#what if we were both clerics and i nursed you back to health after you escaped from the underdark and showed you

[galedekarios]

"i thought you dead… but ilmater protected you, returned you to me."

[canon-in-too-deep]

End of a Series, and Deleted Dinner With Gortash Scene

After over 75k words, I closed out the last part of my Don't Forget You Love Me series on AO3 yesterday. It's a light hearted Baldur's Gate 3 fic starring Gortash x Tav that started out as a rom com and ended with family fluff. The final chapter was a small scene for the sequel The Fluffy Raccon (a fluffy one shot collection after the main story ends), and I just had so so much fun with these characters, I wanted to make a post here to mark a personal milestone. 🦝🦝🦝 The last year, I've gotten back into fandom, which led me back to writing, and writing has led me to typesetting...and it's been a helluva time! I'm having a blast sharing everything I've made in my hyper fixated frenzies, and have loved getting to focus my passion on all these projects. So thank you to everyone who's stopped by to smell the pixels! The first chapter of my Gortav fic can be found here. Below the break is a deleted scene from Don't Forget You Love Me that I wrote for Chapter 3 that I ended up scrapping and rewriting. I found it in my old notes folder, and decided to let it get some sunlight here. I have some more Gortav (Tavtash?) deleted scenes and snippets cluttering up my google docs. If I get time or if there's interest, I might post them here as well. Also if you're just here for free typesets I'm working on more of those too!

Scene: Tav has amnesia. Tav has forgotten that she is married to Gortash. Tav has dinner with Gortash. Tav glared at Gortash from across the dining table.  So what if all the healers and clerics in the city had come to the archduke’s residence and spent days fussing over her, before declaring that her memories of the last fourteen months were assuredly gone?  So what if all the politicians and lords of the Upper City bowed to her and sent her get well missives, all while bemoaning the poor health of their dear archduchess?  So what if even her friends—those that she could get a hold of, anyway—told her themselves that the Elder Brain had long ago been dealt with and her pact with Gortash had been expanded to involve marriage? She still wanted to kill him. “Dearest, at least eat something whilst you glower at me,” Gortash said, not even looking up as he sliced through a cut of meat with a silver blade. “Maybe it’s poisoned,” Tav suggested.  “Maybe that’s how you got me to marry you.  Maybe you doused my food with some kind of love potion, and—” “Enough.”  Gortash spoke sharply, and set down his utensils.  He cleared his throat, and braced both hands against the table.  “If you insinuate such things again, I may lose my patience.” “And what, you’ll show your true colors as a monster?” she said, crossing her arms. “And I just might take more drastic measures to jog your memory,” he said, lowering his voice. Tav’s brow furrowed.  “Like what?  What the fuck are you talking about—” Gortash got up, his chair scraping against the floor as he left his spot at the head of the table to stride over towards where she’d positioned herself farthest from him.

Tav gripped the arms of her chair, staring up with open irritation at the archduke now towering over her.  His dark gaze swept across her features, before settling on her own eyes.

“Perhaps you might remember something more…engaging of the senses,” he mused, his voice dangerously low to Tav’s ears.

“What are you—”

Her words caught in her throat, as a large hand came up to caress her cheek, stroking down with calloused fingers, to end with a delicate hold of her chin.

“The first time, we had dinner together, you refused to eat less there be poison in the food.  Of course, I offered to feed you by hand, but you were such a stubborn little thing…”  His thumb came up to trace her bottom lip.

Tav slapped him and snarled.  “Bastard!”  She got up and stormed off.

Gortash, unperturbed, nursed his reddening cheek, and said aloud to himself, “Ah…she did the same thing the first time, too…”

[poesparakeet-fics]

The hurt/comfort fill from the prompt votes. (Accepting submissions re: names. The prompt Olympics? But you don't really vote for the Olympics. Idk. Help.)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Summary:

After the Mighty Nein are saved by some of Caleb’s most dangerous spell craft, they’re left to nurse their repeatedly self-sacrificing wizard back to health. In the end, they give him everything he asks for and more. For his own good, of course.

This one’s SFW, so the whole text is under the break. Or go read it on AO3! You have options!

The Nuclear Option

For once, the Mighty Nein were ready.

They knew what the spell could do. They’d run drills on how to use it, this hair-trigger safety net of destruction. Caleb made them practice the dry-run over and over. So when it happened for real, this time, they were ready. Unlike most of the plans the Mighty Nein concocted, this one went off without a hitch.

They were a mile underground if they were an inch. More chittering voices were flooding in from all sides. Beau and Veth were down, balanced in a still-raging Yasha’s arms as she tore herself away from battle at the sound of Caleb’s voice.

“Nein! Gather!”

With Yasha carrying the two unconscious women, they all made it to his side, grouped carefully close with Caleb at the centre, hands pressed over their ears. 

“Foris” The incantation was followed by  a moment of vacuous silence, like all the sound had been sucked out of the air. Light seemed to collect on Caleb’s skin until he was a pillar of radiance, and then–

Boom.

The sound rattled in their skulls even as they were magically sucked away from it. All the air was gone, it was hard to breath, each heartbeat could be felt in their temples. Then relief. Breathing and tumbling onto soft carpet. Jester was crying. Caduceus was doing a headcount.

“We’re good,” He pants, “we have everyone. Here, uh, I’ve just got little stuff but we can rest now.” He started to cast, and Beau’s eyes fluttered open while Yasha kissed her hair.

“Don’t use them on Caleb!” Jester cried, “Don’t forget, they’ll hurt him!”

“No, no, just these two. Someone put the wizard in a bed, get the water boiling…” He cast on Veth, too, who popped up a moment later.

Mollymauk, perhaps the most hurt out of all those who made the trip conscious, collapsed on his back on one of the hearthside furs with a pained groan. Yasha crawled over a moment later, leaving a recovering Beau to gulp from a waterskin. She laid her hands on him, and a few of his smallest injuries healed up. 

“Oh…” He groaned. “Thank you, love.”

“Might as well use them on someone.” Their eyes met in mirrored worry. 

In the meantime, Veth had crawled over to Caleb and cradled his head. The problem with turning yourself into a planar bomb was really all in the side-effects. Caleb was unconscious. His lips were blue and frost gathered at the corners of his hairline and on his lashes. Arcane sparks were still shooting along his skin, following the path of his vascular system. Any additional magic now had a decent chance of stopping his heart, or worse.

Fjord started to build a better fire and boil water. Their little safehouse had a long, wide hearth surrounded by fine fur bedrolls and fluffy pillows. One large wooden bed lined the back wall, and a kitchen table long enough to fit them all filled the far end.

A fretting Jester dragged Caleb over to the large bed closest to the hearth, hurriedly pulling his coat off. Every piece of fabric she tugged away was frozen stiff, and when she got down to the last layers she grew gentle, worried for his skin.

Veth hopped up on the bed next to them, yanking the blankets down to make room. Together they bundled him in. Veth grabbed furs from nearest the hearth and piled them on top too. 

Fjord appeared with several rubber-stoppered skins in his arms, each filled with hot water. He pulled back the blankets to place one on Caleb’s chest and arrange the others around him before tucking the wizard back in and pulling the still-sniffling Jester into his arms. 

“All here.” He murmured into her hair. “All alive.”

Caduceus sat down on the opposite edge of the bed, his hands reaching for Caleb’s underneath the covers to press icy fingers between his warm palms. Caleb’s breathing hitched into what could have been a sigh of comfort. 

The game was waiting, now. Something they were not used to, having travelled for so long with two powerful clerics. They ate, some of them bathed, and they fell into an exhausted silence.

Caduceus worked carefully, applying a balm to frostbitten fingers and toes, as well as Caleb’s nose and ears for good measure. 

Veth helped Caduceus before curling up at the foot of the bed, just like the old days.

Jester and Fjord sat next to him on the bed, her entirely in his arms, both watching and waiting. Catching their breath.

Beau lay collapsed and half-asleep by the hearth, Yasha sitting next to her with one big hand slowly, rhythmically rubbing her back.

Mollymauk crawled under the covers with Caleb, fresh from a steaming bath with all of his already-plentiful infernal body heat. It earned them their first real sign of stirring when he tugged Caleb into his arms and the man mumbled in unintelligible Zemnian through a relieved sigh.

The little sound was enough to make them all look up. Something about it broke the heavy, cold feeling of waiting, and let the rush of relief that they’d all made it and they were all alive pour through.

Caduceus made tea. 

Veth started to snore.

Jester wiped her eyes and crawled out of Fjord’s lap to take a bath. Then she put her warm self on Caleb’s other side, Fjord budging up behind her.

Yasha lay down next to Beau, letting the monk wrap around her while she pulled the furs across them both with a sigh.

Molly shivered for a bit in the burrowing embrace of a frozen, half-dead wizard before Caleb’s skin temperature evened out, as did everyone’s breathing. They slept.

The bed wasn’t actually big enough for four people, was the thing. It’s what led to Fjord rolling out of bed in the morning with a groan, one hand moving to support his back as he hobbled over to the dining table where tea and toast was starting to make an appearance. Jester followed, a healing word passing between them with a chuckle.

Mollymauk woke at the commotion and witnessed the fluttering of bright blue eyes from the wizard drooling on his chest. It took a second for Caleb’s eyes to focus, his gaze meeting Molly’s..

“Hello!” Molly murmured quietly. 

“Hi.” Caleb returned, face twisting into a grimace the second he tried to move.

Molly supported him by the shoulders to help him get comfortable. He moved like a rusted Golem, every joint and muscle pulling a groan or whimper from deep in his chest. They finally got him onto his back, Molly helping him prop himself up with pillows.

“Did it work?” Caleb rasped.

Molly gave an irritated sigh. “Yes, your bloody martyr spell worked.” Then his face softened a little. “Thank-you.”

