Wow, time really flies and before you know it's April. Meaning, a new Month to nominate posts that lightened your day. Please share it with us, copy, paste and link the post in this thread and explain why this particular post made you think, laugh or wonder. Maybe it was well written, maybe it was in-character in a way that you felt you really were given an insight in the character. Whatever YOU thought that stood out, let us know and provide a stage for the RPG member who made the post.
Nominee: BananaBadger
Game: Phandelver (Group B)
System: D&D 5e
GM: Chocoladevla
The Post: Click Here
BananaBadger can be a playful soul, adding to the games' atmosphere by crafting lighthearted posts that reflect the character's state of mind and life prior to adventuring for a wonderful group of players Choco brought together. This post in particular is a love story for all times, for all peoples and goat herders everywhere.
"Woe to women is about right!" Seraphim laughs, immediately taking an even greater liking to this debonair halfling. "Now, you look city-dressed and city-mannered, I bet you're a huge success with the ladies—or menfolk halfings!—or dwarves or whatnot!" Seraphim quickly adds, not wanting to cause offense to this more urbane adventurer.
"But you see ..." and here, Seraphim pauses to consider if Elreck had actually invited him into a long discourse. He had been told, by friends he trusted, quite bluntly that sometimes he talked to people as if they were his goats—all ears and no particular place to go. The problem was, though Seraphim was aware of this, his lifelong solitude as goat herder on the mountains had not really given him the skills to respond to or adjust to it. So, he knew he was possibly being a bore ... but had no remedy for it.
Which meant he launched into his story ...
"You see ... up on the mountains you really don't meet many women," he says with a helpless shrug. "In fact, you see them only really when you come into market once a month or every other month depending on the season, and even then you are very busy with your sales, your purchases and watching the few goats you brought in with you. After all, the priority is lining up mates for your goats to breed, not yourself," he says with a big guffaw, and then realizes—too late—that that last bit might have been what Father Olsen had called "a bit too much mountain air within the city walls, dear Seraphim."
"Well, as I was saying ... or maybe not saying that last bit, but was saying before that," Seraphim continued. "So how do you meet women in the mountains when you're a goat herder? I'm sure you've pondered this question yourself," actually, Seraphim realized only then and there—some people in this world may never have had to ponder that question—truly the world is an amazing and unbelievably large place with such different people in it! "But if you were to ponder it, then I'm sure a clever city-man like you would easily come upon the solution that it took us shepherds years to fabricate ... messenger goats!" he said the last words quite proudly, and indeed he was ... as all shepherds in the mountain region knew...if it absolutely, positively had to get there—then tie your scroll to a Seraphim goat! That's what they all said, indeed.
"So one day, I sent out a messenger goat to a camp I had noticed about three mountain tops over. I couldn't really get a good view of it during the day, but at night I could see a fire, a fire that would change places a bit from night to night, and its movement seemed to correspond to grazing patterns ... you know, so far up the mountain on certain seasons, facing the east side during the rains, basic stuff that told me that the fire was probably a shepherd's fire," that was the easy part of the story, it showed off Seraphim's clever deductive skills. So he stopped there to allow Elreck to appreciate it. Indeed, even Bear-Nuala seemed to give an admiring nod.
Then he continued. Unfortunately, into the rest of the story, none of which put Seraphim in a particularly flattering light.
"Well, so I sent over a messenger goat with a "howdy!" type of letter talking about the weather and the grasses and so forth—shepherd shop talk, you know. And the next day, my goat returned with a new letter. It was a shepherd! A very knowledgeable one at that with some profound insights into the weather patterns and as to what the cloud formations that day might mean. Well, crook knows crook, wool knows wool and shepherd knows shepherd as we say ... and this was one savvy shepherd. It was a delight to correspond with such a colleague, and we continued doing so for about a month. We exchanged recipes for cheeses, talked about different and very daring herbal treatments for goat halitosis, and all sorts of fascinating subjects. The month passed quickly."
He pauses. He thinks Nuala Bear is enthralled by this story, he can tell she has shortened her long furry-paw strides to allow the now short distance to the farm to stretch out to the end of Seraphim's tale.
