May POTM

[Admin Choc]

May is a bit of a weird month; we have our 2 minutes of silence at 20.00 to think about all the casualties in all wars, Dutch Flags half-way up and the King and Queen putting flowers at the Dam, a huge famous square in AmsterdamNational Remembrance day the 4th of May followed by 5th of May 1945 was the end of WW2 for usLiberation Day the 5th. This year will not be the usual Liberation day, concerts and music everywhere, everyone dressed in orange (national color besides the red-white-blue)

Maybe next year we will embrace normality again :-)

Guess what else is happening in May?????

You guessed right --> another Month where we can nominate well-written posts, posts that made you laugh or wonder, posts that stood out and deserve recognition. Please share this with everyone at the Crossing by copying the post in here, link the post and tell us WHY you nominated this post. Being nominated is a huge reward already so get those awesome May posts in here

*** picture: our three Princesses ;-) ***

[Retry]

Nominee: Talkin
Game: Hoard of the Dragon Queen
System: Dungeons and Dragons 5e
GM: Chocoladevla
The Post: Post is set to private so I'll quote it below

The raisin: We all fail charisma checks in games - heck, I fail almost all charisma checks in real life! How you handle the failure is often what really matters and Talkin does so in such a fun way. Trying to prevent a massive combat Talkin's character, Cynar, attempts to convince a group of cultist to leave their task for another. Posing as a messenger for the very cultist he's trying to deceive. Due to a good roll on the DM's part, it fell through. Taking it in stride Cynar makes sure to do as much figurative damage as possible before exiting stage left!

Post:

 

Originally Posted by Talkin

[DaysUntold]

Nominee: hafrogman
Game: Descent into Avernus
System: Dungeons and Dragons 5e
GM: DaysUntold
The Post: Link

The reveal: So often levels and new abilities come and go with little explanation or in-game consequences. hafrog has never been a player to subscribe to such thinking and always waits for the perfect time to upgrade or explain new abilities. However, this was a moment over a year in the making. His character leveled up in February of 2020, and while he hinted at the changes his character was undergoing, it took until a few days ago to make his big reveal. It was well worth the wait. Not only did he paint the scene with wonderful imagery, he explored the emotions and insecurities involved with transforming into a werewolf in front of a tentative group of acquaintances, as well as the motivation that drove him to make such a decision.

Post:

 

Caleb Shaw The plan had been going well. Too well. They had let themselves become overconfident, let their guards down. Now they were paying the price. As Shaw wove in and out from behind Cosmas, he saw more and more bodies pressing against each other in their desperate attempt to reach living flesh. But the young paladin held firm... until he didn't. The huntsman heard, but did not see the repeated blows that pounded against Cosmas's armor, rending flesh wherever putrid claws could find purchase. Suddenly the warrior staggered back into the hallway, giving way under the relentless assault of the dead. Shaw could see him hesitate there a moment, bleeding from too many wounds. For a moment, they locked eyes. They both knew the same thing. If the zombies got into the hallway, it would be far too easy for them all to be overrun. Someone had to plug the hole. Time seemed to slow down as Shaw's blood pounded in his ears. He looked at the kid he called Blue. Those wounds were survivable, but not if he took many more like them. But dammit if the young warrior wasn't thinking about it, too noble for his own damn good. Behind him, Shaw could hear Ravi, the little grease stain. She had come up with another one of her schemes, this one for sealing the dead away, but it rather relied on them being corralled on the other side of the door. Even Longshanks and the damn bard were doing their parts. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. This was why! This was why he never let anybody in. This was the job, this is what he did. There was darkness in the world, and he couldn't waste time on this nonsense. He wasn't supposed to care this much. It had barely been two days. He hardly even knew these people! How had they wormed their ways in like this already? Shaw's eyes locked on Cosmas again and something inside him broke. The kid just reminded him way too much of a young man named Caleb, all ideals and sentiment. Caleb was dead and buried, but Shaw was damned if Blue was gonna end up that way too. He knew what he had to do. He'd been keeping it bottled up inside him for years. It constantly nipped and worried at the back of his mind, it was a constant struggle to keep it chained up where it couldn't hurt anyone. Last night he'd... he'd screwed up. He'd been running on too much adrenaline from the events of the day and he hadn't been paying attention to the moon. But now it would be different. This time he reached out of his own volition and willingly took one further step into the darkness. "Dammit kid! Get back!" The words left his throat in a bestial growl as his crossbow clattered to the floor, forgotten. Shouldering his way past Cosmas, Shaw aggressively stepped into the doorway, planting himself bodily in the path of the walking dead. He may well be damned already, but they wouldn't get past him. Not today. The pain was... exquisite. Bones that weren't meant to move in these ways shifted and changed under his flesh, bulging grotesquely. Fur pushed itself out through his skin, and his head stretched out into an inhuman muzzle. His back was turned towards his companions, but there was no disguising the fact something was happening. Fangs and claws spread wide, Shaw faced the dead and growled defiance. "You want blood? Try mine on for size!"

