#clanholds

[thisiswhymp3]

fucked up tjat i can’t look at gifs and images of my dnd campaign. what do you mean it’s all still only in my brain that’s not fair i want to relive it all in full detail again :((((

[marlowethelibrarian]

Find the word tag!

From @saturnine-saturneight

My words are: Force, kind, stop, and follow.

Force

“Like you care,” Rakani snapped, but the look of hurt on Wakma’s face forced their eyes away from him from sheer guilt.

Kind

Was it so terrible that Wakma was helping them? It was still so difficult to accept, when he had been nothing but kind and they had been such a pissant.

Stop

“Oh,” they said, and found that they were trembling, a vibration of their hands that they couldn’t stop any more than they could have stopped a puddle from rippling.

Follow

Finding out where Dunelae was turns out to be easier than Rakani expected. All they have to do is follow the talk of the beautiful new priest, as she visited all the main clanholds in Kalama

Tagging! @fortunatetragedy, @davycoquette, @the-golden-comet, and also @saturnine-saturneight right back its been awhile-

Your words are! Burn, drown, suffocate, and choke!

[theblackbookofarkera]

Sarga Corzan

Sarga Corzan is a Vandrel lodge of sorcerers learned in the sacred art of aeromancy. Senior members of the lodge travel throughout Arkera to the various clanholds looking for young men and women that show potential in the arcane arts. Without the sorcerers of Sarga Corzan the Vandrels would lose their greatest asset, their indomitable navy so thus they are held in great esteem. The sorcerers of Sarga Corzan are a brash lot that revel in taking risks always looking to titillate their senses believing it makes their magick that more vigorous.

[blackjackkent]

Doing further traveling from the woods towards the temple, we are WAYLAID BY ENEMIES AND MUST DEFEND OURSELVES.

Except this enemy knows Rasaad. UH OH.

>:| Who are you and what do you want with my friend?

Update: What they want is to kill. That's what they want.

Concerning.

OK apparently we have a side goal to kill Alorgoth, which I didn't realize until this moment. But sure, I'm game! Let's do it.

One of the assassins is carrying a map which leads to a nearby dwarven "clanhold."

Part of me really wants to believe that the dwarven treasure vault called Deepstone in Guild Wars 2 is a reference to this. :D

Anyway. This really shouldn't be Caden's top priority right now, but FUCK IT. We go help our friend! \o/

[reddus-sideblog]

well! we just finished another playtest of MERCs!

This time as CC-O truckers, who delivered food out to a Smoker clanhold, and then helped defend another hold against invaders. We...ended up being slightly too late to help, entirely. A lot of the Smokers were already killed, but we were able to take back the compound from the attackers (a group of M-CA goons, hired on by a corp to take back a load of genetically engineered plants that had been hijacked by our employers who had taken it in a convoy/train robbery). We managed to take back the hold, but it was a bit late.

We got healed up and started to get ready for a night’s rest before heading out, only to be rudely awoken. The broken defenses and blood on the wind must have been enough to call on the undead, and a couple of masses of them were converging on the hold. We got some forewarning and were able to mount a defense, and it was going well enough, mostly. Atmospheric psychic activity must have been unfortunately high that evening, as the bodies of the attackers we had slain began to reanimate...

We managed to fend them all off, though, and we drove off into the sunset after that, 1000 bullies richer each

[judgetoast-blog]

Aether cat

A while back i generated this monster with my friends using some cards and tables to come up with it's different themes. I've been sitting on this one for a while and finally got to use it in my most recent campaign, the players found it in a minotaur clanhold hunting the mogs that had taken over the place. They befriended it and it assisted them in dealing with the mog king.

[444namesplus]

source

a adar adderport aelyndar aerenal ahdryatmin ak an and aqat arcanix ardev ardhmen areksul argarak argonnessen argonth arolangard aruldusk arythawn ash ashtakala askelios athandra atoll atur aundair avaroth aventus b baran barra barrel barren bastion bay below bitter black blackbriar blackcaps blackwood blade blades blood bluespine bluevine boneyard borunan brek breland brey bright broken brom bull by byeshk c cairdal castle category cauldrons caves cazhaak cerulean chance chasm citadel city clanhold corvagura cove crag cragwar crescent crimson crossing crown crying cyre d dagger dannel danthaven dar darguun dark daskaran dawn dead deathsgate deep deepdark delethorn demesne demon desert desolate desolation deth dhak dhakaani dhavin dol dollen dolurrh dor dowron draaka draal dragon dragonreach dragonroost dragonwood dread dreadhold drik droaam drum durat duskwing duskwood dvaarnava e eastwood eberron eldeen empire endworld erlaskar esk eston everice eyes eyrie f face faded fairhaven fairhold fangs farlnen festering field fields fire first fist five flamekeep flint forest fort frostfell g galethspyre galifar games ganitari gap garay gate gatherhold gathering ghalt ghoza glass gloaming glowing glyphstone goradra gorge gorgonhorn gray graywall great greenheart greenland greentarn grimwall gulch gundrak h haka halkhad hall harbor harrowcrowns harrowgard harvest hatheril havrakhad haztaratain highwater hills hilt hoarfrost holds hollow holt howling hydra i ice icehorn icemaw inner ironroot irontown island isle j jarp jern jhegesh jin jungle k ka kalazart kanatash karnel karrlakton karrnath karrnwood karthoon kasshta keep keeper kenn kennrun ker kerkulin keth khashana khorvaire khyber king kingdom knowledge korranberg korrandar korth korthos korunda krag kraken krona l lair lakashtari lake lakeside lanamelk lanharath larunor last lathleer lessyk lhaz lhazaar lidless light liugwen location locations loom loran lorn lost lyrenton m making maleer malharath malshashar mar maradal marches marguul marketplace marquan marsh mel menechtarun merylsward metrol mevakri minharath mirrors mist mistmarsh monastery moonshadow moonwatch mordai morningcrest mountains mournland mror mun n nail narath natek nathyrr nations nevitash new newthrone nightbit nightwood norinath novakri nowhere o obsidian of olath on onatar orcbone orgalos orioth orthoss oskilor otharaunt overlord p pain panitari parmelk pass passage paw peak peaks peninsula pillars pit plains plateau port post pra pride principalities pylas q qalatesh qat quesk questor r rage rath ravar reaches realm red regalport region rekkenmark rellekor rest reven rhashan rhenshia rhonewatch rhukaan riedra ring ringbriar river rock rotting ruins ruukosi s sarlona saval scions sea seaside seawall senne sentinel seren seven shadow shadukar shae shalquar sharavacion shargon sharn shavalant shield shining siber siberys sigilstar silver sinara siyar skyfall smuggler sorashana sorrowdusk sorrows sound springs starilaskur starpeak sterngate stone stonespur stormhome stormhorn stormreach storms straits sun sunscale sword swoz sylbaran syrkarn t taer tal talaear talenta tamor tanar tangleroot tansend tantamar tapestry tarandro tariston tarn tashalatora tashana teeth tellyn tempest teryk thakakhad thakashtai thaliost tharkgun thatari the thinharath thousand thrane three threnal thronehold thunder thunderwall thurimbar til titan tol tooth tor torch torvhak totens tower traelyn trag traglorn trebaz trolanport tronish tundra turakbar twilight type tzanthus ul underdark v valaestas vale valenar valiant valiron valley valshar varna vast vathirond vedykar venomous verge vigilant vom vralkek vulyar vurgenslye w ward warden wastes water whisper white windshire wolf woodhelm wroat wrogar wyr wyrmwatch wyvernskull x xandrar xen xephanan xirek y yrlag z zantashk zarash zi zilargo zilspar znir zolanberg zombie

