#darkest dungeon virtue

[soupedepates]

My girl My sassy fairy My reckless fae I love her

[zlosha]

Hiii I remembered I got Tumblr (again)

Darkest dungeon commissions go brrrr

[euxara]

THE TERROR ▸ 1.06 a mercy

[uchudishe]

Everyone crossover Bug Fables and Hollow Knight because both games are about bugs.

You know what? Bug Fables and Darkest Dungeon crossover, because both are RPGs with turn-based fights about a strange bunch having an extreme tourism in funny places for money, fame and personal reasons, while uncovering something they rather don't know. You can't stop the train.

So, beehold. Vi of Darkest Fables. Or Bug Dungeons. If you think they looks slightly like Highwayman's Affliction and Virtue images - yes, yes they are.

And yeah, they look different, because someone tried to replicate DD's style in different ways and failed miserably.

[fseffect]

"Many fall in the face of chaos, but not this one. Not today."

Bocchi crossover with Darkest Dungeon, because she's the one who always gets Virtue at 100 stress (when playing guitar anyway)

[virtues-end]

Hello hello! I'm a new reader and I have to say I've become obsessed with your story (may or may not have had dreams about shea......)

I wanted to ask what made you write virtues end? And have you made anything else? Just wondering if there's more goodies out there 👀

Ps which pronouns do you go by?

Hello! Welcome!

Firstly, feel free to use any pronouns. I'm pretty GNC so everything goes. 🤙

I first started working on Virtue's End in early 2020. Pandemic had just started, lock-downs in full swing, and I really was looking for some sort of escape. I've always loved reading, and writing, ever since I could, basically. So I started writing. Just some silly little scifi story that was entirely too dramatic, lol. But I found that I liked it.

And then one evening I discovered interactive novels on Steam. I stayed up late reading several very well-known staples of the genre, and I was hooked. And I'm the kind of person who, when discovering something new, really wants to try it out for themselves. So pretty much the next day, I started figuring out how these things were made, and learning how to code, all that.

At the time, I was also working on a setting for a tabletop rpg campaign. I've always wanted to DM, but I wasn't really comfortable sitting at the head of the table, and just generally being the centre of attention and just... having to do a lot of talking. So I converted some of the setting to fit the interactive game I was working on, and the beginnings of Virtue's End were born. :-)

Many of the themes prevalent in the story are things that I've always felt drawn to. Writing it just felt very natural. The words flowed. Dark (fantasy) settings have always been a big inspiration for me; anime like Berserk, Claymore, and Hellsing, games such as Dark Souls/Bloodborne (and later Elden Ring), Dragon Age, and Darkest Dungeon, books from writers such as Joe Abercrombie, Robin Hobb, G.R.R. Martin, and Sapkowski... just to name a few.

Well, I realised I just wrote an entire essay, lol. But basically I am a little dark fantasy nerd and writing is my form of escapism. 👍

As for your other question, I'm currently only working on Virtue's End, though I've also been brewing a more 'realistic' story set in medieval times featuring knights and royalty and betrayal and all that good stuff--though I suspect it'll be a while before it sees the light of day.

[quantum-temporal-anomaly]

this is exactly why i avoid the Warrens like the plague

Cowardice on Stygian is the best :)*

(Poor Reynald just watched his boyfriend get fucking skewered right in front of him.)

[murderlade]

Me, looking at my monster boyfriend cock: 😍

The ancestor from darkest dungeon in my mind: Monstrous Size Has No Intrinsic Merit, Unless Inordinate Exsanguination Be Considered A Virtue

Me, looking at my now disappointing monster boyfriend cock: 😒

[mara-xx217]

Ending H (Fear & Hunger) Ch. 12- (Night Lurch) A Fistful of Silver

He was once sentenced to the prisons. He used to lust to hurt women. Now he is an epitome of his perversions. - The New Gods when asked about the Night lurch.

Warnings: Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Torture/Blood, Anal Rape, Monstrous Creature, Monster Penis, Internal Trauma, Character Death

The people of Rondon cautioned their wives and daughters of a dreaded wolf that prowled the streets. 

A beast it was, though not one that skulked about on all fours, rather one that danced in the shadows, taking the shape of a man, one of a well bred and trusting face that morphs and changes with the flickering torch and moonlight. 

He seeks lone girls of all stations, be they of the upper class or merely a lowly waif, as they wander the city streets after sunset. 

He lures them not but accosts them with sudden vigor and savagery, pulling young maidens, especially the virgin and yet to reach marrying age, into the darkest of alleyways so he can violate them in the foulest and cruelty of ways. 

Maidens wearing of white have been found wandering the streets, dresses stained red-brown, a token of the depravity they were subjected to plain for all to see. 

None know of who attacks the young girls of Rondon and thus tales of “The Little Maiden Dressed in White” begin to spread.

