#justice for the old married couple orcs

[spideogbeag]

The old orc married couple are fightinggggg

I just finished the two towers and my god those last two orcs are such an old married couple lmfao

One of them was talking about them going somewhere different when the wars over where they can live in peace basically

[arofili]

three houses of the edain ➴ house of haleth ➴ headcanon disclaimer

          Hundar was the son of Halmir and the brother of Haldir, Hareth, and Hiril. In his youth he mingled with the other Houses of the Edain, and on a visit to Ladros met and married the woman Astoriel of the House of Bëor. Astoriel returned with him to Brethil and bore him two children, Hunleth and Hundad, but in time she would reunite with her family when Ladros was destroyed and they fled to Brethil for safety.           Astoriel was an herb-woman, and passed her skill onto her daughter Hunleth. They both accompanied the host of the Haladin to the Fifth Battle, and witnessed the disaster that became known as the Nírnaeth Arnœdiad. There Hundar was slain, and Hunleth also as she tended to the wounded, but Hundad fled the battle early and took his mother with him back to Brethil.           Hundad was not a man of mark or gallantry, and though he justified his retreat by claiming he needed to stay alive for the sake of his young son Hardang, those who had lost fathers and brothers in the war resented him for his desertion. But his wife Brognil was glad of his survival, and together they were one of very few couples who were able to raise their child together.           When Chieftain Handir was killed by orcs, Hardang attempted to usurp the leadership of the Haladin from his cousin Brandir the Lame, the rightful heir. Though many believed Brandir was unfit to rule, he persevered in the end, further embittering Hardang against him. When Turambar rose to power among the Haladin, Hardang was displeased, for he was reluctant to join the other woodmen in orc-hunts and could not prove his valour.           Thus Hardang was glad when Turambar and Brandir both perished, leaving the leadership of the Haladin uncertain. An election was held between the two remaining heirs of Halmir: Hardang and Manthor, the grandson of Hiril. Though Manthor was the more popular choice, his claim was weaker as he was descended from the youngest of Halmir’s children who was also a woman, and thus finally Hardang rose to the Chieftainship. Not wishing to anger those of his folk who would have preferred Manthor as a leader, Hardang promoted him to Captain of the Guards at the Crossings of Teiglin, a move which appeased Manthor for the time being.           Two years into Hardang’s rule, the marchwardens discovered a group of Hadorian outlaws who spoke of the return of Húrin Thalion. This was ill news for Hardang, who had no love for Húrin’s son Túrin, and he accused the wanderers for being spies of Angband. He stripped them of their weapons and ordered them expelled from his borders, warning them to count themselves lucky he spared them their lives, and that he would not be so generous if they trespassed a second time.           Some days later, Húrin arrived in Brethil and was taken to see Hardang, who did not rise to greet him nor to offer him a chair, forcing the old man to sit on the ground. Only after Manthor rebuked him did Hardang grudgingly offer Húrin food and rest, and his weak courtesy so offended Húrin that he threw a stool at Hardang, cutting his head. Avranc, one of Hardang’s lackeys, arrested and imprisoned him and advocated for his execution.           At this Manthor protested, having sympathy for Húrin, and quit Hardang’s service to summon the People of Haleth to a Folkmoot. Húrin was put on trial for his assault of the Chieftain, but with Manthor’s support and counsel he soon won the Haladin over to his side. Yet instead of justice being served, a riot broke out between the followers of Hardang and the followers of Manthor, culminating in the burning of the Hall of the Chieftains. Though Hardang attempted to flee the fire, he was hit in the back with a spear and perished.           Thus ended the last Chieftain of the Haladin, for in this conflict Manthor was slain also, and the ruin of the House of Haleth was completed.

[sheyshen]

The meme thing for Sheyshey and Grimmarrow and if you're in the mood for SWTOR Ocs or writing more, you can throw whoever is your current favorite of that bunch now in.

Oh! I maaay do some others later, But for now here’s my dear NE and BE couple that I don’t think I��ve talked about much here! So thank you for asking about them! And also for reminding me I have squat in screenshots of these two, I will need to do something about that soon…

B A S I C S

full name: Aulara Stormdawn

gender: Female

sexuality: Demi

pronouns: She/Her

O T H E R S

family: All her family is dead, she was raised in the Stormwind Orphanage, so all the kids she grew up with there and the Matron are the closest thing to family she has.

birthplace: Astranaar, Ashenvale. (She wasn’t exactly planned…)

job: Priestess (healer)

phobias: Fire, undead.

guilty pleasures: I don’t think she really has any, she’s not ashamed of anything she enjoys

M O R A L S

morality alignment?: Lawful Good. She’s a goody goody.

sins- lust/greed/gluttony/sloth/pride/envy/wrath

virtues- chastity/charity/diligence/humility/kindness/patience/justice

T H I S - O R - T H A T

introvert/extrovert: Extrovert. She very open and friendly and always looking to meet new people and be out and about.

