?”

No.

He sighed, watching his fingers fiddle with the hem of his coat to keep them from tugging at his bandages. “You can ask, but you may not get an answer.”

This is a bad idea.

“Yeah, of course.” She nodded and thought for a second, “Do you think there are more people out there like you?”

Caleb looked up, “Do I think what now?”

“You know, others. People that ran away from the Assembly or the Academy?”

“I…I don’t know. I hadn’t ever considered it.”

He hadn’t. Not really, anyways. When he had first been thrown into the institution, he had near-feverish fantasies of Astrid or Eodwulf getting thrown in with him, of them being together once again and escaping far from the reaches of the Empire.

But it had never happened.

There had been no rescue party. His hope has been crushed into dust long before the end of those eleven hellacious years.

“Well,” Jester continued, “if there are others, maybe we could help them. That’s why I was wondering about your arms. If, like, they still had magic stuff in theirs and wanted to get it out. Who knows? Maybe even Yeza has some, since he was working for the Cerberus Assembly.”

“I see.” This conversation hadn’t gone the way he was expecting at all.

Then again, nothing ever seemed to go the way he expected if Jester was involved.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before the cleric fished her sketchbook and pencils out of her haversack.

“I’m going to make some drawings for the Traveler for a little while, is that cool?”

He nodded but said nothing, staring off into darkness as a flurry of thoughts whirled between his ears.

In his five years on the run, he hadn’t even dared to hope that there may be someone else like himself out there. The power of Trent Ikithon and the Assembly had grown to near omnipotence in his mind, their controlling influence in every realm of the Empire being an insurmountable barrier against other dissenters.

Hell, even someone like Pumat Sol was a member of the Assembly. The genial firbolg may have spoken well of the organization, but that brief flash of fear in Pumat’s eyes when he talked about Headmaster Oremid Haas spoke louder.

No, it was doubtful there was anyone else.

Caleb turned his attention back to Jester as she flipped through the pages of her sketchbook, catching glimpses of the Nein’s various exploits recorded in ink and graphite. Every once in a while, he would spot sketches of Kiri, Nila, Shakaste, and so many others. Though he may not entirely understand it, Caleb knew the cleric’s drawings were more than doodlings for her metaphysical best friend; they were prayers to her god. It was staggering, really, the number of portraits she had etched into those pages, the number of people she managed to care for all at once.

Consternation gave way to uncertainty, and perhaps the most minuscule bit of guilt, as he thought about what she had said, that the scars of his past could aid someone in the future. Granted, the chances of that were slim to none. Even still, he had told her not seventy-two hours ago that he believed in her, that he trusted her…What was the harm in testing that faith out a little?

You’ll ruin everything. Don’t taint your friendship more than you already have.

But she already knew what his arms looked like, didn’t she? There was nothing to hide. At least, not on this front.

“…All right,” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible to his own ears.

“Hm?” She looked up from her drawing. “What was that?”

“I said all right, you can look at my arms.”

Her face split into a smile, “Really?”

“Really really,” he responded, shrugging out of his coat and unwrapping the bandages at his elbows before he lost whatever speck of courage he had managed to gather.

Idiot. You’re as big a sucker as that candy she has in between her teeth.

Jester scrambled back over to him until they were sitting knee to knee, watching with an intensity and focus normally reserved for her sketches. With an absent-minded crunch, she bit into the lollipop and placed the stick back in its wrapper.

Fighting off a small wave of nausea, Caleb held his arm before her.

She gently took hold of it, “Now, just tell me if you change your mind and I’ll stop, okay?”

He nodded, then held his breath.

Jester closed her eyes and whispered something he couldn’t quite make out, a prayer on playfully reverent lips. Her eyes opened, and a quick flash of green light filled her irises before it burned away like verdant embers.

Smart girl, casting magical detection like that. Caleb knew she wouldn’t find anything; he hadn’t felt the sting of magic under his skin for years, but it was a good thought nonetheless.

He was mostly fine for the first few minutes, surprisingly so, as he watched her turn his arm this way and that. But as the process went on, he noticed the look of focus on Jester’s features sink into an expression of uncomfortable concern. Her lips pursed together as she took in the numerous faint scars spidering across his skin, the corners of her mouth dipping as her eyes and fingers met with each wound.

Soon, she asked to see his other arm, to which he obliged without protest. However, a sick feeling had begun to eat away at the insides his stomach, like he was watching her search through a pile of filth and rotted garbage.

Then it happened.

Memory and present merged into a single vision, as they so often did for him. This time there were no screams of anguish rending the air as ash and the smell of burning flesh gagged him from the inside out. No, this was much quieter, but just as sinister.

