Iron DM 2023!

**Admin Choc** · #1 Jun 2nd, 2023, 05:58 AM

Fun fact, yesterday I watched a Documentary about the Netherlands, which was really fun and awkward to watch because it presented a clear picture how 'we' were seen by all of you

. And the biggest part of the documentary was the fields of Tullips and the windmills, and the wind turbines to be built everywhere because 'we' are such a flat country.

Anyway, besides being praised within a documentary, this is your month to praise a post!!! It may even be your own post that deserves praise, nominate that post and share your praise. If want to know how to nominate:

--- copy PotM May ---

You need to create a post in this thread, and explain to us why you thought this post was worth your nomination. A link would be appreciated and that is all it takes.
Yes, feel free to nominate your own post, there is no shame at all in doing that, if you want to share a written gem you are proud off, do not keep it to yourself but share it.
Nominate only ONE post, and vote only ONCE, that's it

Please keep in mind that if you spot a cool, original, awesome post -> nominate it for all of us to read and enjoy as well :-). Why keep it for yourself when you can share the fun and nominate the post in here?

Kaigen · #2 Jun 30th, 2023, 11:02 AM

Player (& GM): HotsuSama
Game: Walking the Dragon's Egg
System: Ryuutama
Post: Link

Context: The travelers are hunkering down in an abandoned shack to spend the night, when a magical statuette begins to exerts its influence over members of the group.

Reason: Placing a PC under magical compulsion is a tricky situation to navigate, given how it constrains player agency, but HotsuSama does an excellent job here of pushing the affected PC(s) in the proper direction while still leaving things open for the players to interpret exactly how that plays out and sets a wonderfully eerie atmosphere in the process.

Scene: Wreath's Wealth

MAP
Travelling
Jhan 13 (Summer), Night

A quick search of the room reveals some cracks in the walls from general wear - not surprising given the house's relatively remote standing, with the wind currents that cut through these hills on frequent occasion. Nothing big enough for even these little folk to appear from though. There must be something ghostly about them - it would explain how they seem to appear and reappear around the fringes of the room so effectively.

Night falls swiftly - there had been very little light left in the day. The house is ominous, but the sight of the sun finally dropping under distant lands is calming. The colours are amazing tonight, the sky blushing pink and orange. When the sky finally falls to slumber, the highlands are quiet. So is the house save for the occasional creaking of the house from the winds that slide across the hilltops, and Midori's constant fidgeting. The small folk are silent and mostly absent for the first leg of the evening - any blankets left out for them are ignored.

And then the tree seems to glimmer, even if for a tiny fraction of a second - Raziya's cat eyes perceive it most clearly, but even human eyes might catch it. Did the apples just tinkle like tiny bells? Maybe just the wind. But here are the little folk, all appearing again, their ruby-red eyes glinting. It feels like being in a dense forest, watched intently by the forest creatures in the undergrowth. If any of the Travellers move towards the Becille, they will be warned off, shooed away. They're only insistent, not hostile - yet, anyway.

bananabadger · #3 Jul 1st, 2023, 05:52 PM

Player: Dworin
GM: Dworin
Game: Eagle Eyes
System: FATE

Background: Murder in ancient Rome! The Senate has summoned canny characters to solve the crime.

Reason: By their nature, FATE games tend to be open-ended with players able to turn key narrative arcs. This format makes a murder mystery less of a Clue game with a pre-determined villain and more of a high-wire juggling act where everyone is suspect until proven innocent. In their GM post, Dworin manages to convey the flavor of the streets, reward a player for picking up a possible clue, and work with another on expanding a newly introduced angle--all in a tight, narrative focus. Where will it lead? Who knows! Not even the streets of Rome. But posts like this will make the journey worth taking.

Link to Post

The Crime Scene

The stone carver listens with attention to Dianthe's story, his eyes growing first soft then slightly moist as the fate of the poor girl is brought home to him. He raises himself to his full height, which is considerable, and instinctively takes a protective stance. Though he may be aging a little and his hair is beginning to thin at the temples, he has an athletic build and it's remarkable how comforting his presence is, especially considering that on a closer look his face is something that only a mother could love; a nasty mug made worse by the tattoos marking him as a freed slave. Yes, we all done heard about the girl, though we didn't know her name ... she didn't belong to one of them pairs as was regularly sent to the butcher. For a second he looks at Dianthe quizzically. Her explanation about the dream had not registered with him and he was wondering how this stranger would know the girl's name where even the neighbourhood gossips did not. Then the perfume of her attention rises to his head and he forgets his doubts. Whenever we seen her walk down the street before she was alone, usually clutching some paper and, ehhh, I'm really pleased as you like my stele, he adds a little incongruously, I'd be happy to help you, I would.

