#obaya uday

[seismicsight]

Been on that Waterdeep Dragon Heist shit

Left to right, Top to bottom:

Thecharis (half-sea half-astral elf druid) was adopted by Obaya Uday after being found on the shores of Deepwater Isle with nothing but a blanket and a star map pendant he cannot read. His determination to find out more about his past has led him to sign a pact with a mysterious figure, while another force covets the heirloom he holds dear.

DM, me. Diabolically plotting emotional turmoil and frantically improvising the rest.

Aroda (half-orc warlock) is a skilled clothier coming to Waterdeep to claim the estate of her estranged and recently-deceased uncle. She knows precious little about the man, but apparently there is more to his death than meets the eye.

Thraele (drow rogue) is a hard-boiled detective PI who had a promising career in the City Watch until the loss of her partner, Aella, and threats from an unknown entity drove her out of the force. Hiding a deep secret herself, she spends her days uncovering secrets for hire. Maybe one of the them will lead her to her partner’s killer…

Atlas (wood elf ranger) is an Illuskan pirate kicking it in Waterdeep while laying low with their cousin after a deal gone wrong back home. What are they really running away from? And how far will those looking for them go to get even?

Justice (tiefling bard) is a court bard in Waterdeep’s Palace who was raised from poverty by an unknown angel benefactor. He’s never seen them in-person, only heard about them from second-hand sources. Feeling the need to give back after such generosity, he has dedicated his life to uplifting the tiefling community. All is well on paper, but he’s plagued by questions of why he was chosen for such a boom, and what his patron really wants from him.

[fernrisulfr]

Myriad Stitch

We’ve finally gotten down to the character I created for my first attempt at Waterdeep Dragonheist. The group lasted 1 Session. Not even a full session because someone left part way. Despite the fact we had started HOURS late due to this same person, the DM hadn’t bothered prepping anything. We were two Rogues and two Fighters, because what is party comp. 

Reborn - Rogue - Criminal - Chaotic Neutral

Backstory Concept: Myriad Stitch is not a person; for a person is born, and he was made. A tool crafted with time and difficulty...and then discarded. Memories prior to his proper awakening are little more than a patchwork of hazy recollections. A room of grey stone. Numerous tools and concoctions he couldn't identify even now. A Gnome with balding pate, an unusual pink moustache, and eyes hidden behind thick green lensed goggles. His creator. They used to talk to him, musing over components of his construction. Their life's work they called him, saying he'd be their greatest triumph; but with each successive memory, the Gnome grew increasingly frustrated and irate. The last memory of them was...unpleasant. Frothing at the mouth, shrieking in rage. They called him a failure, a fruitless waste, a useless myriad of stitches. When next he woke it was sodden, covered in salt, kelp, and refuse. He'd washed up on the docks of what he later learned to be Waterdeep. Not that he understood what or where Waterdeep was at the time. Those who witnessed the patchwork nature of his body often believed him diseased. Thus avoided, or even cast out, only among urchins was his presence tolerated. Swathed in a tattered cloak likely meant to conceal his disposal, he intermingled with the city's impoverished. Feeling neither hunger nor thirst however, he found himself unable to understand their daily plight. A turning point came one afternoon in particular, whilst following a gaggle of beggars. A cleric of Waukeen singled him out, claiming he carried himself in a manner closer to an adventurer than the urchins in proximity. They stated he could be useful. Words had never been so gilded. He accepted without question. It was from them Stitch learned of the Golden Lady, and a path opened up before him. Though he found his memories both mental and muscle were often not his own, they left him with a particular set of skills which he could now put into practice. Waterdeep is not the best nor the wisest place for criminal undertaking, but a tool cares not for the consequences of it's use. The homes of the wealthy while rich with treasures, are well guarded and watched. The warehouse offices of nobles and merchants however, substantially less so. It was through means of silence and subtlety that Stitch 'redistributed' wealth, merchandise, and occasionally information; and always to one baring the symbol of Waukeen. Once his skills had been sufficiently demonstrated, he was directed to seek out a woman by the name Obaya Uday.

Note: Extremely specific to Waterdeep Dragon Heist. From a game that didn't last more than 1 session.

Appearance: 5′10, 155 lbs. Brown white hair, eyes are blue and brown (Heterochromia, but not naturally). I’ve since long them, but I used to have notes about his various body parts. His right arm is green because it was from a half-orc Blacksmith. His left arm is blue from a water genasi. His legs are two different criminals if I remember correctly. One eye was from a Dwarven Craftsmen, the other a Tiefling Ranger. I had backstories for all his parts and he was going to have weird flashbacks of memories from them to explain certain abilities. Another one I attempted to make in HeroForge though at the time colouring limbs like that was beyond me if not entirely impossible so I just covered him up thoroughly. 