…

The point of the teleportation bomb was to let them escape, alive, while leaving a firestorm of damage in their wake. It had worked perfectly, no matter Molly’s bitching about Caleb’s ‘martyr complex’. He was alive, so if he was a martyr he was a bad one.

The spell was… unpleasant, for the caster. It collected every little bit of latent energy, most particularly heat, and used it to ignite an explosive force. He wondered if they could go back and see what damage they’d done to the caves. The aberrations there certainly hadn’t survived, but he was curious to know if the cavern did. Even if the Nein didn’t want to, Essek might help him check.

Caduceus had a theory that the Bomb spell also collected chemical energy, meaning it sapped all of Caleb’s body’s resources. It was his explanation for why every muscle ached afterward. It was also, Caleb suspected, a convenient excuse to force food on him. Which would happen momentarily, from the smell of Caduceus’ soup on the hearth.

In the meantime he was propped up on pillows, eyes closed with his head rocked back in ecstasy. His lips parted with a small groan. Fine-boned tiefling fingers held his hand, thumbs rubbing firmly at the small muscles and tendons from fingertip to wrist. The smaller muscles were always the most painful, and his fingers had suffered the cold as well. The massage ached and tingled, but the flood of endorphins that came from the relief provided drowned any unpleasantness out nicely.

“Does it hurt?” Molly asked.

“Yes.” Caleb sighed.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Molly chuckled, crawling over him to take his other hand and start the process over again. A kindness. If his hands worked he could read, write. Entertain himself for the few more hours that the magic was still battering his system, before Cad and Jester could heal him up safely.

Jester appeared at the foot of the bed with a pounce and a bounce.

“Oh, poor Caleb! Here, let me he– Hey!“

Caleb’s eyes shot open, his legs bending to snatch his feet away from Jester’s clutches. 

“Nein– absolutely not–”

“But you’re letting Molly help!” Jester whined.

“I assure you I wouldn’t trust him there either.” 

“But whyyyyy?”

Caleb’s face broke into an exasperated smile. “Because I am not fool enough to let a tiefling handle my feet–”

“Rude!”

“Fine then, how about ‘because I have long term memory’ and ‘I occasionally learn from past mistakes and experiences’, hmm?”

“Humph. Still rude.”

“Or…” Fjord walked up to join them, bearing soup for Caleb. He delivered it before turning around and swinging Jester up into his arms. “Completely reasonable and good thinking. He’s still hurt. You can tickle him after he’s better.”

Fjord carried a giggling and protesting Jester over to the table for dinner. If Caleb had the strength, he would have tossed a pillow at their backs. 

Drinking the soup was a lot like the massage. He had it from one of Caduceus’ huge earthen teacups, so warm that it scalded his hands a little. The liquid itself felt molten, like it was cutting through his frozen insides. It hurt a little, but the near-instant relief from the bone-deep chill of the spell’s after effects made him savor it. 

Molly’s hands– also hot against too-cold skin– started to work on the larger muscles at his shoulders as he drank, planting the occasional kiss on top of Caleb’s head. Once the soup was done and the world started to haze in the warm, bright way it only did around the Nein, Caleb gave up the cup to Caduceus and burrowed into Molly’s arms once more.

The tiefling shivered. “It really is upsetting that you’re still so cold. Like you’re dead and we just haven’t noticed yet.”

“It fades when the arcane disturbance does.” Caleb mumbled into his chest before shifting to hide a coy smile in Molly’s shirt. “Would a corpse do this?”

Admittedly icy fingers, now functioning for all of Molly’s hard work, started to spider-climb up Molly’s side.

“Ha! Heh. You do realize– hehe– that your tickle immunity ends the sehehecond someone can lay a heal on you?”

“Mhmm.” Caleb mumbled, his eyes closed in an entirely false show of angelic sleep while his fingers kept teasing Molly under the covers, “sounds like I better enjoy it while I can, ja?”

Molly still wasn’t quite laughing, just breathless and twitchy, still holding Caleb in his arms. “Oh me oh my, your future self is gonna– heh!– regret this grave you’re digging, dear.”

“If he had a ticklish tiefling who couldn’t retaliate, I think he’d do the same.”

“Heh– haha! Has it been so long? Are ya just aching to be tickled out of your keeheeheen little mind that bad?”

Caleb just gave him a smug little smile and tweaked his hips. The human man’s fingers started to slip and slow as his exhaustion took over, and soon he was asleep with his face buried in Molly’s chest once more.

He woke up pressed between two tieflings. It felt a bit like being wrapped in a sauna. He was drooling on Molly’s chest again, with Jester’s softness pressed against his back. Was he overheating? He sat up, pushing the many layers of blankets and furs away. The air felt refreshing, cool against his skin. His muscles still ached, but his skin was still, free of the arcane sparks.

“Do you feel better, Caleb?”

He quickly realized that both tieflings were looking at him, having interrupted the conversation they’d been having quietly over his sleeping form. 

“Ja. Still sore, but the cold is gone. I think the sparks as well?” He extended his limbs to show her.

“Yeah, I think they’re gone! Here, let me take care of the rest.” 

He looked around while she cast, catching sight of a card game over at the table that was getting a little rowdy as several bickering quips were traded between players. Caduceus was watching, looking very amused but without cards of his own. 

The Heal spell done, Caleb tested his muscles and joints. “Much better Jester, thank you.”

“So, you’re all better?”

“Ja I think–” 

Caleb cut himself off with a wince, not even making an effort to try and avoid the two-tiefling tackle that upended him. He wound up on his stomach, each leg pinned with a tiefling body while whip-quick tails took turns poking his sides and ribs.

“So, we obviously need to talk about how rude it was, when Caleb said we couldn’t be trusted!”

“Aye, that was mighty rude.”

The tails prodding at his back and ribs already had Caleb jittery. “S-so you’re going to prove me wrong, ja? By being very trustworthy and nice?”

“Sure we’ll be nice,” Molly said with a smile that was anything but, “we’re gonna give you exactly what you were askin’ for.”

One of Jester’s pointed nails circled his heel. “Can you feel that OK, Caleb? Any numbness?”

“Ha! N-no they’re fine!”

“And how about here?” Molly teased, one finger tracing an arch.

“Ah! No! I’m fhihihine, they’re fine, please!”

“We have to check them over carefully Caleb. To prove how responsible and trustworthy we are!”

“Nein!”

Then they were both tickling the balls of his feet, and Caleb’s attempts to hold it together collapsed into a mound of cackles. His upper body jackknifed and flapped, expressing the desperate squirming his pinned legs couldn’t.

At some point Molly’s tail had managed to slip up the loaner shirt Caleb was wearing (much too large) and start writhing underneath his belly like a snake. Caleb wailed like he was dying, trying to paw at the tail under his shirt without being able to roll over.

“Hey! Uh… you did heal him first, right?” Cad strolled over to them and away from the increasingly loud card game.

“Yes of course! Now we’re just making sure it worked!”

“It worked! Bitte, bitte!  Pleaheeheese!” Caleb cried through his laughter, one hand reaching out to Cad in desperation before yanking the arm back with a yelp to try and block Molly’s tail as it tried to crawl into his armpit.

Cad watched Caleb laugh for a moment, seeming thoughtful. 

“You know,” he finally spoke, directing it at the tieflings, “It’s really the toes you’ve gotta worry about, with frostbite.”

“Nein!” Caleb cried before they even started. “Mercy!”

“Ooh what a good idea Caduceus! Caleb, what about this toe, can you feel this one?”

The only answer was a squeal like a rusty door hinge and increasingly desperate laughter. The process continued with two more toes before they got bored and went to town.

Caleb was so busy burying his face in the blankets and beating his palms helplessly against the mattress that he almost didn’t notice Cad lower his large frame onto the bed beside him. He didn’t have the breath to talk, so he just mouthed “Why!?”

Caduceus chuckled, leaning in close to rumble in Caleb’s ear.

“You know I don’t approve of martyrdom.”

Then there were thick, soft, careful fingers combing Caleb’s ribs, and he was lost to hysteria. 

At some point beyond the edge of Caleb’s conscious thought, Cad called the tieflings off, citing exhaustion. At some point they pulled Caleb back under the blankets. At some point he fell back asleep to the sounds of tea, a raucous card game and quiet conversation. 

Lucky martyr.

[agwitow]

(Inspired by this prompt, and a quasi sequel to my laundress fic...)

There were vague rumours about the Duke --mostly mutterings from the elderly in town-- though the few times he had visited Fallholt, he had seemed to be a quiet but kind lord. Younger than expected, given the elders mutterings, though most assumed whatever dark rumours were half-remembered had been about the Duke's father or grandfather.

Those who worked at the Duke's castle had little more information about him. He mostly kept to himself, only interacting with a few elderly servants who had to have started working for his grandparents. Rarely did he even entertain other nobles.

Some said he was nursing a broken heart. That the one he'd intended to make his Duchess had left one day, without so much as a farewell. But no one had any recollections of such a person. Perhaps, like the other odd rumours, it was a story about a previous Duke. Perhaps it was just a fanciful tale invented by bored maids wanting to cast the Duke as some sort of tragic prince.

Whatever the truth, the invitations received by each family were met with a mix of excitement, confusion, and more than a little bit of suspicion.

His Grace, Lord Robyn de Nikoi, Duke of Fallholt, requests the presence of one person from each household for an evening of celebration and entertainment.

Those accepting, must be above the age of majority, and should be in good health.

The seal at the bottom of the letter depicted a stag with brambles wreathed around its neck. This, too, added to the confusion since the Duke's flag was a black rose against a field of green and yellow.

Some chose not to attend, even going so far as to offer their invitations to those houses where they couldn't settle on who would go. In the end, almost 150 people attended the Duke's celebration.

Distant though the castle was, lights and faint strains of music lingered long into the night. So long that no one was too surprised that none of the attendees had returned by morning.