At that moment a shrill voice pipes up from the back of the shop, Glad she likes his stele, he is. Happy to help are you? Oh yes, mister, whenever there's a pretty face entering the shop you're all too ready to help with your chisel. Are you forgetting who keeps your house for you? Miserable cur! And she, look at her! Pretty as a picture. Do you think such a one would look at you twice? Pay for a stele for an orphan my ... A woman comes stomping up to the front of the shop, threatening the carver and Dianthe alike. Though the carver is easily a head taller her and must be double her weight, he visible cowers before the verbal onslaught.
But dear, you mustn't abuse the lady so. She is nice...
Nice? Nice?, the woman's voice has risen to a scream now, charge her double and see how nice she is. You're too dumb to see she wants something from you. And I don't mean your services.

Some neighbourhood women come rushing into the stone carver's shop; they don't seem surprised at the altercation but urge Dianthe softly to beat her retreat. She gets like this. If you give us the money, we'll take care of the stele for you.

Meanwhile at the building place, jorunn easily spots a few piles of rubble behind which someone could hide without being seen from the main street. Tracing the layout of the site with his eyes, he notices a route into a back alley that someone could follow without being noticed. All the loose debris lying around made it a risky path to rush along, far too easy to make noise, so any assassin would try to find better options but if he were surprised in the act it would be the path he himself would follow.

Standing in line at the bakery Levian can overhear the conversations around him. There is much gossip between neighbourhood folk who have nothing to do except stand queuing for half of the day but nothing that can interest him in the slightest until two women start excitedly discussing the age of the girl that was murdered here the other day. One thinks she was eight year old, the other says nine.

Any trail that might have been there for Aspacanah to find has by now been trodden into the stinking muck that covers the street. Footprints last no more than five minutes here and even a pint of blood would not cause any discernible difference to the mud. Shifting his attention to the building site, it is quite clear that the stony ground can not take imprints at all. Stains might survive here but look as he might, Aspacanah does not find any. Yet as he perseveres, he picks up the essence of the site, readying himself for the hunt.

Hotshot lasgun · #4 Jul 1st, 2023, 05:53 PM

i agree with bananabadger here

Retry · #5 Jul 6th, 2023, 08:56 AM

Player: 47Ronin
GM: That bear we've yet to get rid of, Retry
Game: -PRESS START-
System: Fabula Ultima

Background: The party is on their way to investigate the ruins of an ancient magical city via airship. As they near, a magical blast of energy knocks them from the sky! Thanks to quick thinking and kind dice they survive with mostly scratches and bruises. 47's chosen pre-gen character, Edgar, was flung about like a ragdoll and a bit disorientated from the whole ordeal.

Reason: This system frequently has status effects applied to either player or enemy. One such effect is 'dazed,' which is what Edgar suffered from failing his roll. I feel 47Ronin portrays the status effect wonderfully here while playing on his bond of 'admiration' for another PC, Blair.

Link to post

Quote:

Originally Posted by 47Ronin

Edgar

Edgar blinks to clear his eyes, but to no avail. It's like he's in a dark tunnel. Only, someone somewhere is calling his name. His heart is racing, like he's run a marathon, or he's just had the worst fright of his entire life. The voice sounds very familiar, like he's heard it before, but it's a long, long way away.

Then the darkness starts to recede, and he can see a little. At first all he sees is a colour. Blue. A pale blue like a clear sky in summer. He doesn't feels so good. Nauseous, as if he's about to throw up. But he doesn't, and the nauseau starts to recede. Only now his head hurts, and there are two points of amber in that sea of blue, like distant suns. Slowly, the colours resolve themselves into a face that he thinks he should know. And there's an arm around him, supporting him. "Blair?"

His voice sounds weak, even to him, and his heart is still racing. He doesn't understand what's happening. But a bottle presses against his lips, and a cool liquid fills his mouth. He drinks to avoid choking, and afterwards his stomach settles and his head clears, and he stares across at the concerned face of Blair Clarimonde.

"What happened?" he asks, but even as he does he remembers. He remembers rushing up onto the deck of the Daydream. He remembers Blair lashing them both to the rigging. He remembers his panic as the Daydream crashed. Then... nothing.

Edgar reaches up and gingerly touches his head where it still hurts, and his hand comes away with blood on it. He must have hit his head in the crash. Suddenly aware that they might not be out of danger, he forces himself to concentrate on his situation.

Blair's left arm hangs oddly, as if they'd injured it in the crash. "You've hurt yourself," he says, his voice full of concern. Unaware that Blair has already searched the Daydream for a tonic to cure his concussion, Edgar adds, "Let's see if we can find something for that arm. The Captain might have some tonics or potions."

He takes a wobbling step or two, and for the briefest moment his head spins and he has to brace himself against the rigging, but it passes quickly and he finds he can walk without assistance.

OOC
I rolled an 8 on my INS + WPR roll. If this is enough to find another tonic, sweet! If not, Edgar will use 2 Inventory Points and suddenly realise there's a spare tonic in his pack.

