#sorry divine and arcane but you're just not as lively

[honourablejester]

For reasons, I’m doodling a PF2e dwarven pirate druid from the Shackles on pathbuilder.

(These reasons are almost entirely related to the existence of the NPC Pirate Lord the Master of Gales, who won the Free Captain’s Regatta, the annual race-for-lordship among the pirates of the Shackles, for five years running owing to being a druid captain in a ship race, and only stopped winning because they made him the judge instead. I just love this. Being a druid in a ship race has to be basically cheating? Or, rather, natural advantage. But we’re pirates over here, so that fully tracks. I just love that this guy exists. Pirate druids. What an excellent concept. I’m stealing it immediately).

And, I don’t know how many of these are from the recent remaster and how many were original, but if you’re trying to play a piratical storm druid (could have gone wave, but given location and profession, I’m feeling storm more) from the pirate archipelago where they go racing annually in the outer reaches of the perpetual hurricane that is the Eye of Abendago, the primal spell list has some boss stuff on it. If you want a general stormy, nautical sort of theme.

Like, as I’m going through pathbuilder and levelling this dwarf up, picking my spells as I go, there are some fantastic things on there. I’ve no idea how good and/or practical they are in play, but the vibes are incredible.

Starting from cantrips, we’ve got things like Deep Breath (hold your breath for the duration, starting from 10mins at base), Rousing Splash (give someone temporary hit points by dumping a splash of cold water on their head to ‘invigorate’ them) and Slashing Gust (what it sounds like, you cut one to two people with blades of air).

And then as we climb spell levels, we get things like Horizon Thunder Sphere (throw ball lightning at someone), Brine Dragon’s Bile (a vicious little reaction spell where if someone takes slashing/piercing damage within range, you spit a gob of caustic salt water at them to scour their fresh wounds with salt, dealing persistent acid damage), Obscuring Mist (fog cloud, but on a nautical character fog cloud is always welcome), Voice on the Breeze (whisper a message and send it to a specific location you know within 10miles, where it’ll whisper in a 10ft burst regardless of who’s actually there), Scrying Ripples (watch people through bodies of flowing water within 500ft – does this work with the sea?), Coral Eruption (AOE that sends up razor sharp coral growths), Grasp of the Deep (grip someone with the ‘phantasmal pressure of the deep sea’, crushing them for bludgeoning damage), Misty Memory (summon memories in the mist of what a body of water witnessed within the last 24hrs), Mariner’s Curse (you afflict the target with the ‘curse of the roiling, unforgiving sea’, aka you make them seasick, is this a good use of a 5th level spell, IDK, but I’d do it, in a heartbeat), Hungry Depths (you open a miles-deep maelstrom of ‘dark corrupted water’, teeth and eyes that chews people up), and, for a 10th level capper, Summon Kaiju (very much what it says on the tin, I think I’d go either Agyra, the Forever Storm, or possibly Vorgozen, the Shapeless Feeder, for them, but most Agyra, because Eye of Abendego).

Like. If you want to be a vicious, vindictive pirate druid who shrouds themselves in mist to attack people, crushes their enemies with the phantom sensations of the deeps, whispers words in their allies’ (or enemies’) ears across miles of water, curses people with sea sickness when pissed off, wields all the myriad elemental wraths of the storm, and also on occasion likes to literally throw burning salt in their enemy’s wounds …

This is a thing you can do, basically. If you want a thematic spell list for a vicious salty sea dog, the primal list definitely has you covered.

I love Pathfinder spells. They’re so gnarly and descriptive and evocative. Also vicious. Literal salt in the wound. Good gods. Or neutral gods, I suppose, hi Besmara! And/or Gozreh. Heh.

[rafent]

Like a swap of clothing imposed by a pushy host, Rafal, too, conformed to the theme of gambled munitions without any say on the matter. Sitting newly in his hand was a weapon with the same arcane complexion as the Revanche; forged from a mystical steel that juddered silently with trepidation, seeking for blood no matter whether it came from the one who used it, or the sorry fools it was used against. Below him, a spectral horse that reminded him of the benign entities conjured into existence by the Divine Dragons. He knew it was no ordinary horse because all those of living, breathing constitution tended to avoid his presence. That, at least, was the price of a Fell Child's inhuman nature.

Had it been an axe or a scythe he was lumped with, the arrangement might have even pleased him. The 'Headless Horseman' that frequented manmade superstition was a malignant being who inspired fear in all, who Rafal would not have minded emulating. Paired with a lance instead he was reminded squarely of his sister- the Firenese Prince who uitilized a lance and saddle altogether in just the same way. These comparisons did not displease him. A lance would do.