Little maiden, dressed in white, take to your grandmother loaves of bread and wine of red.

Little maiden, dressed in white, linger not among the cobbled streets, lest someone unsavoury you will meet. 

Little maiden, dressed in white, a hand will grab you with a devil’s might, pulling you deeper into the night. 

Sequestered away from the light, oh, little maiden, dressed in white, how you will cry, your screams of pain would be mistaken for delight.

Little maiden, once dressed in white, released from the devil you will wander, your precious flower of virtue squandered. 

The wolf absconds with your purity, vanishing beyond sight into obscurity.

Little maiden, no longer dressed in white, never will you be wed, for the Lord witnessed how you bled. 

Little maiden, now dressed in red, how you will wish that you were simply just dead.

The perpetrator would be found and he would be tried for his crimes. He never denied committing the atrocities levied against him and so justice was swift for the people of Rondon and all the girls and women he had violated during his reign over the empty alleyways and nighttime streets. 

Death would be the punishment for many that were guilty of even one of the many crimes that man committed, they would be sentenced to death. But to be accused of hundreds of different sodomizations and to not even deny it? He would be sentenced to the only fate worse than death that the government of Rondon could bear down onto such a monster.

The serial rapist of Rondon, the Night Lurch, was sentenced until the conclusion of his natural life in the Dungeon of Fear & Hunger. 

He was to rot away and die, forgotten in the black of that terrible place and he did, though die, he did not.

Like everything in that place, the black changed him. He was already twisted and corrupt, the change to a monster was already complete in mind and soul though not yet in his body. That would take time, which was all that the rapist had in the Dungeon of Fear & Hunger. He was forgotten by the people, by the government and even by the guards meant to ensure his slow demise. He didn’t need food or water to sustain himself any longer, only the pain and suffering of those around him, things in vast quantities in that terrible dungeon. It might have starved and withered his body but it did anything but weaken him.

The black made him into the embodiment of what he was: his perversions. Sadistic and cruel, his body was made to inflict pain. It mattered not to who, men, women, children, other prisoners, animals… The Night Lurch was a being made to torture. 

And he would, time and time again.

You wouldn’t be the first and certainly not the last. You heard the sinister clicking of teeth against teeth, claws against stone. Of all the monstrosities in this terrible place, you didn’t think it possible it could get any worse. Everything here thrived off of cruelty and perversion. You have seen terrible things, been subjected to terrible things… 

All your companions had succumbed to the darkness in some way, be it death or madness. You were close behind them, wavering in between despair and hysteria. You staggered in the dark, blind and down to your last tinderbox. Your hands shook with terror, unable to strike a light in spite of your best efforts to hold back your panic. A torch was held in between your knees, the moisture of the stonework seeping into your trousers as you furiously strike the tinderbox over and over and over and over again. 

The noise grew louder, that awful clicking. It sounded like it was mocking your attempts to beat back the darkness.

click

Click

CLICK

Why wouldn’t it stop?

CLICK

CLICK 

CLICK

You couldn’t stop your chest from heaving.

CLICK

CLICK 

CLICK 

The cloth affixed around the stick in between your legs burst alight, momentarily blinding you. In the moments that it took your eyes to readjust to the harsh torchlight, you screamed as you were tackled to the ground by something that lingered in the darkness before you. 

All it took was for you to produce light for him to find you. He didn’t need the light, for his eyes were mutilated beyond recognition. Porcelain-white skin reflected the light of your fallen torch, grey-black teeth coated in blood and saliva flashing as the creature licked his nonexistent lips. Long, blade-like claws pinned your arms to the cold ground, slicing through your leather armour as though it were wet parchment. 

Deep gashes splintered your skin apart, allowing river falls of blood to seep out from beneath your armour. You desperately kick out your legs, screaming as you realize that this thing was much, much stronger than he appeared. He was bone thin, with every rib evident and skin barely clinging onto his body, yet he was as strong as a healthy, well defined man in his youth. No, worse, it was supernatural. The panic you displayed only seemed to excite the creature, as he nearly purred with hideous laughter as something thick and sharp began to poke against the crotch of your trousers. 

“G-GODS-!!! N-NOOO!!! D-DON’T-! PLEASE!!!” Terror raised the pitch of your voice. It was ear piercing and music to the creature’s ears. A long, thick grey tongue lashed out and licked up your tears of fear. You waited for him to tear your face off, to slice you to ribbons, to do… something. Anything! But shockingly-

He allowed you to struggle free. 

You didn’t think, didn’t take a moment to consider why, your body moved with a will of its own. Fight, flight, freeze was cycling through your veins up until the moment that creature lessened its weight off your arms and you simply… Reacted. 

Your legs kicked the monstrosity in the abdomen and you pulled yourself out from underneath his body, panting and screaming even though your lungs screamed for air. Your diaphragm cramped, forcing out any breath that you tried to take. You managed to rise to your feet with startling speed, tripping over your own limbs as you did so. 