And yes, I agree with the Bond you've suggested — Admiration for Blair. It was already a part of Edgar's background, and the events of the crash would only have reinforced it.

Humble Athena · #6 Jul 9th, 2023, 03:24 PM

GM: Danilore
Game: Denizens of Dread: The Witch-Finder Chronicles.
System: The dreaded 5e

Link: June post

Reason: Frankly, all of Dani's posts are pure masterpieces, (as are most of the player posts). This one is just a single example of her juggling of a party split four ways, several NPCs, and an incredible mix of horror, humor, and wonder. I've been in excellent games before, but none of them have made the world feel as tangible and alive as Dani's interpretation of the Domains of Dread (And we're still only in the prologue!).

Note: While this is intended to eventually be a CoS game, so there may be minor NPC spoilers?, we are currently in a domain called Souragne, so anyone still avoiding location spoilers for the CoS adventure should be safe to read along.

Quote:

Originally Posted by DaniLore

Results

Tools of the Trade

Turning over Lena's hand, Pepin finally had a good look at the blighted blot that caused many a heart to fear. It almost resembles a hard goiter, or more aptly an abscess, except it seemed to have a life of its own, pulsating with a dreadful malignance. Lena's hand felt on fire, for the flesh around the blot was terribly necrotized and inflamed. Yet, the blot itself immitted a frigid cold, and if asked Lena would tell you she could hardly feel with that hand at all, as it had long been tingly and numb. She eyes Heim nervously during the inspection, shuddering as she half expected him to poke and prod the blot out of curiosity. However, she can also sense the Hin's guilt as he was handling her gently. Softly, she whispers. "Thank you, Monsieur Hin. I am very grateful to be alive.Merci Monsieur Hin. Je suis tellement reconnaissante d'être en vie."

Not sure if he really was one to thank, as he hadn't felt very helpful at the time, Heim quickly turned his attention to the solemn boy on the stool. Recognizing the trinket on the spot, Pepin happily accepted his old man's talisman, though his smile was all too short-lived.

"Marais." Pepin quipped, "Marais means swamp, we call it ze Sablet because to us it is neutral ground that belongs to one...ze only place one might be free." Still clutching the talisman tightly in his hands, the boy mood darkened as he gazed across the still black waters. "It is only that way because of ze Maiden and ze spirits that call this place home...but that will all change if ze Lord of ze Swamp has his way. Mon mère says he is just one of many spirits that are trapped in ze Swamp. By filling ze Sablet full of ze Dead, he has become very strong. Soon, he may be even stronger than ze Maiden. That is a scary thought."

"Sounds like yer Poppa was a right fighter, kid. Probably why the Swamp King brought him back and disrespected his body like that. Yer wrong, though. That bauble’s not the only thing left of yer Pops. There’s still you."

"Moi?" Flying a little sigh, the boy seemed uncertain if that was a good thing. "I don't know if I could ever be as strong and brave...my Papa was a true fighter of ze Résistance."

Once they managed to strap down Nedejde, the Vistana's precious vardo, their close-call launching off stirred up some uncharacteristic unease. It is rather odd, isn't it? The fact that he couldn't remember the events before gasping in sweet air was more than a smidge frustrating. Maybe his close scrape with Death scrambled his brainpan? Although his memory of Cardinna thankfully hadn't been gobbled up into the Nothing. Here and there, fragments were whizzling about, trying to sort themselves out...maybe the true culprit was the Mist? All seemed blurry after the Mist swept him away to this pit of bubbling despair. Despite the dreary scenery and atrocious reception he received, every Hin knows the true power of positivity!

Making his way over to Ez, as Ida had gone to check on Lena, Heim can see the Vistana is clearly having some trouble.

"Curses!Blesteme! Cursing as she fumbled with the long oar, clearly the woman had a strong aversion to sailing--as this was her first time crossing a body of water, let alone floating on top of it! "DoomOsândă on this dead river! Tis a foul omen! Where is the wind below?" Gritting as she expended her energy contending with the bayou, the pole-oar, and the buzzing flies, clearly this was nothing like the stories. They say there is wind in the waters just as there is in the sky, which oft helped ease some burden with steering, or vice-versa. Obviously, the Bayou did not have a strong current, if at all. Sensing the Vistana's displeasure, Ticăloşie huffed and stomped his hoof against the planks. Poking his head out from the vardo at the commotion, Pepin climbed up into the box-seat with a groan. From this perch, he could survey a fair distance, unfortunately by the looks of things he was a fair bit rattled.

"Mademoiselle, we are going too slow...and you are too loud."

"Bah!" Ez seethed, with veins popping from her neck. "If something dare pounces, I'll break this oar up its ruptură!" Incredulous, Pepin watched the fierce hunter struggle at something so simple. Souragniens of the swamp spent most of their lives on the bayou, so it was hard to relate.