Courtesy of the human princess and the mage now known to be Ishtar, the illusory battlefield was colored by sparks of impact and a moonlit void. Admirable displays of killing intent that even a beast could admire. When the smog cleared, a son of Sombron emerged to join his strength to theirs.

"You." The devilish lance raised, less a weapon and more the jab of a finger. Rafal's crimson stare traveled down its point, landing upon the shield-broken sylph on its other end made vulnerable to the very prey it sought to trap in its storm. He shook off the biting chill. "You're mine."

The borrowed steed at his disposal moved per its master's intention- or his unmistakable bloodthirst. Bolting forward with a ghostly, reverberating whinny and on a sturdy charge that drew the Fell Dragon closer and closer, then not close enough. Not fast enough. "Useless!" When the helpless spirit veered within range he impatiently crooked a knee overtop the saddle, and without a second thought, availed himself of its hard-shelled surface to propel himself into the air.

RAFAL (10/10HP) is struck by SNOW STORM for -1 HP. RAFAL (9/10HP) hits SYLPH (3.5/16HP) with Devil Lance for 3 damage (Rolls: 1d20+2 -> 9, TOTAL: 11) SYLPH (.5/16HP) Devil Lance (Roll: 1d3 -> 2 -> No proc)

Airborne in one instant and solidly planted onto the creature on the next, his foot braced against a floating mass of icy rock- the shoulder- as his lance sunk into the approximate site of a neck between the small amorphously shaped head and the larger torso. The winds whipping wildly at the point of contact was, to any functioning ear, a roar of pain.

"Hahahaha!!!"

The coinciding sound of his joy ran on fumes of power, exhilaration, inspired by a formidable wound that redeemed the performance he'd shown earlier. All in well-placed timing with an exit, of course; a bolt of white flitting to-and-fro, he sprung from the sylph's back with a skillful placement of feet landed expertly back onto the traveling horse. "How was that? How regretful that I could not finish you in the form of a dragon! I would have liked to know how fear smelled from a creature made of ice and rocks!"

@unsungblade

Iron Round 100% Glitchless Speedrun

[vikdrain]

Hi! I saw your taking requests for Arcane could you write a Viktor fic? Maybe a hurt/comfort where they get in a argument and he blows up on the reader and tries to make it up to her? Or really anything I just need more of Viktor! Hehe

[ of course i got u! also sorry this kinda took long i've been busy with school work ^^ ]

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

It wasn't unusual for Viktor to come home late, he's a talented man devoted to his work after all, but it had started to become more frequent, almost daily. By the time he came home, you had already fallen asleep from waiting for so long, and by the time you woke up, he was gone again, escaping your desperate grasp each and every time like chalk in rain. Sure, he left little notes for you around the apartment if he wasn't able to see you at all that day, telling you that he'll make it up to you, telling you that he loves you so much. It was almost bittersweet reading those notes every freezing morning, clutching the blanket you once shared with him, hugging the pillows he used to rest on, trying to remember what it felt like to hold him. But just like him, the notes started to disappear too. It had been so long that his scent started to fade from the bed, there was nothing left to remind you that he was still there for you. You tried so hard to keep it together and suck it up, for him, for his work, for his dreams and ambitions. Everything you did was for him, suppressing your emotions and needs like they didn't exist, like they weren't as important as his.

It was two in the morning, the sky was as black as tar with the exception of the waxing moon, not quite bright enough to illuminate the barren streets outside your apartment complex. There you sat, cross-legged on the living room couch, counting on some sort of divine intervention that Viktor would show up. And he did. The sound of the rickety twisting of the doorknob caught you off guard. There he was, walking in and looking at you as if you were a stranger. His eye bags were the worst you've seen them, his hair had grown out and was more unkempt than usual, you could hardly recognize your own boyfriend.

"I was starting to think you weren't ever going to come home," you kept your voice low, if you had raised it even just a little louder you might have started to cry. He stopped in his tracks, standing across from you on the other side of the coffee table.

"I've been busy, dear, you know that," he sighed, not even providing the common decency of looking you in the eye when he replied.

"Don't call me 'dear' if you're just going to neglect me for weeks and act like everything is okay."

"Neglect? I don't understand, you're making a fuss for no reason as usual," the venom in his voice made your heart sink.