[stragglewort]

Tales of Waterdeep: The Chained Madness - Heteroclite, Heterodox, Hklinein

Picture by ArtBreeder - “Heteroclite’s Eye” - https://www.artbreeder.com/i?k=850faba632d420dd93c621b4783a

TW: Near death, non-sexual (but non-consensual) touching, fear, memory loss, quite a lot of hands 

        There’s a tiefling in Waterdeep - Illistar Motts, a charming weaver with a slow, country-drawl. You can never find him in one place, always bouncing around the city selling his tapestries, fabrics, and dyes wherever he’s allowed to park his wagon for the night. But Illistar, though he’s never been seen with a partner, doesn’t travel alone. Not anymore, at least. No, he has a friend that he met some time ago, in some place deep in the ground - though this being acts much less like a friend, and much more like a... patron.

        Labyrinthine. Of course they’d gotten lost, the warning was written in the name itself. Illistar didn’t even know why they’d – no – why he’d come in the first place. His original intentions had long left his memory.  

        “It’s gotten us trapped.” Uday coughed, her words barely whispering above the air as Illistar pulled her closer, shushing her. There was a bolt lodged in her chest, something old and wild that must’ve been sitting in those trapped walls for a millennium, carving a wound that spilled the life out of her in a steady trickle. He had one in his back, and another that’d gotten stuck into his side, and he was pretty sure one had almost gotten him dead in the skull – but none of those were quite as bad as the woman’s pierced lung.

        “Don’t worry yourself now, I – I’ll find us a way out of here.” He looked around as he said this, though he didn’t trust that he was telling her the truth. The room was tepid, old, and untouched – if the circumstances had been better, the two would’ve been excited to find it.

        They’d come in with an expedition party. Just some mercenaries and a mapmaker setting out to turn old stone hallways into paper and ink. But at some point, they’d all gotten split up. Markus, Aaylon, and Willowberry went one direction while he and Uday got pushed down a pit, trapped behind bars, and in their (attempted) escape, flung into some maze of mold and musk. Trapped in this labyrinth at the center of the world that seemed to be built with the sole purpose of making lost or killing anything with the misfortune to exist anywhere around it.

          It was doing a great job. 

        Even with his eyes, magical in nature, attuned to see in pitch black as if it were the middle of the day – he was practically blind. That was new, and it scared him. He’d never been in actual darkness. Something about the horns on his head and hooves where feet should’ve been implied an infernal heritage that was supposed to thrive in places like this. But he sat there, losing his breath while sitting still, propped up in a corner with his ever-optimistic friend draped over his legs. She held on like she didn’t even realize she was dying. Suppose one could say he was doing the same thing.

        Where had they even come from? Of all places they could’ve gotten stuck, it had to be a maze. The one place where short term memory – his worst attribute – was key. It was only after what felt like ages of dragging themselves through trapped, winding corridors that stretched for some unspecified eternity that they’d finally ended up collapsing in the corner. He looked to one side, the other, looked up, down, behind him, and found it was all as empty as it was silent.

        The quiet was going to drive him insane – topically so.

        His mind vied for the smallest sound. It took the distant scrape of mechanical traps, the dripping of underground water, and made it a whisper, a voice, a hope. They needed that hope, and between the blood loss and the head trauma couldn’t piece together how to find it.

        It was suffocating; the hands of silent darkness wrapped around his neck and practically choked him –

        “Please –“ He meant to yell but was stuck instead with hoarse whispers that scathed off the walls. There was no way he’d manage to make himself any louder, and there was no asking Uday for help. She was barely hanging on as it was.

          But the tricky thing is that sometimes when you call out to nothing, it might decide to answer back.

          He leaned against the stone and almost felt a sob rise in this throat, a last cry of exhausted effort, before out of the corner of his eye he saw… pink.

        Thinner than blood but thicker than water, this light seemed to trickle out of the pores of the stone chiseling. It was faint, barely noticeable, but odd enough that he couldn’t take his eyes off it as it filled the crevices like watercolor. He lifted a tremoring hand to the wall and touched the illuminated carvings. He jolted, though, when the pink filtered off onto the pads of his fingers in a thin, nothing film. It was like he’d been stained with light itself, a dully mellow purple glowing faintly over his grey skin. In the odd glow that swirled like water and oil with the blood on his hands, he could finally see the wall and its odd stone-carved decoration. It didn’t have any rhyme or reason – just lines and patterns woven into each other like a river turned bright. “…Obaya, are you seeing –?” He shook her, but she didn’t respond. She was breathing, but every gasp was shallow, thin, and whispering as if she could barely lift her chest enough to take them. He wasn’t running too hot himself, but feeling her get heavier by the second. Every second. It rekindled those fluttering sparks of panic he thought he was too tired to feel. She was a good friend, a great woman, let alone a fantastic cleric when she’s not the one needing healed. He had to get them out of there or they’d both die. “Alright then... if you’re showing me a way out, I’m counting on you – yeah?” He asked no one in particular, calling out with no intention of staying hidden.