"Pardonne-moi, I only say this because SÉVERINE also roams ze southern bayou...believe moi, she is much worse than ze beastmen. Papa said her hunting ground is guarded by ze three turtlestortues."

"So I'm too loud for this Sèverine, eh? Again, funny how we're only hearing of this NOW. Well, I can promise nothing without the who, what, or why." Flying a nervous laugh, Ez continued to clumsily steer them along at a snail's pace.

Scratching his head in thought, Pepin scrunched his nose. "Oh, they call her ze Ancient Terror....she is a python. I don't know why."

"Of course, it had to be a snakeşarpe!" Guzzling down the contents of her flask, the Vistana's deadpan expression was far from enthused.

Meanwhile, inside the vardo, Ida was at work assessing Lena's wounds. Trembling uncontrollably, still very much dazed, the tearful young woman could barely muster the courage to look Ida in the eye. Sharp little teeth had bitten chunks from her flesh, and though a potion or two had healed up those nasty wounds, they did not promise smooth and even results. Unfortunately, her fair face, neck, and arms was mottled with blaring pink scar tissue, which only emphasized the fact that she very nearly was whittled to death by a ravenous swarm.

Thankfully, Ida was not so stymied by emotion that she forgot about the stowed gunpowder Ez had saved for a rainy day. Ez had a mean swing, even with a skillet. After procuring some rats for later dissection, Ida imbued one of the mangled cadavers of bone and fur with light. Lena did not appreciate that, jumping dismay at the mere sight of the glowing rat, but with some gentle coaxing Lena proffered her hand for examination. The necrotic, pulsating blot appeared slightly larger by three centimeters and her hand was inflamed. the accursed taint had already spread to the blood vessels, crawling now up the forearm. Overall, if left alone, prognosis did not look good.

"I'm going to do somezhing about your blot. Zhe immediacy of its danger precludes caution. I will discuss it wizh Ez, and return. Prepare yourself."

Lena's eyes widened at the implications. Ida was not one to mince words or sprinkle the glitzy-dust of idealism on circumstances to make it more palatable. Whatever she planned to do, it sounded very...unpleasant.

Regardless, Lena was no stranger to hard luck. Shuddering, she weakly called back, "Do what you must, before He comes for me again...Faites ce que vous devez, avant qu'Il ne revienne me chercher..."

Hopping back on deck, Ida saw that the Hin had beaten her to Ez, though there was something different about the Vistana. The woman's complexion had shifted, and as often as she checked over her shoulder, Ez seemed thrice-wise anxious.

"Moarte to all şerpi!" She roared, her voice bristling with gusto at what was obviously a gutsy act. "Ahaha! I dare it to come at me! I've sparred with worse than the likes of a mere noodle with teeth, I tell you!"

Mouth dropping, Pepin's head swiveled this way and that, searching the black waters for signs of a-stir. "SHHHH! You really shouldn't taunt scary things! What if she hears?!"

Sensing a pattern here, as Ez loved nothing more than to do exactly that, Heim prodded the Vistana with questions--you know, to change the topic. Her brass prosthetic, for one, was unlike anything he had seen before. Well, apart from his own. As far as Heim knew, the Hin-sized prosthetic was one of a kind. Busy as she was trying to save the world as they knew it, might Cardinna be in the charitable business of selling flashy new limbs? Maybe it's a members-only thing?

"Lady Ez, you are from Darkon too, you said? Have you been to…Nevuchar Springs?" Heim asked as he glanced at the huntress’ prosthetic leg. "My ‘half-hand’ here was a gift from the Archmage of the Eternal Order. You are familiar with them?"

Choking on the last gulp of her flask, Ez glanced down at the Hin with surprise, clearly not expecting that--whatever THAT might be.

"Iartă-mă, my ears must be clogged. Did you say the Eternal Order?" Blinking, the hunter's befuddled look quickly swept to something cynically sheepish. "Aha, we Vistani are not big dabblers of politics, but yes I've passed through Nevechar Springs and heard this and that. Why, after the night we've had, a long soak in the hot springs would be nothing short of divine, no?" Fascinated by the Hin's shiny arm powered seemingly by magic, it certainly was a mechanical wonder. "Meh, I hadn't pegged you for an arbitor of the faith...to be gifted with something so special, surely they believe you are destined for something great." Rapping her chest, brimming with confidence, Ez flew a wide grin. "Vistani can sense these things too! Did I not say you have strong Destinysoartă? I'm glad you're alive and with us, you lucky Hin! Make sure you bring us some of that şansă, ahaha!"

Knowing how fixated Ez was on the subject of Luck, Ida interjected herself as it was highly coincidental running into two allies with prosthetics. Statistically, stranded in the middle of a bog, that seemed impossible--but she'd expend the mental gymnastics to think on that later. As for the here and now, Ida wanted to increase the probability of their survival.