If you had your wits about you, perhaps you would have realized just how odd it was that the creature had allowed you to flee at all. If you weren’t in hysterics, perhaps you could have capitalized on the fact that the monster couldn’t actually see you, only hear you and your panicked breaths as you stumbled away from him. With your footsteps retreating, it gave the Night Lurch the exact opportunity that he was waiting for.

A scream dies in your throat as you are knocked off your feet. The Night Lurch had tackled you from behind, sucking on his teeth and producing that terrible clicking noise somewhere within his throat. In the fraction of a second that it took you to fall to the ground, the creature managed to force his sharp, barbarous member into your anus.

The thick padding of your reinforced trousers did nothing to stop or even slow the Night Lurch as he sodomized you. It was like the blade of a knife was slicing you open from the inside out. Instantly you were bleeding, screaming as one of the most sensitive parts of your body was brutalized over and over again. The creature’s hips jerked and bucked with little grace or rhythm, merely responding to the stimulus of your agony and acting according to his own lust to hurt another. 

The monster’s skin was clammy against your own, sticking to the few bare patches of your skin that was exposed from the hole that was torn into your trousers. Hot blood poured in between your legs, starkly contrasting the cold sweat that seeped through your pores as you began to vomit in between screams of torment. Your sword had fallen just out your reach and mocked you in your rapidly fading torchlight. It glimmered and shined, much like the claws that pinned your arms to your sides as the Night Lurch shredded your insides with his mutated cock. 

It was like you were being raped with the blade of a sword… The Night Lurch’s crotch horn might not have been as large as some of the other denizens’ members but it might have been even more deadly for how hard, curved and sharp it was. It was totally inflexible, unyielding towards the soft, thin walls of your anus, hooking upwards and carving its way through your body. 

You reacted violently to the pain, choking on bile in between shrieks of pain. You struggled and fought for your life, kicking and thrashing like a wild, rabid animal that was caged against its will. You were exactly that, a little rodent that was trapped under the paw of a mighty predator, being batted around and toyed with before you were to be devoured. The Night Lurch had no need to eat your flesh though he would consume you just as he had when he was the wolf of Rondon. 

The serial rapist drank in your guttural cries, hissing and clicking as your body squeezed down on him in spite of your best efforts to pull away from his thrusts. Your body rocked in forceful waves, your screams waxing and waning along with it. You never fell silent, even after you screamed your throat bloody raw. Your extremities would cool and become numb long before you would ultimately succumb to your extensive internal injuries. With the blood having drained from the wounds you sustained from such a brutal sodomization, you would die from the massive hemorrhaging in your anus. 

Your last moments were spent in agony as one of the most infamous criminals in all of Rondon’s sordid history repeatedly abused your mangled body. Long before your death, the torch you were only just able to light had died, leaving you to suffer in the cold and the black without any comfort whatsoever. Even after you lost all feeling in your body, you were still aware of that creature’s presence, the awful clicking and clattering of something precious being discarded onto the cold ground as the violent assault continued, long after your final death.

Ending H- A Fistful of Silver

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather, @horny-3

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐧𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥: 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Sutenankh, once revered for valor, finds himself ensnared in the ethereal confines of divine justice. As he awaits his fate within the celestial sanctum of Horus, his heart heavy with remorse, the gods decree eternal imprisonment. Meanwhile, a clandestine pact between Anubis and Horus births a prophecy of hope for a future liberator. Betrayal, anguish, and the weight of celestial retribution collide in a tale where virtue and destiny intertwine.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, Eddie's first name is Sutenankh, violence, torture, betrayal, mentions of a curse, mention of slavery, allusion to death and living mummification.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝐤

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I'm so excited to post this!!! I have always loved Egyptian culture and almost burst with happiness when the opportunity to write arose. I hope you are prepared to follow the journey of our demi-god warrior.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

Bound by celestial chains, bewildered and wounded, Sutenankh finds himself ensnared within the ethereal confines of divine justice, awaiting the inexorable decree of his final destiny.

Once a beacon of valor and righteousness, Sutenankh's descent into the abyss of moral decay stands as a harrowing testament to the seductive allure of human frailty. Seduced by the siren call of ambition and ensnared by the tendrils of avarice, he succumbed to the darkest recesses of his soul, forfeiting his noble mantle to the corrupt machinations of mortal desires.

The weight of his transgressions hangs heavy upon him, an invisible shroud woven from the lamentations of the oppressed and the anguished cries of the forsaken. In his folly, he granted dominion to the vilest of mortals, unwittingly bestowing power upon those whose hearts were blackened by greed and malice. Innocents languished in chains, their freedoms bartered for the fleeting promises of false prophets, while the opulent revelry of the elite cast a pall of despair upon the land.