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: Throne of the Foresworn

The cruelties of this world can be buried, but they are never forgotten. 

Setup:  In the days of the old empire there was a prison known as the Green Hell, a great subterranean mine so vast and so deep that one could travel through it for days without seeing the sun. Generations worked and died there, laboring to wring forth precious copper from unforgiving stone, and generations more grew up there, the children of laborers conscripted from birth to work off the sentence of their forbearers. When the empire fell, those that held wardenship over the prison knew that they could not feed or guard their charges any longer, so they chose to bury the entrances to the cavern rather than set the slaves free and risk being overwhelmed by a vengeful mob. 

Centuries later one of the lost entrances to the Green Hell was unearthed, and rather than sealing shut that obviously haunted and terrible place, those who oversaw the region decided on a dreadful punishment: tossing those charged with banishment down into the pit, letting the ghosts or whatever else lurked in the shadows carry out the appropriate vengeance for them. Not all of these accused met with a sudden end, and now after a century and a half their population has grown into a veritable army, all the while growing in strength and preparing  for retaliation against the realm that forswore them. 

Adventure Hooks: 

The Foresworn have turned their prison into their fortress, excavating out the old imperial tunnels and finding new ones through fissures in the rock. Using these lost passages they escape into the surrounding mountains, acting as raiders and capturing food, goods, and captives to take back and reinforce their stronghold. Few in the few in the realms beyond pay much heed to highland tribes or foothills settlements, content to let the problem fester and the Foresworn to grow unchecked in their power. 

These raids provide an excellent origin story for a prospective party: captured from their villages or clanholds in the mountains, dragged down into the underworld, and forced to work together to escape. Such a party would have friends and loved ones among the captives in the Green Hell, and would be torn between trying to rescue them and alerting the placid lowlands to the danger looming on their doorstep making for all manner of adventures. One could also have one of the partymembers originate from among the numbers of the Foresworn, possibly an escapee looking to make right their dreadful exile to the pit, or an outcast among outcasts who got caught up in the brutal politics of the cavern prison. 

Some precious artifact or scrap of knowlede the party needs to complete their quest was in possession of someone exiled to the Green Hell, forcing them to plan an expedition into the depths in the hopes of retrieving it. While there they discover that a) those exiled to the caverns are far more organized than anyone on the surface knew about b) knowing this information means that none of the Foresworn can let the party leave alive c) the person they were looking for temeporarily became ruler of the foresworn before being murderously replaced, meaning the item/information they seek is likely somewhere in the heavily guarded imperial ruin that now serves the exile’s leader as a palace.  

Further Adventures: 

The Ruler of the Foresworn is known as “Lord among the Bones”, owing to the dragons teeth decorating their throne. This wyrm was said to prey on the exiles who were first sentenced to the Green hell, and was slain by a hero who united the condemmed under a common cause of revenge. What none save the ruler knows is that the throne is haunted by the ghosts of each previous occupant, who possess the current Lord among the Bones, ensuring the Foresworn do not waver in their task. As long as the throne exists, no matter what internal treachery claims the ruler, no matter how many prospective champions the party cuts down, there will ALWAYS be a Lord among the Bones, retaining the skill and malice of all previous holders of the title.  

In the depths of the Green Hell there is a foreboding lake, poisoned by mineral runoff and whispering evil to any who draw near. The collective remains of those thousands doomed by the empire came to rest in this pit, putrefying into a sort of psychic gestalt that refers to itself only as the Hunger. Those who drink this water either die or are riven with psychic trauma, granted psionic powers but irrevocably broken by the experience, and over time the few of the sorrowful and the power-seeking that have survived this process have formed into a sort of priest caste for the Forsaken, whipping them into a frenzy and interpreting the nightmarish signs about how best to proceed with their revenge. The Lord among the Bones is infact counted among this number, the first among them having taken the title from the dragon itself, who’d dwelt in the pool and had itself long been made mad by the ghosts.    

Open conflict with the Forsworn will see them unleash their arsenal on the lowlands: Salvaged artifacts of the old empire, made to cow and control their workforce.  Dragons descended from the original wyrm of the Green Hell, hatched at great sacrifice and brought up as warbeasts over decades. Cages of bones dredged up from the poison lake that inflict psychic torment on their victims, possibly instilling a spark of the Hunger’s will into their psyches. These last weapons are perhaps the most terrifying, as the party may face their own allies or loved ones turned against them, even as unwitting spies and infiltrators, or as hollowed out vessels for the Hunger itself. 