"I noticed your proszhetic leg detached during our fight with zhe worgs...If you want somezhing more practical, I can transplant a living leg onto yours. It was a common procedure at Ludendorf University. Zhe only concern would be finding a worzhy donor - it would have to be a humanoid of your approximate size, and healzhy enough for zhe limb to survive zhe procedure, but I do believe I can do it for you."

Sucking in breath through her smile, Ez made a thoughtful pose as she mentally sifted through a plethora of nopes. One could say, the main concern here would be how to procure the perfect limb? Ez fancied herself a dancer with Death. Any ordinary appendage might hamper her luck. No, it must fit her style. So, she would accept nothing less than the leg of a great swordsman and nemesis--squarely won after a dramatic battle to the Death--sadly, she had yet to meet her match.

"That is a kind offer, Ida. It does pose a problem, detaching as it did in such dire straights...alas, I am a creature of passion and sentiment." Flying a sigh, the Hunter gave the raft another push before continuing. "For you see, just like Sir Heim, this leg of mine may be wonky but it was crafted with heart by my precious mentor after losing it to the Leviathan of the sea. It was a most tragic affair, I tell you." Curling a mischievous smile, Ez graced them with a playful wink. "No, I don't think I could bear to part with the old junky thing, nostalgic as it is. That said, it does have its uses..." As a demonstration, clacking her heel against the ground just so, with a click and springy swish, a silvered blade jutted forth from the toe-tip. "You can bet, a mangy scoundrel wouldn't see that coming! It has a secret compartment too. Very good for stashing gunpowder!" Belting a confident laugh, Ez was hardly taken aback by Ida's next question.

"Relatedly, do you have among your supplies a heavy axe? Or if not zhat, a heavy sword, or perhaps a very sharp cleaver? Somezhing capable of severing an extremity in one stroke?"

"Why, of course! What kind of Hunter would I be if I did not have ALL those things? I bid you check Nedejde, surely you will find something laying around--eh, what are you planning to do with said sharp-thing? Should I ask?"

"Nevermind that! You should keep your eyes out for ze Tortues!" Pepin blustered, finding this vital to their survival. "If we miss them, nothing good will become of us. To a big snake, we probably look very tasty!"

Drifting through the dark of night along still and stagnant waters, spotting any kind of land marks, especially something as vague as "Turtles" sounded next to impossible. Heim squinted, but he couldn't see anything along the gnarled embankment riddled with mangrove trees. Now and again, an owl would shriek at them, as myriads of glistening eyes peered from behind the shadows and tangles of winding branches. As they journeyed down the long strand of bayou, moving like molasses as the swamp seemed to ominously come to life, a gritty chorus of croaks sang to the travelers, warning of their impending demise, as buzzing mosquitos tried to steal a warm bite of blood. On a night like this, with the moon obscured by roving clouds, it is surely easy to lose one's way...However, Ida's focus finally paid off as they met with a surreptitious fork in the midst of so many unruly trees. On the starboard side, she spotted what appeared to be a moss-ridden rock, smooth and round...and two more of similar shape behind it. Draped in cloaks of verdant foliage, if not for her vigilance, they would have been easy to miss.

Once Pepin was made aware, the boy traced the Holy Shield over his breast with a heavy sigh of relief. "Great Belladonna! You found it, Mademoiselle! Those are ze trio of Tortues!"

The boy pressed Ez to steer them passed the rocky mounds, as best to avoid the lair of Severine. The raft continues on through unchanging scenery of spindly trees and murky depths swallowed in shadows. By the time they reach the second fork, the Vistana offers the pole-oar to Heim. "Gah! It feel like my arms are about to fall off! Here you go, Half-Hand! I leave my horse and home in your capable hands. I trust you lots, in fact, my gut tells me you're no stranger to water, no?"

OOC

An hour has passed, and yes you may take a short rest for every hour that passes by without incident. If you make it to Vesper's Island unscathed, count it as a long rest

Heim now holds the Oar, please give me a STR check. Ez and Ida will be the spotters this round. Snicker, also throw an extra perception/investigate to find the perfect tool inside the vardo. I'm not sure if you plan to dissect the blot, but that will require a DC18 Dexterity for a steady hand. Otherwise, make an attack roll and a medicine check

Mists and Foreboding Theo watched with morbid fascination as the strange lady fondly tickled Glorp's chin, apparently all too aware of the ill portends attached to the creepy thing. It would seem the two shared a bond, though it was still too early to guess what the repercussions, if any, might be. Little Glorp squirmed with pleasure, gurgling and burbling as one of its bulbous eyes flickered and winced under reverie. MlurglemurphGLUUUUUURGLE!