Now, within the hallowed halls of Horus, where the celestial firmament meets the mortal realm, Sutenankh stands as a penitent supplicant before the divine tribunal. Here, the very essence of justice is palpable, manifesting as a sublime tapestry woven from threads of golden light and azure hues, a testament to the immutable balance of the cosmos.

The architecture of the celestial sanctum is a symphony of celestial grandeur, crafted by the hands of divine artisans whose skill transcends mortal comprehension. Pillars of alabaster rise like towering sentinels, their surfaces adorned with intricate reliefs depicting the triumphs and tribulations of mortal existence. Canopies of celestial silk, woven from threads of purest light, billow gently in the ethereal breeze, their iridescent fibers shimmering with the radiance of a thousand suns.

At the heart of the sanctum lies a pool of crystalline waters, its surface a mirror to the heavens above. Here, the waters of life flow in eternal abundance, their purity a testament to the divine benevolence that sustains all creation. Statues of Horus, resplendent in their majesty, gaze down upon the scene with eyes that blaze like fiery beacons, their vigilance an ever-present reminder of the omnipotence of the divine will.

In this sanctum of celestial splendor, Sutenankh awaits his fate with a heart heavy with remorse and contrition, hoping against hope that the scales of justice may yet tip in his favor, and that the divine mercy may shine upon his tarnished soul once more.

In the labyrinthine depths of Seth and Sekhmet's dungeons, the unfortunate youth languished in an unyielding grip of torment, ensnared by the relentless passage of time. Each day unfurled as an eternity of unspeakable agony, punctuated by tortures as cruel as they were unrelenting.

From the moment his shackles were fastened, a profound silence enveloped him, stifling any attempt at lamentation or supplication. His tongue, deftly severed, became a mute testament to the futility of speech in the presence of the divine. He grasped, in that harrowing moment, the futility of attempting to justify his existence before the omnipotence of Amon-Ra.

With a perverse fervor, Seth extracted one of his eyes, offering it as a grim tribute to the celestial pantheon, while Sekhmet, thirsting for accolades, seized his chestnut tresses as though they were a trophy to be displayed for all eternity.

In this abyssal expanse of despair, where even the most compassionate deities dared not intrude, Anubis, Osiris, Horus, and Bastet stood as silent sentinels, bearing witness to the suffering of Sutenankh, their progeny. A pall of mournful resignation hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the impotence that beset them in the face of such wanton cruelty.

In the cavernous halls of anguish, where shadows whispered of treachery and hearts bled with the sting of betrayal, his soul convulsed with the agony of deception. Betrayed by a friend once held dear, and by those he had revered as guardians and mentors, his spirit quivered with a sorrow deep as the abyss.

As fate wove its cruel tapestry, his path was entrusted to the hands of Anubis, the jackal-headed deity known for his tender regard for the departed and infirm. Anubis, whose visage was often shrouded in enigma, now found his resolve faltering at the sight of his beloved son ensnared in the tendrils of despair.

With the weight of eternity hanging heavy upon his shoulders, Anubis grappled with the burden of decision. In a realm where time itself seemed to hold its breath, he deliberated, his gaze piercing through the veil of uncertainty. Ultimately, he chose the path of utmost severity, yet one suffused with a measure of mercy: eternal imprisonment—a fate both cruel and, in its own twisted way, mercifully devoid of physical pain.

In a somber tableau of divine decree, the semi-divine warrior, bereft of strength to battle against fate's inexorable hand, acquiesced to the harrowing ritual of being mummified alive. The torturous ordeal, though agonizing beyond measure, paled in comparison to the anguish that rent his heart asunder. With a final, labored exhalation, he yielded to the embrace of death, his essence consigned to the frigid depths of the sarcophagus, where the stygian river of darkness awaited.

Apprehensive of the titanic power veiled within his enigmatic form, the gods ordained the sealing of the lid upon the sarcophagus, a vessel wrought from obsidian-black stone, its form adorned with meticulously carved motifs of solid gold—a sepulcher befitting the noblest of sovereigns.

Fearing the latent potential of his reawakening, Amon, Seth, Sekhmet, Osiris, and Bastet invoked a curse of dire consequence upon any audacious enough to trespass upon the sanctity of the celestial warrior's resting place. Theirs was a sentence of eternal repose, a somber penance for the folly of disturbing the peace of the divine.

Unbeknownst to the pantheon of gods, a clandestine pact had been forged between Anubis and Horus, their hearts weighed heavy with sorrow for the fate that had befallen their celestial kin. Together, they clandestinely inscribed a prophecy upon the annals of human history, its verses a beacon of hope for a future where a soul of true virtue would emerge, destined to liberate the celestial warrior from his timeless slumber.

[sprintingowl]

Ashenheart

Ashenheart is a TTRPG that I helped do some layout and editing for, and I want to shine a spotlight on it.