organized/disorganized: Organized

close minded/open-minded: Open-minded

calm/anxious: Calm

disagreeable/agreeable: Agreeable

cautious/reckless: Cautious

patient/impatient: Patient, healing takes a lot of patience to do.    

outspoken/reserved: Outspoken

leader/follower: Follower, while she talks big, she doesn’t like to be in the spotlight or be in charge.

empathetic/unemphatic: Empathetic

optimistic/pessimistic: Optimistic

traditional/modern: Mix of both. She believes that tradition should be honored, but there’s no reason to do things a new way

hard-working/lazy: Hard-working

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

otp: Married to Kieran. They’re in fluffy love love… I’m kidding they’re married and consider each other their closest friend, but do tend to sass each other when given the chance. Cause they’re friends, duh

ot3: Never really thought of being with anyone other than Kieran, but she wouldn’t be entirely against involving Shandris if she had to pick someone…

brotp: Either Rokar, an old orc warrior she’s friends with, or Koren. (yes. I have a Koren in the story she’s from, they grew up together. He’s the original one, way before I played swtor. He’s also a prot pally)

notp: Any of the other orphans she grew up with, especially Koren.

B A S I C S

full name: Kieran Grimmarrow

gender: Male

sexuality: Bi

pronouns: He/Him

O T H E R S

family: His mother is still alive, Talia. She’s a powerful mage and adventurer. His father was a ranger but went missing during an excursion into the plaguelands. Presumed dead.

birthplace: Silvermoon. (totally original for a blood elf to be born in slivermoon, I know)

job: Hunter (Beastmaster). He wanted to be a hunter like his dad, and a hero too, so he ended up becoming an adventurer to let all of Azeroth know his name.

phobias: Ironically, spiders.

guilty pleasures: He wouldn’t admit it willingly, but he likes flowery teas. Only his wife knows about it.

M O R A L S

morality alignment?: True Neutral

sins- lust/greed/gluttony/sloth/pride/envy/wrath

virtues- chastity/charity/diligence/humility/kindness/patience/justice

T H I S - O R - T H A T

introvert/extrovert: Introvert. He usually prefers to work alone or be alone save his wolves and his wife

organized/disorganized: Organized

close minded/open-minded: Open-minded

calm/anxious: Calm. Need to be calm and steady to shoot an arrow straight

disagreeable/agreeable: Disagreeable.

cautious/reckless: Cautious

patient/impatient: Patient

outspoken/reserved: Outspoken, he tends to speak his mind even when     no one wants to hear it.

leader/follower: Leader

empathetic/unemphatic: Empathetic

optimistic/pessimistic: Realist, he knows when to keep a positive attitude but he also knows when to call it quits

traditional/modern: Modern. Very much wants to break the stubborn     mindset of never improving things for the sake of tradition

hard-working/lazy: Lazy, takes the saying, work smarter not harder to heart.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

otp: Married to Aulara. As stated above, they’re really close, they weren’t always but they gradually went from unwanted allies to friends to lovers, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

ot3: He’s not really into sharing his partner with anyone, but if he had to pick anyone maybe Sen, an orc hunter friend of his, or Khadgar. There’s just something about him that he can’t help but like.

brotp: His wolf (who I named Theron) and his cat Loki. They’re his closest friends next to his wife.

notp: Anyone who is undead. Theyhonestly creep him out, and while he values them as allies, he just can’thandle being around them personally

btw. if it was your goal to make me want to work on that fic I have going about them, it’s working…

[joyfullynervouscreator]

The Guard, the Axe, and the Song

Bifur’s story! I have a serious soft spot for Bifur as a character and he deserves so much better than he was given in the movies :(

At only ten years of age, Bifur, son of Bilbur, was old enough to understand what ‘going to war’ meant. When his father and uncle left to fight in the War against Orcs, however, Bifur did not understand that it would eventually mean the destruction of his small family. His uncle Bjartur came back – sans one leg – but his Adad did not follow. Bombur, who had lived with him and Amad while his own Amad went off to fight in the war too, got a wartime baby brother. Aunt Moda had been sent home when her superiors discovered her pregnancy; little cousin Bofur was born about a year before the terrible battle that claimed Bilbur’s life and his Adad’s leg.

After the war, their small mining settlement swelled with the refugees of Erebor; where before, the settlement had only been the home of the miners who worked in the coal and copper mines that still yielded ore, it now grew to ten times the size, as more and more displaced Longbeards, Firebeards and Broadbeams trickled in. Life under the King was very different to life under the old Lord Overseer, though that was mostly because of the sudden influx of people. The mines yielded as little as usual, and many Dwarrow found themselves needing new – basic – crafts; goldsmiths became blacksmiths, wire weavers produced cloth instead of finely woven mesh, and potters no longer made china so thin it was almost transparent, painted with delicate motives, instead turning their hands to the shaping of everyday cups and plates.

 Six years later, Amad died. When he grew up, Bifur would realise that the loss of her One had caused his Amad to die of a broken heart, even more than the pneumonia that eventually claimed her life, but at the age of 25, all he knew was that he was suddenly an orphan.