"As usual? You don't even know what 'usual' is for me because you're never fucking here, Viktor. Have you ever even thought about me? About my feelings? About us?"

"This is ridiculous," he scoffed, raising his voice which he rarely did, especially to you, until now, "I'm sorry I can't cater to your selfishness when I'm working every day trying to actually do something with myself while you're constantly pestering me."

"So that's what I am to you? Do I annoy you, Viktor?" Your throat went dry, it seems that all the moisture in your body went up to your despairing eyes.

He didn't answer, the only noise that filled the room was the static buzz of the lamp above you, you took it upon yourself to accept his silence and do what he seemed to want. You left, slamming the door behind you, but Viktor didn't move an inch. He stared blankly at the couch where you once were, the indent of your body in the cushions was quickly disappearing, reverting back to its original form. How could I have let myself become this cruel? he thought. Pure disgust plastered all over his face, toward himself, toward his attitude, his loss of morality and common sense for letting someone like you feel that horribly.

-

You leaned against the railing of the building's rooftop, it was the only place you could think of where you could let the floodgates loose in peace. The raw early morning air struck you in sharp waves, numbing your hands and face in the process until you felt an unknown weight over your shoulders. You snapped your neck almost a bit too hard trying to see what was behind you, it was Viktor, draping his coat over you, adjusting it with an unparalleled focus to make sure it completely enveloped you. For the first time that night, his eyes met yours, and instead of vexation, there was regret, worry, and longing mixed into his golden specks. With just five seconds of eye contact, it was the first time in weeks you felt recognized by him, it wasn't like how he looked at you when he entered the apartment earlier, not at all. He was seeing you, truly seeing you and only you. Your bottom lip quivered, holding in a sob, until now, you almost forgot what his affection felt like, and he knew it.

Your voice was unstable, but you spoke anyway, "I just-"

Before you could finish, Viktor extended his arms and squeezed you tight as if you would fade away if he let go even just a little bit, dropping his crutch to the floor and leaning into you. You stumbled a bit from the sudden weight but instantly melted into his touch, burying your face in his shoulder and leaving tear stains all over.

"It appears... that I lost sight of what is important to me," he finally spoke, his words flowed out carefully calculated, not wanting to mess up again. You stayed silent, he expected as such and continued, "I swear to never make you feel like that again, I'll try to- no, I will be better, for you."

You lifted your head up and muttered, "What about your work?"

"Well, I can't completely abandon it, it'll take time for me to adjust, but ehh.. I'll come home early, I'll work from home some days, whatever you want, dear, I'll do it."

"Is this just another empty promise?"

Viktor looked exasperated by that question, but he couldn't exactly blame you for being skeptical, "If I break this promise you can burn my lab to the ground," he held up his hand in front of you with his pinky out. You let out a light laugh at his preposterous stakes, coaxing a smile out of him just by seeing you smile. You wrapped your pinky around his, he brought the promise to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss to seal it into existence.

"I love you, and this time I won't ever let you forget that."

[aquadestinyswriting]

Oh that I can answer because it's an event that happened towards the end of the first d&d campaign I ever took part in. Again, tagging @druidx because I might have misremembered some details. Strap in because I might as well go over the whole story as I remember it up to the last session of that campaign (and a little bit for the start of The Wizard's Tale series and the Destiny's New Servants campaign). Potential spoilers for Alexis vs the Evils of Titan(?)

Ok, so the initial portal's existence wasn't an accident. It was, in fact, very deliberate.

Picture this: you're part of a group of adventurers who just got back to your home town after being away for a few months, only to find that the place is weirdly quiet. You head over to the militia barracks to report your latest excursion, only to find that there's a wide trail of blood leading down into the basement and there is no one else around. You head down into the basement, come across several dead bodies on your way down and come across someone who is only barely alive. This person tells you that they're sorry the militia couldn't stop "them" and dies before they can be healed.

You get into the basement only to find that the weirdass cultists that turned up before you left for that adventure you just got back from were actually snake people who worshipped the Demon Prince several of your number have already defeated multiple times. And they've done a mass sacrifice to create a portal to the realm the Demon Princes live in (aka The Pit).

A fight ensues, you win, but the portal doesn't close. So you know you need to close it before a whole bunch of demons decide to make a permanent move into the Material Plane. Your cleric has the bright idea to try Consecrating the area first to make closing the portal easier, since dispelling all the evil magic will make it easier to deal with.