[the-great-elwisty]

NWN2 cut content: The Rattlebag Inverted #11

In my last post, we met various characters who might have joined us at Crossroad Keep had not the jealous game development gods decreed otherwise. Zohan and Kralwok the Uthgardt, Iriana the Ruathym barbarian, Melia the unwilling assassin, and an astounding number of gnomes; someone at Obsidian must have been running a gnome-based D&D game. (“Go on, Feargus, just one more, I’ve got this mad cool gnome PC that loves experimenting with vampirism and beetroot-based cocktails!” "No, no more gnomes! Stop putting gnomes everywhere - aaargh!! )

And we’re still not finished. Well, we are finished with the gnomes you will be happy (?) to hear. But we still have more people to pack into Crossroad Keep.

ULFANG

Ulfang would have been a gruff but competent and reliable dwarf recruited from Clan Ironfist.

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Torio: The Ironfist Clan has recently moved back into their old clanhold in Old Owl Well, and one of them, Ulfang, I believe, has a talent for finding minerals and making use of them.

Khelgar: {Reluctantly agreeing} Ulfang does have a nose for precious metals. {Beat, suspicious} What, you think you're going to drag him here?

Torio: If you are in need of armor or weapon upgrades, or if you need someone to supply minerals and ore to your blacksmiths, I think Ulfang may be of use... although you may need your dwarven companion to persuade him.

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Sadly, neither the recruitment conversation nor Ulfang’s appearance are retrievable. The image at the top of this post shows Revorax, the smith at the reconquered Ironfist base.

Kana finds she can’t use Ulfang like a normal sergeant, but his talents emerge when he’s allowed to do his own thing:

Kana: {exasperated, but lighthearted} I've never dealt with a more stubborn dwarf. Ulfang told me in no uncertain terms that he refuses to recruit, train men, run patrols, or go on special assignments. Since he arrived, he's taken it upon himself to critically examine our defenses and survey our mining efforts.

Ulfang’s arrival:

Ulfang: And this is your Keep, eh? Looks like it had hard times not too long ago. {Gruff} Fair to middling work for humans. Still your Master Veedle seems a shrewd one.

And some more of Kana being stunned:

Kana: {uncertain} Ulfang has given me... a list of his recommendations for how to best utilize him. He is interested in hunting for minerals, smithing weapons and armor, and helping to fortify our walls.

His confidence in his own abilities is justified. Edario’s really impressed by him:

Edario: {He's a bit awed by Ulfang} Ulfang came by and he said working together we could make some fine armor - better than anything I could ever make, that's for sure.

Assigned to smithing, he’s able to help Edario and Jacoby produce enchanted metal weapons and armour. (Naevan the druid would have made enchanted leather armour had he not been cut). This gives rise to a small quest –marked B priority – where you retrieve cinder coal for Ulfang from Mount Galardrym. As side quests go, it doesn’t feel like much of a loss. ‘Long live the Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep, shard-bearer, dragon-slayer, fetcher of slightly unusual fossil fuels!’ Uh, no.

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TEELAH AND JAZREN

We’ve known Teelah for ages – well, since we gained access to the Merchant Quarter in Act 1. She’s the chatty dancer in The Moonstone Mask who wants to save money so that she can train in Waterdeep. After Ammon’s attack, when she’s feeling traumatised and less than keen on staying on, you can recruit her:

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Teelah: I just... wanted to thank you. Nobody else tried anything to stop that madman, or to save the girls upstairs.

PC: I could use a dancer at my keep

Teelah: Milord/Milady, I'd be honored. Ophala won't mind, there's plenty of girls willing to dance at the Mask. Even in the common room.

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Then at the Phoenix Tail – and this dialogue is in the toolset:

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Teelah: | One-time only, if player previously met her | Oh... it's you! I hope you don't mind that I'm here. It's just that they were evacuating the city... and I didn't want to be a burden on Ophala or the other girls...

PC: | Good Response | It's all right. You're welcome to stay.

Teelah: Thank you, Captain! A year at the Mask, and I've learned to entertain almost any crowd, no matter their mood. Rustic jigs, elven interpretive dance, gnomish waltz...

Teelah: I even know a dwarven dance. It takes a false beard, though, and hardly any clothes. Well, you're supposed wear the beard in place of clothes, and twirl it about provocatively...

Teelah: Maybe... you shouldn't tell anyone that I know that dance, actually.

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Apart from dwarven dances, she’s a cheerleader for your PC:

Teelah: |Post-Siege|Your name is on every singer's lips, Captain... the Hero of Crossroad Keep!

Ahem. Just of Crossroad Keep? We are saving the world here, you know!

So Teelah comes to dance in the Phoenix Tail Inn, and an unknown character, Jazren, apparently comes with her.

The above image isn’t a mock-up. I opened up the Phoenix Tail Inn in the toolset, and there they were. Teelah (blonde) is on the right; Jazren (dark-haired) is on the left.

Teelah’s in-game description:

This fine-featured Tethyrian woman throws her body into the dance with gusto. Whenever your eyes meet, she smiles at you briefly.

And a cut description from dialog.tlk:

Teelah is a pretty young woman who can always be found near her best friend Jazren.

Jazren’s dialog.tlk character description:

Jazren is a common presence in the Phoenix Tail Inn. She is very flirtatious and sometimes dances to amuse the soldiers. Because she spends so much time at the Inn, Sal jokes that he should start paying her.

Jazren has an earthier attitude than Teelah. Whoever she’s meant to be, she didn’t learn her stuff by sucking up to nobles and rich people at The Moonstone Mask. She’s got no substantial dialogue left, but her reactions to events do survive:

Last place I danced had a dirt floor, an' half the patrons were wanted men. I've learned so much from watching Teelah...