[pianoman90]

Nominee: Runetide
Game: Carrion Crown (Shuddering Dark)
System: Pathfinder 1e
GM:Pianoman90
The Post: Linky Link

Raison d’etre: It is not everyday that players get chances like this. An opportunity to really delve into some deep philosophical thought centred on what could be considered fairly trite and over-used concepts. Good vs evil, fear vs understanding, the unknown and untested coming back to haunt you. Runetide’s Xaro embraces all these concepts and stirs up some seriously well articulated thought processes all told through the guise of a gentle and generous halfling medium’s soul. The duality he expresses between his character and the spirit that currently shares a body with him as well as the considered and careful approach to assuaging a key NPC’a fears and embarrassment at her awkward line of questioning deserves all the merit I can bestow. A little man with an express connection the hereafter is causing ripples for the game and giving his DM so much to work with.

Post

 

Gameplay Post Traveler's Outfit Xaro Windbrook Xaro Windbrook Halfling medium 1 (Pathfinder RPG Occult Adventures 30) N Small humanoid (halfling) Init +4; Senses Perception +6 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 17, touch 15, flat-footed 13 (+2 armor, +4 Dex, +1 size) hp 10 (1d8+2) Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +3; +2 vs. fear Influence: 1/5 (Full control) -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 20 ft. Melee dagger +5 (1d3/19-20) or . . lantern staff +1 (1d4) Ranged sling +5 (1d3) Special Attacks spirit Medium Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +4) . . 0 (at will)—detect magic, prestidigitation, Mending . . 1 (2/day)—Identify -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 11, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 16 Base Atk +0; CMB +3; CMD 13 Feats Agile Maneuvers, Legendary Influence[UI] Traits analytical (ustalav), teacher's pet Skills Acrobatics +6 (+2 to jump), Climb +2, Diplomacy +7, Knowledge (arcana) +5 (+6 when taking 10.), Knowledge (history) +7 (+8 when taking 10.), Knowledge (religion) +5 (+6 when taking 10.), Perception +6, Perform (wind instruments) +7, Spellcraft +5; Racial Modifiers +2 Acrobatics, +2 Climb, +2 Perception Languages Common, Gnome, Halfling SQ finesse weapon attack attribute, spirit bonus (+1), spirit surge 1d6 Other Gear -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Agile Maneuvers Use DEX instead of STR for CMB Fearless +2 bonus to save vs. fear (stacks with halfling luck). Finesse Weapon Attack Attribute Finesse weapons use Dexterity on attack rolls. Legendary Influence Gain a different feat from each legend. Spirit (Su) A medium serves as a vessel to channel spirits—astral echoes of powerful souls from ages past that live on in myth and legend. Each day, a medium can channel a spirit through a ritual known as a seance. Seances take 1 hour to perform. Spirit Bonus +1 (Su) Gain a bonus based on the type of spirit you host. Spirit Surge 1d6 (1/round) (Su) Add a die to a failed check modified by spirit bonus, which can change it to success.Background and Personality: Xaro Windbrook spent most of his life in Lepidstadt, growing up the youngest son of a remarkably large family. Unfortunately, his family had left him much to his own devices. As the youngest of a large family, Xaro was pretty much ignored. This did not end well for the family, because Xaro was a natural medium. Spirits tended to aggregate around him, and they finally started paying attention when his personality seemed to drastically change day to day. It had gotten so bad that they had no choice but to send him to Havenguard Lunatic Asylum, where he would receive treatment for multiple personality disorder. The Havenguard Lunatic Asylum took him in for a short while, but found that there was a real reason behind his behavior, so he was returned to Lepidstadt, where he encountered Lorrimor at the Lepidstadt university. There he started getting better control over his situation by learning the nature of his influences and learning how he could make use of them. Xaro is a lackadaisical sort, mostly because he finds that motivation is a thing that is thrust upon him, not generated from within. That isn't to say he is completely overtaken in sloth; he just allows impetus to happen, instead of going out and making it himself. Despite his rough life, hisfamilial upbringing means he is used to working with large groups of people with differing abilities and wildly differing personalities. Gear: leather armor, dagger, lantern staff, sling with 20 sling bullets, automatic writing planchette[OA], candle (10), candlestick[UE] (10), holly and mistletoe, incense (oa)[OA] (10), masterwork backpack[APG], scholar's outfit, spell component pouch, 122 gp, 1 sp Loot: None Yet! The Archmage Locations: Arcane Redoubts, Areas of unusual magic, libraries, schools Bonus: Spirit bonus applies to concentration checks, Int checks, and int-skill checks Influence penalty: Begin to