Instead of her fingers sliding over the faded remnants of his past sins, Caleb saw Jester inspecting a crystalline rainbow consuming his flesh one inch at a time. He nearly cried out and pushed her away – he couldn’t let them take hold of her too, encasing her fingers in a prismatic prison that would eat its way up her arms, her chest, mouth, eyes. Hollow laughter rang out from somewhere in the depths of the cave, a sound he wished he could forget.

It’s not real. He’s not here. Götter verdammt noch mal, es ist nicht real.

Willing his arm to keep from shaking, Caleb took a deep breath and hoped she didn’t notice how it shuddered in his lungs. He trained his gaze on his boots, knowing that closing his eyes would only make the vision worse. How long had it lasted? Ten seconds? Three? Less? It was hard to tell.

“Caleb, are you sure you’re okay?”

Damn. He looked up to find her staring at him, concern etched into every inch of her face.

“Caleb, we can stop. You don’t have to do this.” She looked back down at his arm. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not, it’s not you…It’s…It’s a bad memory, like I said.” His words were a halting mess, but even the simple act of speaking them helped ground him to reality.

A memory, yes, that’s right. Only a memory. She was safe, he was safe, there was nothing to fear. Only a series of faint scars on skin as white as bones.

“That doesn’t make much of a difference if I’m the one bringing back the memory, and it looks like it’s worse than just ‘bad.’ It’s okay, I’ll stop now.”

Her grip slackened on his arm, and a whole new kind of panic took him. He knew only one thing, and that was he did not want her to let go. If she let go, then he had failed her, broken his word, lied to her. Not too long ago, he wouldn’t have cared a wit if someone were disappointed in him. Why did he care now?

“Wait, hold on. You’re almost done, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Go ahead and finish. It’s no good to leave the job half done.”

“Are you sure?”

Her fingers were barely touching him now, like birds perched on a branch, ready to fly off at any moment. She needed a sign that he was actually okay, not paltry words that could be guilty lies as easily as earnest truths. With a slow, deliberate motion, he relaxed into her hand until his arm was flush with her palm.

He held her gaze with his. “Yes.”

She looked at him for a moment or two, trying to find any sign of uncertainty. Then, one of the corners of her mouth rose into a half-smile. “You know, recently, you look different, Caleb.”

He frowned, more than a little confused by this assertion. “I look exactly the same as the day I met you.”

“No, not physically. Well, maybe a little, in a way.”

“Jester, you are not making very much sense.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You seem… lighter, less heavy. I don’t know…You’re different, but a good different.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t feel any lighter. If anything, he felt tired from carrying around too many secrets for too long, but maybe that was her point.

“I can see it. ” She gave him another appraising look and nodded. “Yup, definitely a good different.”

He shook his head, knowing he was more pleased than he should be at that nonsensical assessment, “You are a very silly tiefling.”

Her teeth flashed in the low light. “Good.”

Now more grounded in the present, Caleb felt his heartbeat slow in his chest, the wave of panic and nausea subsiding. As he watched her resume the study of his scars, he could see faint specks of light in her hair and on her skin, reflected from the glittering walls of the cave, mixing in with the myriad of freckles on her face. The tip of her tail curled and uncurled idly at her side, a behavior he found rather reminiscent of Frumpkin. Her face wore the same look she had while painting, with one pointed incisor peeking out as she bit down on a cerulean lip. It was as though every fiber of her being was directed only to what was in front of her, like nothing else mattered or even existed.

And then there were her hands, inkstained and delicate, but also strong and steady. Cool fingertips trailed against his skin, more soothing than any healing balm. Each gentle touch was a ripple of sensation, leaving tingling goosebumps in her wake while relaxing the muscles beneath. It was almost too much for him, and yet still somehow not enough.

It had been…what? At least sixteen years since he’d had real physical contact with anybody else? No sleeves, bandages, or gloves acting as a barrier? He had forgotten how nice it was to feel another person’s touch in the most basic of ways, especially when said person exerted such care with every movement.

“You know, you…” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he was speaking.

“Hm?” She looked up, eyes glowing amethyst in the dim light. “What did you say?”

That was a good question, what was he saying? He felt his voice wither away, somehow forgetting how vocal cords were supposed to work.

“You…ah…” He fumbled, unable to transform the half-thought, half-feeling into any kind of verbal sense. He was fluent in four languages, gods damn it, yet words escaped him. It didn’t help that she kept staring at him with those eyes, neither did the sudden realization that their faces were much closer together than he had thought. “Um…Du bist ein guter Kleriker.”

That was definitely not Common.

She wrinkled her nose with a grin. “What?”