        The glow on the wall, the swirling pinks and purples, only seemed to flow faster out in some odd direction.

        Even if he thought following the strange, nearly hallucinatory light was a poor idea, it beat having none at all. Not to mention he would be lying if he said he wasn’t desperate. As far as knew, that light might’ve been a literal godsend; Uday was a cleric, maybe her god was taking pity on them. Who was he to deny a blessing?

        He struggled onto his hooves for a moment, staggering against the wall only to get more of that pink, glowing light dappled on his skin. Once he was balanced, he hoisted Obaya over his shoulders, pain striking through his side with the new weight. But he threw the feeling to the wayside – gritting his teeth, biting his tongue, and stifling his aching joints to the back of his mind. If he could walk, he could carry; at least until reality caught up to him. As he struggled down the corridor the lights guided him, seeping through the wall in patterns that he knew couldn’t have been carved into stone. It led them in whatever direction it felt they needed to go, while darkening the way back. Following this magic, whoever it belonged to, would be a commitment. There was no chance he would manage to retrace his steps, even if he thought it would do any good. As the maze got tighter, the walls narrowing around them, something like dread boiled in the pit of his stomach. It was heavy, in contrast to the fluttering lightness that grew in his mind. He’d been frightened before, been terrified and nervous, and he had assumed he was just feeling it all again. But that, whatever was churning in the pit of his soul was nothing like the fear he’d felt at any other point in his life. It wasn’t even fear as he could place it. He was afraid of what could happen to him and his friend, but was uncontrollably confused otherwise. Completely muddled by the world they’d fallen into. It was just stone and magic, like every other dungeon or ruin this side of existence, but something about it was changing and he could feel it in the air. Like fingers dancing lightly across his skin. What he was feeling as the light led them further into the dark was unavoidable but agile, heavy and baffling.

        “Where are we going?” He called out, hoarsely. As the light dragged them slowly but surely through the labyrinth, he could feel himself starting to drop. No amount of magically projected determination can fight with a failing heart and what had to be poisoned arrows. Did you want people to come in or stay out? He thought, wondering what the use of a guide was in a maze littered with traps. Coincidentally, they hadn’t stumbled over a single one since they started following it. Maybe it really was his friend’s god; in that case, he made a note to speak with her temple if they made it out in any semblance of alive.

        The sound of his hooves cracking against the cold stone became muddy as his hearing started to fade. For a moment he could’ve convinced himself that the light was, in fact, not a helpful guide through some underground death trap. But that it was something of a hallucination created by a poisoned, dying mind. That certainly would’ve been the thought if not for the cold of the next room, something finally different from the winding endlessness of the maze, that rushed over him in a wave. The passages had been so narrow, the void openness of the chamber felt infinite in comparison. Though squinting, the farthest wall could be seen from a distance in the dim, pinkish hue that enveloped the room with no clear source. He raised his eyes to the new ceiling and saw… nothing. So much nothing that he didn’t realize he’d tripped over a shallow threshold until his chin hit the stone with hollow thud, Uday tumbling from his grasp into the dark.

        It took a second of rattled incoherence before he could speak again – “Obaya? Are you alright –?” He called out, not expecting a response but hopeful for a miracle.

        “You’re not supposed to be here. I thought those mages made it very clear I was never supposed to be found.” A soft, quiet voice called out in response. It echoed off the dim walls in such a way that it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He was almost relieved, but realized all too quickly that it sounded nothing like the deeply kind voice of his friend. It was masculine; breathy and light but with this drone of tiredness that carried over the darkness. “This is no fun place to die.”

        “…I – pardon me?” He called out to the stranger as he struggled to lift himself from the cold stone. One hand pushing and the other feeling around for any sign of Uday.

        “I’m certain there’s better graves on this plane to lay yourselves into.” The voice cracked into a low, muttering chuckle. “Come to me, will you? I want to know whose corpse I’ll be smelling for the next… oh, eleven years. Twelve if it doesn’t get too damp.” With that, those pinkish watercolor lights filtered into the room from every direction. They snaked through the faint cracks in the stone, filling them like a dam-broken into a drought-ridden river. With his hands planted shakily on the ground he could feel the light properly; it was freezing. The tendrils of color wound to the center in pulsating, pastel waves. The figure was illuminated with every strike of pink and white. It was humanoid but radiated this inhuman presence that stifled the room in a light, panicky fog. It sat slumped over its legs with long, spindly arms pulled behind it. Its face stayed turned to the ground as it spoke; long, unkempt strands of hair running in tangles over its bare shoulders and down its back. In the slim cascades of tinted light – purples, blues, and pinks now washing over the walls – it was impossible to tell the color of any one thing on its body. As Illistar peered through the light, trying to determine if the figure in front of him was real or some poisoned hallucination, he realized it was more than some kneeling man with an odd choice of seating – it was bound to the center of the room. Its form propped up, just a few inches, from the floor on a sharply carved pedestal that raised it into a series of chains. They were dull and old, black at the farthest points on the walls but turning white the closer to figure they got – as if absorbing every magical ray of color it created. The links of metal shot in every direction off the kneeling form. From the traps around its wrist, the collar around its neck, to the largest clamped firmly around its waist – linked with dozens of short chains that drove it further in the ground – it sat there in a mess of tightly bound cable and rope. A prisoner in technicolor water.

