D&D Highlight of my night: My fighter kicked open a steel door to get a zombie, hit the cleric that was also behind said door and took out half their health and only got the zombie for 3 points of damage.
My friends, I have a tale for you Of four young heroes, tried and true; Of war and flame and fear And of those who are no longer here.
When half the party left to fight A lich who swallowed up the light Three members stayed behind to check the town for clues They stopped inside a seedy bar in the hopes they’d find some news
Unfortunately,
A brawl they met when someone asked To buy this little redhead’s ass And then the dead outside came fast And so they ran away
They came across a little inn And once they were inside, They saved the people ‘t were within (The barkeeper, aside)
A greater battle now ensued, Defensively they fought A chanting voice the rogue pursued As the Inn became distraught
The Wizard did as they do best He summoned up some friends While others fought, they took the rest And many undead met their ends
The bard? She knocked some zombies out while checking on a friend But soon she’d find without a doubt That he would meet his end
A fire soon began to rage, the wizard getting worried A demon from below escape, and out the heroes scurried The bard, by now, was filled with spite Her friend and fan now dead She set out then to set things right (And rid the zombies of their heads)
From house to house the heroes marched In each one saving many The fires made the town grow parched (Repairs would cost a pretty penny)
The war pressed on when who should show But one who was thought dead The Paladin some news let know, And our crew was filled with dread
The friend, a bard and man of death The team then deemed their foe And since ‘twas her fault was his last breath My heart was filled with woe
But such a mourning was cut short Another foe approaching A goblin bard with his cohorts Signaled a war encroaching
The heroes from this battle ran Too many there to fight When the goblin brought surprise to all And tried to set things right
With zombies gone a silence fell And I must apologize But…tentacles made things…unwell (no doubt for my small size…)
Our big finale you all saw The rioting and spite An argument then followed on On what was wrong and right
And now you know the tale, good friends Of that long, noisy night
It was, perhaps, frivolous to spend her earnings on corals and seashells but to go without her morning ritual felt wrong to Joanna. She had lived inland for years, but the sea had never left her heart.
The Earth has lent thee thy body, the Ocean thy soul. To both thou shalt return. Words spoken during her childhood drifted like whispers as she ground the ingredients and the water into a fine pink paste. The sound of the pestle against the materials and the mortar felt like a strange sort of music. She hummed. The candlelit shadows of her bedroom danced.
Once it had smoothed, she placed the mortar down to set the paint, and cleaned her brushes. The first light of the sun began to pull away the dark of the sky; her clouds painted in familiar pink hues. She dipped a tiny brush into the soft pink paint, pulled her hair out of her face, and watched herself in the old, blackening mirror as she painted the tiny, delicate shapes onto her forehead.
“The sun brings forth the warmth and light, so that we might learn to grow,” she said, painting a circle. “But it is the moon who guides the sea, and through the see guides us along our path.” She painted a smaller circle within the first. She paused and took in a breath, placing the brush down in favor of a smaller one. Above the concentric circles, she drew a small triangle, pointed up. Beneath them, two small vertical lines. She let out the breath and swapped brushes again. The sunlight began to drift in from the window, drowning out her candles one by one.
“In this life,” she continued, “we are blessed with the drive to move forward.” She painted a small arrow at the bottom of the lines, tip up. She paused and moved her head around, checking the balance of the image in the mirror. The bottom of the painting rested just below her brows and was centered enough. She nodded and dabbed more paint onto the brush. “With the flexibility to change course.” She painted a line on either side of the circle, curved parallel to the shape, neither end quite touching any other piece.
“And the means to reach out and uplift others.” A pair of diamonds, small and almost insignificant, where the curved lines came to meet the dashes. She placed the brush down and examined herself again. The emblem resembled the skeleton of a fish, abstracted out. She smiled.
Joanna scraped the rest of the paint into an empty vial and placed the brushes into a cup of water. The sun’s rays filled the small bedroom, and Joanna took the time to extinguish her morning candles. “In this life,” she began again. She blew out the last candle and inhaled the soft smell of smoke as it drifted through the room. She paused and let herself feel the warmth of the sun against her skin. “We are blessed,” she continued, making her way back to the mirror. She took a seat on the wooden stool and jumped, only a little, when it shifted, legs uneven. “With the opportunity to grow.” She took a piece of her hair and separated it out from the rest. She started to braid.
“With strength of body.” A bird chirped outside her window. “With strength of heart.” Joanna closed her eyes. “With strength of mind.” The door to the bedroom creaked, just loud enough to distinguish itself from the bird. “And with strength of spirit.” Joanna opened her eyes and paused to look at the reflection of the room. The door was closed. The room was no more occupied than it had been when she had sat down.
“And so it is our duty,” she started. She took the small braid and draped it across her forehead, careful not to let it touch the still drying paint. “To spread our fortune; to bring a better life to all whose paths we may cross.” She tied the braid in place and held it away from her skin, a facsimile of a halo, or at least a partial one.
“Amen!” cheered a voice. Joanna, still focused on her reflection, watched the young girl fall with a giggle onto the bed. Joanna smiled. “Yes,” she said, “Amen.”
“You’re not dressed yet,” said the girl. She pointed at Joanna’s nightgown. Joanna retorted, “you’re not supposed to be up yet.” The girl giggled and Joanna spun herself around in the stool. “I hope you haven’t worried Sister Azalea.” The girl waved Joanna off. “She’s fine,” she reassured. “And brother Marcos?” “Is cooking breakfast in the kitchen,” the girl replied without missing a beat. Joanna nodded.
“Alright then, just give me a moment to get dressed.
– It’s still there. The only die you haven’t lost from your original set. It’s a d12. You’ve never rolled it once.