By that evening though, with still no sign of their loved ones, the townsfolk began to whisper the old rumours to each other. Those who worked at the castle were questioned as soon as they returned to their homes that night.

Yes, there had been a grand party with much food and drink. No, they hadn't seen any of the missing townsfolk. No, there hadn't been anything strange about the post-party mess they'd had to clean. Yes, they would look around the castle the next day for some sign or clue about what might have happened.

The entire next day was full of worry and tension, as everyone waited for their loved ones to return, or for some answers from the castle servants.

At long last, the servants returned, though they had little enough to report.

There was still no sign of the missing people, but there was also no sign of the Duke. The elderly steward had seemed unconcerned when questioned, though he'd had no answers either.

The townsfolk decided enough was enough. They would march to the castle at first light and demand answers. Were their loved ones still alive? Where were they? Why were they being kept away?

Though it wasn't ever discussed, each person who volunteered to go on that march made sure to find a weapon and ready it for the morning. Just in case the worst had come to pass.

Whether word of the impending mob had reached the Duke, or if it was simply a coincidence, the missing townsfolk slipped back into town in the pre-dawn haze. Screams and shouts of joy, surprise, and fear rang in the new day as the townsfolk found their missing loved ones sleeping in their beds as if nothing had been amiss.

There was much rejoicing, though by midday it had died back into confusion.

The missing men, women, and people had very little memory beyond enjoying rich food and drink. They hadn't even realized that they'd been gone for more than a single evening.

Worse, still, was that not everyone who'd gone had returned. Eight people never came home.

When asked, the returned ones couldn't say what had happened, or where they might be, but each knew that those eight would never return.

This only fed the reinvigorated rumours about the Duke.

Slowly, life settled back into its old routine.

So what if, on occasion, one of those who'd gone would stop and stare off into the distance with a frown? Or be unable to sleep for days at a time? Was it really so strange that they were changed somehow?

Not until the blacksmith pulled a white-hot iron from the forge with her bare hands, did anyone say anything about the changes.

How the baker's son had broken a solid oak table while kneading bread. Or how one of the clerks had eyes which glowed a soft amber I'm the dark. How a cleric's skin had become rough and cold, like stone. Or a tailor's skin glittered like scales whenever wet.

Suddenly, the changes were the only thing everyone could talk about.

Some thought it a sign of evil magic and wanted to drive those affected out of town, before the corruption could spread.

Others worried that their loved ones had never actually returned and these people who looked and sounded and acted like them were little more than constructs.

A few wondered just how far the changes went.

But everyone agreed it was the Duke's fault.

He had done something to them. Something they hadn't asked for, or agreed to. Something beyond their control.

None were more angry than those affected.

They decided the Duke owed them answers, and a few volunteered to go to the castle and get them. One way or another.

The next day, the blacksmith, baker's son, a trapper whose touch could burn, and the stone-skinned cleric returned to the castle.

The elderly steward met them at the gates. "His Grace has been expecting you. Follow me, please."

They exchanged looks, but followed along to a small audience room. An oval table with twelve chairs took up much of the space, and tapestries depicting a variety of forest scenes covered most of the walls.

The Duke was already seated at the head of the table, with a banner on the wall behind his chair displaying the stag-and-brambles. In colour, and with carefully embroidered detail, it became clear that each thorn on the bramble wreath had drawn blood.

"I was beginning to wonder if any of you would ever come back," he said. "It would have been better if you'd come sooner, but we will make do. Ask your questions."

This was certainly not what any of them had expected, and it took a moment before the cleric asked, "What did you do to us?"

"Straight to the complicated ones, I see." He gave them a small smile before gesturing for them to take a seat. "Allow me to tell you a story about a young girl and a magic pond."

The baker's son frowned. "You mean the old fairy tale where she wishes to be a princess and the pond summons a fairy prince who kidnaps her?"

"Is that the version being told now? Fascinating how it changes over the years. Yes. That story. Though my version is... rather different from what you know."

"We didn't come here for bedtime stories," the trapper grumbled.

"Humour me, please. It will all make sense after."

When there were no other objections, the Duke began his tale.

"Once upon a time, there was a young girl. The daughter of a minor lord with no money and no land. She traveled from one place to another with her father, who was forever looking for a way to rise in wealth and status.

"Though there was no money for a dowry, the lord made a deal with a Duke. In exchange for his daughter, he would be given a bit of land to oversee. The Duke was old and cruel, and none of his previous wives had provided him with an heir. Most were rescued by family when his temper left bruises that couldn't be hidden. The others had died.

"A father who cared more for status than his daughter's wellbeing was the type of inlaw who suited the Duke best. So a date was set and the girl --a young woman, by this point-- was sent to the Duke's castle.

"Her life was not pleasant, in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and her only solace was in exploring the untamed woods around the castle. Whether through luck, fate, or mischief, she found a hidden pond deep within the forest.

"Things might have gone very differently if she hadn't seen the Duke before he saw her.

"She hid and watched as he stripped his clothes off and waded into the pool. Red, angry looking sores covered much of his flesh, and they spread further as the water touched them.

"The Duke called out, demanding fair trade.

"'Fair trade?' a fae said with a laugh, appearing at the other end of the pond. 'You have traded virility for strength, the life of one of your wives for money and power, and now think to bargain for your virility back without giving up your strength. That is no fair trade.'

"'I will not be weak. Name another price,' he demanded.

"The fae shook its head. 'You must trade something of equal, or greater value, to receive my gifts.'

"'The life of my next bride,' the Duke offered. 'Or my best hunting hound.'

"'I will not be fooled by you again. You place no value on the lives of your wives, and you are no hunter. Both a wife and a hound are no more than accessories to you. Neither is a fair trade.'

"The Duke raged and screamed, but his anger had no effect.

"When his tirade ended, the fae yawned. 'How many more times do you think you can enter my waters with ill-intent in your heart? Soon you will have little flesh untouched by the mark of your greed.'

"The Duke didn't bother to answer. He simply climbed out and put his clothes back on. Though the sores would have hurt a lot, the young woman had no sympathy for him.

"Once he was gone, the fae called for her. She crept out and stood at the edge of the pool.

"'Hello, young one,' they said. 'There is much you wish for. Would you care to make a deal?'

"She shook her head.

"'Come now. Surely there is something you wouldn't mind giving up in exchange to be free of the Duke? Even if he doesn't spill your blood as payment, he will kill you in some other way.'

"She shook her head again. 'I will not trade away my future or memories simply to be free of my present.'

"The fae nodded. 'Perhaps a different sort of deal would suit you then? And before you shake your head at me, let me show you what the future holds.'

"They swept their hand through the water and as the ripples spread, images formed depicting war, chaos, and death. In many, the Duke laughed as the ground turned dark with the blood of innocents.

"'What trickery is this?' she asked.

"The fae sighed, sounding tired. 'No trickery. This is the most likely future, as things stand right now. While the squabbles of mortals would not normally concern me, the consequences of this... it will drain the magic from the land.'

"'What does that have to do with me?'

"'I need a champion. Someone who can change the course of things.'

"'Why me?'

"The fae sighed again, this time in frustration. 'I am bound to this forest, and this pond. I can not leave, and the Duke has made sure most people avoid the forest. You are the first person, other than the Duke, I have spoke to in more than a decade.'

"'And what would being your champion mean?' she asked, still wary.

"The fae grinned. 'A bit of skill, a dash of luck, and a vow to protect the magic of the forest.'

"'Where is the trick? The part that makes the hero regret such a hasty bargain in all the stories.'

"They shrugged. 'Not much of a trick. If you fail to keep the magic strong, your life is forfeit. Though I suspect if that happens, you will be dead already.'

"Perhaps it was arrogance, or desperation to avoid marrying the Duke, but the young woman agreed. And true to their word, the fae provided skill and luck. Enough to rescue a kidnapped princess. Enough to stop an assassin. Enough to replace the Duke."

As the Duke's words faded into silence, the four townspeople frowned.

The cleric shook his head. "The first Duke of Fallholt was given this land after rescuing the Emperor's daughter and uncovering a plot against him by several of his nobles --one of whom had been the Duke ruling these lands before."

"Yes."

"But you're claiming it was a young woman who did those things."

The Duke scratched his chin. "Shortly after rescuing the princess, I realized that despite being born a 'girl,' I was not actually one. People were more willing to believe it was a young man doing all the heroics anyway."

"Wait. What? No. That doesn't make sense," the blacksmith said. "You can't have done any of those things. They happened over a hundred years ago."

The Duke laughed, sharp teeth flashing for a moment. "Yes, they did. And perhaps ten years after them, I met a peculiar laundress who offered my a unique gift."

The trapper's fists clenched, tiny flames licking across their knuckles. "What does all that have to do with us?"

The Duke sighed. "The war Vyrnaed saw was only delayed by my actions. It is still coming. And this time I cannot prevent it from starting. But, with help, I can keep these lands safe."

"What did you do to us?" the cleric repeated.

"I took you to see Vyrnaed. They showed each of you what the future holds and offered a choice. Be slaughtered as the war rolls over us, or be changed so that we can defend our homes." He grimaced and glanced down. "I had expected them to grant you all skills and luck, like they did for me, but... I suppose they thought it fitting that I should lead non-humans, since I haven't been one in a very long time."

The baker's son shook his head vehemently. "No. We should remember it, if what you're saying is true. We remember nothing. And what of the eight who didn't return home? What did you do to them?"

The Duke shrugged helplessly. "As powerful as Vyrnaed is, there is a limit to how much they can do in a night. In order to have enough power to affect all of you a trade had to be made."

"You traded our memories of the evening." The blacksmith's voice was cold and flat.

"No," the Duke said gently. "Each of you agreed. It was your trade to make."

"And the others?"

"I had specified in good health... they did not survive the change."

The four townsfolk stared. It was too fantastical. But they couldn't deny that none of them were quite human anymore.