        “Wha – who are you?” Illistar pulled himself forward by the long of his arm, dragging himself in slow, aimless drawls.

        “That’s a loaded question, friend.” The voice was harsher now. Though he knew who was speaking, its source was still impossible to place. The bound figure’s very presence was maddening, heart-breaking, but like any good tragedy impossible to pull away from. “I am quite a lot of things.” With that it raised his face. Illistar winced as their eyes met. Between long, tangled strands of pale pink hair sat a glare of bright, glowing gold. Full, oddly dark lips – like that of a corpse – were churned into a tired grin.

        “I’m dying; you’re not real.” The poor man gasped, trying to make sense of the simple impossibility of what he was staring at.

        “I should be flattered. I’m told you people only see true beauty at the brink of death.” That soft laugh rang off the walls again. It was soft but booming – all-encompassing. As Illistar tried to watch its mouth he couldn’t tell if it was the thing itself, the warbling light, or his own fading vision that staggered the words away from the movement of its lips. But the words seemed to reach him three beats after the stranger appeared of have said them. “Don’t worry. I’m not real, but I’m exceptionally good at pretending to be.” A pause, doubled. “Come closer.”

        “Where are we?” He cringed as he, near-involuntarily, dragged himself more to the middle of the room. Where that film of pink, dappled light stained his skin he could almost feel the pads of fingertips tugging at him, pulling him forward in an incoherent urge. He followed the pull of those scattered lights mixed with the draw of the stranger’s golden stare and tired, broken smile. “Wh – what are you?”

        “We’re in a prison, here in the core of your material plane.” It said coolly. “And I am its prisoner.”

        Illistar was asking questions but only half paying attention to the answers. In all honestly, he was barely convinced any of it was real. “Obaya? Where are you?” He called out, but the noise of his words got stifled in his throat – as if the air itself pushed the question back into his lungs.

        “Don’t worry about her – she’s… dying.” It hummed, thoughtfully. The colored light in the room got brighter, and in the distance he could just barely see the shadowed outline of his friend laying in a stained bundle of cloth. Her form overtaken by the technicolor lights. Its head lulled before falling back into a hanging slump. “But aren’t you all?”

        “What about you?” He coughed.

        “No… not me.” It answered, softly. “That’s no pleasure of mine. You need to be real to die.”

        Illistar was then about an arm’s reach from the pedestal the thing was chained to. Being so close he could feel this aura of excitement radiate off its wry figure – but his vision was fading quickly, and his strength with it.

        “But you’re not looking too well, friend.” It cooed, the rattling of its chains echoing off the stone. It sounded like it was trying to move, but to where and for what reason, Illistar wasn’t in the state to place.

        “How do we…” The sentence trailed off in a breathless murmur, hollow and weak as he tried to work his tongue around the syllables. “Tell us how to get out of here.”

        The stranger sounded surprised. “I assumed you’d already decided – death’s an easy out.”

        “I’m not letting us… we’re not going to die. Tell me how to get out of here.” He pushed himself up to the pedestal, his hooves clacking against the stone in his struggle. His desperation seeped through the question – who else would ask a prisoner for their escape plan? His teeth began to chatter as his whole body started in a coldless tremble. He reached up to the lip of the pedestal and the figure – in a slurry of heavy metallic clacking – tried to move towards him but was held firmly in place by its bindings. He looked up into its eyes, their faces now inches from each other, and he suddenly felt as if he were falling into them while standing still. If the thing staring back at him were some abstract figment of reality, it couldn’t have been from his own. Its glare was otherworldly – bright yellow with flecks of gold in what might’ve been an iris. It was impossible in that moment to blink, let alone pull his face away from the figure’s gaze. It might’ve been chained to the pedestal, but he was trapped to it. So entirely enraptured by the stare he didn’t even notice the snakes of watercolor light that pulled from the ground, climbing up his legs.  

        “You really are dying.” The thing started with a short gasp that led into an even breathier chuckle.

        “What are you?” There was this moment where Illistar had a sudden urge move the hair out of its face to get a better look, but something about touching the figure felt wrong. Not revolting, but like it shouldn’t be possible – like trying to spin water into yarn.

        It tilted its head and Illistar couldn’t help but mimic. “How do I put this into your words?” It seemed to think for a moment, mulling over itself. “…I am the color of air, the wetness of a candle-flame. I hum to the tune of silence and touch the feeling of sound – I am a Heteroclite.”