Firstly, it's got an extremely unique setting. 1940s post-cataclysm adventuring in a world of gods and demons, where hell is an ocean that has flooded out cities, and where people have domesticated giant sea slugs.

Second, it's super easy to learn. The core roll is just a d10 on a chart, modified by a few things you can choose to invoke.

Also, damage advances your character. In the same style as Darkest Dungeon, if you take enough Stress, you can develop new permanent Virtues and and Neuroses that you can invoke on later rolls.

Ashenheart is its designer's first TTRPG, and I'd love to see the community support it. It's a really neat game, and folks taking a risk and making their first game is how we get new ideas in the scene.

[liquidnoodles]

DnD x Darkest dungeon homebrew subclass - fighter (sorry for bad formatting)

3rd level – colors of madness

When taking damage or doing a specific action too much, the fighter gains stress points.

The points go from 0 to 200.

The damage must exceed fighter level + PB of your max hp total.

stress taken = 1d10 + any psychic damage taken(if any)

If the score reaches 100 a d4 is rolled. If the fighter rolls 1-3 they get an affliction. On a 4 they get a virtue.

After a hard battle, if the DM wants to, they can force the fighter to roll a d4 for an affliction or virtue (same rules apply).

If the score is set At 150 or more the fighter deals an additional damage die per their weapon.

If the score reaches 200 the fighter has advantage on all attacks and a disadvantage on saving throws. They also roll a d4 for afflictions and virtues. Any damage taken is treated as if the fighter is vulnerable. On every turn, the fighter must roll a DC 12 check to remove 4d20 stress.

The afflictions can be cured for 25 gold worth of any stress relief (check downtime in xanathar's) (1 day). For 5 hours of rest the fighter can remove 3d20 stress.

The virtues have a limit of 1 virtue per 4 levels. If any virtues are given when the limit is met, the fighter can swap the virtues or not take the new one.

Any short rest removes 1d20 worth of stress if the fighter chooses to do so. The fighter can do so a number of times equal to their wisdom modifier per long rest.

Any enemies killed remove 1d8 stress.

Any critical hits remove 1d8 stress.

Afflictions

Fear of enemy kind (subtract a d4 on attack rolls against enemy type that got the stress meter up to 100 and add a d6 to the damage)

Nocturnal ( subtract d6 on initiative if not in dim light or darkness and add the d6 for initiative in darkness, the fighter gains a 30 ft increase of dark vision)

Masochistic (the fighter suffers ½ of the stress and reduces incoming damage by d6 but cannot be healed in battle)

Sadistic (-2 to attack rolls +2 to damage rolls) (if in range of an ally that fail an attack, the fighter makes a wisdom saving throw of 14, and if they fail, the ally is hit for 1d4 damage with an improvised attack, adding a +2 to their next attack roll)

Paranoid ( -3 to all wisdom charisma and intelligence saving throws and a +6 to passive perception)

Selfish (cannot help allies, but gets a bonus to rolls when being helped equal to ½ PB of helper rounded up)

Snail-like (the fighter gains 2AC and their movement becomes halved)

Hopeless ( the fighter gains 1AC but is vulnerable to the frightened condition and is vulnerable to psychic attacks)

Unwavering curse (the fighter cannot dawn off any armor and stop any attunement, unless in a presence of a holy symbol, place or priest like figure)

Cowardly (stress is taken on every hit, but it's halved)

Mad (the fighter gains a short or long term madness via a d10 roll, excluding the stm 21-30, stm 41-60, stm 71-75, stm 81-100, ltm 56-75, ltm 86-100)

Projection (when the fighter has 100 or more stress they target a all creatures in a 60 ft radius once per turn, dealing 1d4 psychic damage)

Alcoholic (fail a constitution save 5 times in a week for getting drunk DC10) ( +1 to damage rolls if drunk and -1 to constitution modifier if alcohol isn't consumed in 24 hours, additionally the fighter cannot relieve stress if not drinking or drunk)

Flagellant ( fighter gains a +1 to constitution modifier and can only lose stress by pain, giving them a -1 to charisma ability checks if they go unpunished for 24 hours)

Gambler (fail a wisdom save 5 times in a week DC10) (the fighter removes an extra d10 stress per gambling session and cannot relieve stress if not gambling, suffering a -1to wisdom modifier if the they don't gamble in 24 hours)

Rapturous - (level 7 required) ( the fighter gains an extra d6 damage die per every attack, looses 2AC and gains a +3 to attack rolls)

Refracted - (10th level only) (the fighter gains +3 to bloodthirsty and blight strikes but suffers a -1 to dexterity and a extra d10 of stress when gaining stress points)

Virtues

Enemy slayer (add 1d6 on attack rolls against enemy type that got the stress meter up to 100)

Brave (the fighter loses 10 stress points after a battle is over and is immune to the frightened condition)

Kind (help action increases range up to 30 ft range and can be done as a bonus action)

Unwavering (no stress taken on first 3 rounds of combat)