become frail. Penalty equal to spirit bonus to strength checks, strength-skill checks, Con chcecks, attack rolls, and non spell damage rolls. Archmage Arcana: Prepare spells per day as a mesmerist instead of a medium, gaining spells from the archmage and casting them as if they were arcane. Lose those spells known when no longer contacted by the archmage. Seance Boon: +2 damage to damaging spells to each target. Spells Gained: Level 0: Jolt; Level 1 (2/day): Magic Missile Showing the same patience for the daughter that the father had for him, Xaro takes the questions with some grace. "In my experience, people are afraid of the unknown, and for many of those who are afraid their first impulse is to destroy what they don't know. Burning is a common thing isn't it? Books, monsters, witches..." he replies. "There are a number of things she could be referring to though, so I can't be certain if she was implying anything. Wasn't there a fire in the prison? Eh, we'll figure that out in due time." ... Are you sure you don't want the Marshal to help you with this conversation? I only really have the facts, child. "As for you leaving, perhaps we might have to wait on that." Xaro started to explain. "If things are only getting spookier around here, then there's very little chance you'll be able to find someone to buy the place if you were to pack up and move out. Losing on that kind of money might be a problem. Maybe what we're looking into with those... whispering fellows and the prison might help clear that up! I know that I'm planning on doing some late night investigating tonight to help sort some of this out!" He considers her further questions, answering again with an understanding tone of her uncertainty. "It's certainly not nearly as accurate of a practice as, perhaps, stargazing, but think of it this way... both the stars and the dead are ruled over by competent goddesses, which means that for the most part none of those contingencies will happen. Lady Pharasma would never allow such things to happen so often." "Me? Feared?" Xaro asked in a joking appearance of bravado. Then, the illusion sags and he is just a sad and tired halfling. "Yeah. Sadly." he replied. "My own parents were the first. It's not like I CHOSE to become this, you know. I just turned out real unfortunate. And, to be honest... I don't blame people." Xaro gives a defeated shrug. "Most people only ever see what happens when an angry ghost lingers on, or when a phantom possesses someone with malevolent intent. Those are the squeaky wheels, if you know what I'm talking about. They get the attention, and they're what people fear. Sure, I might have been like that before, but I'm not that now. They fear me, but that's because it's a good idea to be cautious of strangers who have mysterious powers. I only hope that once people get to know me that fear will go away." Can we get back on track please? Ignoring the phantom's voice, Xaro wipes his face with a hand before continuing. "But as for your father, I know he had a very, uh, eventful life. Researched many things. In my opinion, he was the kind of man who would defeat evils with knowledge, but sometimes that knowledge itself may not have a bright origin." Suddenly, Xaro's eye's brighten. "And besides!" he exclaims a little bit excitedly. "Not all magics labeled necromancy is bad! There's actually a theory in some colleges that the cure and harm spells actually have origins in necromancy, and using Speak with Dead is completely legal testimony in court! There's a lot of spells from the school of necromancy that aren't actually evil, but it's the one school that DOES have those nasty ones in it. Raising the dead back to life? Good. Animating a body against it's will? Bad. I'm not much of a moral philosopher, but even the common people would not turn down a free resurrection, should it be offered. Yet both can be defined as bringing life back to a dead body." "The issue is that animating a corpse takes the body and fills it with negative energy, fills it with life fueled by Evil. Evil is a tangible thing after all: if not then paladins and clerics and angels are all blowing smoke up our as...sumptions." he blushes a moment before continuing. "Anyways, I don't think it's anyone's business your father's sins save for the lady of graves." Xaro concludes. Bravo, you've managed to rant at a distraught woman about something so utterly pointless as philosophy. "Of course I'm with you!" Xaro spouts immediately, actually excited that someone was willing to rely on him for the first time in his life. "I'm with you all the way. We don't need to know what wrongs your father did, but we can hopefully get his guidance one last time. Also I miss the man..." Xaro slips off the chair, dusting off his knees. "Let's go." he said. "I realize that I also might need a potion or two if I'm going to catch whoever's defacing the town safely. But either way don't worry. I'm no necromancer, I'm just a little man who has an express connection to the hereafter."