“What I meant was…” He backtracked, trying to find the right term.

“Yes?” She wiggled her shoulders back and forth in a little expectant dance.

“Just that…You’re good at being a cleric, at healing.” That still wasn’t quite right. “ You have…I think they call it a nice bedside manner.”

“Well, of course!” She waggled her eyebrows with a wicked grin. “I grew up at the Lavish Chateau, after all, so I know a lot about bedside manners.”

An inexplicable heat rushed into his cheeks and his mind went as blank as unused parchment. He could hear the echo of her words from two days ago bounce around in his brain: “Are you secretly in love with me?”

No. Of course not. That would be…

Caleb coughed into his free hand. “I don’t think those are quite the same thing.”

“You never know, there are some preeetty crazy religions out there.” She gave him one of those mischievous little smiles, the kind that always made the corners of his mouth want to tug upwards as well, then her eyes softened. “And thanks, that means a lot.”

He nodded, hoping she couldn’t see the furious flush across his face.

“Now, Ha-err Widogast.” She settled back and raised a finger in the air. “I’d like to ask some post-examination questions. You’ve been really good about everything, so I’ll try to keep this quick, I promise.”

He sighed. “We really need to work on your Zemninan.”

“Is that a yes?” She pressed her hands together in playful supplication with imploring eyes, leaving his arm cradled in her lap. “Please?”

Gods, how was he supposed to say no to that face?

He blew out a long breath, somehow feeling amused despite himself. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. You would make as decent an Expositor as our monkish friend over there.”

She grinned. “I’d be pretty good at it, wouldn’t I? Too bad those Cobalt guys aren’t anywhere near as cool as the Traveler.”

“It is most certainly their loss.”

“So…That’s a yes?”

“Ja.”

“Ja. Okay, good.” Her hand slid under own and up his arm, her fingers grazing a scar on his wrist. Another small shiver shot across his skin. “Do you know how many you have on each side? Scars, I mean.”

He cleared his throat. “Thirty-three on the left, thirty-five on the right.”

“Mhmm, that’s what I counted.” She nodded. “Do you have more anywhere else?”

“There are four more on each upper arm,” he answered, then added, “There’s also one on each calf.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Oh? Why just one on each?”

“Ah, well, they, uh, they made it harder to walk.” He hoped she’d be satisfied with that vague of an answer, he didn’t want her to know the more gory details.

She looked as though she might press him further, then paused. She thought for a moment before asking, “What kind of crystals were they?”

His vision from a few minutes before flashed to the front of his mind. “It was hard to tell…They came in an array of colors, but most of the ones I saw weren’t cut, or even polished.”

“Rubies? Emeralds?”

“Sure, rubies and emeralds seem likely.”

She paused for a second. “What about aquamarine, or maybe fire opal?

That was…oddly specific.

“Perhaps? I’m no geologist or jeweler. Like I said, the few I saw were all sorts of shapes and colors, and all in their rough forms. We were never told what they were, or what they were supposed to do. It might have skewed the experiment otherwise.”

“Okay,” she responded, but said no more.

After several seconds of silence, he looked up to find her staring at his upraised palm with her mouth scrunched up to one side, as if she were trying to remember something.

“Jester?”

She blinked a few times. “Oh! Sorry, I was just…thinking.” She set her shoulders and flashed him a smile, but it was tighter than usual.

“What about?” It was a rare thing for the talkative tiefling to drop out of a conversation like that. “You went pretty far into your head for a moment there.”

“Well,” she began, “you remember how Orly told me about those magical tattoos?”

“Ja, you were pretty excited about those for a while.”

“And I still am, they’re really cool! But it just hit me…” she trailed off, one of her fingers absently tracing small, rather distracting circles on his forearm. “It just hit me that they’re basically the same thing as what you had, the only difference is that the crystals are ground down and inside the skin, instead of under it.”

“There are…definite similarities, yes.”

“Isn’t that kinda a weird coincidence?” Her finger stilled its movement, and he told himself he did not feel disappointed.

“I’m sure that the practice of tattooing with gem dust had been around long before I ever went to Rexentrum. The Assembly most likely took something perfectly harmless and…changed it to suit their purposes. It’s sort of what they do.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” She nodded, but still looked a tad uneasy. Which, in turn, made Caleb feel uneasy.

“Or,” he continued, leaning forward with a conspiratorial whisper, “are you worried that our trusted navigator might actually be a spy for the Empire?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Yes, that’s it exactly! It’s a perfect cover!”

He raised his eyebrows. “We cracked the case?”

“We cracked the case!” She grinned up at him and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear before glancing back down at his arm. “So, um, where did they go?”