Me an' Teelah draw quite a crowd. The music helps, too.

The Keep is bustling, Captain. War or no war, Teelah and me are stayin' here.

King of Shadows, my arse. Doesn't even fight his own battles, does he?

It would be good to know more about her, but unfortunately I can’t find a trace of the dialogue where she introduces herself and explains why she’s hanging round in a castle with an ex-high-society dancer.

I don’t really get why Jazren and Teelah were cut. Joy, the aasamir sister of Light-of-the-Heavens, does come and dance in the Phoenix Tail, but she seems like a less interesting/relevant character to include. Teelah has a story: aspiring artist goes through horrible traumatic experience but bounces back with your PC’s help. Joy is so flat in comparison. (Seriously, one of her script prompts is “tinkling laugh”.  Don’t you just want to throw a crocodile at her?)

It’s possible that one of the writers decided there was no way that Teelah would hang around in Crossroad Keep once Ammon arrives, but that seems unlikely given that no one else is allowed to bugger off to Waterdeep at the start of Act III. Besides, why miss the opportunity to add in some angry dialogue? That wouldn't be very Obsidian. My guess is that there was a small bug with Teelah and Jazren, and given the time pressures the devs decided that cutting the pair of them would be the quickest way to solve the problem.

That said, Joy is in the finished game. Was she written to replace Teelah and Jazren? But that would suggest that time pressures weren’t the reason for the cut. Hmm.

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IVARR AND LORD GRANFEN

Build the church dedicated to Tyr instead of the Temple of the Sun Soul, and it comes with the dwarf priest Ivarr the Blessed. “Ivarr's eyes shine with wisdom and compassion. His strong devotion to Tyr has made him somewhat resemble the god.” In the playable game, he can give you a small quest. Well, not that small – it’s to kill the red dragon Tholapsyx, though since most PCs end up doing that anyway, it feels like a bit of a cheat.

However, another quest was meant to exist which you could only get from Ivarr. It would have been called ‘Justice’s Arm’.

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Ivarr: There is one important matter you could attend to. {Warning that the explanation may take awhile} The goal is simple - the reasons may take some explanation.

PC: Tell me the full story.

Ivarr: During the Luskan War the enemy had... many advantages - golems, the Arcane Brotherhood, and siege equipment. But to make matters much worse - there was a highly placed {said with venom} traitor. His name was Lord Granfen - and he served with the Nine on the military council.

 He was a general of no small skill. Why he turned traitor is not known, probably gold or greed. But he opened the northern gate and let the Luskans enter. Amidst this chaos - the Hero of Neverwinter managed to rally our forces. Granfen's betrayal was not discovered until after the war had ended.

Before he could be brought to justice he fled with men that were loyal to him. The church of Tyr has hunted this notorious criminal for years. Recently, we heard rumors that the King of Shadows wants to make a deal with him. This cannot happen. His head holds too many deadly secrets about Neverwinter's defenses. I've been tracking him for years - but I must stay here.

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Ivarr appears to really despise Granfen. He works himself up into a fury over him, which is odd for a priest who’s on the more laid-back side of the spectrum.

Ivarr: He's in the Wood. Search for his men. Bring him here - dead or alive would serve in equal measure. The church of Tyr has placed a generous bounty on his head. And I will personally contribute more. {Each word pronounced with emphasis} He must be stopped!

Neverwinter does seem to have had a real profusion of aristocratic turncoats in the recent war. Lord Dalren, Lord Brennick and apparently this Granfen chap too.

At least we have a good idea why the quest was cut: he’s in Neverwinter Wood. As you may recall, a whole section of the game based around Neverwinter Wood was dropped. Granfen is probably a late-game casualty of the missing areas.

No dialogue survives from the PC’s confrontation with Granfen. However, based on Ivarr’s surviving dialogue, it’s clear that when you find him, Granfen claims he’s innocent. Then you can either let him go or kill him. 

If you kill him, Ivarr’s happy about it and gives you an item from his reliquary in personal thanks. The item would have been something customised to the PC’s class.

If you let Granfen go, Ivarr is not a happy bunny.

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Ivarr: {Excitement and hope} Do you bring word of Lord Granfen? Has he been dispatched?

PC: After talking with him, I'm not convinced he was guilty. I let him go.

Ivarr: {Outrage - then mad at himself shortly after} You what? But... But... Curse me for a fool, this is not the first time he's talked his way out of justice.

Ivarr: {Some derision} What man bound for the gallows confesses his guilt? The {like "jails"} gaols are filled with innocent men.

PC: And there's no possibility of his innocence?

Ivarr: {Knee-jerk reaction} None... {Beat, considers - he's honest enough to consider his own reaction} Well, perhaps a small one.{Admits - bitingly} Only the gods know for certain the guilt of any man - as their servants we just do our best. But there was a trial - many witnesses talked of his actions. Lord Nasher himself pronounced the sentence. {Pondering} Tell me - why did you spare him?

PC: | Major Law| He shouldn't be executed without a fair trial.

Ivarr: {Sighs} A worthy sentiment. {Slight doubt - convincing himself, "As fair as any trial could be at that time subtext"} His trial was fair, though.{A little weary - doubtful at the end} We are done with this matter then - hopefully the King of Shadows won't enlist him.

PC: Was this hunt personal?

Ivarr: {Truthful} Granfen's betrayal is personal to every man, woman, and child of Neverwinter. I spent years looking for him - trekking through the wilds for clues. I am a disciple of Tyr - and it pains us all that such a notorious criminal walked free.

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It could have been a nice, knotty little quest. It offered plenty of scope for PC roleplay – apart from your unknown dialogue with Granfen, the surviving content shows that you can let him go and lie about it to Ivarr, let Granfen go out of compassion, let Granfen go because of a bribe, think Granfen’s innocent and kill him anyway etc. Plus, the companions could have got entertainingly worked up about it. (My guess is the Casavir, Grobnar, Monk! Khelgar and Elanee would have tended towards letting him go; Bishop, Ammon, Fighter!Khelgar, and Qara would be in favour of killing him; Sand and Zhjaeve would have demurred; the Construct’s opinion is sadly unknowable, and I’m not sure about Neeshka).