 Living with Aunt Moda and Uncle Bjartur wasn’t too bad, in Bifur’s opinion; they were always a close family, and treated him well. He liked playing with his little cousins – Bombur was only two years younger than him, and they usually felt more like brothers than cousins – and even though Bjartur’s battle scars were not limited to the leg that the Orcs had hacked off, life in the Ur-household was usually peaceful. Bifur did not blame Bjartur for the nights when his Uncle woke screaming, or the days when he saw Orcs lurking around every corner. When he joined training for a position in the Guards, Bjartur had cried like a proud Adad, and Moda had brought him a treat every week like clockwork while he lived in the barracks, just like any of the others’ Amads.

 In Guard-training, Bifur had made new friends; while he wasn’t the most popular recruit around, he was generally well-liked. He was especially fond of Dwalin – an Azanulbizar veteran and a cousin to the new King! – who had recommended him as a caravan guard when he finished his training. Eager to see some of the world, Bifur had accepted, a few years later even finding work for his younger cousin Bombur as a cook for one of Master Gróin’s trading caravans. He did not get to travel with Dwalin on every job, but often enough to keep their friendship solid; deep enough for Bifur to be the one Dwalin unloaded his worries unto when his unsettled relationship with Thorin grew too thorny in his head. Slowly, Bifur built himself a reputation as a reliable and brave guard, trustworthy and capable of ensuring the safe arrival of any type of cargo. As they travelled, Bifur would often find himself whittling to pass the night, he preferred listening to the songs and stories told around the campfire rather than participating, but his companions usually left him be when he stared pensively into the fire; between his hands, fantastic animals took shape, eagles, rabbits, horses or whatever else took his fancy. Selling the small toys in the towns they passed brought Bifur a nice little bonus, as well as the joy of putting a smile on the faces of the children who often did not have many toys to play with. Bifur had often wondered if he would ever find someone with whom to have children, but he had never felt even a hint of the Longing, so he counted himself among those who did not have a One waiting somewhere in the world. He watched his cousin fall in love with the beautiful smith/bard, counselled the cook when his shyness got in the way of his honest heart, and he felt a small twinge of jealousy, but it was only a sense of wistful longing. Bifur had – though he had tumbled with his fair share of lads and lasses over the years – never felt in love with anyone.

 The morning of what would later be considered the last day of his life before, Bifur woke like usual, ate his breakfast like usual, saw Bofur off to the mines like usual, and went to work his shift on the guard-rota – also as usual. When he was not out with the caravans, he worked for the City Guard, which did not pay as much, but was generally less risky than protecting shipments of silver while travelling across Arda. In truth, most of the day went as it usually did, patrolling Shale Street and Granite Row, going up through Carnelian Street and back down Quartz Corner back towards Shale Street. As he walked the beat, he greeted those who greeted him, enjoying the peace of winter-time in Thorinuldûm.

The first sign that this day would change his life was a shout.

“Thief!” someone cried up ahead, “Stop him!”

Bofur set off running along with Boril, his patrol-partner for the day, and joined by a couple of the newer recruits who had been patrolling nearby streets. The thieves – no one Bifur recognised, blonde braids flashing around a corner and a black-haired Dwarf behind the blonde – were slowly losing their advantage; swiftly pursued by the axe-wielding spice merchant they had robbed. Later, he’d realise how inexperienced they were, and curse his luck, but in the middle of the hot pursuit he did not care that they were so easily cornered. The merchant got there first, but it would have been a straightforward arrest if the temperamental Blacklock had not decided to exact his vengeance rather than let the guard mete out justice.

“Please, Master merchant, your goods’ll be returned to you and the thieves will face the King’s justice,” Bifur said, trying to calm down the irate merchant, who was attempting to get past him with the axe that he wanted to use to cut the raids off the two youths who were cowering in the corner of the alley, already expertly tied up by Boril and under the watchful eyes of the two recruits.

“What’d you steal,” Boril asked.

Eyeing the merchant warily, the blonde thief – obviously fairly young, the dark-haired being the older of the pair – said, “Cardamom and cinnamon, milord,” Bifur sighed. Spices were expensive of course, he had been a part of more than one caravan bringing them up from the south, Gondor and even Harad, but the theft was hardly worth the merchant’s unbridled fury.

“I will have to ask you to calm down, merchant…” Bifur trailed off, realising that he did not have a name for the Blacklock Dwarf. Turning his head to look at the two hapless thieves, Bifur kept his arms stretched out to stop the enraged merchant passing him. The sight of the young recruit beside the blonde thief who was gaping incredulously was the last sight he saw before everything went black.

  When Boril had subdued the Blacklock merchant, he sent one of the recruits as a runner to fetch a healer for Bifur, before turning to the two young would-be thieves.