        Illistar couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration through his charmed, enraptured fog. Even confused, he understood how little time he had to think over riddles. “A what?”

        “A heteroclite – Heterodox – Hklinein to some in the north, Het'kelel to the south, a burden to those particularly good at making traps. Above all names, though, I am the promise that will save both your lives.” The chains around the figure rattled again as it shifted in place, tugging at its bindings.

        That caught his attention. “You’re lying.”

        “Why would I bother?” It hummed, its head lulling. “As we are now, you two will end up rotting on these chamber floors whether I’m telling the truth or not. And I’m the one who’s stuck with the maggots. Have some consideration for my time, you don’t have much of it.” It held out its words in a long, frustrated drawl. “There so much in this world to look at; imagine being stuck in the bottom of it!” Its voice boomed from every direction, filling Illistar’s ears with ringing laughter that echoed off the color of the walls.

        “…What are you getting at, then?” He said, though it didn’t feel like his mouth was moving. He tried to turn his gaze to the room, to Obaya, but he realized that although the feeling of movement hit him – the action never came.

        “I can blink between everywhere and nowhere at once – but I cannot do so here. I have a home but it’s so boring, I would almost prefer to spend my time stuck at the bottom of the material plane than float in that void of infinite nothing.” It sighed, wistfully. “In short – because you don’t have enough time for the long – I want the one thing I am forbidden to have.”

        Illistar stumbled a bit, his elbow giving out under trembling weight. But something kept him upright, leaned against the thing’s pedestal. His breathing was suddenly very shallow, more than it had been before. He was dying, and it was rotting him from the inside.

        Did you know rot doesn’t feel like much of anything?

        “Take me with you.” Its voice was suddenly very quick – he almost didn’t catch it. Behind the words was a harsh metallic ratting that seemed to shake the world. He couldn’t tell, then, if it was the whole ruin that shattered under his stumbling hooves or just their center-corner of it. “My hands have eyes in all parts of this realm but how can I see everything if I’m only carried by some few? I am the whisper of madness, the breath of the clouds, and I’ve been locked – blinded – for far too long.”

        “I don’t – I don’t understand –“ He had to move both his hands up to the stone to stay balanced – fingers grasping at random. Except as he pushed to stay awake he realized those weren’t his fingers, it wasn’t his grip that kept him floating on the stone.

        “You don’t have to –“ It laugh was hopefully desperate. “Come closer. I can get you out of here – you just need to take me with you.”

        “There’s no such thing…” He wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to protest. No such thing of what? A free out – salvation at the cost of nothing? He was desperate, but his wasn’t the only life trapped in that prison. Present company not included. “What are you – gods – I’m just a weaver. I can’t…” He shook his head, trying to sort through the oddly incomprehensible words. He’d spoken Common his whole life, but it then felt like he had just started learning it. “I don’t have nothing for the likes of you.”

        “You have legs and eyes.” Its own eyes seemed to look over Illistar like he was some cut of meat, a plated dish to be judged. “…And no sane being can get this this far with bolts lodged in its flesh like pin-needles, those mage’s poisons churning through their veins. Your cleric is of a sound mind, that’s why she’s dead. Friend, you have plenty for me.” He almost heard the sound of cracking as it wretched itself forward, bringing its face so close their noses could almost touch. He couldn’t tell, though, if it was the cracking of stone or bone. “I may be bound, but my hands weave through this land in a way that is impossible to bury – no matter how much stone, magic, or healing one might put me under. Even if you could leave this place without me, I’d already be within you – we might as well make it co-habitable.”  

        It was strange. As Illistar stared, trapped in its glowing eyes – looking over the thing’s ruddy face and calmly broken expression that contrasted its frantic words, he wasn’t scared. Everything from the darkening room to the fact that he was sure he wasn’t breathing anymore told him he should feel otherwise. Instead, as he brought his conscious eyes back to focus on the Heteroclite’s – he almost felt… warmth. It was pink. Maybe he was right – true beauty is only at the brink of death, because he had never seen anything so welcoming in his life. A way out – strange and chaotic – impossible to speak to – but kind. There wasn’t malice in the creature’s, the entity’s voice, just hope. Desperation and a want that he understood. What kind of hell was it being chained to the bottom of the world? What was this sudden feeling of finding exactly what he was looking for in a place he didn’t even know existed?

        “And what about… Obaya? What are gonna’ do to her if you’re leaving with – ”

        “Your friend? I’m madness, but I’m not evil –“ It started, as if explaining simple addition. “You’ll both survive, but she has no part in this. At the moment, she’s sane and dead. I can’t do anything with lifeless hands.”

        Illistar wanted to be shocked, but was about to follow in the sentiment.

        “Take me into your world, and I will give you the fragments of mine.” It hushed at the end, pursing its lips together for a moment. “I don’t even want your soul – just your legs to walk through, your eyes to see through, your tongue to taste, and your hands to feel. A piece of your mind, really. You won’t even realize I’m there.”