“The crystals?”

“Yeah, like, did you learn how to shoot them out like a superpowered porcupine, or did you absorb them and that’s why you’re so good at magic?”

“No, they, uh, they were removed.”

“Like, a surgery? And they were put in the same way?”

“Ja. They knocked us out with a potion, inserted or removed the crystals, then a cleric healed the cuts over afterward, just enough to close the wounds.” Then he hesitated before saying, “If we ever did meet anyone with something similar, it most would most likely require certain tools and training to extract the crystals.”

“Oh.” She deflated a little.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, no, it’s good to know.” She contemplated his arm for a few moments more. “There was something you said…about the crystals themselves.”

“Yes?”

“How did you know what they looked like if you were asleep during the surgery and the cuts were healed up?”

“Ah…Ja, uh, the crystals were supposed to stay under the skin. But that’s the thing about experiments.” He rubbed the back of his head with his hand, tugging at his hair. “They don’t always go as planned, especially when you add magic to the mix.”

Her hands, the ones that had been so gentle and sure as they inspected his scars, stiffened around his wrist. “Supposed to stay under…?”

Realizing just what he had said, Caleb bit the inside of his cheek.

Scheiße.

Her eyes widened and a slow, unsettled look crept across her face as she began to pick apart his statement. Though she may play the fool, Jester was far from stupid. There were only so many ways to interpret what he had said, and none of them were pleasant.

Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße.

Caleb could have kicked himself. Jester had such an abundance of natural charm, it was like she cast a Friends spell every time she spoke. He never should have forgotten that, never let his guard down so easily. He had always had a soft spot for the cleric, but when did he allow her to have so much power over him?

With an almost excruciating slowness, Jester ran her thumb over his palm. His breath stuck to the inside of his lungs.

She opened her mouth once, twice. Finally, she asked in a voice almost too soft to hear, “Did it hurt?”

Never had he thought a single question could make his insides ache like they did right now. Sadness rang through her voice and struck him straight to the core. “Oh, Jester.”

This was a mistake.

He cleared his throat, trying and failing to swallow back an emotion he did not care to name. “I think that’s all the questions that need to be answered tonight.”

She raised her eyes to meet his. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

Looking at her small form, shoulders drawn in and tail now tucked underneath her, Caleb wanted to lie. He never should have agreed to be truthful with these people, and especially not with her. Instinct begged him to go back to the way things had been, all protective lies and secrets to spare their feelings, as well as his.

It was too late for that now, though. He had tasted the briefest bit of honesty, and bitter though it was, it was also warm and reassuring. These stupid, crazy people had woken him from the half-life he had been living and sustained his tenuous existence with a kind of security he had long forgotten. They had come to embrace his dirty, intentionally unpleasant self and placed their trust in his singed hands.

If Jester, who always wore a clown’s mask for the sake of others, could reveal to him an honest sliver of her own pain and worry like she had that night in Darktow, then he could pay her the same respect now.

“Ja.” His whisper sounded more like a rusty hinge than a voice. “Ja, it hurt. It hurt like hell.”

Before she could formulate a response, he moved his hand down to wrap around hers and looked her dead in the eye, “But you know what? They don’t anymore. It’s in the past now, they’re healed. You don’t need to worry over them.”

A half-truth was better than none at all, he supposed. His arms were indeed as healed as they were ever going to be. As for his past…Well, he would cross that bridge when he got there.

Or burn it forever.

She nodded and smiled, and he hoped to whatever gods there might be that those weren’t unshed tears lining her eyes. “Sorry I asked so many questions, I know it sucked. I just – I worry about you, Caleb.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand, only now realizing that he was still holding it. Then he heard himself say something he would definitely regret later. “I’ll tell you the rest someday.”

The next thing he knew, Jester had leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, seeming to not at all mind his mud-smeared coat. “Thank you.”

Caleb did not move to embrace her back, but felt a smile curl at his lips as he took in her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

A few moments passed before she gave him one last squeeze and leaned back, a happy smile in place and not a tear to be seen. “Okay, I really am going to make a few sketches now.”

He nodded and grabbed at one of the bandages he had shed onto the ground, now somehow rough and heavy in his hands.

As he began to wrap his arm up from palm to elbow, Caleb realized it was so much more difficult than it had been before, his own fingers seeming to protest by fumbling and bunching up the fabric. With every turn around his arm, Caleb found himself wishing he never had to put the confining wrappings back on again, or that he had never taken them off for her in the first place.

His scars now hidden away under neat, suffocating rows of weathered gauze, Caleb glanced over to where Jester sat curled up once again with her sketchbook, drawing away with joyous fervor.