Transfixed, that is, unable to tear his eyes away from this bizarre display, "What? You want them to come, do you? That's certainly brazen, as it's a frightful thing to cross ze wrong side of a hag...ze one which plagues us is most ambitious too." Raising a brow, Theo glanced up at Beob. "He speaks of the murderous gnomes that accosted us earlier--If not for Sir Be-Ob I would be, as you say, Mince MeatViande hachée...but, right now, they are the least of our worries. I fear something nefarious is afoot. During ze attack, many tried to flee for their lives, but the Red Mists trapped zhem within ze boundaries of ze village...as vee speak, their lives are in peril. You see, when ze Mists are tinged crimson, there is no escape but a gruesome death. It is a horrid foreboding, for it means ze Lord of ze Dead is out for blood."

Shifting uneasily as Theo checked over his shoulder, they must not stay in one place for long. "Come, let us go. I'm not sure what can be done about ze poor souls, but if there is any way to save them...La Marraine may be ze only one who can."

Guiding them through the sickly forest and grimy shrubbery, now and again the wind carries the whisper of screams. Here and there, you spot crude little geometric baubles, fashioned from twigs, twine, and critter-bones. They hold an eerie malignance, some clearly dabbled with blood.

"We're not far, I've found ze way to ze tavern many a time...only, after what I have witnessed, it's rather hard to think straight. All I want is to see Noemie's smile...I hope ze chaos hasn't found them." Thinking aloud as they trudged through the damp and dilapidated brush, nothing but worries came to mind. "When that Scoundrel, Foquelaine, mentioned something of cannon-fire, I thought my heart would burst. By chance, did either of you hear it? Dieux! If that is truly ze case, best hope we arrive before ze Shérif..."

Pondering this, there is a sudden distant shriek, belonging to a large and unholy creature. It is a wrothful cry, and in a very short span the angry bellows sound closer and closer. Glorp bumbles a burble and shivers from his perch on Kosara's shoulder. Digging his feeble claws into the witch's garb, Glorp's thin little frown quivers with trepidation.

OOCYou're getting close! However, something wicked this way comes. Cotton and Ihinka, please roll a perception.

Skin Deep

Still clinging to her smarmy prey, Solene cooed with glee, overjoyed in fact, that this unholy union may result in conception--How wonderful, at her age, and with such a pretty elf boy! A daughter would complete their coven and grant power enough to corrupt the hearts and minds of all who stood against them...for this reason, if to please Mère Meliskella, she was resolved to stop at nothing than to have her way with this baby-faced hunk of man-meat!

Yes, that was the plan AND it was going swimmingly...until they were so RUDELY interrupted!

For Quasid, the illusion evaporated the moment he peered through Ptolemew's eyes. The imposter was horrifyingly putrid, her flesh hued a dark kale green pockmarked with pustules, warts, and deep-seated wrinkles. Her smile was truly harrowing to behold and her buxom chest had deflated, leaving only a bony exterior with clumps of skin sagging in odd places. Thankfully, this surprising twist did not derail Quasid's designs, but only hastened them! Elovhen, on the other hand, wasn't sure what he was looking at. A monster, yes, but was Solene trapped inside this hideous effigy? Could she be saved? Regardless of what the Fizzlenobbs do to him, Elovhen was resolved to thwart their wicked plans for Solene!

Crouched and moving into position, Ptolemew stalked closer to the whicker basket, now free of any interference from the hag's slimy toad. Alessa provided the perfect distraction, as she brazenly stepped into the kitchens. Having squandered her good fortune and the element of surprise, her options narrowed down to fight or flight.

"Go away!"

Hurling the bottle of highly flammable liquor, they all seemed to follow its fated path of trajectory. Striking against the stones, the bottle's contents splashed onto the fire, which spurned a red-hot incendiary burst. With her back facing the surge, the hag's long, scraggly black hair caught fire, as did the hems of her skirt.

"UHUU?! OHO! FIRE! JE SUIS EN FEUuUuUuU!" Flailing, the hag released Elovhen to instead focus all her efforts on putting out the fire.

Pouncing on this opportunity, Ptolemew sprung the latch holding on the wicker basket. Everything seemed to unravel quickly from there. White ears poked out, attached to a cutesy little face smattered with glittering red eyes, fiercely sharp and rife with fury.

It was Bouki! Shrunken to the size of a runty little bunny. Longears was crammed inside the basket too, flopsy and still a furry ball of chunk. Gripping the edge of the basket, Bouki pitched a scream, baring her sharp incisors at the hag.

"Oh no! What have you done?!" Solene screeched, pointing a long and crooked finger at Elovhen. Her glare obscenely wide with pupils narrowed to specks, disobedience would promise nothing good "Stop zhem! Don't let zhem escape!"