The cleric broke the silence. "When is this war supposedly coming?"

"If Vyrnaed is right, we have a fortnight."

[connoissuer-of-fine-vines]

Inspired by the ask you sent me, do any of your ocs have an enemy, a rival, a nemesis? A person who presence just ruins their day? If so, what transpired to make them feel that way about that person?

Some of this is going to be a little vague since I have a tendency to come up with broad backstory rather than fine details.

Ayden: Growing up on Innistrad, he really didn't have any like know/outward rivals. Yes, there were clerics he didn't get along with because they had no patience for children, but nothing that would be considered a rivalry. In his late teens, he garnered the attention of higher level clerics as well as the Skirsdag Cultists within the church which would be a bit closer to an enemy, but there was never blatant animosity. It is because of them that he was picked to leave Thraban to help out the cathars. His first real rival is at Strixhaven. As Ayden struggles to control his storm magic with the differing advice from the Deans, an owlin student who is a star pupil of both deans picks on and demeans Ayden's lack of skill and creativity. This only erodes Ayden's confidence leading to some spectacularly uncontrolled displays of magic and art.

Patroclus: The men who stay at the Amatrophon are fairly itinerant but there was still one other man there Patroclus just did not get along with. Patroclus already had a reputation with all the trouble he'd caused in lieu of peregrinating which didn't exactly endear him to the men there. But that in addition to his penchant for bringing in lost, hurt, and orphaned animals just pushed one of the other men there into rival territory. He constantly made snide remarks trying to emasculate Patroclus, likening him to a nursemaid. The gryphon Patroclus was nursing to health pretty much shut him up and they haven't had any interactions with each other since Patroclus left the Amatrophon to move in to another village with Ayden.

Tyran: As sad it is to say, Tyran doesn't have the best relationship with his parents. They were more interested in status and how he was the answer to all their issues with rival families. Tyran really didn't start trying to push back against them until he was in his teens. That was when he started having secret affairs aided by more distant family members who had been forgotten and shafted as not being 'as important'.

Nikos: He has a penchant for getting into trouble (New Capenna is going to be great for me working on Nikos more) so he has a lot of enemies he's made over the years among the Gateless, Guilds, Consulate, and gangs. Life is fleeting and can easily end abruptly so Nikos doesn't really sweat the enemies he's made. He's very much a "we'll cross that bridge when we get there" person.

Carrine: Midnight Hunt is hopefully going to give me a lot of fodder to work more on Carrine. As a witch, she's made a lot of enemies with the Church since she's spurned their ways, and in her opinion, rightly so since her village's belief in Avacyn didn't save them from a werewolf attack that killed most of the townsfolk. She has an inherent distrust of any form of organization so the Church and demon cults are both fair game. With Avacyn's death Carrine really hasn't had to worry as much about the church. From what we're seeing of Midnight Hunt spoilers, it looks like Sigarda's Church is being melded/infiltrated by witches who are finding a similar purpose in banding together to fend off werewolves and how Moonrukul is effecting them. If I'm right in this theory, Carrine is going to be super torn on what to do. She has no love for werewolves since they killed her parents and orphaned her and her brother but the church tried to prop up a missing deity that wasn't keeping them safe and sent cathars after her for turning to the old ways (and dark magic, but that only started once she started taking care of her brother). Her brother is a tracker and guide and she'd have to weigh how much her want to keep him safe outweighs her hate toward the Church. Carrine has also made enemies of other witches and demon cults. She refuses to strike out at villages for sending cathars after witches. She doesn't blame them for being sheep to the Church since she used to be one of them. Plus her brother still believes so she doesn't want to alienate him. Because she somewhat protects villages, a number of witches resent her though only few actually try to strike out at her. Because of her power she's also been sought out by demon cults which she's flat out refused. Never again does Carrine want to be beholden to anyone or anything. She'll gain power her own ways and she refuses give up her autonomy or sacrifice innocents for her own gain. She's been attacked by cultists trying to take her as a sacrifice for her power after refusing to join them.

[yourplayersaidwhat]

Larry, The Legend

(Context: we’re playing Curse of Strahd. One of the random encounters is a crazy dude and five twig blights. Our party of five, myself included, quickly get through most of them…but we’re having a lot of trouble with the last blight… After going an entire round with no one hitting this thing:)

Me: Geez, this thing is badass. We should keep it as our mascot.

Cleric: ….. I try to reason with it.

DM: Uh, okay, what do you say?

Cleric: “Hey little guy, calm down. We won’t hurt you. If you stop, we’ll be friends.”

DM: Roll persuasion.

Cleric: [rolls] ….Uh….low….

Me: I give him advantage.

DM: Okay, what do you say?

Me: “We’ll be great friends! We’ll take you out of here and give you lots of sunlight!” (At the time I didn’t know they were vampiric, lol.)

Cleric: [rolls again] 26!

DM: You see the bush pause, seeming to listen…and then it lashes out at you! [rolls] ….Critting!

(Everyone collectively loses their shit. It’s the sorcerer’s turn.)

Paladin: Wait, wait. Can you delay? I want to try something.

DM: There’s no “delay”, but you can hold an action.

Sorcerer: I hold a firebolt if it attacks.

DM: Alright. Paladin’s turn.

Paladin: Okay, I try to reason with it.

DM: What do you say?

Paladin: I come over to it, and start to pet it. “It’s okay little buddy, we’ll be nice, we promise.”

DM: It attacks you. [rolls] ….Critting again!

Sorcerer: I launch my firebolt. [hits, rolls damage]

Everyone: NO!

DM: The shrub goes up in flame and keels over, motionless.

Me: NO, LARRY!

(There’s a few minute cut here in which we loot the corpse and I, a grave cleric, bury the dead man and try to decide what to do with Larry. Eventually…)

Me: I plant Larry and hope his roots are strong.

Cleric: We can come back later to check on him.

Warlock: We can just take him with us.

Me: OMG yes. Anyone have a pot??

Sorcerer: I have a small chest…

Me: I plant him with some dirt in the chest.

DM: Wow, guys. Wow. Okay.

(We proceed to roll nature checks to figure out what this thing is and how to take care of it. The Paladin rolls high enough to get its full creature block. We now know that it’s vampiric.)

Cleric: I was hurt in the battle, so I drip some of my blood on the plant.

Warlock: I’ll do the same.

DM: [in total disbelief] Okay, both of you take one point of damage for feeding the shrub.

(They happily do so. Much later we encounter a woman on the road to Valaki, the lady who sells dream cakes. The DM forgot about her in the village so he put her here so we can have an interaction. We eventually discover her secrets, beat the crap out of her, and she escapes, leaving her cart behind.)

Me: So it has a hatch and stuff? I want to put dirt in the hatch and plant Larry in it.

DM: …You….You do so…

Me: Sweet!

(Now we have a twig blight we torched and are now attempting to nurse back to health. The DM has since gone to a DM group to ask advice about this development and he’s basically been told to give us Larry. XD I might be back in another week with a Larry update…)

[strahd-von-asthmavich]

The Ancient and The Land - Mod Escher’s Roll20 Curse of Strahd Campaign [Session 0]

Gather round, for a tale you won’t surely forget! Join my dear, dear players as they all embark on quite the adventure in Barovia!

Before we begin, some disclaimers are needed:

Outright, there are trigger warnings for implied abuse and graphic violence.

Now, to introduce my party (one player will be introduced next session, she’s still getting used to her new work schedule)!

Diane GoldenDew - Mastermind Rogue Diane is 13 year old high elf itching for adventure! She learned a lot about different heroes, and she wishes to go on one of her own, like her favorite hero White Glint! She’s traveling by herself, since both of her parents had tragically died of old age.

Ireena Kolyana - Duelist Fighter (Played by Mod Strahd!) Ireena is the adopted daughter of the late Burgomaster of the Village of Barovia. She was found by the Burgomaster and her brother Ismark as a young child, and they took her in as part of the family. However, due to red hair being a bad omen and unforeseen circumstances, Ireena was holed away in the mansion at the age of 15, never allowed to leave again. She tried running away with her family’s ancestral blade in hand on the night before her 20th birthday, but she was ambushed by wolves not too long after. She was saved by Vasili von Holtz, a young lord of Vallaki that frequently visited the mansion and had an interest in her. Her father took exception to her departure, but after dealing with his wrath, she confided in Vasili. Just days later, Kolyan passed away.

Mirthe - Witch, Covenant of the Wise (Mod Strahd’s homebrew class!) Accompanied by her familiar, Nadcasovy (a giant weasel), Mirthe is a Carnival Performer (and might I add the cutest pastel tiefling). Her act was as a hair hanger, instead with horns! She grew up with the matriarchs of her family in a forest. Her family never shunned her father, just said he had another calling. When she grew older, about 16, she decided to go seek him out with her familiar, feeling she was missing something in connection to her magical abilities. She found her father in a carnival show and took on that life ever since. Now, she’s traveling on her own to perform.

Savita Orelene - Light Cleric Savita is a fire genasi, cursed at birth by her mother’s family after her father left shortly after her conception. Savita and her mother were taken care of clerics of the sun god, Amaunator. Grateful for their help, Savita and her mother stayed with them, and Savita was eventually blessed by the god himself. Tragically, however, her mother was slain, drained completely of her blood.

Valarys - Blood Hunter, Order of the Lycan Valarys was found by an older couple as an infant, abandoned and left on the side of a beaten road. They’ve been taken care of by the couple and was raised as their own. However, Valarys was also half-lycanthrope. As they were coming of age, they turned on accident in public, which caused a panic in the village that soon turned into a full on mob. Their father was killed in the process of protecting Valarys, but before he told them to escape, he gave them a letter and told them of a name of someone that might be able to help them.

With that, let’s begin the story of their journey under the cut!