And to close this post and perhaps also the series, depending on whether I can dig up something about MotB, here are my top writers' notes to the voice actors. Yes, I'm sad and yes, I'm sure I would enjoy creating a longer list:

Neeshka, when the PC asks her about her background:

{She's actually pleased to be telling her miserable story, but the punchline is that she's going to list a bunch of terrible things and be excited by it} This is so exciting... wow, where to begin.

2. Ammon being himself: {Slight irritation, like a strict teacher - "don't point a gun at your sister, ever!"} One should never summon anything without purpose, especially from the Lower Planes.

3. Shandra meeting Kistrel:

{Horrified, but morbidly curious as stares at spider they just fed} It looks... happy. Gods, those fangs are huge. And it's... still got insect bits on them.

4. And bonus prompt from Qara’s plot:

Grobnar: {A spectral assassin has just appeared} Why, it looks like we have a visitor! Hello there!

5. And when it returns:

Grobnar: {A spectral assassin has just appeared, oblivious to danger} It's the same elemental as before! Why, it must be tracking our party so it can kill us - how fascinating!

Goodnight :)

[shadowmaat]

Whimsy Mimsy

There are many types of aarakocra and twice as many opinions about who's the best and worst. Raptorkin think they're the pinnacle of all that is aarakocra and look down upon the songbirdkin, while those among the songbirds find their raptor cousins a bit stuffy and hidebound.

The southwestern region of Tal'dorei is home to several aarakocra families, including those of potoo lineage. People meeting them for the first time have an unfortunate tendency to assume that the somewhat exaggerated features common to potookin are, in fact, part of a disguise or costume. It's lucky for them that the Borogrove Clan tends to have a laid back attitude and don't often take offense at requests to "take off the mask."

While most of the Borogroves are content to stay close to their clanhold, there are always one or two consumed with wanderlust. This generation's recipient is Mimsy, who has read every adventure book, travel guide, and combat manual she can get her claws on, and has even cajoled some of the local guards to teach her the basics of how to fight. While the guards initially agreed just to humor her (and themselves), she turned out to be an apt student. She's harried lessons from passing adventurers as well, with varying degrees of success.

Mimsy is someone who is often overlooked or dismissed as non-threatening. This is due not only to her potoo lineage, but to her sheer enthusiasm. One group of brigands learned the hard way that if they find a small aarakocra alone in the forest, hopping up and down at the prospect of a fight, they'd be better off turning the other way and pretending they didn't see her. The Guard paid her for that one, and thanked her for her service.

In addition to fighting, Mimsy also had a habit of rambling through the Expanse, seeing whatever there was to see and sometimes being seen, as well. Given the fae energies that ebbed and swelled within the Expanse, it was only a matter of time before she hopped beak-first into a patch of wild magic and came out changed.

Most barbarians- for that's the path that was shaping itself for her- tended to rage in battle, letting anger fuel their moves and enhance their durability. Mimsy, however, got excited. Her enthusiasm- especially if she had a chance to help others- lent her strength and stamina, and the aftereffects of her encounter with wild magic tended to spill out when she fought.

Eventually she decided she'd learned all she could from her home territory and she set out to begin adventuring on her own; making friends and helping others... and causing a few of "the Baddies," as she called them, to regret their life choices.

-

Mimsy Borogrove, aarakocra (potookin) Barbarian (Wild Magic) (unplayed D&D character)

[straightouttaskullisland]

some bonus pirate101-related headcanons:

NUMBER ONE: there are both male and female mice and rats. we just can't tell because they all look similar

NUMBER TWO: Crab Crawlies are baby crab-people. The majority of the time we see them they are in the custody of another, adult Crab pirate - such as Squinty or Black Jacques, who is said by Old Nate to "control all the crawlies on this island!" Even the crab hermit companion has a power that allows him to summon a crawlie. So I believe these are lil' crab kids and that Black Jacques is crab Fagin leading an army of little baby crab thieves.

NUMBER THREE: Ratbeard and Catbeard are bitter exes.

NUMBER FOUR: Buccaneer is the canon class. In Barnabus' promotion quest we directly help Gortez gain leverage over the noble houses. When we fight Takeda Moomori, General Tso commands him to "avenge his brother's dishonor" and is of course referring to Taro letting you into Moomori Clanhold. It's my belief that this also alludes to him becoming a pirate.

Also people don't sleep in the spiral they just AFK circle.

[thisiswhymp3]

i’m soooooooooooooooooooo drunk@lorelei

Loreeeeellllleeiiiiiiii 😭😭😭😭😭

[theblackbookofarkera]

Golsamag Collection

The Golsamag Collection is a gallery of grotesque statuettes discovered deep in an ice cave in Tiel. Carved from an unknown hard green-black stone the statuettes were crafted by an unknown race and resemble what appear to be gods…horrible gods. For centuries they were kept under lock and key by the Clan Ghostsnow, a once prominent Vandrel clan that was nearly destroyed by its rivals. Stolen in a raid on their clanhold the location of these disturbing relics is unknown.

Despite the collection having been studied and documented, official accounts about the gallery seem to change as if an unseen force were altering records and memories. Some say there were twelve statuettes while others insist the fifteen were uncovered, this is just one example of the many discrepancies that have come up. While I have not seen the collection in person I have seen drawings by those who had studied the relics in person. The images are…unnerving to say these least and I believe myself fortunate for not having to see the sinister relics in person.

“Despite the statuette being bone dry it felt cold and wet to the touch…it felt as if I were holding a of writhing worms waiting to burst from the stone into my flesh. I will be glad when this task is done and these things are locked away so I may never have to look upon them again…”

-Tixa rel-Stragos, Clan Ghostsnow loremaster

[montesquedemeadowshire]

Silver Ravens Pt 1

A crowd waited.