"Well, the letters then started getting flirty and frisky! You know, that happens with shepherds up in the hills. But these ones were darn clever. Not low, rude jokes, but with some mighty fine wordplay and allusions to the grasses and the vales. And I could tell ... very tentatively, the other shepherd was trying to determine if I was a buck, a doe ... or a wether!" he laughs loudly at this ... a little spittle sprays the bear, but the bear has a thick fur and the joke is good. Ooops! Or is it? Maybe this city halfling is a wether?! City ways are strange, you know. Seraphim doesn't know how to apologize for that, so he just herds his story along.
"Well, now I had my inklings by now. The slant of the letters, some of the stories of times past ... and I thought this shepherd might be a doe. So I switched our language a bit, into the more standard common that had gendered pronouns, and boldly—oh quite boldly!—I used mine and asked for .... hers! And a her it was. And a buck she was seeking!"
Seraphim smiles.
"Well the next few days of letters were quite the steamy ones, I tell you. I think the goats were practically blushing all the way as they carried our letters back and forth. They could feel the passion radiating from those parchments! Sometimes we would send four or five goats a day, there was a veritable bottleneck of goats commuting to and fro on that valley! Oh .... those were good times."
He sighs.
"Well, eventually, we decided we had to meet. Of course, it had to work for the herds, but we read the clouds and the grasses and the winds, and decided that we could probably drive our two herds together in the middle valley where there would be enough water and grass for all of them for two days. It was only two days, we weren't going to risk our goats' health ... but it was also two entire days! When the time came, I practically flew into that valley with the goats clinging to my wings!"
"Well, that's when I saw her. And that's when she saw me. She was fairly hard to miss, of course, being a gigantic bugbear. And I was fairly hard to miss, I guess, with my stupid smile and eager face turned into shocked surprise. I guess, we had forgot to ask about that. Now...I'm not saying I am opposed to human-bugbear love. If that's what twirls your horns, then go for it! But ... we shepherds are old-fashioned, you see. At least I was. And so was she. Now ... to her credit. She stayed around those two days. We talked and talked and laughed and laughed. She told me some of her stories of past romances that kept me blushing and laughing all through the night. I admit! I fell deeply in love with that shepherd! But, it wasn't to be. I could see it in her eyes as well. I might be exceptionally handsome and rugged for an old shepherd man, but she wanted other things. And who could blame her? So, we parted friends. And we still correspond! In fact, she's looking over the rest of my herd right now. And, if I get a chance, I'll send a letter back to her and give her all my news. The only difference is, the goat who carries my message won't need to blush from the contents of the letter."
He smiles and nods to the halfling.
"But maybe you have a similar tale?" he asks, as he looks around to see that they have already arrived at the farm.
How had the time passed so quickly?!
Last edited by PlaidPeregrine; Apr 25th, 2021 at 08:37 PM.
Nominee: jbear Game: The Wandering and the Lost System: D&D 5e GM: Insacrum The Post:here
The Wandering and the Lost stars a motley crew of 'monstrous' characters who are striving to make a home far away from the dangers and the cruelty of the Pink Men races. They have settled underneath the leadership of Yddraixl, an Orc Chieftess whose carved a home out of a ruined fortress for anyone willing to pull their weight and build a thriving community of like-minded souls. Currently, the crew is tasked with trying to find their way to their de facto leader after a bunch of nasty Pink Men attacked their home, the intruders seeking a treasure hidden deep within the fortress. Fearing the safety for their leader, the crew took a shortcut down through some caverns that exist beneath the crumbling fortress, only to come across an awful nest of Stirges that have a hankerin' for some blood.
The post I nominate for POTM is jbear's absolutely magnificent scene of spearing a Stirge while rockin' like a lusciously maned rockstar. The post captures everything I love about the character An'mal. From the way he fumbles with remembering the magic word that'll help grant him extra strength to the way he stomps out a Stirge while looking like a Bugbear's equivalent of a Greek god, hair flowing majestically in the wind and all. Its humorous. Its witty. And it's a post I can't help but think about after nearly a month of its post date. The fact that it still makes me smile and laugh no matter how many times I read it makes it--at least in my books-- a post worthy of a nomination, and whether or not jbear gets the win, I just need everybody to know the glory of An'mal.
May his locks flow gracefully in the wind forever!
An'mal looked up at the buzzing swarm that seemed to shape itself into a dark living arrow diving down towards him. Him. All alone in the middle of the bridge. The bridge was clearly safe and sound to cross, but he had crossed alone. An'mal looked back over his shoulder to where the rest of the group ... seemed to be getting dressed up in some fancy blue clothes. Had they inhaled Fidget Shroom spores upon their travels without An'mal realising it and gone fashion mad? An'mal had seen it happen before. "Oi, you lot!" he boomed, his voice tumbling around the cavern, "Run! Run as fast as you can!"