Diane, Mirthe, Savita, and Valarys all were in their own respective campsites the night before they all met, traveling who knows where to go ahead and do who knows what. It was starting to get a little misty while they were all resting. But when they woke up the next morning, they were all trapped in a fog. when they tried to get out, they couldn’t breathe, and they all ended up meeting each other within the mists. They all decided to move out of the fog and end up in strange, dark woods that they don’t recognize. They get to know each other in the woods.

Valarys is a bit standoffish when meeting the other members of the party. Diane, being a curious and rambunctious child, was more than eager to start on her adventure. She’d read stories about Barovia, a lost city of beauty, of flowers, and of the sun. Its radiance could be something like she’d never seen before. Savita was so confused at being in such a strange land. Mirthe was more than happy to introduce herself to the players (note: Nadcasovy is bigger than Diane).

In the woods, a letter gets delivered to them in the form of a breeze, as if they were expected. The letter was as follows:

Weary Travelers and Adventurers, Welcome to Barovia.

Do forgive me for such an intrusive fog. The Mists have their own way of welcoming new visitors. Allow me to offer a far better form of hospitality.

My home is your home, as the saying goes. Feel free to roam about and indulge in the bounties of my reign. Do be careful traveling at night. We would not want any... unwanted accidents, now, would we? Mind where you tread. If I were to enter your home, I would have limitations of where I may wander, would I not?

I do hope you enjoy your stay. So long as you all follow these specific guidelines and mind your manners, we will all get along just fine. After all, this wonderful land of mine is where you will stay for the rest of your life. Do not try to go back in the fog from whence you came. You may have survived the Mists for now, but you will never be so lucky again.

And do watch your backs.

Your new Lord and Master, The Ancient and The Land of Barovia

Valarys is distraught at the concept that they may never be able to go back again. Everyone doesn’t like that idea, but they know now that they have no choice but to continue forward. After several hours, they arrive at the Gates of Barovia, where they easily open for the party.

They walk through the forest, until they hear a strange noise coming from the woods. A wolf (which Diane insists is a horse) bounds out from the forest but doesn’t attack the party. Instead, they’re running away from whatever noise was just made in the woods. Out from there comes Vasili von Holtz, who was riding a mount while holding what he describes is a gun. Mirthe in particular wonders why he couldn’t just use arrows, after he describes what a gun does, and Vasili insists that he just likes using a gun better. Valarys doesn’t trust Vasili outright, given their lycanthropy and feeling a kinship with the wolves.

Vasili was there in Svalich Woods hunting before he would then go to the Village of Barovia. He offers to let them tag along with him. On the way, he tells them about the history of the Dark Lord of the land.

“This place was not always this closed off from the rest of the world. Centuries ago, there was an ancient Prince. He came to this land and fought many battles, turning this valley into what is known today as Barovia. Not everyone treated him with kindness, however. But, when he was wounded during a harsh battle, he was nursed back to health and protected by the people who wander the land after wrongfully being forced from their homes. They’re known as the Vistani, and after taking such good care of the wounded Prince, they now forever are free to enter and leave the valley. Only they can come and go as they please.

“The Prince became the Lord of the land, maintaining order from the Eastern territories of the Village to the Western outskirts of Krezk. But he was growing older. He called for his family to come to him, and through this came the answer from his youngest brother. This young man was described to have a smile that radiated like the sun.

“Just when the Lord thought all was lost, he met a beautiful woman with fiery auburn hair; a true treasure. He loved her with all his heart. But she was taken from him. His brother, in his youthful cunning, took the woman as his own before the Lord had a chance. Enraged, the Lord attempted to take back what rightfully was his, but not without consequences.

“A coup had been staged during the brother and bride’s wedding day. The brother was slain, and the Lord was inflicted with a dark curse. And this curse spread throughout the land. The Lord became a dictator, and almost no one was safe from his wrath.”

He insists that they should go to Tser Pool to see if they could end the curse, where Madam Eva, a Seer, would be able to tell them more.

Mirthe is very pleased to hear that there is a Seer. However, Valarys is aghast at the idea of Madam Eva knowing about their past, present, and future. Vasili insists that either way, she knows all, and she could help them.

Set on going to Tser Pool, Vasili first offers to take them to the Village of Barovia to see the late Burgomaster’s children, to which Diane eagerly asks why the “Burger Master” is late. That was when Vasili reveals that the Burgomaster died of a heart attack. 

Taking exception to the fact that the party let Diane, a child, walk on foot for over 5 hours, Vasili offers to let her sit on his mount. With that, they all travel as it starts to rain (Savita, being a fire genasi, is pretty disheartened at that).

At the Village of Barovia, they’re all greeted to the sound of sobbing as they reach the center of town. After the party fails to properly perceive where exactly the crying is coming from, they proceed to knock on every door on that street until they find the source.

The first house was answered by a disgruntled man, who tells them that Mad Mary was the source of the crying. During this, Diane shows off her master skills by speaking in a perfect Barovian accent (which Vasili kindly thinks “WTF” upon hearing her). The disgruntled man tells them that crying is coming from across the street. So, they go directly across the street, where a different woman answers and insists that the crying is coming from next door.

Mad Mary answers, completely distraught at the loss of her daughter, and she is dismissive of the players being able to help her at first. She is also initially scared shitless by Diane’s talking doll, after she shows it when seeing a doll in Mad Mary’s hand. She then cries that the “Devil” could possibly have her. Diane insists that this devil must’ve been a Bone Devil, after Mad Mary describes that the Burgomaster was publicly executed by being drained completely of his blood. Initially hopeless, the party manages to convince her that they would try to find her daughter, Gertruda.

With that, Mad Mary leaves them to their own devices, just as they hear a cart roll by and a withered voice shout “Fresh Pies, Fresh Pies, Freshly Made from Granny’s Supplies!”

Crowds gather to have a taste of her delicious food.

Diane manages to successfully steal a savory meat pie from her cart, just as Vasili also decides to come up to the cart. He and Granny know each other, and Vasili eagerly does business with her, buying three pies for the party. Savita eats a meat pie, Mirthe eats half of a fruit pie, and there was also a berry pie that was purchased. Granny notes that one of her meat pies is missing, but she doesn’t think too long about that. Granny also mentions that if they ever needed any more pies, they could always visit her at the Old Durst Mill, where she lives and works.

Vasili then takes them down to the end of the street, where the Burgomaster’s mansion was. They all go inside, and they’re greeted by Ismark in a drunken stupor. At the mention of his father, Ismark simply states, “Peace be upon him” and proceeds to belch.

Right away, Vasili is looking for Ireena, who has been sitting in the library. She eagerly greets him, as well as the party. Vasili leaves to find Ismark to see if they found Kolyan’s will. During this, Diane explores the library to try and find a book about heroes, but she doesn’t find exactly what she was looking for. See, she was looking for a book about White Glint, but instead she found one about the story of a hero named Ivan Denesch and his quest to defeat Koschei the Immortal. Ireena more than happily talks about the story with Diane, who enjoys it.

Valarys meanwhile finds a book about werewolves, in which Ireena tells them that it was written by none other than Rudolph van Richten, a legendary hunter of sorts.

The party takes time with Ireena to get to know each other, in which they point out that Ireena has several healing bruises down the left side of her face and on her neck. When asked, she insists that she’s fine and that things will be better now, but she secretly insists after Diane asks that her insistence is because of Kolyan being dead. They all continue to have heartfelt moments when interacting, one such moment including Ireena giving Nadcasovy the good scritches.

After a while, Vasili and Ismark return to the library after being in a room across the hall. In hand, Ismark has Kolyan’s will, and he gives it to Vasili to read. Ismark can barely sit down, let alone look straight to read a letter. Vasili begrudgingly reads ahead first, before reading aloud:

I, Kolyan Indirovich, Burgomaster of the Village of Barovia, hereby write my final will and testimony.

For my son, Ismark, as painful as it is for me to bequeath to you this, I leave you my title and the mansion. Never forget the responsibilities of maintaining such a village and the privilege that implies. Do not let the people down more than you already have. Straighten yourself out, and maybe I will look at you fondly from the afterlife. Do be the one to place me in my final resting place. You know why, my son.

Vasili von Holtz, my dearest friend, I know we have only known each other for a short time, but it is my dying wish that you look after my daughter. She is a bright young woman with ambitions that far surpass my expectations. Wherever she may roam off to next, please assure me that she will always be under your protection. Interpret that as you see fit. I know you won’t disappoint me.

For my dearest daughter, Ireena, I leave behind for you the knowledge that everything I have done, no matter how drastic my methods may have seemed, was for your protection and your own good. My reasons for worrying for you have been confirmed. You are a wise, determined young lady, but with hair as blood red as yours, my concern for you has been like a Plague. Heed the world with caution. Stay safe, and stay home.

Distraught, Ireena immediately leaves the library after punching a decently sized hole in the wall, and Vasili goes after her to console her. They both know that they need to act sympathetic to keep up appearances, but they know that this was something Kolyan did not deserve. Ireena hates the message for her that was left behind, insisting how horribly she had been treated. Vasili offers that she can stay with him, so long as Ismark lets her go (since he’s now in charge of the mansion and everything in it) and she wants to join him. Needless to say, they’re both glad that Kolyan is dead.

Ireena then reveals what the Dark Lord had said to her at the execution: “I will always protect you, my lovely summer rose.” 

She doesn’t understand how he was able to find out what was happening anyways, in which Vasili recollects that superstition says that he’s always watching, but his timing was impeccable. The two embrace each other. In the middle of the hallway.

Meanwhile, Ismark explains to the rest of the party how the Burgomaster really died. Mad Mary wasn’t exactly “mad” when it came to her claim. Kolyan was dragged out to the center of town for his crimes against humanity (which somehow was found out) and was executed by the Dark Lord of the land himself. He was drained completely of his blood in front of the entire village, and since then, no one wanted to go near the Burgomaster’s children or even try to help bury him.