In the city of Kintargo, under the hot noon sun, a crowd waited in front of the city’s renowned opera house.  The new Lord-Mayor of the city had announced that he would be making his first public proclamation that day at midday, and the crowd gathered to bear witness.

Some waited because they wished to see this man who had been appointed to lead their city by the far off empress of Cheliax, this Lord-Mayor who had, in the month since his arrival, passed a variety of strange and seemingly petty ordnances into city law.  Others waited, and talked, and tried to gain support for a variety of causes, many of them mutually exclusive.  Here, a young man speaks to a warrior with two swords, explaining to him the glories of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune and the Cheliax Empire which it had brought to prominence.  There, though more quietly, a half orc carefully seeks out those he might tell of the horrors he has seen within the Church of Jaedis.  Still others are there only because it seemed the most likely place for something interesting to happen, such as a young elven maiden and a lizard-woman, both newly arrived to Kintargo, both still seeking their place in the bustling port city.  They see one another and, each for their own reasons, turn away, distracted by the growing dissatisfaction of the crowd.

The dissatisfaction does not go unnoticed, for around the court yard of the Opera House are several detachments of the Kintargo city guard, known as the dottari.  Many of them are beginning to look uneasy, fingering their weapons and casting steely looks upon any of the assembled citizens who appear to be getting too boisterous.  Noon has come and gone, and the crowd is edging ever closer to becoming a riot, as their dissatisfaction grows in the hot summer sun.

At last, the silver bells atop the Opera House begin to chime.  Once, twice, thrice they chime, and as the third pure note fades softly, the quieted crowd looks up to see, upon the balcony of the Opera House, a man dressed in the blacks and reds of House Thrune. He is of moderate build, with a harshly lined face, black hair cut short in the fashion of a warrior.  He looks out upon the people and carefully represses a sneer, for, after all, he is Barzillai, of House Thrune, and they are his people, whether he likes it or not.

“Good citizens of Kintargo, my apologies for keeping you waiting.  I am still used to the rather relaxed timekeeping of the capital, and am still adjusting to your admirably provincial punctuality.  It does you credit.  I appear before you today to greet you all as your new Lord-Mayor, and express my hopes that our relationship will be a long and fruitful one, both for myself as well as you, the citizens of my city.  Of course, for this to be the case, we must first deal with destabilizing foreign elements.  As such, all foreign-born ships captains are hereby banned from setting foot into the city of Kintargo, on penalty of squassation.”

This announcement garnered the confused reaction he had been expecting.  After all, squassation was a form of punishment that hadn’t been practiced in centuries, and he was quite proud of having rediscovered it at all.  He certainly didn’t expect any of these provincials to have heard of it.

“You mean torture!”  A voice shouted from the crowd.

Barzillai froze. Before he could respond, this voice was joined by a throng of others, some agreeing with it and some denying it, but all shouting to be heard among the others.  Then, from out of the crowd, quicker than he could react, a fragment of a cobblestone came flying through the air, clipping the side of his head.  His vision turned red from pain and fury.  He was the legally appointed ruler of this city, and these rubes dared to assault his person?  “Guards!” he shouted, “Nox!  Deal with this rabble!”

He turned his back on the city, cape billowing behind him, and retreated back into the cool depths of the Opera House.

In the crowd outside, a score of men and women threw off their cloaks, revealing the armbands of the Chelish Citizens’ Watch, an organization dedicated to the promotion and maintenance of the rule of the House of Thrune over Kintargo.  Several of them immediately flocked to the man who had thrown the stone from the crowd, beating him senseless before he could escape.

Another approached the young swordsman who had been speaking with the Thrune supporter.  The young man eyed the vigilante warily, but only moved when the man’s mace came swinging toward his head.  Drawing the long blade at his waist, he blocked the man’s blow, then before his assailant could react, drew his second sword with his left hand and cracked its hilt against his temple.  The Citizens’ watchman dropped like a sack of grain, and the young swordsman began to make his way around the edge of the crowd, seeking the nearest road by which he could escape the scene.  

Several other knots of conflict had arisen around the square, some single fighters holding off the watchmen coming after them, some knots of resistance fighting against small groups.  Most people, of course, were simply trying to flee as swiftly as possible.

As he hastened along the edge of the square, one of these conflicts spilled in front of him. A slim man with slightly pointed ears and a burly one in mail armor backed in, pressed by two watchmen and two women. Dodging a thrust from a dagger, the slim, unarmored man spun and kicked his attacker behind the ear, putting him down.  The other was harder pressed, being the more apparently resilient target, but seemed to be enjoying himself nevertheless, if the laughter was any indication.

The swordsman looked for a way around, but the crown was pressing in now, and it looked like the only way around was through.  Sighing in irritation, he stepped lightly forward, cutting the back of the nearest Watchwoman’s knee, giving the large man the opening he needed to pin her to the cobbles with his spear.  Now outnumbered, the watchmembers exchanged glances before melting back into the crowd.

The swordsman likewise looked to the other two, and said, “they’ll be going for reinforcements.  Stick together until we’re out of this?”

The larger warrior laughed again, “You seem to know your way around those blades of yours.  Let’s show those devil lovers some pain!” The slender one merely nodded and responded, “Aye.”

No further trouble assailed them, no doubt because the three together looked like more trouble than they were worth, and as they finally reached one of the major thoroughfares leading from the square, they heard an increase in the commotion behind them.  From the front of the opera house, a sturdily built woman charged forth, swinging her glaive and cutting down those few who remained in opposition to the watchmen. In one hand she held a lead, which was attached to the collar of a hulking black dog with fiery red eyes.  Behind her came a swarm of the Dottari, the official Kintargo City Watch who swarmed around the fallen to begin tying and cuffing them.

“Looks like we got out of there just in time,”  observed the smaller man.

“I don’t know that we’re out just yet.  Come with me to my clanhold, and I’ll make sure we all make it out of this none the worse for wear,” the swordsman offered.  