“If you help me get him,” he gestured to the bound and gagged merchant, “back to the guardhouse immediately, I think the Shumrozbid could be convinced to let you off with a warning for the stealing. Deal?” the dark-haired one nodded, elbowing his blonde compatriot, who had taken one look at Bifur’s gory wound and was then violently ill in the corner. Boril nodded. With quick moves, he untied the two thieves, letting them take position at either side of the murderous merchant while the last recruit – who gave his name as Bragni – took the rear guard, his short sword aimed at the merchant’s kidneys in case the Dwarf got any ideas about running. Boril himself picked up Bifur, getting the shock of his life. “He’s still alive!” he gasped, before taking up running down the short street towards the intersection with Shale Street where a Healer had his residence. “Tell Dwalin I’ve gone to Healer Dufa!” was the last words he tossed over his shoulder before he disappeared around a corner. Grim-faced, recruit Bragni and his temporary deputies began the task of herding the arrested merchant back to the guardhouse on Granite Way.

  Dwalin, upon hearing the breathless report from the first recruit, whose name he didn’t catch, wasted no time in getting to his feet and running towards the practise of his cousin, Óin. As he moved swiftly through the streets, he sent off a small dwarfling to fetch Bofur from the mines, with the message that his cousin was dying.

  Bofur was at work, when the Foreman – his Grandfather’s brother – came running. He’d been teamed up with Víli, who was a good friend of his, even if he’d gone and become a nob by marrying the Princess, and they both dropped their tools at once.

  Dufa considered herself a decent healer, familiar with all the various crush injuries related to the dangerous work of mining for coal and copper in unstable mountains. When she opened the door to the frantic knocking of the Guardsdwarf, however, she saw something she would never have believed possible if the proof wasn’t breathing in front of her. The Guardsdwarf’s friend had an axe lodged in his head… but he was still alive!

  Bursting into Óin’s surgery without so much as a knock, Dwalin simply grabbed his cousin – who had been examining a swollen ankle, it seemed and was hardly busy – and ran back out the door.

  “He’s as good as dead. There’s nothing I can do.” Dufa did not want to extinguish the hope in the eyes of the two grimy miners who had joined the Guardsdwarf while she examined the injury carefully, but she did not want to offer them false hope. “I can’t remove the axe without killing him, and, if I’m honest, I don’t understand how it didn’t kill him already.”

 After his examination, Óin said pretty much the same. “However,” he said, when his cousin opened his mouth to protest, and not wanting to be the reason for Dwalin losing his closest friend. “We can remove parts of the axe… make it lighter. As long as Bifur keeps holding on to life, there is hope. I agree with Healer Dufa that we cannot pull it out, it is lodged too deeply. We would do more damage pulling it out than it has already done.” Pulling out his toolkit, which Dwalin had apparently managed to grab in his mad dash through the surgery, Óin carefully began removing all visible splinters of bone from the wound.

  “King’s Court in emergency session on this day, the 15th of ‘Afdush, in the year 286 of the Third Age of the Sun is now called to order.” Thorin bellowed, his voice carrying loudly over the heads of the enraged Dwarrow milling about the King’s Hall. “Voice for the Accusation, step forwards and present yourself.”

“My King, I, Dwalin Fundinul, Shumrozbid-ugjaj[1] of Thorinuldûm, do speak for the Accusation.”

“The Crown recognises Dwalin Fundinul as the Voice of Accusation.” Thorin waved to the Dwarf on the other side of the room, while Balin made note of the Acceptance at his scrivener’s post. “Voice of the Accused, step forwards and present yourself.”

“My King, I, Varna, daughter of Yngva, was assigned to be the Voice of the Accused, but he refused my services,” an elderly dwarrowdam said, bowing once in Thorin’s direction before returning to her seat.

“Who, then, will speak for the Accused?” Thorin asked.

“I will speak for myself, King Thorin,” the Dwarf in chains sneered. “I am Harval, son of Humli, of the line of Hrodulf Snake-eye, nephew and Heir to Lord Roaldi of the Blacklocks of Orocarni.” Sharing a look with Balin, Thorin managed to contain his sigh; this case had just gotten complicated. He did not let the possible ramifications stop him from going forwards with the trial.

“Voice of the Accusation, you may approach and state your case.” He said, knowing that his obvious refusal to act like Harval had probably expected and throw the whole trial away, would be considered a slight. He’d have to send a raven to Lord Roaldi later. Dwalin easily commanded the floor.

“The Accused is facing trial on the charges of attempted vigilante justice, interfering with the Guard in pursuit of their duties, brawling in the streets, as well as the attempted murder of Guardsman Bifur, son of Bilbur, while Guardsman Bifur was in pursuit of his duty, viz a viz recovering Master Harval’s stolen property.” The loud uproar in the room as the final charge was stated almost deafened Thorin.

“How do you plead to the charge of attempted vigilante justice?” Thorin asked, looking straight at the arrogant Blacklock, who seemed to think his name alone should guarantee his release.

“Not guilty. It’s not a crime to hack off a few braids. That thief should be glad I didn’t get to take his hand!” Harval shouted.