Of course, there was no closing pandora's box. In the blink of an eye, the white rabbit leapt from the basket and swelled in midair--growing and growing and growing with unfathomable speed. Shuddering beneath the weight of the creature, the table splintered to miserable shards as it gave way. Now thirteen foot tall and altogether something monstrous with her arms, neck, and torso hulking with a freakish amount of rippling muscle, after leveling a bloodthirsty glare on the hag, Bouki bellied a fierce roar.

OOCNow is your chance to fight or take cover, roll initiative! The entire Vespers is your battle ground! Thanks to the fire and unleashing the Bouki, you have a surprise round

A map will be provided round 1. Good Luck!

From the Crusty Ashes Much to Stefan's relief, despite the excruciating wait, ultimately his vigilance paid off.

"Blimey, it's been an hour hasn't it?" Cocking his head to the side, Elias regarded the wiggling rope with a sigh. His pessimism was certainly rearing a bit too oft today but how could the result be anything otherwise? As a forgemaster, he knew first-hand just how hot the flames could get. "Best we don't get our hopes up. It was worth a look, but it's doubtful the fire left anything for Nik to find."

Others could think what they want, but Stef knew his friend well enough to know he didn't gamble with fiddlesticks. For whatever reason, there was decent incentive to dive inside the Bread-Beast.

Snatching the end of the rope, Stefan dug his heels into the dirt and pulled with all his might, though noticeably there was nothing but deadweight tied to the other end. Elias rushed to action, taking hold of the rope further up, and together they hefted and heaved, until they finally dragged the heavy mass into the light.

"Great Sovereign!" The cleric's mouth dropped with clear astonishment, as the scrappy soul they pulled face-down from the Wish-Beast's innards was very much alive--though on the singed-side.

Coughing and covered in soot, Ler weakly lifted his head to peer up at the misty sky and moonlight, hidden behind so many whirling veils. Gasping in the humid and mildew-tinged air, to him it tasted ever so sweet. Honestly, he had believed it was the end...gazing behind him at the burnt remains, his chest tightened, as the one who saved him was now without a rope. "Nikol...he's still in there."

The scene that greeted the paladin-reborn was one of chaos. Laurie's incessant cackling was tinged with pain and terror. Cradling her gut, the trembling woman was curled up on the ground, gasping in rasping breaths as she laughed with tearful eyes distraughtly wide. The pistol-wielding gangster appeared that much more gritty and haggard as trickles of blood weeped freely from one of his eyes. Haas made a commotion as well, fervently rolling back and forth, trying to extinguish waves of invisible flames. Greatly disturbed by their suffering, Ler could hardly feel sorry for himself, as surely he must be the lucky one. Rising to his feet with a grunt, as badly as he wanted to rush to Laurie's side, the one who needed the most help right now was still stuck inside the Wish-Beast.

"Not sure how I'm standing here...but I'll be damned if Nikol martyrs himself for my sake."

"You and I both." Elias quipped, glancing at Stefan. "Even if we have to carve him out of there with our swords and axes."

Drawing close to the gaping hole in the Bread-Beast's underside, the trio called into the abysmal chasm, hoping they'd hear back from the indomitable ranger.

As for Haas, he couldn't wait. His patience was at its frayed limit, feeling afire as he was. Likewise, after losing his precious sight, Odie contended with doubt. How could he hope to surpass Vill's legacy, let alone avenge Club Armada, if he couldn't even shoot straight? Neither Elias or Odie weren't willing to sacrifice their precious memories, and Haas claimed to have none that were worth offering up, but Larissa had already made up her mind. It pained her to see the distress Haas and Laurie were in, as well as the near-hopelessness behind Odie's gaze. The curses afflicting them were particularly vicious. The whitemane was taken aback by the wildling's haste, as he swiftly set the heap of gimcracks ablaze.

As the fire took root and began to consume the wooden constructs, the flames sprang high with a bright violet hue, as everyone in the vicinity heard myriads of pitiful screams from the teensy effigies, adding just another layer of horror to the scene.

"End it... End it, now!" Haas urged, pleading for this agony to stop. Nodding, Larissa rose to her feet, for once feeling her extreme age aching deep from within her bones and sinews. Instructing the swarm of badgers to guard their perimeter during the ritual, once they were in place, Larissa slowly shuffled toward the altar. Elias had been so kind as to clear away the blood and fill the bowl with clean and crisp water blessed by the Sovereign. Rising up to stand upon the dais, it provided an excellent view of the rings of standing stones.

"Very well, then we shall begin..." Larissa said, gazing at her own ghostly reflection in the surface of the water. Staring deeply into the depths of the altar, the water begins to glow with a soft effervescence as the Shaman lifts her arms to the sky. Larissa speaks softly, words lost to all but the memory of stone, root, and sky. Gazing up at the endless expanse of swirling gray, the sky churns angry as she surrenders herself to the reverie.