“Clanhold?”  The brawler asked, confused, “are you with those foreigners down on the South Bank, then?”

“I am.  Shigaraki of House Sakaki, of the Crane Clan.  Thank you for your assistance.”

“Winmer Felhold, of…well, here and there, I suppose,” said the slender man, with a slight smile.

“Korgac, no last name that I know of, right here in Kintargo,” was the large man’s response.  “Now, let’s see about getting somewhere quiet, eh?”

[viktorvyle-blog]

Ruza Hellsever: The beginning

The wind howled its fury across the black sands, dust and grit scouring the heavy cloaks of the travelers as they huddled beneath the jagged stone seeking shelter from the storm around them. Only four left now, From the seven that set forth on this cursed journey, only four left to stand against the darkness that loomed over them like a hand clutching a dagger, poised and ready to strike. A black furred hand reached down to claim a bit of burning wood from the fire drawing it up to light the bowl of a long wooden pipe that was clutched in sharp feral teeth. Once lit the herbs within filled the air with their scent a reminder of comforts left behind. The jackal like features of the pipe's owner twisted into a grin, simple pleasures like this reminded him of why he had launched this journey in the first place. If they failed or faltered here it would all be for nothing. A voice deep and baritone issued from one of the other hooded figures. “We are not far now Ruza, can you not feel it? I swear on the mountains bones I can almost hear their twisted chanting in the wind.” Spade shaped ears twitched, Canid features turning to address the speaker. “Of course, Krieg. I can feel the twisted nature of this place like a stink in the air. All the more reason for us to press on soon. If we falter now then all of this pain and all the blood we shed was for *nothing*, I will not have it be so.”

The others nodded in agreement and as the wind died down around them pulled their hoods back, Revealing tired haggard features. The Leonine bloodmane chieftain, Zuberi. The horned Auroch of clan Thunderhoof, the mighty Krieg, eldest of them. The perpetually grinning Hyenid,  Ehawai of the Laughingdeath. And the leader of this merry band of warriors, Ruza of the Clan Hellsever. Each rose from their place by the fire and turned their gaze to the north. Towering above them in broken jagged spired was the claw like mountain that was their destination. At its base a temple, Once a place of worship and respite for their mother goddess Shavala. Now darkened by corruption and soaked in the blood of the priestesses who once tended it. One by one they reached for their weapons, strapping them to hip or shouldering their weight, and with the last howls of the storm passing around them they began their march.  

They found little resistance in their path. No guard to watch for them. Not even a token force to resist them. Wary and cautiously their footsteps carried them to the great doors of the temple, Once polished bronze and gleaming with the sun's rays. What sickly light could pierce the ever-present cloud cover shone on doors blackened with taint and dripping with some foul ichor that was so alike bloody flesh that even the four paused wide eyed at the sight. It was Ruza who broke the silence. “Mothers tits...What dark power have we challenged here..” The booming bass of Krieg answered without hesitation. “You know full well the name of who we face here. The Kin slayer, Ra’Shaka and his traitorous worshipers await beyond this door. We have come this far. Let us go and... defy a god” Ruza reached up, Hand wrapping around the worn leather of a massive fang shaped blade, Clawed fingers undoing the strap and with a grunt lifting the weapon from its place across his back, Onto shoulder and then into a two-handed grip. “Your prey awaits inside Kui-O, let us fill our bellies.” The other chieftains drew their weapons, Krieg strapping the heavy bronze gauntlets over massive fists. Zuberi shouldering the Iron-shod staff, it’s weight apparent only in the way it left a heavy divot the thick fur on his broad shoulder. Ehawai alone did not seem to bother with drawing her blades, those long daggers strapped to wide hips. She only laughed that throaty cackle and beckoned the others forward, her voice cutting through the gloom. “Go on then, Brave men. Lead us into battle. This was your crusade Ruza Hellsever, I would not steal the honor of first blood from you or that wicked blade!”  

Ruza could only smirk, at a rare loss for words. But fear had no place in a Shado’Narei’s heart, nor did hesitation or second guesses. Ruza hefted Kui-o, testing the great-swords weight before stepping toward the door, one step, two. A charge and battle cry as the blade was hefted and with a thunderous crash brought down into a swing that he poured every ounce of his strength into, The unearthly steel of the spirit blade met the bronze forged strength of the great door, and it was the door that gave way. Cleaving through the foot-thick metal with the ease a butcher might carve good meat leaving a jagged wound across its surface. A second later a sound like thunder shook their very bones as the mighty auroch chieftain drove his armored fist into the damaged section and sent it careening into the dark with a terrible cacophony. The two chieftains met eyes and nodded and without further words charged into the breech.

Blood. Mothers breath it was everywhere. Soaked into the fur, ankle deep on the stone floor beneath them. The scent was over powering, cloying. How long had he been fighting? It felt like days. So many of them crazed and blood-mad all to keep them away from the inner sanctum and the ritual that was all too near completion. Kui-o rose and fell and two more died, their furred broken bodies flung into the bloody pool around them. Ragged breath, new wounds. They meant little to Shado, they healed so rapidly that anything not immediately fatal would hardly slow them down. But his wounds were healing sluggishly now, His blood dripping to join the mass around his feet. Where were the others? He could hear them fighting, hear their cries of frustrated rage and the roars of battle lust. He could do nothing but fight now, all that mattered was taking one more step forward, sloshing through the gore that surrounded him. Every step, new enemies, Kill, thrust and slash, Move on to the next. Every step seemed to summon more foes, More desperation. No thought to defense now, No point. He would win through or die here buried under a mountain of bodies. Rage filled his heart, Drove him onward with growing ferocity. Where was the pain? He couldn’t feel a thing beside the gnawing anger that stole any sense of tactic, any hope of reason.  