        He waited just enough to recognize it had finished with idle words. It was his turn, his answer. “Alright –“ He coughed, his mouth suddenly dry and eyes fluttering under a new, heavy tiredness. Even if he believed this chained stranger was lying, what was the harm in grasping at heterodoxic straws? “Just help us.”

        “This will be lots of fun.” The voice was scattered – as if he were hearing every letter individually, but still piecing it into a scrambled sentence that organized itself as it reached the left side of his brain. The man couldn’t tell if he fell forwards into the stranger, or backwards onto the stone. All he felt where the pads of fingertips – dozens, hundreds – that wrapped impossibly around him. Coming from the ground or the ceiling, he couldn’t tell. He opened his eyes, and then opened them again – and once more – before he could finally see. Where that film of light had dappled his skin, he could only see hands. Disembodied and clinging, each one colored in an impossible shades of… pink. Dead at the fingertips but grasping until he was drowning in them. It was at last moment before palms, less than one but more than two, covered his eyes that he could finally turn his face only to see that bundle of stained fabric – the slump of flesh that was his friend – engulfed by the same colorful flood.

        They were both pulled into the floor.      

          ###

          “Ellie? Ellie, you’re alive?” A familiar voice shook him from a deep, unnatural sleep. “Come on, Ellie – wake up.”

        “…Obaya?” He felt the word tumble listlessly from his lips. His fingers grasped at the ground and under them he could feel something cold, wet, and a little sharp. It took a moment before he realized he was pulling at grass and dirt. His eyes shot open only to meet the battered, but living, face of his friend. “You – you’re alright?”

        “Wouldn’t you be the one to know?” She laughed, breathlessly – putting a hand over her chest where there had been a bolt lodged what felt like moments before. “How did you get us out of there? What happened?”

        “I don’t –“ He stopped for a moment. He had an answer, at least some kind of answer, but he couldn’t tell if what had happened was real or some delusional dream. He looked up to the sky for a moment – it was morning. The sun barely peeked through the clouds and a cold mist drifted over his vision. “…Are the other’s okay?”

        “They seem to be, but they haven’t woken up yet.” She looked out to the flat of grass around them, over it there were the unconscious bodies of his party. Mercenaries and a mapmaker scattered like their paper and ink on the ground.  “…The entrance caved in.”

        “What –?” He tried to sit up but winced, a sudden raging headache protesting the movement. He, much slower that time, turned his head to where he remembered the entrance of the cave being. She wasn’t lying – the mouth of the dungeon had turned into a mound. Dirt and stone dotted with bright flowers seemed to be the only evidence left of the labyrinth below.

        “By Waukeen’s mercy, I can only hope they’ll wake up soon. How did you manage this?”

        “Obaya?” He shook his head and lifted a hand so she could help him back to his hooves – something she quickly did. “Let’s get everyone awake, and then we’ll talk about whatever happened in there, alright?”

        “…Sure.” She looked to him, worried. He was never the kind to keep his mouth shut. The obvious concern scrawled over her face. Between the worry, though, she seemed distracted. “Ellie, I do not mean to pry. But were your horns not yellow?”

        “What do you mean?” He looked at her, confused, a little nervous that she might’ve hit her head amongst the other, more obvious injuries. “Course they are –“

        “They’re pink, now.”

        He froze, then raised a hand to the top of his head. But a different hand, it seemed, beat him to it. 

[diceandlipstick-blog]