Inspiring (on the first round of combat, the fighter and all allies get advantage on their attacks)

Stalwart (the fighter gains +1 to AC and can roll a constitution saving throw (DC12) to not fall unconscious)

Focused (level 7 required) (the fighter gains +2 to attack rolls and can crit at 18)

Powerful (extra damage die)

Vigorous (level 5 requirement) (the fighter gains 1AC and 20 ft of movement)

Swift hands (the fighter gains +5 to sleight of hand and medicine and has 2 interactions)

Angels touch (level 10 requirement) (when in 5 ft of a wounded ally, the fighter can make a medicine check of dc 10 to heal 2d8 hp) (can be attempted once per ally after a long rest)

3rd level (optional feature) - more than a brute

The fighter isn't just a killing machine. They can do other activities too.

The fighter gains 1 tool or musical instrument proficiency.

7th level – darkness of mind

Soothing mind prep

When on a short rest, the fighter gives anyone who is using hit dice healing equal to 2d4.

Special mechanic - Death's door

When the fighter falls to 0 hp, they can use one use of the second wind ability, giving themselves hp equal to 1d4 + 1/2 fighter level and a 1d6 + 1/2 fighter level to their next attack. They cannot do so until the next long rest.

If the fighter hits 200 stress while in death’s door , they fall unconscious and mark 1 failure on death saves.

10th level – Blight and Blood o’ plenty

When an attack is done on an enemy, the fighter can choose to make a blighted or bloodthirsty strike. For both a -5 to attack rolls is added. The strikes cannot be applied if an extra attack is used on the same turn.

Blighted - the target must make a constitution check with a DC = 12 + PB. If the target fails, it takes 1d6 poison damage (ignoring resistances) in intervals of 2 dmg a turn. The blighted being loses 15 feet of movement for the duration of the effect.

Bloodthirsty - the target must make a constitution check with a DC = 12 +PB. If the target fails, it takes 1d8 necrotic damage in intervals of 4 dmg a turn. The target AC is lowered by 2.

The fighter has 2 uses of either strike. A single use is regained per short rest.

15th level – Stunning them smitten

Smiter

The fighter gains 2 extra uses of the strikes and a new strike:

Stunning - the target must make a constitution check with a DC = 12 +PB. If the target fails, it gets stunned, skipping its next turn.

Powerful strikes

Blighted - the target must make a constitution check with a DC = 12 + PB. If the target fails, it takes 3d6 poison damage (ignoring resistances) in intervals of 2 dmg a turn. The blighted being loses 15 feet of movement for the duration of the effect.

Bloodthirsty - the target must make a constitution check with a DC = 12 +PB. If the target fails, it takes 3d8 necrotic damage in intervals of 8 dmg a turn. The target AC is lowered by 2.

18th level – Stunning them smitten

Improved virtues

Enemy slayer (add 1d6 on attack rolls and 1d8 on damage rolls against enemy type that got the stress meter up to 100)

Brave (the fighter loses 30 stress points after a battle is over and is immune to the frightened condition and charmed)

Kind (help action increases range up to 60 ft range and can be done as a bonus action)

Unwavering (no stress taken on first 5 rounds of combat)

Inspiring (on the first round of combat, the fighter and all allies roll 3 d20 on their first attack rolls and use the highest)

Stalwart (the fighter gains +2 to AC and can roll a constitution saving throw with advantage (DC12) to not fall unconscious)

Focused (the fighter gains +2 to attack rolls and can critical strike at 17)

Powerful (2 extra damage die)

Vigorous (the fighter gains 2AC and 60 ft of movement)

Swift hands (the fighter gains +5 to sleight of hand and medicine and has 2 interactions and 2 bonus actions)

Angels touch (when in 5 ft of a wounded ally, the fighter can heal 3d10 hp twice per long rest)

[creator-from-hel]

Illustration I did for my next Darkest Dungeon-inspired TTRPG campaign !

I took some liberties with the usual Virtue design and am very proud of it (it's one of the illustrations who took the most time to realise since... a long time). Also used my painting coloring style for basic shading. I do think it looks good-

Lycarn is a moon mage and has extremely powerful magic for a magic caster her age. So when pushed in her last retranchments, she can find new resources in Stress to just fuck shit up.

The Affliction illustration probably will be with a bloodmoon in the background :D

[tinysamm]

As their party delves deeper through each level of Darkest Dungeon, the individual members will accumulate Stress through fighting enemies, specific attack effects, and even just entering the dungeon itself. At the point that a given hero has accumulated 100 Stress, they are randomly given either an Affliction (providing some notable disadvantage like passing a turn or refusing healing), or in rarer cases, a Virtue (providing some notable advantage like reducing the Stress of other heroes in the party). The impact these can have on a given play session varies considerably, but provide an additional method of making the individual actions the player takes that much more critical when it comes to long term planning, as any action has the possibility of tipping a hero over the edge into either desolation or salvation.