“How do you plead to the charge of interfering with the Guard in pursuit of their duties?” Thorin asked calmly. He was not surprised by another answer of ‘Not guilty’. “How do you plead to the charge of brawling in the street?”

“Guilty, I did fight, but only because your Guards were doing such a pitiful job!” Thorin wanted to pinch his nose, beyond certain that Harval would – at the very least – give him a massive headache by the end of this trial, not to mention the diplomatic mess his actions had caused.

“How do you plead to the charge of attempted murder of Guardsman Bifur, son of Bilbur?”

“Not guilty. If I’d wanted him dead, he’d be dead!” Harval sneered. Thorin blanched. How could any Dwarf sound happy about having nearly killed another Dwarf – only by the grace of Mahal and Yavannah did Bifur still draw breath, and none of the Healers who had examined the Dwarf with Master Harval’s axe embedded in his skull could say if he’d ever wake up. The uproar this time was even louder.

“Dûm takt!” Thorin shouted, and eventually the crowd fell silent again.

“Voice of the Accusation, present your witnesses.”

The trial continued.

  Elsewhere, Bifur was existing in the darkness. He did not know how he knew he was awake, considering that no part of his body seemed to respond to his commands. He did not know why the lack of movement did not frighten him, but he felt overall quite calm. Somehow, the darkness was amused.

“Anyone here?” he tried to ask, though no sound passed his lips.

I am here, Child, a Voice answered.

“Am I…dead?” Bifur did not quite know whether he wanted to hear the answer to the question, but it made him no less confused to hear it.

Not yet… not quite dead, but not quite living. Bifur would have sworn the Voice was laughing. That choice is yet before you, Child Beloved by Stone.

“Choice?” Bifur had never heard that the dead could choose whether they died or not, and for a brief moment, he felt a stab of pure rage against his Amad for choosing to leave him so many years ago.

For you, there is a Choice, Child Beloved by the Mother. The Voice remained on the cusp of laughter, but Bifur could hear His absolute solemnity in every syllable.

“Why?” Bifur wondered if asking the question was a mistake when the Voice did not reply. Just as he began cursing himself for a fool, loud laughter sounded in the darkness.

I can see why She liked you, Child.

“Who is this ‘She?’” the Voice had not punished him for his earlier question, so Bifur dared ask his Maker another. He was absolutely certain he was in face speaking to the Father of all Dwarrow, the Voice of Mahal echoing in his bones.

The Mother of Stone. Her warmth shelters my Children when they are cold, Her beauty brings my Children joy when they are sad, and Her Voice soothes my Children when they are afraid.

“But why does that mean I am not quite dead nor alive?”

I love all my Children, Ugrurûbdag, but some of them are special to the Stone, and some your adopted Mother takes to Her heart so strongly that She cannot bear to see them wilt before their time. And some… some are blessed with the love of both their Mothers, and they are the most loved of all my Children.

“Yavannah loves me?” Bifur felt confused. Even with all the sagas and legends he had heard about the Wife of Mahal, the Queen of the Earth, the Bringer of Life, he had never heard that she held any particular fondness for her husband’s Children.

I do, a different Voice said, sweeter and gentler than the Maker’s, with a certain musicality to it. You are one I have touched as you lay in my husband’s forge. Bifur felt inexplicably warmed by the strength of Her smile as he could almost see Her beautiful face before his eyes. My gift is the Choice.

It was not your time to join my Guard, Bifur, son of Bilbur, but the Choice is yours. Remember, Child, that every Choice carries a consequence.

 The last thing he heard, before he woke to a world of white-hot agony, was a gentle Voice, different from the others, and much fainter, saying, wake up, my Child, listen to my Voice, and wake up.

 That Voice, he would slowly come to realise, was the Voice of the Stone Mother, who sang in his dreams.

   When the pain of the axe was simply a memory, and Bifur felt truly awake for the first time in a very long time, he found that his tongue would no longer shape the once-familiar syllables of Khuzdul. Instead, his mouth would only speak in words that his family did not understand. In a final act of desperation, Bofur brought his gibberish-speaking cousin to the Singers of the Way, wanting them to try to commune with Mahal to find the answer to Bifur’s problem. Instead, Bifur finally found people who could speak to him – there were only Master Singer Melka and her apprentice Oluva – and discovered the full consequences of his Choice.

 All Gifts have a Price, Child, sang the Voice of the Mountain, you will never speak the words of the Children of Mahal again, but you will Sing.

  The first Cantor Ered Luin had heard since the Breaking was born.

  [1] Leadership-follower (basically assistant commander)

[writing-zepher]

DnD: Chaos Campaign-S2

Okay, so here is where things get interesting. As a brief recap, Naztae was a body guard for a bard in the mountains. The village was cursed by an evil committed in the past, and clay men were put to blame. It really was an old man’s fault, so Naztae had to dig up a corpse and the curse was lifted. To celebrate, everyone got toasted.