Waterdeep: Dragon Heist Session 1 recap - 1/15/2019

The season is spring and the setting is the City of Splendor, Waterdeep. We find ourselves entering the Yawning Portal, a famous tavern built over the entrance of a well, which leads down into Undermountain. We'll come back to that in a bit though. Entering the Tavern is a lovely half-elf named Sylvar. She enters with a cloaked wrapped tightly around her lithe frame. Is she hiding something? We shall see...She looks around for someone, but doesn't seem to search hard, or possibly can't find whom she is looking for. She is nervous and looks extremely out of place, but that is only to me, the DM who will set up her story and potentially her demise at a later date.  Following her as she takes a seat, at the only table made available to our unlikely group of heroes is Elias, a young male half-elf with mischievous intent in his eyes. He receives a lukewarm almost disdainful welcome from Durnan, the proprietor of the renowned Yawning Portal. Elias is warned by Bonnie to behave while she chastises him for getting the barkeep riled up with his presence. Elias unphased and amused, orders a drink and takes a seat at the back of the tavern, away from the large crowd, though ever aware of his surroundings. As he settles in and is brought his drink a large half-orc (all you interbred motherfuckers.) enters the tavern. He's no stranger to his surroundings, and his love struck eyes fall on Yagra Stonefist, a roughneck half-orc female, who's brutality and manhandling has earned her the attentions and affections of Dirge.  Dirge takes a seat at Bonnie's insistent that he occupy the table with the lonely half-elf. He orders a drink and watches Yagra arm wrestle a few of the hulking bandits seated at her table, with stars in his eyes. Panning the camera no one is holding to the entrance yet again, and you find yourself looking at a bruised up hill dwarf named Yossuck, returning to the tavern after a long days training with Hlam the eccentric monk in the mountains. Yes, you heard me, a hill dwarf monk.. weird I know. He moves with sore muscles straight to the bar and requests a drink. Durnan points over to a table and shoves a tankard of ale at the dwarf grunting about taking a seat and glaring at the pack of bandits who have become even rowdier with the third arm wrestle loss. Suddenly everyone hears the song, "Under the Sea" as Sebastian the crab enters... Sorry, scratch that. Kymani, an islander who sounds like the crab from my favorite Disney movie, enters the tavern. Loudly greeting anyone who wants to listen, (Psst which was no one.) asking a few unhelpful patrons if they've seen his friend, Obaya Uday, to which most just look at him as if he were shit that they stepped on. (people are so racist and rude) He is greeted by Bonnie who is flustered but seemed to have it all under control, as she is running around taking orders and serving as fast as her legs will carry her. She points to a table and scurries off with a promise of return and a look of distressed confusion, he takes his seat, and it seems as though the properly planted single table that was the only place for our random adventurers who never met before or knew one another were forced to sit together. As conversations fly between them all, Elias joins the group, offering overpriced tour guiding. Once everything seemed settled, there was an outburst from the back of the tavern, the group of rowdy bandits were now trying to fight the large half orc woman. She managed to knock two of them out, but eventually the remaining four overpowered her. She was knocked out, but not before several members of this mismatched heroes get a few hits in, though sadly for Dirge, Yagra missed his heroic smash of one of her enemies. During this epic battle for first level players... Elias pickpockets the distracted customers of the Yawning Portal. Lucky for him Durnan wasn't paying him any mind though in hindsight, he should have been for his patrons' sake.  Once Yagra falls, Durnan breaks up the fight, sending the remaining bandits scampering out the door. While everyone is helping make the knocked out Yagra comfortable, there is another catastrophe to deal with. Durnan yells out, "TROLL (earned XP)!!" and once again our heroes are put into a combat situation. They fight hard, though let's face it Durnanwrecked the troll with his 4 hits on the beast and a  cocktail of oil and flame. Though there was an explosion of stirges (earned XP), who tried to drain the party members. Durnan giving the group his thanks, though the tavern was filled with more suitable warriors who could have handled the troll with more finesse, (silly DMing done weirdly wrong and right) this group were the champs of the night. As they celebrated their victory over free drink and food for the night, they are approached by a man, who calls himself Volo. Members of the party don't bother to pick their own brains to see if they remember who he is, what he's "famous" for. He sits with them, enjoying their free drinks and food, and offers them payment for a little help. He hands them each 10 gold dragons (coins not the beasts) and tells them with a job well done, he'd pay them 10 times each what he had given them if they will help him find his friend Floon Blagmaar, who has disappeared a couple nights back, and he fears the worst of his friend, and for his safety. After a while of insights and shit talking, the party agrees to band together and find this Floon character. Heading off to the Skewered Dragon, in a seedy area of the seedy dock ward, they enter the new scene which is not impressive at all, and are quickly taken advantage of by the greedy and desperate proprietor of this establishment. He extorts them heavily for the little information he knows, which for the most part isn't helpful aside from the fact that after Volo left Floon that night, another man joined him for a few more drinks and they left together. The new man's name being Renaer Neverember (I can never remember.), who is the son of the previous Open Lord, Nagault Neverember.  A smarter, maybe nicer man sitting at a table, taking a smaller fee (at this point you all have paid among yourselves 20 dragons.) offers up that he watched Floon and Renaer leave together, and were followed by a couple of men who in other areas would be bad, but fit in nicely with the dark and bad-ass theme of this bar which is called for to progress the story. Sent to Candle Lane, to look for a door with a flying snake on it. The group enters the yard of the warehouse and making plenty of noise, and shedding tons of light because of their weak ass human member with no dark vision, they are once more tonight set up in combat. Fighting four kenku (earned XP), who leave them with a parting exclaim, "Xanathar sends it's regards." (So do the Lanasters, bitch!) the group basically raids the warehouse which is packed with trash, or at least as far as the searching eyes have found so far. Sylvar finds a door, and inside the tiny closet, they find, not the man they are seeking but his friend, Renear. He accounts a similar story of drinking and leaving the tavern, he was hit over the head and has spent a couple days in the dark. He expresses to the group that he fears that they may have mistaken Floon for him, and that they seek the fortune Renaer's father had embezzled and hid away somewhere in Waterdeep. Renaer makes a claim that he doesn't know anything about the truth of the gold's hiding place but seems to gather his courage and offers to help find his friend, possibly out of guilt or friendship, who knows now. And that my friends is where we have been left off for the session.