[shi-daisy]

Storytime

Day 5 and I'm writing more sad stuff. I'll be honest I was stumped for this prompt until I remembered one of my oc's was a historian and also Tamlin's half-sister, and so now we have slight angst and family fluff, plus implied Tamcien because that can't be left out. Hope you like!

@tamlinweek2023

Tamlin Week 2023- Day 5- History/Isolation (Takes place during Chapter 4 of A Court of Threads & Daisies)

Storytime

Ever since his sister's ashes had been moved to a grave he'd seen the Ambrose family visit it daily. Ophelia would spend hours talking to it, Asteria watered the flowers around it and even if they visited Andras more often, he and Lucien had spoken to the stone with Daphne's name on it.

He'd yet to see Tamarand visit the grave since the day it was set. Until tonight.

Tamlin went outside to check for shadows. Since Nesta came to join them he'd been extra cautious to keep Azriel's little minions at bay. Mother knew the Night Court wouldn't have mercy on any of them if they knew they helped Nesta hide from them. He wasn't going to let them destroy Spring again.

There were no shadowy spies in the garden, and he intended to go back inside until he saw Tamarand kneeling on the ground in front of Andras and Daphne's tombs.

"There was no reason for such senseless cruelty, and many a fae now condemn the actions of the cruel Winter family but hindsight is a virtue only we possess, and so millennia ago this action was allowed and excused-"

"Tamarand?" Tamlin called out to him as he reached him. His brother was startled, his wolf ears twitching along with his tail. His emerald eyes like Tamlin's glowed in the dark of night, illuminated only by the moon.

"Oh, evening brother!"

"What are you doing here? You should be sleeping."

"I know. I shall head to bed once I'm done reading to Daphne. She always liked to review her materials before sleeping..."

Tamlin sat beside him. "I'll stay with you until the story is done."

Tamarand smiled brightly, as his sleepy eyes filled with joy. "Thank you! I'll be brief, I promise."

The High Lord cleared his throat, going back to the pages of the tattred history book. "Now where were we...oh yes!

The moment the current High Lord of Winter fell ill, his youngest son was locked up in the deepest darkest cell of the dungeon, and a mask of iron was placed upon his head. His older brothers hoped this would weaken him so much that the magic would pass onto one of them instead of him."

Tamlin remembered skimming through such a portion of Winter Court history. His mother insisted he should know a little about every court for diplomatic reasons. The story of the masked man resonated with him deeply to this day.

He'd grown fonder of it when he was alone in mannor for two years. Sure, he was unmasked now, and even with he curse his mask didn't cover his entire head nor did it burn to the touch, yet he was glad to be free of it all the same. The space was also wider, instead of a cell he had a mannor to roam, and yet...it felt just like the makeshift tomb this ancient Winter Lord was trapped in.

"This didn't come to pass, for when their father passed the magic quickly made its way through dark, and stone, and steel and iron, fueling the man who was to be the true heir of the Court of Winter.

Nothing can stand in the way of the Court's magic and neither could this cruel trap. Upon being turned High Lord and freeing himself, the masked man broke apart the object of his torture, waltzed up to his older siblings and turned them all into ice statues. Fatricide is one of the few things that can permanently make one tainted to not earn the High Lord magic so the masked man did to his siblings as they did to him, and left them alive yet isolated.

To this day those ice statues can be seen in the gardens of the Winter Court castle. No one knows if they still live, frozen in time, forever to pay for their cruelty.

If there is a lesson for the future generations to learn of this is perseverance. One could feel as trapped and alone as the masked lord once felt, but in time he was rewarded with what was rightfully his and he was able to take his vengeance and rule his court. Things can improve, once you break away from your mask..."

Tamlin was sure the last line didn't come from the book, as his younger brother wrapped his arm around him and let him rest his head on his shoulder. He appreciated it, the affection, the unwavering fate in him, it was all much more than what he deserved.

The graves were undisturbed, nothing but chilly night breeze could be heard as they stood ready to leave.

"If they ever come back, for you, for Lucien for me, even if the come back for Nesta...I'll turn them into statues, perhaps not of ice but of wood. Think they'll look nice out on the gardens."

Tamlin chuckled. "You don't need to do that. I'm the one they're after. It's not a loss if they take me."

"Tamlin, of course it is. We love you and none of us will leave you to fight the night alone. Don't forget that.

Now let's go back in, mama will scold us if we catch a cold. Plus Lucien must be missing your presence."

Tamarand left before he could retort that claim. With one last bow at his friend and sister's grave Tamlin went back to his room.

Like Tamarand predicted he came back to a sleeping Lucien subconsciously seeking out his presence while in slumber. He settled back in and was immediately cuddled.