The band was in danger. Stand by your band! That's what father had told him and father had known everything there was to know about bands. An'mal tugged out a javelin from their stash in his pack. He weighed it in his hand. The first giant mosquito, the tip of the diving spear was quite far away. "Alright magic stone. Let's see what ye got. Sparkle. Farkle. Larkle. Yarkle. Darkl..." The stone hummed in An'mal's hand. His face split into a grin as he waited for the tip of the spear to get a little closer ... a little closer ... there you go ... that's about perfect! An'mal stepped forward a skip and a step and hurled the javelin hard towards the first mosquito. In the blink of an eye he switched the vibrating stone to his good hand and lauched it right behind the javelin shouting the word that was clearly the right one to set off the wee kobold's nifty magic.
"Larkle!"
It was a good thing that An'mal's previous Yarkle had already activated the stone's magic for An'mal's short term memory clearly was not his strongest feature. Hurling the stone, now glowing, in the javelin's wake produced a most magnificent effect. I can not go on to describe any more of what happened to the javelin after the moment the speeding magical stone caught up to it in the air and seemed to set the javelin aglow a millisecond before the tip of the javelin ripped through the tip of the diving swarm with pin point accuracy. The magnificence of what would follow once the magically charged javelin obliterated its target in a spray of red so utterly, is for one much mightier than this humble writer to describe. Nay, I shall but describe the magnificent figure that An'mal struck seconds after hurling the pointy projectile at the swarm.
An'mal's fiery mane whipped about his face in slow motion like the mane of a rearing bronco. His perfect follow through left the muscles along his back, shoulder and all the way up his arm rippling, glistening for some reason in that dark tunnel, perhaps lit by the magnificently died hair of his forearm that seemed to dance like living flames. As he stood up, nay, rose up in the wake of his perfect throw, his mane rose up with him, still in slow motion, framing his face and his wildly bright teeth, the slightest puff of vapor (mint tinged) escaped between them as he exhaled with the effort, only to fall down around and settle perfectly back in place, just as An'mal stood perfectly in place; a statue carved in fiery marble, a figure one might have imagined for a moment that the gods themselves would pause their godly business to look down and gaze upon in admiration of a mortal's handiwork.
Nominee: Retry Game: Out of the Abyss Nominator: Frassasass Link to Post Raison: The PCs offered to take up NPCs and former PCs of the game and Retry valiantly took a former player's PC. Here we see him playing his original PC, Emdal, and Aurgus, the absurdly optimistic Gnome evangelist, debating if they can afford to take on Elven refugees in the Underdark into their group. Aurgus is all for it; Emdal, the survivalist, is not. A veritable Jekyll and Hyde situation is going on in his writing and it comes across amazingly without being overly long. Check it out, or don't.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Retry
With the foolish gnome's share offloaded to the new pointy-eared waste of air the dwarf recoiled back as the other fawned over the new strangers. The lad seemed over-eager to spread the spores that granted the party this universal channel of communication and the fishman voiced his agreement.
None of this sat well with the paranoid dwarf. When the torchlight figuratively was shone onto him as the gatekeeper to the joining of the two to the party or no Emdal's gut didn't hesitate. The answer was to be 'No.' More people, more mouths... more trouble. Could he bring himself to commit more souls to possible death though? Wasn't his hands already stained as is?
It was only through sheer luck that the furry prince even survived his wounds. Sheer luck and the divine power that would both be attributed to that insufferable gnome's gods. This though, felt different. Heavier in fact, likely because Emdal knew exactly what he had to say and to do so before everyone would show him for the coward he was.
"We be 'eadin ta Darklake. Shortcuts or not. I-i cannae think ye be wantin ta return there..." the words came out soft and almost jittery. The next line threatening to stay in his throat until he all but forced it out "I'm sorry - Ay gave ye enough ta 'elp, aye!" the dwarf looked to the wounded Elama with sorrowful eyes before shifting to gaze to Eldeth, trying to gauge his decision before turning to Laudan. He felt he owed her an apology for some reason yet the words were just not manifesting.
"Don't lad." his words echoed out coldly and left it at that.