[Elanir]

Nominee: FraterChad
Game: Agents of Edgewatch
System: Pathfinder 2. Edition
GM: Begon Ugo
The Post: Link

Why this post?: In fantasy there are certain stereotypes that dominate the genre: the strong fighter, the knowledgeable wizard, the charming bard and the compassionate cleric, just to name a few. Everyone attempting to create a more interesting and memorable character knows that they have to search deeper in the character’s soul and give them some unique characteristic that will turn them from cardboard figures to life-like, realistic individuals. FraterChad does that by giving their own answer to the question: What if a healer is the one most in need of healing?

After a masterfully narrated prolonged battle against escaped animals and magical beasts, the protagonists (the Edgewatch agents) feel completely spent, physically and emotionally, having been unable to prevent the deaths of innocents and having almost been killed themselves. Each one of them has a different way of coping with the loss and the pain they have been exposed to. Phenex Anselmo, FraterChad‘s character, has a way of his own, not the right kind of way, but an all too human one - he uses pain to fight pain and keep away the ghosts. FraterChad manages to capture in their post the essence of the borderline personality disorder and they do so with extreme care, describing it in such an elegant, poetic way that it doesn’t offend or alienate the reader. I was so touched by the post that I wanted to share it with the RPGX community, even though the subject is a very sensitive one.

Content Warning: In the writer’s own words: If you aren't comfortable with self-injury and (fantastical) substance abuse, go ahead and skip the second part of the post!

 

Phenex Anselmo Phenex was happy that Brevo handled reuniting the surviving boy, Jerov, and his father. The scene brought everyone to tears, all but the dagger-eared cleric. Phenex watched as Jerov was brought out and embraced by his father, how the grown men nearly crumpled to his knees in gratitude and relief, how the gods were invoked and thanked for the small victories of the day (and make no mistake, Sarenrae remained always on Phenex's mind)...yet, Phenex couldn't help but fixate on Jerov's eyes. He cried tears of joy but Jerov's eyes were grey and placid even with the liquid sheen of emotion coating them. Phenex knew the look well. The thing's the boy must have seen; the things he will see over and over in those hypnagogic times when the veil between Golarion and the Dreamlands is weak and the monsters of the past are free to roam and roar. His father might have his own trauma from the day, but Jerov would be older today, a sliver of innocence permanently stained in this spot. It still smelled like rust and ozone. Jerov would remember the smell--scents stain the mind the most. Phenex cleared the phantom smell of iron and dank mud from his nose and bent down to his knees, his eyes level with Jerov's just as they had been back before the ankhrav fell. Phenex held out a fist. Jerov looked at his father with confusion before the man stood up to full height once more; Phenex remained bent at his knees and mutely bobbed his fist in the air. Eventually, the boy mimicked the action, a small grin forming across his face. He clashed fists with Phenex and, on contact, Phenex let out a melodramatic yelp and tumbled over, rolling and howling and holding his fist as if it were crushed to dust. "Y'oww! You're too strong, my friend!" Phenex cheered, still prone on the floor. Jerov smiled; Phenex smiled, and then the two laughed. Laughter helps. Eventually, Phenex rose back to his feet, his grim façade still pulled into a laugh-happy grin. "Being strong is not just beating the bad guys, though. True strength comes from being true to yourself, my friend. The nights will be hard, and it is okay to cry. I still cry--Brevo cries all the time, and he's the bravest guy I know!" Phenex laughed heartily but his eyes remained still. "Just know that the Edgewatch is here for you." He paused, his hand suddenly retrieving his symbol of the Dawn Flower. "And I'm obligated to say that Lady Sarenrae has shown brightly upon us this day." After Jerov and his father left, Phenex turned to Brevo before the wizard escaped to find the others. "My friend, a moment," he waited for Brevo to turn back around. "Apologies if I insulted you to the boy and his father," he started. Phenex was not, in fact, concerned about the potential insult--he knew Brevo didn't actually take offense given his reaction at the time. Phenex actually wanted a reason to say this: "I will meet you all back at the precinct, assuming this matter is resolved at least for the day. I left my lunch back in one of the merchant tents and I am starving," he lied. He didn't wait for approval.