A fading warmth lingered from her embrace, and he never wanted to forget the feeling of it. He committed to memory the way the air had felt on his secluded skin, the full movement of his wrist and fingers after being freed from their bindings, the goosebumps that had formed under her cool fingertips.

Maybe next time he removed his bandages, he would leave them off for good.

[chaosunit0010]

Campaign Prologue and Concept: Lord of Destruction

So I've been running a 5e campaign for the last eight weeks under the name of "Lord of Destruction" on Roll20. The campaign has been using a custom setting that I had been working on and off for a few months. The campaign setting is intended to blend sci-fi and fantasy, where a perfect world if being set upon by a seemingly unstoppable force. I wrote the prologue when I originally posted the campaign when I opened it up to the public when looking for a party to start the campaign. The game has been going well, apart from an early rocky start. I eventually plan on taking all the content I'm creating for the campaign, including homebrew monsters, classes, subclasses, deities, magic items, and weapons. But I've found myself taking a look at the prologue and was curious what other people thought about it, as well as some of the early campaign events that occur.

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Prologue:

Long ago the world of Serune was consumed by chaos and turmoil. The war saw its civilizations and empires fall and rebuild as agents of evil and chaos brought death and destruction in their wake. Unleashing countless horrors upon the world. From horrible nightmares from the abyss. Unending hordes from the negative plan. Unknowable terrors from the farthest reaches of the stars. And cruel twisted and vile tyrants lording over the people of the world. There seemed to be no end to it.

Until one day a group of adventures rose to the challenge and fought against the tide of evil that was certain to bring complete destruction to the world. Twelve champions rose from the ashes and sorrow, ready to face the evil that had torn their world apart. They were known as the Guardians, The Wizard Korvu, The Cleric Sunarra, The Paladin Nicholas, The Bard Gold, The Barbarian Vendris, The Warlock Shadow Man, The Ranger Thorn, The Sorcerer Resona, The Druid Swan, The Rogue Dust, The Monk Jet, and The Horned Guardian. Though their goals did not always align and all them were not of pure heart, they put their differences aside to ensure their world would have a future.

They fought for many years tearing down foe after foe and surviving crisis after crisis. Gaining many trusted allies on the way and lost many friends during their adventures. Forming organizations and armies that they lead into battle in the pursuit of bringing peace, stability, and protection to the land. After many grueling battles and great loses at the hand of their enemies. They faced their final foe, a king that had once ruled over much of the world, now empowered by demonic energy after sacrificing the souls of his people.

The final war was long, with many champions falling during the fight as the two forces went to war. Then during the final battle, the twelve heroes faced the king alone. This would be the greatest challenge they ever face. As the champions began to fall victory seemed to flee from their grasp. But in one last desperate attempt to stop the King, The Horned Guardian channeled all of his life force into a single attack, shattering the king's soul, destroying him forever.

With the death of the king, the world had finally found peace. The Horned Guardian was honored by the City where he died, as it was rebuilt in his honor and a tomb was created for his final resting place. The people celebrated and exonerated the Guardians for their work in protecting and saving them. But the Guardians would soon disband.

With their final goodbyes the remaining heroes went their separate ways, never to see each other ever again. Resona would remain behind and help in rebuilding the city and standing vigil over The Horned Guardians Tomb. While the others went and began helping rebuild the other cities that had been destroyed during their long war. They would spend their final days helping bring up the people out of the ashes and bring forth a new age of prosperity.

The Eleven cities reborn from the efforts of the heroes would continue to grow long after their time. After the passing of 1000 years, the world had completely changed. As an age of industry was born with research in magic and technology saw rapid advancement, with the creation of firearms, mechanical servants and other wonderous inventions. The Cities continued to expand far beyond anyone could ever imagine. The cities had grown twenty-fold. Each now the greater in size then the kingdoms they were once a part of.  These would be known as the Prime cities.

The cities became self-sustaining providing all the needs of the people. Transportation between the cities grew to allow easy passage for the people. As a result, fewer people ventured out into the wildlands outside the kingdoms. As even greater changes happened outside the walls of the great cities, as the former monstrous races began to grow and undergo their own rebirth.

Many of the races that had been for so long-chained and enslaved by their evil masters and gods grew free from their hold as the generations grew more and more distant from their dark origins. They had now created stability for their people, creating their own societies free of the evil that had dominated their lives. They were now following in the footsteps in the humanoid races that had come before them. Claiming the wildlands as their own domain to be built and transformed as they saw fit.