The hiss of static sizzles across the vast, building to a crescendo, until a terrible crack splits through the sky, summoning a screaming bolt of lightning. The edge of the spear of light collides with the ground, striking the Wish-Beast's carcass and enveloping its deflated head with fire. Gasping at the pyrotechnics, Elias peels a cry as the paladin stumbles backwards only to fall on his rump into the muck. The wind was already sweeping the rapacious fire forward, eager to consume all in its wake.

"N-N-NIKOL!

OOCThe weight of the crusty bread is pretty suffocating, Nik will need a 15 STR to wiggle his way back out before the fire gets out of hand.

Wretched Rick · #7 Jul 9th, 2023, 11:12 PM

This is a post by secretID as a 5e DM in the West Marches open campaign. He's been a fantastic and consistent DM and player in RPGX for years and I was just looking to get him some recognition for it with this fun and descriptive post.

Quote:

Originally Posted by secretID

Evening Constitutional Convention

As the squad enters the convention area, the still evening air is thick with the scent of incense, adding an ethereal atmosphere to the surroundings. As they walk under and among the tents, they encounter mages from various backgrounds, each displaying their unique attire and magical accouterments. Some robes and cloaks are richly colored and embellished with intricate patterns that represent their magical schools or affiliations. Some wear pointed hats or carry staves adorned with gemstones and ornate carvings, serving as both a fashion statement and a tool of their craft.

Different sections of the convention area showcase different aspects of magical arts. In one area, the party observes mages engaging in animated discussions about the theoretical foundations of spells, debating the esoteric intricacies of magical formulas. Their conversations are punctuated by the occasional burst of arcane energy, as they demonstrate their theories through small-scale displays of magic.

Moving on, they come across a section dedicated to potion brewing. Here, alchemists gather around bubbling cauldrons, meticulously measuring ingredients and mixing colorful concoctions. The space is filled with the tantalizing aroma of herbs, roots, and rare substances, as alchemists seek to create potions with various effects.

Another area captures the attention with vibrant displays of elemental magic. Fire mages conjure controlled flames, weaving them into mesmerizing patterns that dance and flicker. Water mages manipulate droplets of water, creating intricate water sculptures that float gracefully in the air. Earth mages shape the ground beneath their feet, causing it to rise and form intricate stone formations. Air mages summon gentle gusts and whirlwinds, creating a delicate symphony of wind chimes.

In a corner, they find a small stage where performers entertain small crowds with their spellbinding acts. Illusionists captivate onlookers with their uncanny ability to deceive the senses, making objects appear and disappear, or transforming their own appearance. Meanwhile, enchanters transform ordinary objects, imbuing them with magical properties that make them useful or even dangerous, at least theoretically.

Throughout the convention, the crew can overhear conversations about ancient artifacts, mythical creatures, and legendary wizards of the past. Mages exchange knowledge and swap spell recipes, while others engage in friendly duels to demonstrate their magical prowess.

Amidst the animated discussions and vibrant displays of magical prowess, the adventurers notice a section dedicated to merchandise and souvenirs. It’s a small but bustling marketplace filled with stalls and tables adorned with an array of enchanted trinkets and mystical curiosities.

One booth catches the eye with its assortment of colorful crystals and gemstones. Each is said to possess unique magical properties, ranging from enhancing one’s focus and clarity to providing protection against malevolent forces. The crystals are meticulously arranged, catching the lantern light and casting prismatic reflections.

Adjacent to the crystal stall, one finds a cart displaying beautifully crafted wands crafted from various woods. Some are adorned with intricate carvings and embedded with gemstones, while others have feathers or other decorative elements. A few steps away, someone is selling selling spellbooks, scrolls, and various scribing tools and materials.

Further along, a car is laden with vials and bottles containing magical potions and elixirs. Each vial is meticulously labeled with its effects and instructions, and the merchant seems eager to explain the potions' properties and offer guidance on their usage.

And of course, no convention would be complete without a variety of souvenir options. T-shirts adorned with whimsical illustrations, featuring (presumably) famous mages and iconic spells, catch the party’s attention. There are also miniature replicas of legendary artifacts, such as magical swords and mystical staffs, perfect for display or as collectibles. Additionally, the adventurers find mage-themed keychains, mugs, and even spellcasting kits for aspiring wizards to practice their skills.

As the main group makes their way through the convention, their sashes sometimes seem to draw some attention, but I.I. notes no one present taking an unusual interest in the party.

Thirty minutes is barely enough to allow the completion of a first quick turn around the grounds. After checking in at the post and receiving a Atreyan’s approval, the party returns to traverse a slightly wider arc.

OOCPausing briefly to allow for any additions or changes. Otherwise, they’ll continue as already planned until something notable happens.

I have Bill with one potion and Avaelyn with the other.

I don't have Zolan's rest details, right?

Are you confused and wondering what is going on here? Check out this YouTube video to get the scoop.

Iron DM 2023!