Phenex, again   This might get a bit rough. If you aren't comfortable with self-injury and (fantastical) substance abuse, go ahead and skip this section. If it's not something we are waiting in the future, I'll keep this aspect of his character off-screen. Phenex retreated into a dark, unoccupied space nearby. He didn't know where, nor did he really care. Everything vibrated; Phenex could feel his vision narrowing, felt his heart thumping like a war drum as sweat beaded across his khaki skin. Even in the dark, Phenex felt the eyes, the endless stares of phantasms long suppressed, their voices calling out and reminding him that he was alone, unworthy, a dagger-eared bastard left to rot in the mud with all of the others. He knew they were true; he shook free the calming light of the Dawn, their voices eclipsing her's. She would be patient; she always was with him. Phenex was broken, his innumerable tattoos the visible cracks of his psyche laid bare. He collapsed into a chair, falling in to it at the wrong angle and causing it to shatter beneath him. He fell to the floor, the pain in his back and side a reminder that he was alive. It wasn't enough, though. In the dark, he unsheathed his knife and painted new lines of trauma onto his arms. He could feel the hot paint running loose against his canvas, his exposed ink burning. It was never enough, but it was a kickstart for the real escape. He fiddled with his pack, staining it with own scarlet paint, and found a healing potion. He smiled in the dark, then popped the cork and downed the bitter liquid. "Faint taste of cinnamon, allspice, and a pinch of sugar--well made," Phenex noted as his skin suddenly began to tingle. The tingling led to burning, a fiery itching that was as satisfying as it was distracting. He needed the distraction, and it worked: the voices of the past were gone replaced with the buzzing ecstasy of pure positive energy rushing to stitch him back together: a broken boy held together by bottled magic and memories. Phenex didn't know how long he spent in the dark, but it couldn't have been long. It was never long enough. Maybe one day he would find the real score, get shunted off into the Positive Energy Plane to swell up and burst like a miniature star. It didn't matter. He pushed open the door back into the light of day, looking as good as new, and left to reunite with the other agents.

OOC Phenex popped a healing potion, healing for 4 HP.

[zevonian]

Nominee- Marshmallow
Game- The Spiders Web
System- Cyberpunk Red
GM- Marshmallow
The post- Click me for I am a link.

Why this post?
First, please note this also clickable link, for it will take you to a thread, in Players Seeking Games, that Marshmallow started six months ago to talk up the latest version of Cyberpunk. The TTRPG, not the video game.

Second, consider that this site used to be called DnDOnlineGames. Why did it change to RPG Crossing? To represent that we play more than "just DnD" here.

With that stated, I ask you to consider the rarity that is both a game featuring a fairly new iteration of a non draconic system and a game first rooted in the Players Seeking Games section.

And then behold the game thread's opening post. As color filled as the Core rulebook, which should you ever read both thread and book, you'll know what I mean. The words used, the info conveyed, gives the perfect glimpse into a post-post modern world both mecha-fantastical and smartphone era believable.

It is exactly the kind of post I was hoping for when I first accepted the GM's invite.

Oh, and there's a threat of death by Murder truck, right there in Episode 1, Post 1. You know you want to read that.

 