Unfortunately for you, God (the GM) has decided that what you get when mixing the divine magic of a Consecration spell with the demonic magic of a Desecration leaking out from the portal gets you is an explosion big enough to rival a very large modern missile. Even more unfortunately, the net result of this explosion is the portal to the Pit getting bigger, and continuing to grow in size along with a gigantic sinkhole.

You and your friends manage to survive said explosion, but have to struggle your way back up to the surface as everything collapses around you. If you're the wizard that used to help run the arcane library, you get up top just in time to see your dead master's magical legacy, which he left in your care, teeter and then topple into the sinkhole and the portal underneath. So there goes almost a whole century of magical research and all the knowledge acquired in that lifetime.

As if that weren't enough, a wholeass army of demons comes through the portal, led by the biggest Balor you've ever seen. The Flesh Golem that's been acccompanying your party since before you even joined gives the thing a direct challenge, waving around the Vorpal Sword he was given after that party member's death not long ago. The Balor accepts the challenge, swoops down and beheads said companion with just one stroke of his own Vorpal blade. The Balor then picks up the new Vorpal sword, claims it as his own because it's way better than the one he originally had, and proceeds to crush the control crystal of your flesh golem friend, preventing you from ever getting him back.

All the while the sinkhole is still expanding and there is still almost a whole town's worth of people to try and evacuate (a good number of whom are refugees you took in from a different calamity just before your last excursion). You save as many as you can, then try your best to help them flee to somewhere safer. The demon army does give up the chase, but only so they can organise themselves to take over the rest of the world.

You come back much later and find out that in the place your town once stood is a gigantic citadel built by a bunch of extremely evil wizards, who have created some sort of goopy cauldron thing the size of the old town square to help them make an evil flesh golem army. Oh, and the dick of a wizard that used to be your mentor's mentor is strung up, crucified because he's basically useful as a humanoid magical battery for a giant flesh golem based on the original prototype developed by one of the most wizards to have ever existed (that some of your party killed off several years before you joined). Oh and those evil wizards doing all this? Are allied with the demon army that came through the portal that destroyed your home. So there's also a bunch of demons going around as well. Also also the portal still exists.

I won't go over the entire fight that ensues, but an Astral Deva is summoned to help out at some point and you end up winning. Unfortunately, you have no idea how you're even going to begin to close the now permanent Hell Mouth that exists where your barracks and library used to be. The Astral Deva, in order to at least seal the damn thing to stop the demon army from simply coming back, then sacrifices herself, her divinity and all. So, the portal has finally been closed. Yay! Now all that's left is to clean up everything so you can start to make an attempt at rebuilding.

Ten years later, you've got a whole-ass city instead of a town and a kick-ass wizard's tower standing vigil over the seal the Astral Deva created. The only problem, apparently the sacrifice of one of the most powerful types of angel that exists was only a temporary measure. So now you have to worry about a whole damn city going through the exact same problem you faced a decade ago.

So yeah, that's the story of the end of Old Toreguarde and the sealed portal that existed under the city that later replaced it. It wasn't the first time Toreguarde has had to be rebuilt, but it was probably the most dramatic thing that happened to the town.

Happy WBW! How has your world changed or developed over time?

Hi Sparrow, thanks for the ask. Putting my answer for this under a cut because... hoo boy. Also tagging in @druidx because I'm certain there's going to be stuff I've missed.

The first major change that is referenced multiple times in my writing is the development of Toreguarde as a full-blown city-state. Toreguarde originally began as a fortified town but it fell into a giant portal to The Pit following a magical accident. The only structure that survived the carnage was the pub (named the Plot Hook). The rebuilding effort that followed the Demon War was originally to replace the town, but the Drakemari Empire offered enough money to create a whole city instead.

The creation of the city also came with the creation of a canal network to connect Toreguarde to some of the major rivers on the western side of Allansia and some of the other major population centres on that side of the continent.

While Fangthane hasn't changed much in my fiction, the population is much lower than it should be for a city of its physical size due to the losses incurred by the Demon War. It was further reduced following the recent civil and religious war that happened in the latter half of the Destiny's New Servants campaign.

Another change that ocurred that was quite significant was the rediscovery of the reclusive dwarven hold of Kar Kherril. After the events of Destiny's New Servants, Fangthane has developed at least a neutral relationship with both Kar Kherril and some of the Duregar population of Wyrmholme.

Those are the biggest ones I can currently think of. I'm not even going to get started on the changes I ended up making for the sake of the current campaign because that would make this answer colour of the sky long, but I'll be happy to ramble about some of them if you'd like