Ismark also tells them that he’s not going to keep Ireena cooped up like it said in Kolyan’s will. He explains that the reason why Ireena was initially cooped up was that being a red-haired woman was a bad omen (or so they say, since he’s impartial to superstitions). He also puts to rest that the “devil” is not a Bone Devil, but a vampire. He also warns them of strange creatures that all want to kill you: “Wolves, werewolves, dire wolves... a lot of wolves. There’s men that look like trees. Scarecrows...” He’s too drunk to be coherent about what’s actually out there, but he does warn them seriously that they should watch out for fleders, an aggressive type of vampire that hunts ruthlessly at night.

Ismark then politely asks if they could help them bury the Burgomaster tomorrow, as much as he doesn’t want to do a proper funeral. They all agree.

The session ends when Ismark offers that he can ask Ireena to make them dinner and that they could stay the night at the mansion. Valarys offers their help, in which Ismark insists Ireena would appreciate that. Meanwhile, Diane interrupts Ireena and Vasili kissing in the hallway by swiftly moving passed them, with Nadcasovy following suit.

[the-wotog-collection]

true canon: an explanation

True Canon is set in a typical High Fantasy D&D ye olden age world, with monsters and magic and dragons galore. It started out focused entirely on Eve and Viktor and a few others’ travels through a country called Witherhurst, and as we made more characters and stories and kingdoms, we expanded the scope of WotOG (the original D&D game) to cover all of them, until we had a nice world built up around the characters. Since not all of the stories related to the events of WotOG (and WotOG part 2: Electric Boogaloo), we decided to change the name to True Canon, so we knew which universe for sure was the foundation upon which our Many AU’s Stand. Here’s a quick n dirty timeline, for reference:

(much more under the cut)

-Eve, Viktor, and a few others that aren’t relevant to the story travel around Witherhurst on a job or something from a lady who’s Definitely Not Important At All (Her name is Prenella). At some point Prenella ditches the party and they’re stuck without a cleric for a while

-They make it to a big city, and through shenanigans that include travelling the city for fun and also almost dying to a pack of rabid dogs, Eve convinces Intem to join the party.

-Eve, Vik, and now Intem (plus one more pc) unravel a cult plot, something about the end of the world, blah blah nothing really important there. They end up taking out the cult and fighting Prenella, the cult’s leader, who also happens to be a dragon. Neat.

-After that horrifying ordeal, the party reconvenes and decides, ‘fuck it, let’s go find a new place to travel together’ and thus board a ship that they then steal from the captain (after Intem’s “pet” eats said captain).

-So begins the few years the party spends as pirates.

-Things happen, they end up fighting an eldritch god for world-ending rights, and go on their merry way.

- Intem falls into the role of reluctant (but no less ruthless) pirate captain, with vik as his first mate and eve as navigator (despite the fact that she can’t read. they figure it out)

-This is around the time Intem goes from lilac-haired sunshine boy to disgruntled cynic who’s Done With Your Shit, Viktor.

-Eventually the crew docks, and picks up Therai and Pippin for a while. Eve also brings up the idea of reviving Vik’s old travelling companion, Dante (two bros, chillin in a tavern, no feet apart ‘cause they’re so gay), and Intem’s like “Sure why the fuck not” and they set off to find his grave or whatever.

-Hatch and Xander are in the area and end up getting picked up by the crew.

-Dante gets revived, and for the next year or so, everything is fine.

-Eventually the crew docks near Therai’s old home kingdom, and he dips, taking Pippin, Xander, and Hatch with him (he really only meant to take Pip). They spend a while travelling to his kingdom, Aer-Vinn, and encounter Hatch’s long time (boy)friend Aerglo. He joins the party, at Hatch’s request.

-A little while later (vague time frame I know but exact years don’t matter here), there’s some Good Therai Angst when- Shock! Horror! - they end up stumbling upon Tal, who shares ~history~ with Therai. Not the good kind, mind you. They leave soon after meeting Tal.

-There’s a few more encounters with Therai’s old companion before Tal eventually softens up and joins the party, hell yeah. Warren joins too, because he was nearby and Also shares ~history~ with Therai and Tal. (They were all in a party together before this)

-AT THE SAME TIME THIS IS GOING ON: Rain sets out on a holy mission from their church to prove themselves worthy of being a Paladin of the Church.

-They meet Rosemary along the way, and after a small adventure together, they decide to help Rose out and find Catherine with her, because a while back Rose accidentally turned Catherine into, well, a cat.

-They do find Cat, after she’d gone through some Shit in an alternate dimension featuring a Sun Goddess and her complete mental breakdown. Cat Killed A Goddess (or two, we’ll see how the campaign goes), and made friends with the cousins Mikhail and Valentine. Mikhail doesn’t matter to the timeline right now. 

-Anyway, Rain and Rose find Cat, and settle down in a little seaside village where they work together to turn Cat back into a human.

-They Succeed!!!

-Uh-oh there’s a stranger at the door- Oh! It’s just Rain’s Cleric friend from their church, Rahon! Turns out Rain kinda went MIA and everyone back home is having a Panic, so Rahon’s here to make sure Rain is alive and well, or collect their belongings if they’re not-

-But they’re alive, so Rahon calms down and decides to stay (after sending a message back home, of course), to keep an eye or two on Rain.

-Rain is Delighted :)

-The party (minus kal) were traveling somewhere, kal ended up going the same way, and they ended up in the same city for a while. rahon saw her Up To No Good, so he kept an eye on them and saw them getting stabbed, and decided to nurse her back to health, and thus Kal Joins The Party. Rahon is an absolute sweetheart to them

-Eventually Rose, Cat, and Rain head out to a nearby cave system bc of Reasons, and end up kinda sorta stumbling into a system that leads to this world’s version of the Underdark. They need help navigating, because Fuck These Tunnels Are Confusing, and come across a little hermit drow who’s living his “best” life in his underground hut with tattered clothes and ratty books and cracked glasses.

-He just wants to see the surface but is terrified of how the world will treat him if he goes up alone, so he offers to guide everyone through the Underdark in exchange for them taking him up to the surface. Everyone agrees

-Astralus, little hermit drow lad, does so, and soon finds himself stumbling out into broad daylight. He’s got light sensitivity and everything Burns, but he’s so fucking happy oh my gods. Also he’s crying but it’s okay, he’s kinda really emotional.

-Aster joins the party! And they find out he’s cousins with Rose, who practically adopted him as a brother anyway let’s be real.

-Somehow Val learns of Cat’s whereabouts, and pops by to say hi to his trauma buddy. Cue shock as he sees her as human for the first time. Aster develops an immediate crush, and takes to following Val around like a lost puppy.

-Val is having a Time because, Aster looks just like a person he knew in an alternate universe and things didn’t turn out well for them. Yikes.

-Val joins the party, if only to tease Cat and finally have a place to be for a while

-MEANWHILE: Bree finds an abomination living in the abandoned mineshafts near her village. She decides he could probably use a friend, since the entire village is pretty scared of/hostile towards him, and becomes that friend. She finds out his name is Ve, and he’s a sweetheart. She makes immediate friends and he teaches her sign language, because he Literally Doesn’t Have A Face, he can’t speak.

-A few weeks later, either Ve or Bree decide to leave bc Fuck This Town, except they don’t say Fuck because they’re both softe beans (they both legally cannot say fuck. and i actually had an idea for how they leave ovo). Either way, they leave, and through shenanigans, they pick up Three More Tieflings, what the hell, which is kinda funny because previously, Bree didn’t think tieflings existed at all. 

-Tarvaii and Trancey are travelling together as a Chaotic Mischief Duo, and end up joining the party because Bree made friends

-Same situation with Chaym, though he was alone and depressed because his entire village got massacred. Bree made friends, and Chaym joined the party

-Chaym also ended up teaching Trancey magic, specifically Necromancy, which is kinda really stupid dangerous but it’s fine, Chaym survived, why shouldn’t Trancey? (flawed logic but okay Chaym)

-Cut to a few years later, back with Eve and Co.

-They’re in a tavern, Eve sees a depressed tiefling at the bar. What does she do? Immediately go try to cheer him up.

-She finds out he’d left his pregnant girlfriend on a mission to go help out somewhere, and ended up stuck in a weird place where time passes differently for him. It’s been 26 years, though to him it felt more like a handful of weeks. He’s scared and confused and would very much like to find his family, but he has no idea where he is.

-Eve’s heart breaks bc! he’s so sad and his girlfriend is pregnant and he’s got a family and just wants to get back to them, how could she not want to help? and thus she decides to help the tiefling, Viren, find his family.

-Through a series of events, the find out Viren’s family was living in a beautiful city built into the mountains, that fell quite a few years back. Luckily, his girlfriend left beforehand, and moved to a small mining town, where she gave birth to, and briefly raised, their son. She named him Ve, after his father, who she assumed was dead.

-There was a fire at one point, and Angelica, Viren’s girlfriend, died saving Ve. Viren is absolutely devastated when he finds out, and Eve offers to resurrect Angelica, y’know, bring the family together again, even if for just a short time.

-Vi agrees, and they do so! Woo! Also Eve and co. meet up with Ve for a while so the family really is back together.

-Intem, doing a sneaky trick, makes it so Angelica’s soul keeps the body and just, lives until the body dies, be it natural or unnatural causes. He only tells Eve and Angelica about it, and waits to see how long it takes Viren to realize ‘oh shit I’m not losing my fiance so soon’

-Also Viren and Angelica get engaged! Woo!

-A little while passes, Viren and Anne join the party, and Eve gets pregnant with Intem’s kids. At this point the party’s stopped adventuring, and they all settled down somewhere nice. Anyway Eve’s pregnant and gives birth to twins, Olive and Evergreen (Evan for short), but Olive looks more like Therai than Intem and it’s kinda weird, but nobody really minds because the twins are just, so cute. Also Therai (and co) came back and built the party a nice house, so, yeah.