Delivery Day Station 45 wasn't the most well-known of bars, after all, most people outside of CZ Gangers are smart enough to not go into the old NC metro stations... Except for one lunatic gang who turned one such station into a bar. Station 45 was the kind of place you knew about before you went and if you do happen to go, you're certainly not there for the booze or the atmosphere. The air inside would be clean if it wasn't for the haze of smoke that gathered up and rose around the booths and climbed the stools of the bar like a snake climbing a knotted tree. In the corner was a screen playing whatever junk the local Datapool was spewing out, light flashing from its little corner as bright colours exploded across the screen and the eyesore of a yellow banner with pearlescent white letters popping into sight. Yellow sparkles exploded out from the words, if not for the screaming announcer loudly declaring "JUST_PRINCESS!" across from this insult to graphic design there was an audible groan from the bartender, whose face was decorated with extensive dragon tattoos and the expression of a man who has seen this intro far too many times in his life. In the far back of Station 45, safe from the assault of visual sins and (relatively) safer from the screaming announcer was a booth nestled comfortably on the end of where the tracks, or at least where the tracks used to be. The booth was occupied by three men. In the center (and closest to the domed wall of the rotunda-tunnel) was a mohawked and battered-looking man, to his left was what a person who would be aptly described as looking like a rat of the human race: scabby patches of hair on a bald head, virtually no body fat, deep-sunk eyes and a long surprisingly pink nose with a shoddy pistol openly holstered across his anorexic chest and two poorly self-rolled cigars hanging between his teeth as he chattered and twitched. Both cigars were lit. The rodent man was sat opposite the antithesis of himself, who was the man on Theo's right: This guy was big, his forearm had been replaced with a synthetic alternative that was visibly decorated to represent his gang colours, one might describe his stature as herculean if it weren't for the obvious fact that his muscles were plates. "That is absolute Дерьмо!" declares the Rat-man, who stood up with his arms raised outwards in some awkward fashion to make himself look larger. "It's simple turf rules, Nagetier." retorted the man opposite, his german accent coating every word as he calmly sized up the skinny guy before him. "You lost the warehouse to those Malestrom Psychopathen, we took it from them. We now have your product and you sad, sentient müll men are lucky we are offering to sell you the product back." "For thrice the price! But you know that isn't why we want the warehouse back!" "You want it back because you produce your dirty low-quality synthcoke from the labs stuffed inside. Labs which now belong to us, kopf knacken" "What are you even going to do with them?! You don't even know how to distribute smash, let alone synthcoke!" the Rat-man hissed, his pale skeletal face now turning a dark shade of red whilst the pitch of his voice began to ascend. "You're all a сброд идиотов! I bet you can't even read English you big, stupid kraut!" the ratling screeched, at this point, even the tip of his pink nose was going a strange shade of red. All of this commotion had attracted several heavily armed men who had gotten up from their own seats and walked over to the booth, all of them wearing the same dragon that decorated the barkeep's face on their persons. "Everything alright, arkadaşlar?" one of them asked, the Rat man turning his attention to the newcomers. "Хорошо?! Хорошо?! Нет, не все в порядке! Я пришел сюда для справедливого и нейтрального слушания, а вместо этого получил этого тупого придурка, который не сказал ни слова за десять минут, и этого большого механического людоеда, говорящего мне, что я должен заплатить втрое больше за свой собственный кокс!" the rodent screamed, his cigarettes bouncing on either side of his lip as he spewed his fury and vitriol at the armed men, who simply looked at one another, then to Theo. "Want us to kick him out, seraşvan?" one of the armed dragon-decorated gangers asked, the question poised towards Theo. "Kick me out? What, do you think you're tough? Think you're a большой парень?" the twitchy rodent-man asked, within seconds his hand was zipping to the holster, pulling the handgun free and sliding a single bullet into the chamber, the next second it was cocked and the barrel was pointed at one of the guards faces. "This большая обезьяна идиот thinks he can muscle in on our business? Нет! Нет happening! We smuggled all that gear in! We set up that lab! We produce the coke! Not them! Это никогда не будет и-" there was a crunch as the german ganger reached up and gripped the significantly skinnier man's wrist, twisting it on itself with a simple movement of his hand. The gun fired as it fell from the rat's fingers and cracked the display in the corner. Despite the visual display of the immaculate and curvaceous avatar of Just_Princess flickering and producing an incorrect colour spectrum, the sound system was still polluting the atmosphere with her over-excited voice, she was giving a 'The entirety of which, could be disproven as nonsense and drivel by anyone experienced in the violent cultures of the various Combat Zones.Princess' Lesson' about the Combat Zones of Night City and preaching about a new charity she was supporting, unaware of the violence happening before the playback of the datapool's recording "So remember my royal subjects, if you donate a minimum of 150 Eddies to 'Screamsheets for Scavs', you can get access to my True Fans private data pool and I'll even give you a super special shout out at the end of the next episode! Now, I'm going to take a dip in my lovely new pool with a special thanks to Aeon Entertainment for providing us with a brand new studio and living area, ciao!" Elsewhere... There came a clacking of metal against metal in the dimly lit room, screens surrounded the inhabitant as they tapped away at a keyboard, looking up from time to time. The buzzing of electronics and the clanging of pipes rattled throughout the small domain. A list of contacts came up on the left-most screen, the smallest of the ten mounted before the clacking metal. Four numbers were selected. An icon appeared on the main, central screen and the figure adjusted its shoulders and the distorted audio was recorded. [Listen up chooms, you've got your first job. A client of mine needs a package delivered to the attached address in the CZ of Old Japan Town. The pick-up is at Sǐ yáo gān avenue, on the outskirts of the Little China CZ, you'll be meeting a Biotechnica representative who will hand over the goods. This is a regular delivery, normally someone else covers it but they got shot up something awful in a fight over a warehouse or something like that. The client is on a need-to-know-basis, so you gonks don't go opening up the package and taking whatever is inside for yourselves. I've heard the usual team sometimes get into scuffles with local Scavs. The direct route would be best taken in a vehicle - car or truck or something; Though I've been hearing chatter of a 'Murdertruck' prowling the roads of Old Japan Town with some new gang moving in, even Maelstrom has been talking about it, so maybe you'd be better off hoofing it. Anyway, I'll know if you don't turn up, so you better get to it. The handover is happening tomorrow, at 14:25 PM. 2,500 Eddies each, yes, that's after my cut. - Arachnid] The voice was distorted and heavily edited as usual with no footage or video feed to identify a caller from and a number that seemed to change every five minutes. Arachnid had put out his first call to action and without knowing it, had set off a chain reaction of events beyond the scope of even his own planning.