Silence. It was silent. Where were the screams? Where were the others? Where was he? He looked down at his hands, Bloody and raw, gripping Kui-o so tightly that his fingers ached. It’s ever keen edge untouched by the battle he had just won through. Eyes raised to the altar. The altar. This was it, the heart of the ritual. Why couldn’t he move? All he had to do now was destroy it. To break the link to the mad god it was constructed to summon. He forced himself to step forward. So close now. Victory at hand. Sharp pain. His eyes drawn down. Several feet of black steel jutting from his chest. Soaked with his nearly black blood. Where was the pain? He laughed, Head thrown back and throaty laughter shattering the silence. The blade that had pierced him, withdrawn. The voice behind him full of haughty disdain. “All this way, to die at my feet. Poor twisted Shado, she sent you on the hunt like a trained dog and while you sniffed out the prey you failed when your teeth were so close to the throat. Die knowing that at least you won’t see me put your clanhold to the torch along with the rest of your misbegotten kind.” A palm slapped to the wound, Coming away blackened with his own gore, there was no pain. Only sorrow, He had failed, His enemy stood before him and he had no strength left to even strike out at him. His sorrow filled cry to the heavens echoed through the tainted stone halls, falling into silence. Ruza did not fall however. Where there should have been growing weakness, his limbs seem to steel themselves. Where there should have been a blessed ending cold to it all, there was only the searing heat of defiant anger. The fury that burned along his limbs, that tightened his grip on the blade in hand. So much rage, it couldn’t possibly be his own could it? He had no time to reason it out before the flame of anger became all consuming, without thought the blade was whipped through the air, Catching the figure behind him in surprised. The spirit blade scoring a deep wound across the figure's chest, Spraying foul ichor across the floor and wall behind. The counterblow flung Ruza like a ragdoll backwards into the altar, He felt bones crack muscles tear but it all seemed so very far away. No thought, Just fury. Must attack, must kill! He launched himself at the specter blade keening through the air. Cut and slash, heavy chop and desperate thrust. His wounds were growing but the pain was a distant knowledge, all that mattered was to destroy this abomination. The ring of steel against steel, spirit blades forged in the aether met again and again, testing the will of the wielders as well as the spirits themselves. Ruza’s howl drowned out any further words they might have shared, Body to body now they bit and clawed seeking any advantage against the other. Neither needed words for this, neither would have wasted the breath to speak. Ruza dropped his shoulder and pushed forward with all his might meeting the other with a fleshy thud and forcing him off balance. The vile hiss of the others blade split the air seeking to drive the enraged Shado back. Ruza’s eyes fell downward for a second, was that his arm laying on the blood-soaked floor? A problem for later. With his remaining good limb, he hefted the blade and drove forward with a cry of desperation. A gasp, Was it his? Vision focused on the writhing figure now pinned to the altar. The twisted mis happened thing that had once resembled something Ruza might have recognized as kin if he had been in any position to think. The blade was twisted, the beyond razor keen point driving deeper through tainted flesh into the stone beneath. Something in the air seemed to snap and then all went dark, all he could hear was the death cry of something so alien as to defy the senses. As Kui-o clattered to the ground beside him. He was not afraid of the death he knew was coming. He wouldn’t live to see his new pup grow up, but he would grow up. He sank into the cold darkness with a laugh. They would sing his stories for a thousand years after this. He had just slain a god.  

Sudden sharp pain in his ear snapped him out of the dreamless dark, an undignified yelp brought him into full wakefulness. He thrashed in the warm pile of furs that served as his bedding and snapped those crimson eyes open, only to meet a pair of eyes that matched his own, though much smaller and creased in consternation. A dream. It had all been a dream, a nightmare from more than a decade ago. The two pair of eyes belonged to the pair of pups he had fathered since that fated day. One was almost a mirror image of him, though smaller and still with the fluffed fur of a pup. The other was smaller and contrasted sharply with his brother. White furred and slender and fluffier still than his pouting brother. Ruza lifted his arm, both were there, having long since regenerated from that terrible battle. His ears perked and then wilted as the eldest brother, arms crossed, and pouting spoke. “Papa! You promised to take us hunting today!” The little white furred pup did his best to mimic his brother with crossed arms and a pout. Ruza couldn’t help but laugh and roll over into a sit. “Alright pups. Go and get your things, we’ll bring back the biggest Do’jack in the desert!” With yips of excitement the two scampered off to gather bows and spears sized for them, leaving Ruza alone for the moment. Thinking back to that fated battle and the hell they had faced. This is what it had been for. For the two brothers and their sister who was even now patrolling the walls of their black citadel. Fingers flexed, and eyes turned out over the piles of furs and cooking fires that marked the great hall. There would be more troubles in the future no doubt, El’narei was a harsh unforgiving world, but he would face it all with grim determination. This was his clan, His family and his home. And he would fight to keep them safe, no matter the cost. But for now. There was Do’jack to hunt and young bellies to fill.

[orsinium]

Beriktyz Dagonaz - a war priest of Mehrunes Dagon, first formed from the primordial oblivion stream during the latter half of the 1st Tamrielic Era. Its age and skill have earned it the unofficial title of "most self-assured" in its clanhold, a quirk that many have complained about.

Part of the original council responsible for organizing the Dremora clans in the Deadlands, Beriktyz is a dedicated follower of Mehrunes and one of His "oldest" confidants. When the Oblivion Crisis began in the 3rd Era Beriktyz received orders directly from Dagon's inner circle of high ranking priests sending him on a "vital mission" to the Mundus to "assure the success of the campaign".

Beriktyz follows every order given to the dot, right up to and including helping Martin stop the Oblivion Crisis; when this happens, it (Beriktyz) becomes confused and distraught, having done everything Mehrunes asked of it but still failing.

Unbeknownst to Beriktyz its failure was predestined, just like the failure of the entire invasion; its biggest challenge then comes from learning Mehrunes knew all this, and did it anyway-- it has to grapple with its faith and sense of duty, etc. before coming to peace with realizing it had more to learn than it first admitted, and that perhaps it really didn't know more/better than Dagon like it pompously used to think it did