-Olive and Evan grow up, and Evan takes an interest in Druid Magic. Vik lets Evan access his Giant Library and teaches him general magic stuff. Olive scares her whole ass family by taking an interest in Necromancy, and eventually someone gets in contact with Chaym (and by extension Trancey), and has him come over to teach Olive.

-Olive becomes a necromancer! And then heads off with Evan in tow to start their own life of adventuring. 

-Eve has another kid, Avery, with Therai

-Olive befriends a Whole Ass Dragon, gives him the nickname Jade, and introduces him to Evan. By the time the trio make it back to Jade’s hoard, Avery’s taken on the role of Fighter and heads out into the world to do her own thing. She also meets Clover, another fighter, and they travel together for a while before joining Olive, Evan, and Jade. 

-That’s it, that’s where we stopped on the timeline of True Canon. It’ll go on, of course, but, here’s the general timeline in 4 pages

[peakyblinders-au]

Kassandra Shelby née Kitakis

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Character Full Name: Kassandra Shelby née Kitakis

Nicknames/Alias: Kassie

Backstory for nicknames/alias/names: you don’t have to add anything here if its unnecessary

Gender: Female, she/her

Gender Role: housewife & mommy

Sexual Orientation: straight (unless may carleton shows up)

Age: 27

Birthday: November 26, 1892

Deathday: please don’t kill me i need to make sure my son is ok

Birthplace: Sparta, Greece

Ethnicity: Greek-born but raised in England (Greek English??)

Family Members: not related to any of the Shelby’s or their friends by blood but by marriage/child through Tommy

Children: Tommy and I have a son together, little James Rokko Shelby. I met Tommy while he was in France as a tunneller, I was a nurse in the army and had to bandage him up fairly often. We understood each other well and fell in love and had a baby. Jamesy was born in France and is only a few months old when we get to go home

Face shape: oval

Eye colour: green

Hair colour: brown

Hairstyle: Long and wavy like a goddess

Skin tone: light olive skin (that tans easily)

Complexion: like a goddamn porcelain doll (not really but i wish so yeah make her beautiful!)

Body type/Build: thin with proportionate features

Height: 5’5”

Weight: 125 lbs

Breast size: 34b

Facial Hair: no thank you except for eyebrows

Scars/Birthmarks/Prominent Features: septum piercing (does that count?)

Preferred hand: Rightie

Health: able-bodied

Phobias: drowning, James losing his daddy

Addictions: whiskey and cigarettes because of Tommy (but she enjoys them responsibly because mom)

Mental Disorders: Has severe daddy issues from a messed up childhood, only Tommy knows the truth about it and knows how to comfort her and help the nightmares. She just needs to feel loved and taken care of and Tommy does that for her.

Attitude: SPICY very spicy, but also very loving and compassionate and friendly to those she trusts. She’s an actual Spartan so no one messes with her. She has resting bitch face (much like Tommy which is why they understand each other). She would literally take a bullet to the head for her son.

Expressions: lots of angry eyebrows, she bites her lip when she’s nervous or worried, lots of shrugs and “idk” when she is annoyed

Residence: She lives in Tommy’s mansion. She shares a bed with him (on the nights he actually sleeps) She’s the Wifey™

Political Affiliation: She grew up dirt poor so she probably secretly admires commies but she would never join herself. She tends to take Tommy’s side on politics whatever it may be at the moment

Friends: She is close with Arthur, Ada and Finn, but tends to butt heads with John. She’s friends with mostly everyone as she is known as Mrs. Shelby and likes to keep her acquaintances in good standing. Childhood friend of Alfie Solomons. He was her older neighbor growing up in Camden Town and she spent hours playing with him to get away from her dad. She is very good friends with Ekaterina, she took her in because she saw a tiny part of her younger, wilder self in her. And also probably Nikki and Denise’s characters- if that’s okay?

Enemies: She’s a Shelby now so anyone who crosses them is dead to her. She doesn’t like Kimber, Sabini, or anyone else that takes a stab at her husband/baby daddy.

Boss: Tommy is her boss, she is an integral part of the business because she handles ALL of Tommy’s paperwork

Pets: James has a small white dog that follows him everywhere and protects him at all times (You can name him)

Finances: She works for and with the Shelby family so she’s a Rich Bitch™

Marital Status: married Tommy in France by the river after she told him she was preggy

Sex Life: HELL YEAH smut this bitch up!

Lovers: she’s only ever fucked Tommy and isn’t tryna get with anyone else YET

Turn-ons: omg all the dommy!tommy stuff pretty much: choking, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, nipple tugging; when Tommy comes home covered in blood

Turn-offs: Creepy old men, she is very wary of men who remind her of her dad

Dom or Sub: sub but can definitely be dom and take control of the situation when asked (or hinted at)

Fantasies: I’m gonna aim high and say a threesome with Tommy and Michael…

Occupation: she manages all the clerical work for Shelby Company Ltd. so she’s at the office most days, but she’s with her little boy every minute she’s not working

Income: Shelby money

Work Experience: she took care of the wounded men at the Somme

Religion: I’m with tommy on this one: ALL RELIGION IS A FOOLISH ANSWER TO A FOOLISH QUESTION

Criminal Record: A baddie at heart and when no one’s looking but never on paper

Morals: morals because she has to teach her son to be a proper gentleman but also no morals because she deals with the Shelby’s and their enemies

Main Goal: Main goal is just to support Tommy and his terrible decisions, and raise their son and try to steer him away from the family business and send him to school to become a scientist or something

Ambitions: really just wants to be a good wife and mommy, set a good example for her son

Regrets: never going to school for a proper career

Secrets: Her dad was a real piece of shit and molested her throughout her infancy and childhood hence her severe daddy issues- Tommy is the only person alive who knows about it and can soothe her

Best memories: when she told Tommy she was pregnant and Tommy looked at her wide-eyed as a single tear started to fall down his cheek and the biggest smile come over him, he took her face in his hands and put their foreheads together “so you’re havin’ my baby eh?”

Worst memories: the last few months in France were akin to torture because everyday as she sat rubbing her growing belly, she hoped Tommy would come back at the end of the day. She was so afraid of seeing him go into the tunnels and never come back out.

Hobbies: She loves to knit little hats and gloves for Jamesy, she also knits Tommy some hats and he’s been seen wearing them only to be made fun of my his brothers. She also loves to have a few whiskeys with Tommy at the end of a long day ;)

Skills: she was an army nurse so she is a first aid expert and is the one everyone runs to when they’ve gotten hurt in a fight or an accident

Likes: rainy days by the fire, dark colors, flowers, laughing, being a mommy

Dislikes: blatantly rude people, people who overstep their boundaries, know-it-alls

Superstitions: the only thing she believes in is science

Quirks: she’s weird and clumsy but also very knowledgeable about certain things

Guilty Pleasures: talking back, getting people to admit they’re wrong

Strengths: charming, good with money, loyal to a fault, organized, she just loves to make sure her people feel supported  

Weaknesses: JEALOUS, a little vain, argumentative, doesn’t like to give in, can be childish

Languages: Greek, English, and French (learned it to talk with the soldiers)

Accent: from Camden Town so ?? Londony i guess

Speech Impediments: none

Voice: kinda on the low side but gets increasingly higher when she’s excited about something

Reputation: she doesnt really have one she’s just known for being Tommy’s wife/secretary and baby momma

Backstory: She comes from immigrant parents with 4 siblings so she was always kinda scraping what she could for herself and always very independent. She had a tumultuous relationship with both her parents and at the age of 18 she left to join the army as a nurse. She didn’t care what she had to so as long as she got to get away from her awful father. She ended up breaking off all contact with her family. During her time as a nurse she saw it all: broken bones, missing limbs, and strained spirits. That is where she met Thomas Shelby. He had been shot when he was brought in. She had never seen a soldier look so handsome and perfect while lying there bleeding. That was the first of many times she bandaged Tommy up and sent him back out to the battlefield. They became very close and eventually she became pregnant. It was shock all around at first and then instant excitement and love and hope for the future. They were married by the river in front of all their friends and Tommy’s brothers. Their baby boy was born in France but soon after they were able to come home and Tommy brought his new family back to Small Heath.

[imaginaireradical]

Why Capitalism Creates Pointless Jobs

It’s as if someone were out there making up pointless jobs just for the sake of keeping us all working.

By David Graeber

In the year 1930, John Maynard Keynes predicted that technology would have advanced sufficiently by century’s end that countries like Great Britain or the United States would achieve a 15-hour work week. There’s every reason to believe he was right. In technological terms, we are quite capable of this. And yet it didn’t happen. Instead, technology has been marshaled, if anything, to figure out ways to make us all work more. In order to achieve this, jobs have had to be created that are, effectively, pointless. Huge swathes of people, in Europe and North America in particular, spend their entire working lives performing tasks they secretly believe do not really need to be performed. The moral and spiritual damage that comes from this situation is profound. It is a scar across our collective soul. Yet virtually no one talks about it.

Why did Keynes’ promised utopia – still being eagerly awaited in the ‘60s – never materialise? The standard line today is that he didn’t figure in the massive increase in consumerism. Given the choice between less hours and more toys and pleasures, we’ve collectively chosen the latter. This presents a nice morality tale, but even a moment’s reflection shows it can’t really be true. Yes, we have witnessed the creation of an endless variety of new jobs and industries since the ‘20s, but very few have anything to do with the production and distribution of sushi, iPhones, or fancy sneakers.

So what are these new jobs, precisely? A recent report comparing employment in the US between 1910 and 2000 gives us a clear picture (and I note, one pretty much exactly echoed in the UK). Over the course of the last century, the number of workers employed as domestic servants, in industry, and in the farm sector has collapsed dramatically. At the same time, “professional, managerial, clerical, sales, and service workers” tripled, growing “from one-quarter to three-quarters of total employment.” In other words, productive jobs have, just as predicted, been largely automated away (even if you count industrial workers globally, including the toiling masses in India and China, such workers are still not nearly so large a percentage of the world population as they used to be).