[lostcheerio]

Nominee: Lazer
Game: Battle of the Bards One-shot
System: D&D 5e
DM: Fillyjonk
The Post: The final performance of Minstrel/Maxtrel, at the Battle of the Bards

It's likely this post won't make a lot of sense to you when you read it. It's astonishing to me that so much shared story and collaborative character-building could be done by relative strangers in just a few months, that the interior of this game could become so unique and specific, but here it is. Fillyjonk's original adventure, her dedicated DMing, the players' mad abandon, and our breakneck posting rate created this enthusiasm and energy between us that is hard to describe or capture in a summary. But this post shows a few things.

First, while Lazer wrote the song that frames the post, and collected and organized all of our work, this post includes writing from all the band members, which we posted and developed in a separate "Set List" thread, for Lazer to draw on for this final show. Our whole game had been leading to this scene, when we would escape from kidnappers, destroy those who plotted against us, and make it to the stage. All the wildness that you see here, as chaotic and emotional and loud as it is, reflects the shared effort of all seven players, and the DM who managed us through it.

Second, in the post that follows this one, you'll see the end of the game. After over 900 game posts and 3000 posts in our lively OOC during the five-ish months of the game, Fillyjonk valiantly tied it all together there, and then broke it all apart. She sent us on our way in a simultaneously fractured and unified way that really reflected all of our big feelings at the end of this wild ride. Filly started with seven, thinking that a few would drop, but no one did. We posted 5 days a week, sometimes more, rarely fewer, and stayed together. This final post from Lazer brought us a lot of happiness, and a great feeling of satisfaction: we did it!

Finally, this post really shows what PbP can do. This type of collaboration would never have developed in a tabletop game. Not only the pace, but the character connections, the straddling of ridiculousness and pathos. And this post itself, the culmination of all of it, was a uniquely PbP kind of thing. So yeah, though it's sometimes hard to express why we all love PbP, to me it's never been more clear than in the relentless creativity and joy in language that came out of playing with all the writers represented in this post.

[Admin Choc]

Nominee: Saratek
Game: Lost Mine of Phandelver
System: 5e
GM: chocoladevla
The Post: over here (protected thread so only Reds can read, I'll quote the post in a spoiler)

Reason for nominating: the most basic and simple reason: saratek did not have to make a post like this; and did it anyway. This group had been suffering by players leaving, BUT two players are still going strong since October 2017 and the one additional players since November 2017. When the fourth player was leaving a month ago we were at the final chapter, just headed towards the final combat but it could not be done with only three characters. And adding players was no option, I had nothing to offer anymore, one more big fight and that was it. I invited Kweheri (who made a new character) and Saratek who was willing to take over the character from the player that left.
And they both made it work! We have finished this adventure and Saratek decided to go out with a blow. A death scene is always a challenge to write and a treat to read but this post was more than that. It as completely in character (not even his own) and he went beyond expectations to write this post.
To me as a DM it felt so respectful, so thoughtful and it helped this group to reach the grand finale with honor and dignity. Again, he did not have to write this epic death but did it anyway, he went all the way.

Tip of the hat to that

 