"No, no - that won't do Emdal!" Aurgus called out in his cheerful way that seemed to spit in the face of the situation at all times. "Fear not! For like I said the scouts are fantastic at what they do! Where they fall short-" the gnome gestured to Ront "Our lovely reformed Orc pulls through! He's a swell fellow, unlike you've ever seen or known! Would - and have trusted him with my life!"
"Since the lovely Aryka has tended to your wounds, whats say we pull them into the fold? The more the merrier!"
"Lad - no! We shouldn't be takin on more mouth ta feed - especially ones heading the opposite direction we be goin!!" Emdal looked over to Rollo as assurance in case things went south. "Nay! We cannae support them ye dog-faced, cavefish sucker!" the dwarf snapped causing the gnome to recoil slightly "We must move on 'nd so should they!"
All the players are level 7 Bards or Multiclassers with at least 3 levels of Bard. They are all in a band, with a shot at winning the kingdom-wide Battle of the Bards, but they have been drugged, kidnapped, stripped of their possessions, and locked in a room under the sewers. The band's job is to find out who betrayed them, escape the trap-and-monster filled labyrinth, and make it to the competition as whole, functioning band. The tone is irreverent and bawdy but also extremely connective and loyal---as befits bards who are longtime bandmates.
In this post, Durza has recently gotten a magic item that lets her summon swarms of undead rats, and the band is fighting Souped Up Nightmare Bugbears (including a totem-dropping shaman), just by the ladder to the hatch that will let them out of the sewer.
Bothers requires just a few paragraphs to perfectly capture the entire essence of a D&D class; best of all she did it by using that class’ strong point—storytelling. In short, Bothers barded the ever lovin' shiz out of this post. Also, Bothers re-imagines orcs as Mancunians, and her spot-on Manchester dialect that enlivened the entire game is nicely displayed here.
A little known fact about Bards is that they are a kind of Druid. It is a fact that has been largely lost to the ages, in no small part due to the various inconvenient habits of Bards, like "getting all the attention all the time", and "being good at everything", and "chaotic WIS dump". When once again you find yourself cantering after a group of them, shrieking "FORKING BARDS" at volume, it's easy to forget where they came from. Even Bards themselves forget where they came from, because history is a perpetual act of curation, and there are so many other stories to tell.
Durza, though. Durza doesn't forget. Orc-raised, she was brought up amongst the Triumvirate - Bards, Ovates & Druids. Storytellers, seers, spiritual leaders. The joke that the ghost rats make is a popular one amongst the dead. She's heard it every year for as long as she can remember. At each Dumb Supper, the annual feast to honour one's ancestors, Durza has to sit in respectful silence with all the other living orcs. The dead ones hang around the table shouting "I'd rather die than come to this dinner party!" and "I see Arga's burnt the barms again - I'd rather cut me own head off than choke them down!", and then they all fall about laughing and have to pick their decapitated spectral heads up off the floor. It's rude to tell the spirits of one's ancestors that they are being rude, and Durza has been taught, via many spoon-rapped knuckles, to remain stoic and placid in the face of these kind of gags. She doesn't even roll her eyes.
The good thing about being a Druid that knows you are a Druid is that you can recognize Druid-like shenanigans when they happen right in front of you. Totems, for example. Durza doesn't really know what they do, but she knows enough to know they are bad news. "The totem," she tells the rats. "Take it out!" If they were live rats, Durza would hate to put them in danger. Even with their little ribs exposed and their eyes popped and their brains bloating from the chinks in their skulls, Durza hates to put them in danger. But a totem probably can't fight back.
As Jane shouts to the Baron, Durza adds her voice. "Beebs! Need yer over here!" He seems to be climbing back up the ladder, exactly the opposite direction from the correct one.
She turns her attention to Jane and Lythienne. Jane doesn't seem to have been hurt that badly. Jane herself has hurt every one of her bandies worse than this just climbing over them to go and pee while they are sleeping. Lythienne is being a weed. But Durza takes her point, and calls directly to the bugbear, in a conversational and entirely-inappropriate-for-battle tone of voice.
"Hey, Frall. Frall. Over here. I'm the one yer want. Don't leave me standin' here like piffy in the corner. Why don't yer pick on someone yer own size? You two an' all. Look here."
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Because the real treasure is the half-caf chimera milk cappuccinos we made along the way
✨🌟LEGENDS & LATTES by Travis Baldree🌟✨ High Fantasy. Low Stakes. RPGX Book Club