[operationrainfall]

As a way of saying “thank you” to the user community and celebrating the sixth anniversary of its free-to-play Neverwinter title, Cryptic Studios has just announced and released a special update for the PlayStation4 and Xbox One versions. Titled Neverwinter: Undermountain, this enhancement brings with it five new Adventure Zones via the Yawning Portal social hub. Here, adventurers will meet with the owner of a well-known tavern named Durnan, the proprietor of a well-known tavern. Also present will be Obaya Uday, a Chultan priest of Waukeen. Both of these respectable figures will guide players through Undermountain’s new content including the Undermountain Story Campaign, a variety of exciting Expeditions, and a special Endgame Dungeon. In addition to this new playable content, there have also been some significant updates to existing systems. Neverwinter’s level cap has now been increased to 80, level-scaling for new players in earlier zones has been improved, Class Powers and Feats have been overhauled, the Boons system has been completely revamped, and the developers now promise a “richer loot drop experience”. To get a first look at the update, have a look at its launch trailer below.

A brief description of each new addition in the Undermountain update can be found in the quoted text below:

Undermountain Campaign – The many levels of Undermountain hold secrets, exceptional rewards, wondrous beasts and remarkable experiences. The Mad Mage has called adventurers to the cavernous halls below Waterdeep, but for what purpose? Players must survive five brand new Adventure Zones to find out.

New Expedition Feature – This all-new feature introduced in Undermountain highlights the unknowable nature of the levels beneath Waterdeep. Expeditions will challenge adventurers with scaling, dynamic, repeatable quests in the search for magic relics, lost routes and some of the expansion’s greatest rewards.

Class Revamps – All eight of Neverwinter’s classes will receive varying levels of balance and adjustments in this expansion. Each class has also been renamed to align with the Fifth Edition of Dungeons & Dragons. The goal with these changes is to align classes with their roles and make customization within each path viable, fun and more straightforward.

Halaster Encounters – The Mad Mage himself will make unpredictable appearances throughout Undermountain, presenting opportunities to match wit and force. Some encounters will be a challenge, while others may be more bizarre; it’s impossible to tell. After all, he has full control over this domain he has created.

Rewards Overhaul – The most notorious dungeon in all of Faerûn will reward adventurers with the best loot in all of Neverwinter. With a level cap increase to 80, new sources of powerful loot including tiered artifact sets can be earned throughout Undermountain and from its caverns’ inhabitants.

Endgame Legacy Campaigns – Neverwinter’s many older and non-leveling-zone campaigns now offer three weekly bounties earning currency for rewards that are in-line with their endgame characters, regardless of whether the zone these quests were completed in are considered “Endgame”, e.g., Underdark or Sharandar.

Redesigned Companions System – Player Companions now fall into one of five categories. The more companions owned within each category, the stronger active companions will be with power upgrades. Synergy will create the biggest bonuses, however, the goal of these changes is to ensure all players can use whichever companions that they want, without punishment.

In addition to the Undermountain update, there will also be a celebratory week of festivities held from June 20-27. This event (dubbed The Protector’s Jubilee) will offer a full week of free in-game giveaway items and a number of special rewarding events. A list of these events can be found below.

Elminster’s  Messages

Protector’s Speech Skirmish

Merchant Escort Missions

All activities hosted during the Jubilee will provide players with Figurines and Renown. These can be used to purchase unique Thrones, mounts, and fashion items, but only during the celebration.

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The Neverwinter: Undermountain update is available right now for players on Xbox One and PlayStation 4. The PC version of this update arrived back in late April, but that version will see the arrival of The Protector’s Jubilee tomorrow as well. For more information on this update and others like it, be sure to check out the Neverwinter developer blog for a full description of this update and others like it.

SOURCE: Press Release

Neverwinter Turns Six, Console Versions Receive Free Update As a way of saying "thank you" to the user community and celebrating the sixth anniversary of its free-to-play…

[playwithgregg]

UNDERMOUNTAIN ARRIVES ON PLAYSTATION®4 AND XBOX ONE, DAYS BEFORE NEVERWINTER’S SIXTH ANNIVERSARY

UNDERMOUNTAIN ARRIVES ON PLAYSTATION®4 AND XBOX ONE, DAYS BEFORE NEVERWINTER’S SIXTH ANNIVERSARY

Satine Phoenix and Ruty Rutenberg Bring Life to Waterdeep Denizens Obaya Uday and Durnan, Guides to Halaster Blackcloak’s Dungeon of Madness 2019 Anniversary Celebrations Begin June 20; Enjoy New Events and Rewards

Today, Perfect World Entertainment Inc., a leading publisher of live service games, and Cryptic Studios announced Neverwinter: Undermountain is now available on PlayStation®4 and…