The next day, things go downhill very fast. Like I said a thousand times before in my previous post, alcohol and charlatan sorcerer of wild magic are a bad mix. Thankfully I am still by myself during this session, but the things that happened drove me to seek out a party because everything is impossible to do by myself. 

So, after a night of partying, we start off with a Naztae hangover:

Woke up tied to a strange bed (not naked) and is extremely hung over. The room is very fancy and plush. There is a person another room, and when they come in, it is a teifling in a loin cloth. 

Apparently Naztae woke up in a brothel as the teifling, known as “The Monk”, is a prostitute. 

In Naztae’s drunken stupor, he was walking around town asking for “a monk”. The people decided to take him to the brothel and into Monk’s care. Monk ended up giving Naztae his money back as he threw up all over Monk’s bed before they got their clothes off. 

Naztae is embarrassed and flustered as this situation is usually the other way around. Monk found his reaction to be charming. 

After more talking, Naztae realized he’s not in Pika anymore. He’s actually in a another country called “Sowa” several miles away (I still don’t know how the hell he managed to do that in one night.)

Naztae tried to remember a little better. He remembered a female monk in his drunken state. 

Thanking Monk, Naztae left the brothel and immidiately gets his ass beat by two orcs (I call them chuckle fucks) who serve a mob boss by the name of Grimm. Apparently Naztae did something to piss him off.

Grimm is a piece of work by the way. He’s a halfling with an Irish accent and is literally the HARDEST person to kill. He kept demanding to give him his money back and then he had Naztae hang out a window.

Despite giving him some money (which was a REALLY hard thing to do), he is given a choice to drop three stories or to make him laugh. Naztae, with very low health, chose laugh. All of his clothes get ripped off and he’s tossed into the streets for everyone to see. 

Feeling extremely pissed and embarrassed, Naztae goes invisible and plots ways to kill Grimm.

Disguise kit: Naztae turns into a newsies Spock. 

Naztae goes to a fancy bar to cheat at a dice game. The fancy bar sucked, so he went to Pattie’s (a rowdy bar) instead. I spot a gnome playing a game of dice in the corner and he has a large pile of money on his side. Jackpot. 

Charlatans have a special trade when it comes to things that are crooked, and Naztae’s specialty is dice. He goes over to the table, and he starts winning. The gnome isn’t happy and said, “It’s time to get serious.”

Naztae decided this is a good time to switch his dice to the loaded ones. Since he is surrounded by people and all eyes are on him, he decides to start some noise in the bar to draw the attention away.

NAZTAE CASTS SHATTER 

Several people die.

A brawl starts

The military police arrive

The DM congratulates me as Naztae successfully distracted the bar patrons and switched out his dice. 

Naztae escapes through the bar and nearly lost as hand as he pick pocketed along the way, and ran out onto the streets. He turns invisible to hide from the police. The police can see through invisibility. 

Naztae runs deeper into the slums and runs into a man with a mask. Seeing as a guard was chasing Naztae, he casts crown of madness and tells him to attack the stranger in the mask instead.

The stranger in the mask was Monk, 

In a panic, Naztae looks for an innocent civilian instead. He picks a beefy looking butcher at a shop and directs the guard to attack him instead. The butcher is pissed and the guard is getting his ass beat

Monk: Why did that guard attack me?

Naztae: *crocodile tears* I don’t know. He just came after me and then he saw you. I don’t understand, I never did anything wrong in my life. The justice system is so corrupt. Please Monk, you gotta help me!

I take a rest in the brothel. Monk takes Naztae onto the roof and says Grimm is an investor of the mafia in the slums. The slums is literally under ground beneath the steampunk city. He also says the only way out is up as he looks up to the rich buildings on the upper level.

Naztae asks if he can escape, but Monk said he uses the money he makes to improve the home he had in the brothel. Naztae makes a special note to help him out when he can. 

Something is going on in the streets. Monk quickly tells Naztae to hide. There is a hole in the wall. He fails athletics and fell into someone else’s bathroom. He has the option to go back down the hole, but he hears noises coming from the other room. 

Naztae peeks in and sees a green butt on the bed. It was one of the orcs that beat the hell out of him and he was busy with one of the prostitutes. An opportunity to loot is always a good opportunity. 

Naztae rolls for stealth to use mage hand to pick up the orc’s coin purse.

CRITICAL FAILURE! SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 60!

The shelf is knocked over and the orc and his prostitute see Naztae crouching by the door. At least he got his lowest spell slots back.

Naztae closed the door and tried to run back into the hole in the wall. The orc bursts in after him. Naztae makes an athletics check to see if he made it into the hole.

CRITICAL FAILURE! SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 2!!!!

FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS WE’RE GOING ON A RIDE

A 2 meant you surge for whole minute. That means we gotta do these surges 10 more times. YAAAAAY!!!!

Naztae tripped and fell while the orc burst into the room after him

1ST SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 100!

Naztae’s sorcery points come back even though he never used them in the first place. 