– The mini you’ve been using looks nothing like your character. You commission art of your character. The art looks exactly like you described. It looks almost exactly like the mini.
– The snack bowl arrives at your table. You reach over the DM screen to grab a chip. The bowl is empty. The session has yet to begin.
– A dice tower is constructed. The whole table goes silent. A d10 is balanced on a d4. You’re all silent. The tower sits, wobbling slightly. Silence. It crumbles for no apparent reason. You can finally breathe again.
– The DM draws a map. They’ve drawn a river on the side. It’s in red. A working blue pen is right beside them. No one mentions it again. No river is ever mentioned in game.
– A player’s character dies. Next session, they introduce their new character. Then themselves. You laugh. You know them already. Don’t you?
– You are telling someone about DnD. You want to tell them about funny stories with wacky hijinks. There are so many. You can’t remember a single one.
– This weeks session was cancelled. There is a disquiet at the time you should be there. Involuntarily, your hand shakes, then tosses a non existent object. Shake and toss. Shake. Toss. It is comforting.
– You roll for something important. The result is average. You look in the DM’s eyes pleadingly. They stare back for a moment, expressionless. They then say you pass. You feel relief, but a shiver runs down your spine.
– The DM hides behind their screen. They mutter softly. They look up, tell a player to roll for something, then look down, nodding. They don’t acknowledge the player’s result.
– You have many character concepts on hand. You love them all. You get a chance to play. You no longer have any character concepts you really want to try. At least, not until it’s too late.
– A dues ex machina occurs. Was the encounter unbalanced, or was it part of the plot? You aren’t sure. You’re the DM.
– Every time you look away, a die dissappears, and this one player’s cheeks get poofier. Eventually, their mouth seems like it’s about to burst. They do. Their mouth is empty. No one knows where the dice went.
– Someone tells an inside joke. It’s very funny. No one knows where it’s from.
DM (to our bard): The six cultists shove you to the ground, bow to the massive green dragon, and say, “Oh Great One, we have brought you this gold and this human sacrifice as tribute to your greatness. Please accept our offering.”
Rest of Party, looking on from a distance: Shit. He’s dead. He’s so dead. RIP Edward.
DM: The dragon thanks the cultists and asks if you have any last words.
Bard: I look up at the dragon and say, “I have brought you this gold and these six cultists as tribute to your greatness.”
Rest of Party: OH SHIT!
DM, who was clearly not expecting that: …………roll persuasion.
Bard: 17.
DM: The dragon says, “I like you. Duck.”
Bard: ….I duck?
DM: The dragon incinerates the cultists with his poison breath and leaves you alive, flying off with his treasure.
Nobody in the party is allowed to have a backstory with dead parents.
Tonight in DnD
Y’lryyg embarrasses Y’lryygself when they decide to help Din (demon possessed party mage) hook up with a cute Eladrin girl.
The party went through a host of shinanigans to help Din. This included impersonating a drunk, explaining a card game with interpretive dance, poorly impersonating the maitre’d, and sneakily causing the pair to hold hands (scandalously inappropriate in kobold culture).
All in all he was successful; until the pair got attacked by a giant wolf like creature.
For anyone sort of following the tale of Y’lryyg Triptrapp, I’m happy to announce that as of last session Y’lryyg is now a knight!
For the act of high treason (the murder of the great Black Dragon Mikrule) Y’lryyg was knighted.
Now, Y’lryyg and their friends are on their way to the Fae Wild to find their way to the Plane of Air to bring back the sky to the material plane.
“You have neat handwriting and no morals, go over there and sign ten signatures on the petition.” -Our Paladin to our Ice Sage
Sometimes, a happy little magical accident can result in a piece of a powerful mage’s mind breaking off and infusing an ooze that may be nearby. Provided the slime doesn’t simply digest the magical energy, eventually it can fuse with the ooze and become an Apallie, a sentient, sapient slime with the power to use Alter Self at will to pose as a Small version of any humanoid being.
Though an Apallie’s shapeshifting ability is great and its slam attacks are quite tough (1d3+2 +1d4 acid), the Apallie isn’t exactly one for combat. You see, it… You know what? I couldn’t say it better myself, so I’m just going to give it to you straight from the book.
“A newly formed apallie is typically convinced that it is a member of
its creator’s race. Its greatest desire is to join the society of its
progenitor, and it alters its form to insinuate itself into humanoid settlements.
“Such impostors are easily discovered, however, as an apallie’s true
nature reasserts itself as soon as the sun begins to rise. An ooze
discovered in this way often finds itself run out of town, forced to try
its luck in the next settlement, though some particularly stubborn
apallies simply assume a new form and return the next night under a
different guise.
“Apallies are nocturnal creatures, for any contact with the rays of
the sun forces them to return to their true, amorphous forms. Even when
its form is forcibly reverted, an apallie insists it is truly a member
of its creator’s race, and that it has somehow been subjected to a
terrible curse. Despite the ooze’s
relatively high intelligence, this unreasonable attachment to its
self-image persists even in extreme circumstances. If the apallie’s
creator was a different size from the apallie, the apallie still tries
to imitate that creator, attempting to pass as a small elf, human, or member of another race to which its progenitor belonged, and refuses to acknowledge the size difference.
“Apallies are more common in large cities that provide sewers and
other enclosed venues to hide in during the day and a healthy nightlife
scene in which they can pose as humanoids
when it’s dark. Some apallies find acceptance, and even success, in
such environments, though the small oozes never stop trying to prove
themselves to be humanoids, and any relationships in which they engage (whether platonic or romantic) nearly always end in a predictable disaster.”
Look at that. Look at that! They’re so adorable! They just want to be people! Some of them even fall in love! I’ve never read such an adorable creature entry before, and I feel so sorry for every slime child that gets chased out of a city.
A Quiet Respite 