With all these changes the world has grown into a great age of peace and prosperity unlike anyone had seen before, but sadly it will not last forever. As a new threat has begun to emerge from the shadows. But not from the former foes faced so long ago or from any of the dark corners of the world that remained. But instead from beyond the stars themselves. As a new evil greater than any seen before approaches to bring down an iron fist, to conquer this world like so many before it. Greater than any champion, king or hero, a Lord.

A Lord of Destruction

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This was the original hook for the campaign setting much of the background and ideas that the campaign would explore in the future. With this image of an evolving world with increasing technology, as both magic and science are being merged together.

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Campaign Start:

Now the campaign starts, all the layer characters start as simple level 0 characters, to represent they they are just normal average people. The players are riding on a train, traveling between two of the major cities of the world. On the last night of the journey, the train is abducted by an alien ship, though the players are unaware of this. The players awaken on the ship with no weapons or equipment inside this forcefield holding cells. One by one the prisoners are taken from the cells and have these nodes implanted into the back of their spines. When the last prisoner is tagged they are placed back into their cells until the next operation can begin.

But before that can happen, they are rescued by a mysterious figure whos works for one of the campaign settings factions. After rescuing them he tells them they have been implanted with devices designed to mind control them and the only way for them to be removed without killing them was to meet with his leaders. The figure gives them all weapons and equipment to help them survive, as well as giving them strange gems. When these gems are broken in the hands of the players they grant incredible powers to the characters wiving them three levels in their chosen class. Though they are warned attempting to use multiple gems would have disastrous results. Then the figure helps the players escape the ship and sends them back down to the planets surface, unable to join them because the ship needs to be sabotaged.

When landing on the planet's surface, there is a total of six locations they could land. Including one of the major cities, a massive territory of swamps, a deserted island with ancient ruins, a valley with a massive canyon that is spewing out the undead, the middle of an enchanted forest and a frozen wasteland. This would determine the first arc of the campaign. Before the players are sent down to the surface, the stranger gives each group of prisoners a magic scroll that shows a map of where the players need to go to meet with him and his leaders.

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This is the general overview of the campaign started. I plan on reworking some of these elements and ideas once I start creating the campaign book, but was curious what other people might think of it. Please feel free to ask any questions or if you're interested in any additional details about the setting, as well as your thoughts about the setting.

[shoe-sheriff]

So some friends and I are considering getting a D&D campaign going, and someone else volunteered to be DM, so I get to play a character. Now, I’ve been wanting to play D&D for a few years now and haven’t been able to get my fix, so I immediately start looking at 5th edition books (because I’ve only ever played 4e) and making a character. I landed on a Earth Genasi (from Elemental Evil Player’s Companion) Fighter. Of course, it being me, I also made a way-too-long background for the character.

For the first time in my life, I’d like to share the background publicly immediately after finishing it (I literally just got done like 5 minutes ago). Please, if you read it, let me know what you think. Anything that needs to be changed, added, removed, doesn’t make sense, etc.

My conception came after my parents found an artifact that acted as a gateway to the Elemental Plane, where my biological, dao, father is from. He traversed through the gateway a few months later, seeking to experience all the Material Plane had to offer. He fell for my mother, and tricked her into sex, impregnating her with me. From what I’ve gathered, he was known as Sihu the Powerful, and had a reputation of causing mischief wherever he went. Most of it was harmless, though there was an incident where he crushed a young woman beneath a boulder. After he proceeded to experience many more things throughout the plane, he left, never intending to deal with the consequences of any of his actions.

Being half dao, a quarter human, and a quarter elf, I had quite the culmination of features. My ears were slightly pointed like an elf, broad shoulders like a human, but at the same time more slender than a human. The most curious and out of place feature, however, came from my dao side. I had crystals sprouting from my light gray skin. They formed a pattern following my collar bone and around my hairline on my forehead, with a few outcroppings materializing along my upper arms and legs. Most of the crystals were tourmaline, green dissolving beautifully into pink, though I had a wide variety depending where one looked. I had honey-hued citrine, charoite with magnificent swirls of violet and lavender, and even fiery red opal. My hair was a deep black, with a faint light emanating from it where it was parted. This set me apart from others around me, but because I had beautiful rocks coming out of me, most people looked at me in amazement. I didn’t hate the added attention, but I wasn’t fond of it either, so I did my best to hide them when able.

My early childhood was filled with joy and happiness. My mother and her husband, henceforth referred to as my father, raised both me and my older half-brother. My father came from a reasonably wealthy family, my mother not so much. Together, they managed to raise us into fine members of society. They taught us how to properly value money and be happy with the things we had instead of constantly chasing happiness through the next purchase.