2ND SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 76!

The orc takes a swing. Naztae panicked and started to glow. Both he and the orc go blind (The DM thought it would be better if we both went blind this time). The orc missed and Naztae can’t see shit. 

He attempts to regain his sight and tried to run for the hole again. He makes it into the hole.

3RD SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 94!

Naztae goes from a size medium to large. His butt is stuck in the hole. 

The orc regains his sight and is SUPER pissed. Naztae wiggles in panic as he tried to escape from the hole. The elvish woman is screaming. Someone is pounding on the door. 

4TH SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 44!

For the next 10 rounds, Naztae can teleport up to 20ft in distance. 

The elvish woman goes for the door. 

Naztae cast crown of madness on the orc so he wouldn’t curb stomp him into the hole. He teleports out of the hole and into the bedroom. 

Fun fact about crown of madness, your target needs someone to attack or else it’ll go back to their usual behavior. 

Naztae chucks the prostitute at the orc before she can open the door. 

5TH SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 15!

For 10 rounds, Naztae regains 5 hit points at the beginning of each turn. 

Since the orc is busy and the prostitute is out of the way, Naztae decided to loot the room. He uses teleportation to make it faster. 

The door busts down and the other orc, still putting on his pants, rushed into the room. Crown of madness fades as well. Naztae teleports down into the hole

6TH SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 74! 

The orc with madness suddenly doubles over from poison. 

Naztae teleports down to the ground level. He had a choice to teleport inside or teleport outside. Naztae teleports inside, but he turns invisible first. Good choice, as he was in another room with a prostitute. 

A married couple and a prostitute were starting to flirt with each other, so nothing too bad. Naztae decided to sneak by and let them do their thing. 

7TH SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 7!

Naztae cast a 3rd level fireball on himself. He survived. 

The married couple and the prostitute are caught in the blast. All three of them are roasted to a crisp, but the prostitute didn’t quite die yet. 

With a grimace, Naztae loots their corpses. 

Once he hears voices on the ground floor, he teleports into the building next door. It is an abandoned dress shop.

Naztae sits down and does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING 

8TH SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 46!

Naztae levitates. 

9TH SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 26!

An eye appears on Naztae’s forehead. He has advantage on wisdom and sight checks. 

FINAL SURGE TABLE ROLL IS 66!

Three innocent civilians on the street are struck by lightning. One of them was a child. 

Knowing that the surge is finally over, Naztae decided to sit until things calm down, then plans his next course of action (He needs to get out of the slums, and he needs to get out soon) 

Okay, so that’s all I’m going to fit into this one. This session was a LONG one, so the next post will be 2.5. Yeah, a lot more happens than this, and it continues to go downhill from here.

As a result of everything that happened, security in the city is increased, and Naztae is pretty much an accidental terrorist. Why? Because he needed those coins. Again, feel free reply or reblog with your own DnD stories. 

I don’t know how soon I’ll post the next one, but we’ll see. 

[paperreader]

A Pantheon for a RPG

Next time when I master a RPG, the player that play as priest will have a Pantheon of gods to choose from. Each of these gods demands something from theirs followers and the priest who does not meet those demands won’t be able to use his divine powers. I thought it would be fun to use this mechanic. The player, however, will not be obligated to choose any of this gods if he doesn’t want to. He can choose to serve the Pantheon as a whole without the gods’ demands or even create a new deity to follow if they want to. The main goal is having fun.

We play using the brazilian game system Old Dragon.  Well, that said, here is the gods from the Nintus Pantheon. Feel free to use them in your games if you want to.

Dalos’Vir (Lawful) – God of order and justice. King of Heaven. Also known as the Father of the Sun, Lord of the Just and Terror of the Unworthy.

He holds the world’s balance and reigns over heaven. His moral compass is incorruptible and his judgment is severe. His priests abhor everything that is evil. Dalos’Vir has the appearance of a strong albino men with long white hair and beard.

From his followers he asks only unconditional worship and the will to eliminate all things wrong in the world.

 Solaris (Lawful) – God of light and fire. Sky's Master. Son of Dalos’Vir. Husband of Krom’A.

He blesses all living creatures with the day and is especially loved by elves. His domain of the sky comes from his desire to be close to his parents, since he is son of King of Heaven with Mother nature. His physical form is the Sun.

From his followers he demands worship, mainly in the form of applause once a day towards the Sun, preferably at dawn.

 Moon’A (Neutral) – Goddess of the night, of secrets, of beauty and of fertility. Sky’s Master.

The only deity of the Pantheon who once was mortal. Legend says that in the Immemorial Ages the day was eternal, there was, however, a human warrior called Mona who learned how to fly and said the sky was hers. Solaris took it as an insult, for the forever blue was his to rule, and challenged the warrior for a life or death combat. The fight lasted thirty days and ended in a draw. Solaris recognized his opponent's worth and shared the sky with her. He gave her the divine breath, turning her into a goddess and renaming her Moon’A. Because of that she sees him as a father figure. Her silver armor was forged by Solaris himself, as a present, and holds part of the Sun’s essence.