Clethinthiallor Torinn Silver Dragonborn Oath of Devotion Paladin Darkness enveloped the dragonborn's senses as he fell backward into some kind of pit. That darkness seemed to only last moments before he could feel and smell a sweet breeze passing over his snout. Opening his eyes, gone was the dingy, cold halls of the caves where he'd fallen, replaced with a lush field of grass that bent just slightly from the wind. Pushing himself up to a knee, and then up to standing, Torinn looked over the landscape. He stood upon a massive field of even green. Off in the distance, he could see several citadels with massive black domes. The sky above looked like burnished silver that moved as clouds would. He almost didn't see it at first, but then a point of light in the distance started to become larger and larger as it seemed to quickly be moving towards him. Watching, but for some reason feeling not even a drop of fear, he saw as the shape slowly grew massive wings, a large body, long neck, and a snout all adorned with scales of what appeared to be platinum. Standing and waiting, he watched as the gargantuan dragon landed in the field several yards away. The force of its wingbeats nearly pushed Torinn back a step, but the paladin stood firm against it. Walking up to him, the dragon's voice came as a boom even though his mouth didn't move. "Welcome, my son, Clenthinthiallor. You have done well from what I have seen. You not only upheld my tenants but brought justice to a foe that looked to pervert your realm in the vilest of ways. Come," the dragon said as it began to walk around the paladin, "Walk with me towards my palace." It was only at this mention that Torinn looked out into the distance towards the summit of the sole mountain that dotted the horizon. It looked to almost be a star visible on the horizon that coincidentally lined up with the summit, but as his vision seemed to unnaturally sharpen and focus, Torinn could see the 'star' was really a great palace built of platinum with windows made of numerous colorful gems. As he walked, the weight of his armor seemed to fall away, and for a moment the dragonborn didn't realize he was moving far faster than his feet would have normally taken him. It was only after he noticed the grass beneath him fading into a wash of green as it screamed by that he took notice of the wings carrying him. "Ahh! You've finally noticed," the massive, platinum dragon said in an amused tone as Torinn turned his head to see that both he and the dragon were in flight. Gone was the body of the dragonborn he had been birthed into the realm of the living with. His body had been transformed into that of a large, silver dragon, allowing him to cut through the sky on wings that felt so powerful, yet so light given the strength it should take to bring one's body to flight. Turning and cutting through the air, barrel-rolling in his new form as he dove and climbed to rejoin the platinum dragon, Torinn asked a question both he and the platinum dragon already knew he had an answer to, "You are my lord, Bahamut, aren't you? And this is the realm of your palace?" Bahamut only seemed to smile at the former dragonborn before he beat his wings and led the paladin quickly towards the palace. Setting down on a large balcony with a swirling mithril floor that looked like it could muster an entire army, Torinn followed the platinum dragon in through a large, silver and gold arc into a great hall whose walls were inlaid with countless designs in copper and ivory. The windows made of numerous gems cast a rainbow of colors onto the floor. Walking forward, Bahamut moved to atop a large pile of coins, gems, and other pieces of treasure where he took a seat. Torinn followed but stopped short as his mind tried to take in all he was seeing, all he was feeling. As he made his way towards his god, several other dragons of varying colors seemed to emerge from smaller halls and alcoves that dotted the sides of the great hall. They moved to join him on each side, welcoming him with warm feelings and greetings as he stepped forward to stand proudly before Bahamut. Looking to the others at first, Bahamut's eyes settled on the former dragonborn before his voice rang out to announce, "We welcome Clethinthiallor Torinn to the realm of dragons, in a form more befitting his servitude, in reward for the undying devotion to Good and Justice in my name. Welcome, brother Clethinthiallor. You've finally arrived home." Then Bahamut raised his maw skyward and let out a massive blast of sparkling breath that hit and cascaded along the curve of the hall's ceiling. The dragons all around Torinn did the same, creating a rainbow of tremendous force that seemed to rumble the palace before he found himself joining in. He'd never felt so at home in such a place, or in such a form before. Bahamut had welcomed him into his next, ascended form of existence. The fight for him was seemingly over, and he could feel reassured that his sacrifice had not been in vain. While he felt for his former allies, they would one day know the glory of passing on into such a realm as he now found himself if they kept to their paths. Torinn was finally home and could rest.   Starting Position: R-23 Actions Deceased Reactions OA: Longsword: +6 to Attack, 1d8+5 Slashing Damage Rolls   Clethinthiallor Torinn, Level 5 Silver Dragonborn Oath of Devotion Paladin HP:0/44(0/49), AC: 19 (Splint Mail+Shield) Initiative: XX (+0), Speed: 30ft, Senses: Perception 11 Saving Throws Str +3, Dex +0, Con +2, Int -1, prof-Wis +4, prof-Cha +6 Abilities: Str 17, Dex 10, Con 14, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 16 Condition: Breath Weapon; Resistance to Cold; Divine Sense 3/3; Lay on Hands 25/25; Spells: 1st-0/4; 2nd- 0/2; Channel Divinity; Temp: CD Duration 6/10 Spells Prepared: Bless, Compelled Duel, Shield of Faith, Thunderous Smith, Wrathful Smite Oath Spells: Protection from Evil and Good, Sanctuary, Lesser Restoration, Zone of Truth Notes: [HP]