But rather than allowing a massive reduction of working hours to free the world’s population to pursue their own projects, pleasures, visions, and ideas, we have seen the ballooning not even so much of the “service” sector as of the administrative sector, up to and including the creation of whole new industries like financial services or telemarketing, or the unprecedented expansion of sectors like corporate law, academic and health administration, human resources, and public relations. And these numbers do not even reflect on all those people whose job is to provide administrative, technical, or security support for these industries, or for that matter the whole host of ancillary industries (dog-washers, all-night pizza deliverymen) that only exist because everyone else is spending so much of their time working in all the other ones.

These are what I propose to call “bullshit jobs.”

It’s as if someone were out there making up pointless jobs just for the sake of keeping us all working. And here, precisely, lies the mystery. In capitalism, this is exactly what is not supposed to happen. Sure, in the old inefficient socialist states like the Soviet Union, where employment was considered both a right and a sacred duty, the system made up as many jobs as they had to (this is why in Soviet department stores it took three clerks to sell a piece of meat). But, of course, this is the very sort of problem market competition is supposed to fix. According to economic theory, at least, the last thing a profit-seeking firm is going to do is shell out money to workers they don’t really need to employ. Still, somehow, it happens.

While corporations may engage in ruthless downsizing, the layoffs and speed-ups invariably fall on that class of people who are actually making, moving, fixing and maintaining things; through some strange alchemy no one can quite explain, the number of salaried paper-pushers ultimately seems to expand, and more and more employees find themselves, not unlike Soviet workers actually, working 40 or even 50 hour weeks on paper, but effectively working 15 hours just as Keynes predicted, since the rest of their time is spent organising or attending motivational seminars, updating their facebook profiles or downloading TV box-sets.

The answer clearly isn’t economic: it’s moral and political. The ruling class has figured out that a happy and productive population with free time on their hands is a mortal danger (think of what started to happen when this even began to be approximated in the ‘60s). And, on the other hand, the feeling that work is a moral value in itself, and that anyone not willing to submit themselves to some kind of intense work discipline for most of their waking hours deserves nothing, is extraordinarily convenient for them.

Once, when contemplating the apparently endless growth of administrative responsibilities in British academic departments, I came up with one possible vision of hell. Hell is a collection of individuals who are spending the bulk of their time working on a task they don’t like and are not especially good at. Say they were hired because they were excellent cabinet-makers, and then discover they are expected to spend a great deal of their time frying fish. Neither does the task really need to be done – at least, there’s only a very limited number of fish that need to be fried. Yet somehow, they all become so obsessed with resentment at the thought that some of their co-workers might be spending more time making cabinets, and not doing their fair share of the fish-frying responsibilities, that before long there’s endless piles of useless badly cooked fish piling up all over the workshop and it’s all that anyone really does.

I think this is actually a pretty accurate description of the moral dynamics of our own economy.

*

Now, I realise any such argument is going to run into immediate objections: “who are you to say what jobs are really ‘necessary’? What’s necessary anyway? You’re an anthropology professor, what’s the ‘need’ for that?” (And indeed a lot of tabloid readers would take the existence of my job as the very definition of wasteful social expenditure.) And on one level, this is obviously true. There can be no objective measure of social value.

I would not presume to tell someone who is convinced they are making a meaningful contribution to the world that, really, they are not. But what about those people who are themselves convinced their jobs are meaningless? Not long ago I got back in touch with a school friend who I hadn’t seen since I was 12. I was amazed to discover that in the interim, he had become first a poet, then the front man in an indie rock band. I’d heard some of his songs on the radio having no idea the singer was someone I actually knew. He was obviously brilliant, innovative, and his work had unquestionably brightened and improved the lives of people all over the world. Yet, after a couple of unsuccessful albums, he’d lost his contract, and plagued with debts and a newborn daughter, ended up, as he put it, “taking the default choice of so many directionless folk: law school.” Now he’s a corporate lawyer working in a prominent New York firm. He was the first to admit that his job was utterly meaningless, contributed nothing to the world, and, in his own estimation, should not really exist.

There’s a lot of questions one could ask here, starting with, what does it say about our society that it seems to generate an extremely limited demand for talented poet-musicians, but an apparently infinite demand for specialists in corporate law? (Answer: if 1% of the population controls most of the disposable wealth, what we call “the market” reflects what they think is useful or important, not anybody else.) But even more, it shows that most people in these jobs are ultimately aware of it. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever met a corporate lawyer who didn’t think their job was bullshit. The same goes for almost all the new industries outlined above. There is a whole class of salaried professionals that, should you meet them at parties and admit that you do something that might be considered interesting (an anthropologist, for example), will want to avoid even discussing their line of work entirely. Give them a few drinks, and they will launch into tirades about how pointless and stupid their job really is.

This is a profound psychological violence here. How can one even begin to speak of dignity in labour when one secretly feels one’s job should not exist? How can it not create a sense of deep rage and resentment. Yet it is the peculiar genius of our society that its rulers have figured out a way, as in the case of the fish-fryers, to ensure that rage is directed precisely against those who actually do get to do meaningful work. For instance: in our society, there seems a general rule that, the more obviously one’s work benefits other people, the less one is likely to be paid for it.  Again, an objective measure is hard to find, but one easy way to get a sense is to ask: what would happen were this entire class of people to simply disappear? Say what you like about nurses, garbage collectors, or mechanics, it’s obvious that were they to vanish in a puff of smoke, the results would be immediate and catastrophic. A world without teachers or dock-workers would soon be in trouble, and even one without science fiction writers or ska musicians would clearly be a lesser place. It’s not entirely clear how humanity would suffer were all private equity CEOs, lobbyists, PR researchers, actuaries, telemarketers, bailiffs or legal consultants to similarly vanish. (Many suspect it might markedly improve.) Yet apart from a handful of well-touted exceptions (doctors), the rule holds surprisingly well.

Even more perverse, there seems to be a broad sense that this is the way things should be. This is one of the secret strengths of right-wing populism. You can see it when tabloids whip up resentment against tube workers for paralysing London during contract disputes: the very fact that tube workers can paralyse London shows that their work is actually necessary, but this seems to be precisely what annoys people. It’s even clearer in the US, where Republicans have had remarkable success mobilizing resentment against school teachers, or auto workers (and not, significantly, against the school administrators or auto industry managers who actually cause the problems) for their supposedly bloated wages and benefits. It’s as if they are being told “but you get to teach children! Or make cars! You get to have real jobs! And on top of that you have the nerve to also expect middle-class pensions and health care?”

If someone had designed a work regime perfectly suited to maintaining the power of finance capital, it’s hard to see how they could have done a better job. Real, productive workers are relentlessly squeezed and exploited. The remainder are divided between a terrorised stratum of the – universally reviled – unemployed and a larger stratum who are basically paid to do nothing, in positions designed to make them identify with the perspectives and sensibilities of the ruling class (managers, administrators, etc) – and particularly its financial avatars – but, at the same time, foster a simmering resentment against anyone whose work has clear and undeniable social value. Clearly, the system was never consciously designed. It emerged from almost a century of trial and error. But it is the only explanation for why, despite our technological capacities, we are not all working 3-4 hour days.

[yourplayersaidwhat]

Context: Rogue Tiefling (me), Cleric Dwarf and Human uhmmm I don’t remember but big angry dude basically- so previously we had a fight with a bunch of twig blights miraculously both our cleric and one of the twig blights rolled a 0 for initiative (both had -1 initiative and both rolled 1s) so I convinced the dwarf to kidnap the twig blight now we have a pet twig blight called Sprogert(more commonly called Sproggy-boy) we love him he’s in all of our campaigns now. But after we kidnapped Sprog (who is now tied to our dwarf back with some rope) and killed maybe 14 twig blights we came across a little house in the woods.

DM: So what do you want to do at the this small house?

Human: Is the door open?

DM: Nope

Tiefling: Lets look in the windows see if we see anything

Human walking round the back: alright sounds good

Dwarf already knocking: Why don’t we just knock

DM: A druid half elf opens the door “who goes there?”

Tiefling: Uh some young travellers

Dwarf: Exactly we’re looking for a quest

Half Elf Druid (HED): Well perhaps you could help me - you see I’m out here trying to protect the twig blights - but people keep coming round and killing them.

Everyone at the table looks kind of awkward

HED: Wait what the hell are you doing to the poor twig blight!

Tiefling ooc: I quickly lie to him (rolls 19 for deception)

Tiefling: We were saving this poor twig blights he was hurt - would you help us nurse him back to health

HED: Why of course.

HED then proceeds to turn around into the house

TIefling ooc:shit uh sprog isn’t hurt

Dwarf ooc: Think he’ll notice?

Tiefling ooc: not if I do this - I shank him when he turns around!

DM: You’re meant to be chaotic good, remember some npc’s are important to the plot.

Dwarf ooc(neutral good): Don’t hurt him he didn’t do anything wrong

Tiefling stabs the druid anyway

We’re suddenly in a fight with this dude and about 3 turns in I start realising what a bad idea it was to stab this druid I’ve went down to 3 hp our human is still around the back of the building and hasn’t joined the fight yet. our Dwarf has refused to fight but still lost some health from getting attacked. 

Tiefling: MAybe we should stop fighting

DM: the druid doesn’t listen to you 

We keep going back and forth trying to stop the fight with this really strong druid until finally he calms down- Then all of a sudden our Human breaks through the druids window and shoots him with an arrow.

Tiefling and Dwarf ooc: Both yelling why would you do that 

Fight starts back up again our dwarf still refusing to fight Tiefling also trying to calm the fight down 40 minutes of fighting later there’s a dead Half Elf Druid  a traumatised DM and twig blight and our whole team yelling at each other.