Moon’A sees no distinction between mortals and answers the prayers of all. She is also considered the representation of the feminine strength, because as a mortal was able to match the Sun. Her priests are highly sought after to bless couples who are trying to have children. Many elves are resentful of Moon’A because she was the one who ended the eternal day. Her physical form is winged human in a silver armor that shines so bright that its light can be seen in the night’s sky.

Priests who worship Moon’A must be always personable and fair, to receive her blessings they must have at least 12 in Charisma.

 Ki’Mitera (Lawful) – Goddess of nature, of the earth, of the animals. Also called Mother.

She is called Mother because everyone, in a way, are her children, all living criatures go through nature’s cycle. Everything and everyone belongs to her. Other gods reign on their divine plans, but in the physical plan Ki’Mitera is supreme. Kind and gentle, she cares for all.

Once Dalos’Vir’s lover, she gave birth to Solaris.

Those who serve nature must always watch over it and protect it.

 Maris Stella (Neutral) – Goddess of the sea. Ocean Star, Queen of the Deep.

There are many clerics who say Maris Stella does not exist or that, if she ever existed, is no more. This debate, however, exists because none of the documents from the Immemorial Ages mention her. In anyway, when priests pray to her they feel her power as an answer. Voyagers and fishermen pay their respect to the Queen of the Deep as well. Some say she is  Ki’Mitera’s lost sister.  Some say she is asleep in ocean’s deep, like a true star in the sea, waiting to be awake. Some even say that her physical form is the sea itself. She is the Pantheon most mysterious deity.

Priests that follow the mysterious path of Maris Stella always keep a canteen of sea water by themselves, or else they won’t be able to manifastate their divine powers.

 Nad’Salar (Chaotic) – God of mischief, of comedy, of bards and thieves.

Nad’Salar is almost a folkloric figure. Something bizarre or funny happened to you? It was probably Nad’Salar’s doing. Through his pranks he tries to bring humor and joy to the world, but more often than not they go out of control and end up hurting people. The same happens with his followers’ pranks. He likes thieves because they are quickwited and also because there is nothing funnier than the look in face of someone who was just robbed. Despite his cheery demeanors, Nad’Salar has his moments of rage. This is why everyone knows that killing jesters is bad luck. And is also exactly why most of his priests dress like a jester.

He demands that his priests always keep the good mood.

 Krom’A (Chaotic) – Goddess of violence, of pain, of war. Wife of Solaris.

She is one the darkest and more dreaded deitys of the Pantheon. Her worshipers are seen with fear and distrust. Her appearance is interpreted in a different way by each race, humans see her as human, elves as an elf, orcs as an orc, etc. But there is always a commom trace in all her physical forms: she is always a naked female with long horns, and mouths with sharp teeth instead of breasts.

To worship her a priest must be prone to violence, they must encourage fights and be frequently involved in them.

 Solaris and Krom’A (Chaotic) – Gods of love. The Lovers.

Solaris and Krom’A are husband and wife, and love each other unconditionally. Together, as one, they are the god and goddess of love. There are priests who worship neither of their primary characteristics and instead focus in the love that exist between them. The “Love Clerics”, as they are known, are the ones who marry most peaple among priests.

To a Love Cleric is only demanded to celebrate and encourage love is all its forms.

 Lady Death (Neutral) – Goddess of life and of the passing. Also known as the Judge and Mother of Angels.

Contrary to what people may think, Lady Death is who grants the gift of life to all beings. Though she is also the one who takes it. When a woman is pregnant she visits the temples of both Moon’A and Death, for is was the first one who allowed the pregnancy, but it will be the second who will grant the life. When someone dies her daughters, the Ice Angels, collect their soul and take them to the Beyond. The Judge decides if the soul ascends to heaven, descends to hell or is reincarnated. Many consider Lady Death the most powerful deity of the Pantheon.

Her priests are known for being excellent undead hunters, since such creatures existence are an insult to Death.

 Satan’Mu (Chaotic) – Lord of Hell, Father of All Evil.

Satan’Mu is not exactly a god. In the Immemorial Ages Lady Death realized an imbalance existed between heaven and hell. The first had a powerful King and protector: Dalos’Vir. And the second was a unruled land, unprotected from the rage of other gods. With that in mind she found the deep’s most powerful demon, Sata, and granted him divinity in exchange for a mission. Renamed by Death herself as Satan’Mu, his duty was to be the defender and ruler of hell. Those who choose to serve Satan’Mu do so secretly, his warlocks often are mistaken for simple mages of even warriors when they want, but never a priest, never a cleric. He has the appearance of a red demon with horns and bat wings.

Satan’Mu does not want to be worshiped, being a warlock for him is literally like making a deal with the devil. He asks only three thing: your soul, a mark in your body and, somewhere in the future, a favor. Only that. Those who do not furfil the favor suffer the consequences.