My father was a very experienced woodsman, regularly taking us on hikes and camping expeditions. He worked his days as a tradesman, dabbling in woodworking, metalworking, construction, and fishing. There were not many tradesmen in our town, thus he sought to make himself as valuable as he could to his community. He strived to give to his community as much as he could, while only accepting small payments for his work.

My mother worked as one of the town’s clerics, healing the wounded and spreading divine light across every shadow she encountered. Sadly, her healing magics and devotion to the lawful good divines did nothing to prevent her own illnesses. Several times throughout my childhood, she was plagued by a recurring sickness. After each bout, a different High Priest declared that the sickness would not return, only for it to do just that, poisoning her body and draining her life force more efficiently each time. The scars left by the illness covered her body, the most recent one ripping her stomach from this plane. She gave up her devotion, realizing that the divines would not help her. To everyone’s amazement, however, even through her pain and suffering, she never gave up her dedication to healing others and spreading the most beautiful light imaginable, no matter the willingness of the dark to overcome.

My brother, being older than myself and of a different race, grew up being bold and carefree. From him, I learned more about what not to do than what to do. He was caught several times sneaking out of our home to cause mischief with his friends. When he grew just old enough to be considered self-sufficient, my parents exiled him from the home, not wanting him to influence my actions. They remained supportive of him where they could, offering to pay for expenses he could not or gifting him furniture for his home. My grandparents, from my father’s side, even gave him (and myself) a large sum of coin, under the agreement that we use it to pursue a higher education or to start our own business, before using anything left over as we saw fit. We both used this to pursue a higher education. I sought to learn a series of trades, as my father did, learning the basics from him, applying that to my education, and then bringing everything together again with my father. My brother yearned to study and practice the Arcane arts, wishing to use the knowledge to provide responsible magics for the town’s benefit. Most of the way through his education, however, he had a child and was forced to put aside his education to take care of his daughter. He never went back to finish, unfortunately.

While working on my education, I had decided to learn Primordial, should I ever meet with Sihu or any genie who knew of him. I finished my education and began to make a name for myself as a learned tradesperson, creating great works and teaching even other apprentice tradespeople when they visited the town. My father retired after a year of my entrance to the trades, tired of working all day and knowing I had surpassed him in ability, due to my young, sturdy body, and thanks to the particular form of crafting I had learned, utilizing newer advancements and techniques. Though I loved what I did, especially the smile and gratitude I received from those I served, something always felt out of place. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was wrong, until roughly six years ago when I realized that I felt a part of myself was missing, having gone unrecognized.

For four years, I tried to find that part of myself and become a fuller being. I began to meditate, experience nature more fully and regularly, and used various herbs to seek that which evaded me my whole life. I felt like I had grown much, but that I was still unable to find my true self. Fearing that it may have been due to the fact that I felt obligated to not grow too far from who everyone around me knew me as, I decided to leave town. I spent many months training others to take my place as the town’s tradespersons, until I felt the town was in excellent hands. I set off to seek enlightenment of some kind, unsure of where I was headed or what lay ahead. I may return one day, though I am not sure that would be healthy for me.

Traveling for close to 9 moons, I was starting to feel fuller and more complete. I had decided not long after leaving town, that I would change my name from what the Half-Elves called me. I had been hiding from my dao ancestry my whole life, but no more. I am an Earth Genasi, and I have never been more proud of it. I stopped hiding the crystals that grew from my skin, eventually turning to them as the source of my name: Tourmaline. It was around that time that I met with a tribe of outcasts, mostly consisting of Orcs. They were not welcome in their former homes for being too calm and peaceful. They sought to live a grand life with compassion to all beings and the world itself, focusing on improving oneself to live in harmony with that which is around them. Most of them were from the same clan, but there were some like me who happened by and decided to join their tribe and follow their path.

They taught me to hunt, scavenge, and survive with the land. With them, I visited marvelous new areas and saw beautiful landscapes. To me, they were a new family, one with similar views as my own. For the remainder of two years, I had stuck by their side, using my skills in woodworking to construct whatever we needed, and a few things just for fun, like a lute. A couple of them taught me to play, and we formed a sort of band, playing for the tribe most nights, a celebration of life and our vision. We welcomed a handful of new members and wished old ones a safe journey as they departed for the next chapter of their lives. Nobody was made to feel left out or unwanted, and they were welcome to stay as long as they felt comfortable.