From and empty mannor that he roamed alone to a house full of family members and loving friends he indeed was repeating the history of the ancient Winter High Lord. He wouldn't rule again nor did he want to, as his sibling was doing a magnificent job, but he would not complain if one day there were statutes outside made of oakwood that bore resemblance to a particular Court of Dreamers.

For now, he was content to settle for freedom and love.

[pathfinderunlocked]

Living Altar - CR1 Aberration

Pray to your eldritch god.  You will not receive salvation, but perhaps you can deprive your enemies of it as well.

Artwork is in-game art from Darkest Dungeon II, by Red Hook Studios.

Living altars are common low-level servants of great old ones and outer gods, sent to aid their followers.  Great old ones and outer gods usually don’t do a lot to aid their followers, or even particularly care that they have followers, but these living altars are an exception, for reasons that they keep to themselves.

The living altar below is that of a chaotic evil deity, which is the alignment of most great old ones and outer gods.  A living altar that worships a deity of a different alignment has a different alignment, aura, and magic circle against whatever spells.

A living altar’s role in battle is a support creature.  It isn’t instinctively hostile to anyone, but will follow and defend creatures that worship the same deity that the living altar serves.  This means that a PC that finds one alone might be able to keep it as a pet, which one of your players will definitely try to do if they realize this.  You know which player.

This functions like and counts as a typical altar except that it can only apply its boon to one creature per day, can be moved without losing its magical abilities, and (obviously) is a creature.

This would make a good improved familiar for a level 7 character that worships an outer god or great old one, if you feel like giving players access to a custom improved familiar.

Living Altar - CR 1

A small amalgamation of tentacles and eyes writhes in the darkness, flickering candles burning atop it and dripping melting wax down its tentacles.

XP 400 CE Small aberration Init -3 Senses darkvision 60 ft., sense worship; Perception +2

DEFENSE

AC 8, touch 8, flat-footed 8 (-3 Dex, +1 size) hp 11 (2d8+2) Fort +1, Ref -3, Will +5

OFFENSE

Speed 15 ft. Melee tentacle +0 (1d3-2 plus grab) Special Attacks conversion channel, swallow whole

Spell-Like Abilities (CL 2nd; concentration +3)     Constant—magic circle against good, magic circle against law (or appropriate magic circles for creature’s deity)     At will—guidance, stabilize, virtue     1/day— bane (DC 12), bless, face of the devourer

STATISTICS

Str 6, Dex 5, Con 13, Int —, Wis 14, Cha 12 Base Atk +1; CMB -2 (+2 grapple); CMD 5 SQ aura, grant spells to the faithful, unholy altar

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Aura (Su) A living altar serves a specific deity, typically an outer god or great old one.   A living altar has a faint alignment aura of the same alignment as its deity (typically chaotic and evil).

Conversion Channel (Su) Once per day, as a standard action, a living altar can channel negative energy to deal damage to living creatures, while also healing the faithful of its deity.  Worshipers of the living altar’s deity within the area of its channel recover 1d8 hit points (whether alive or undead), while living enemies take 1d8 negative energy damage.  A DC 12 Will save halves the damage.  The save DC is Charisma-based.

Non-worshipers of the living altar’s deity within the channeled energy can convert to the worship of its deity as an immediate action in order to gain this healing effect.  As long as their conversion is sincere, willing converts gain the healing instead of the damage from the channeled negative energy.  Such a conversion can only be undone by an atonement or similar effect. 

Grant Spells to the Faithful (Su) Creatures that worship the living altar’s deity can temporarily gain a single first-level spell slot as a cleric, and can prepare a single cleric orison or first-level cleric spell of the creature’s choice in that slot, by spending an hour in prayer within 10 feet of the living altar.  A creature that gains a spell from this ability uses Wisdom as its spellcasting ability modifier for this spell.

A living altar can grant a spell in this way once per day, and a creature can pray to a living altar to gain a spell in this way once per day.  This can be done simultaneously with the time the creature spends to regain its spells and other powers.  The creature loses this spell and temporary spell slot after 24 hours.

Unholy Altar (Ex) As long as it is alive, a living altar counts as an unholy symbol for any creature within 30 feet which worships the living altar’s deity - such creatures can cast spells and use abilities as if they had an unholy symbol in hand.  Additionally, as long as it is alive, a living altar counts as a fixture dedicated to its deity, affecting spells and effects like Consecrate.

Sense Worship (Ex) Although mindless, a living altar understands when a creature prays to or perceptibly worships its deity in its presence, and can automatically sense whether this prayer or worship is genuine.  It follows creatures that genuinely perform such rites, and protects them if they are in danger.

Swallow Whole (Ex) A living altar can swallow creatures whole that are at least one size category smaller than it (as usual for the swallow whole ability).  Unlike most creatures with the swallow whole ability, it can use its swallow whole ability against creatures grappled by its tentacle attack, instead of requiring the target to be grappled in its mouth.