On the way back from a meditation session, I found the camp utterly destroyed. Bloodstained, torn tents flapped in the wind, and the bodies of most of my family lay on the ground, motionless. For weeks, I grieved for them, unable to bring myself to leave the camp, unsure of what I should do. One night, they appeared to me in a dream. I came out of my tent and they were dancing and drinking, merry as ever. When they saw me fall to my knees crying, they rushed over to comfort me. When I finally got a hold of myself, they sat down with me around the campfire and listened to me express how sorry I was that I wasn’t there to help or at least die with them in honor. The two who had been in the tribe longer than I put their hands on my shoulder and lowered their heads. They spoke to me without words, their voices thundering in my head as one. “The time for grieving has been over for some time now. You could not have known, thus it is not a worry you should burden yourself with any longer.” Their unified words of wisdom brought some calm to my nerves, but I still felt like I had been defeated. “The fact that any member of our tribe is still alive is a miracle, and miracles are rarely without purpose. There are others who need you, and a greater destiny which calls your name, Tourmaline. Go now, and bring honor to our tribe. Through memory, we will stay immortal.”

The next morning, as I awoke, I heeded their words. I put on my traveling clothes, gathered some chain mail, a greatsword, trident, and what else I could reasonably carry, and started walking. I didn’t know what destiny I was to fulfill, but I knew I had to make sure the tribe, nor their vision for a more harmonious world, wouldn’t be forgotten.

[night-filled-mountain]

So this is obviously a very minor blip in the general awesomeness of CR (especially following the most fantastic 7-episode stretch I’ve ever experienced!), but I was strangely dissatisfied/disappointed with last night’s episode, and I’m gradually figuring out why.

Part of it was just that I was hoping to see them pursue some plot threads in Zadash that they seem to have completely forgotten--which, in fairness, is kind of par for the course, and completely understandable after all the time that’s passed and everything that’s happened. Still, I’m a little surprised that Matt didn’t bring up Cali’s gifts and letters (Jester even checked for mail at the Pillow Trove) or have the gang hear anything about Dolan’s newfound political influence (did anyone ever tell Horace he could come home!?). And we may never learn more about the mysterious new innkeeper who replaced Claudia, or the skeleton in the basement of the Leaky Tap.

But the big thing that bugged me about this episode is that I’d wanted to see more of the incredible growth the Mighty Nein experienced over the course of the Iron Shepherds arc. Remember how Nott told Caleb that she’d come to love their captured teammates? How Beau told them she would have laid down her life for them? How Caleb decided not to cut and run when things got bad, but to lead the rescue charge? Those character/relationship developments were huge--but it seemed like this recent episode kind of reverted to the status quo.

We got more of Caleb and Beau’s awkward friendship (which I love more than air...but that was already developing pre-abduction), more of Jester and Nott’s shenanigans (ditto), and another big heart-to-heart for Caleb and Nott, who have still not graduated to sharing their personal goals with the whole group. Jester apparently forgave the Traveler and went right back into blind-devotion mode (I wanted so much more anger on her part, and more emotion on the Traveler’s side, more of an explanation for why he didn’t save her--and maybe even an admission that he appeared to her teammates back in Shady Creek). Caleb read more books, Beau did more training, and Nott sent another mysterious package.

All of those were essential things for those characters to do, don’t get me wrong! But other than the glorious Disaster Cleric bonding between Jester and Caduceus, we didn’t really get anything new, relationship-wise. I was hoping that Caleb, Nott, or Beau’s to-do list for those two weeks of down time would include “Try to get Jester to talk about how she’s really doing,” or “Check in with Fjord over drinks one night”--or that Jester’s or Fjord’s would include some sort of emotional scene with at least one of their rescuers. Granted, Fjord’s solo recon missions did not make that easy--but the fact that no one noticed he was gone for so long, and he didn’t even mention leaving a note or anything, bugged me as well! What happened to the group’s newfound bond?

I guess I just wanted to see how close they’ve grown now, how they’re finally becoming a family, rather than going off on their own or sticking to pre-Shepherds friendships. But I fully recognize that (1.) That didn’t necessarily lend itself to Matt’s format for this episode, which encouraged everyone to pursue their own individual goals, and (2.) That’s probably exactly what we’re going to get with their new journey to the Menagerie Coast and deep into Fjord’s backstory (and potentially Jester’s as well).

And I don’t want to imply that there was nothing good about this episode--there was plenty to love, from Beau and Caleb’s library slumber party, to Nott’s jaw-dropping letter about Astrid (Nott, WHY!?😱), to Fjord’s intriguing conversation with Cree, to Jester and Nott’s AMAZING temple extravaganza (I seriously couldn’t ask for a more perfect portrayal of a trickery cleric’s crisis of faith), to literally everything Caduceus said or did. I just missed the intense emotion and solidarity of the past few episodes, you know?  I wanted to see how loss and captivity and newfound love and devotion changed them all. And I hope (and expect) that, going forward, we’ll see just that.