January PotM 2023

[Admin Choc]

Happy New Year to all of you reading this!!!!
.... and ofcourse an extra very happy new year if you are here to nominate a post that you thought was a blast in December 2022 ;-)

This is the first month of a new year, it can not be worse as last year and the year before, but I have to say; the posts written and nominated in here were always a spark of energy and happiness! Please understand that it is not only fun to do, it is not only showing gratitude for the writer of the nominated post but also you are sharing inspiration.
We respect you for doing so...

Having mentioned that: start nominating!!!!! Hopefully, lots of great posts will be written and/or already have been written, show them, share them, put it in the spotlight.
Remember: please only nominate ONE post and only provide ONE reference/link to the excellent awesome post.

[bananabadger]

Player: Horseman
Game: Reluctant Heroes
System: Homebrew D&D before the 1.1 brouhaha made Homebrew D&D cool!
GM: The very same Horseman
Post: The Nuptials of Darian and Byrda -- The Parties Arrive

A marriage ceremony! Maybe you've had one. Maybe you've had more than one! Maybe you wish you never had one! But ... regardless, they are a fixture of life, and sometimes of roleplaying games. And yet, true to life, unless you are in the ceremony or footing the bill for it, they are kind of tedious to attend and often seem rather maudlin from the outside looking in. But, hey! Here, Horseman sets up the matrimonial drama between a PC and an NPC with flair and a mounting sense of anticipation. Don't worry though, he's not going to go ALL sweet and pretty on you. There will be an ambush and a fight scene later (as any good wedding should contain). But for now, in this post, Horseman transforms us to a magical moment of downtime roleplaying with his wonderful descriptions and narrative place-setting. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to witness definite PotM material!

Take me to the Wedding Post!

 

The Journey The wedding party was assembled. It included Darian, Byrda, Haakon, Siv, Ulric, Shaylyn, Ranamir, Laufey and Dominic guiding them. Dominic takes a quick look over everyone, making sure his instructions were followed. He pauses at Ulric, looking at all his weapons, Are we going to war or a wedding Swede? He shakes his head. Dominic has a boat prepared, and it is filled with barrels. It's not clear if there is anything in the barrels, but the ruse was clear, they were simply transporting cargo. It was apparent that Dominic changed his appearance, he appeared as a younger Halfling merchant. Dominic steered the boat along the canal to the west, passing a few other boats. Shaylyn notices a splash in the canal, there are fish in these canals. At this hour it was surprising the amount of activity in the canals below the main part of the city. It certainly wasn't rushed or packed, but not deserted either. There were still people working all night long here and there. Enough that it would be nearly impossible to pass through these canals and tunnels and not be noticed by someone. Dominic guides the boat to the Noble, or Villa, District. There are several sets of stairs leading up to street level, Dominic moors the boat near the last set of stairs before the canal ends. Unlike the other districts, this district has guards leading up to the street level. Dominic hops off and goes to one of the guards. Handing a coin purse to the guard he says, We are going to a wedding, a noble marries a commoner, and it must be kept quiet. The Lord is a high ranking Teuton, and it is her daughter. We ask to pass privately. The guard looks through the coin purse, satisfied, he lets them pass. Halfway up the stairs to ground level there is a landing, Dominic opens a secret door and leads the party through. The wedding party notes that Dominic moves about the city effortlessly, intimately understanding how everything operates. Now the wedding party is in rough-hewn tunnels. Vardariannanur manages to take his eyes off Byrda so he can walk in the near complete blackness, he begins remembers these tunnels, he escaped the city from them decades ago. Captain Geen strikes up a torch to help illuminate the tunnel. The party moves on and the scent of stale musty air floods Shyla's nostrils with a hint of whale oil from Geen's torch. Ulric can see no recent tracks on the floor of the tunnel, no one has been here for years. The tunnel eventually slopes down, going deeper below the city, Shyla's keen hearing picks up the sound of water dripping in the distance, Ulric can feel the humidity level of the tunnel rise. After walking some distance the descent levels of and a pool of water can be seen, with water dripping down from above. Dominic looks up and says, We are now crossing under the Epona River. Then he enters the water and is soon up to mid chest wading across it as he comments sarcastically while pushing through, This is a new development. The party passes through the partially flooded portion, Ulric hardly gets wet, whereas Dominic is soaked to his armpits. Then the passage begins to rise, moving steadily up and starting to corkscrew in wide turns. Finally the party comes to a cut stone foundation. Anxiousness grows on Vardariannanur and Byrda, knowing they will soon be wed. Entering the stone foundation, Shyla can see that these are elven cut stones in beautiful intricate imitation of the roots of a great oak. The roots form an arch, inside are stone benches and a narrow set of stairs circling up. Dominic stops here, We are under the Shrine of Maedhros, I will stay here He then looks at the Priest of Thor that Geen has brought to officiate, Sceldwa The halfling points his mangled hand with only two fingers in a wave toward the stairs. Sceldwa moves to the front and commands the wedding party. Parents, or those who stand in for a parent,will pass first, then the observers, then marrying man, then the marrying woman. I will follow. Pause at me to be purified. The wedding party starts to file forward, Sceldwa takes a jumiper branch from a bag and mumbles a praryer while holding a hammer symbol over the branch. The little purplish white berries begin to glow, then the branch is firmly smacked against the shoulder of each party member passing, Vardariannanur's face is stung by the branch, but he doesn't feel it. Moving up the passage are carved stone panels depicting different points in the life of Maedhros. The first is The Two Trees of Valinor, Telperion and Laurelin, the Silver Tree and the Gold Tree that brought Light to the Land of the Valar in ancient times. Then Maedhros taking the Oath Fëanor. Next the Kinslaying, with Fingon wielding his infamous sword, Kinslayer......... The capture of Maedhros by Morgoth, Thorondor the Eagle saving Maedhros, the March of Maedhros, on and on the panels went as they rose. The party emerges from a hidden door in the base of the Shrine of Maedhros. Vardariannanur had been here many times, sitting in silence looking into the still water of the small pool. The pool was now empty, desecrated with blood. Ranamir comments, That's Elven blood. Everything is overgrown, dried vines climb up the shrine, dead trees lay rotting in the Grove of Tinondel. Once the party has emerged the Sceldwa arranged everyone. The air is clear, Epona Falls can be heard roaring in the distance, making it's 200 foot fall to the Western Ocean. Few clouds intrude in a blanket of deep bluish black, lit by bright stars and new moon hovering overhead. The smell of raw nature assaults their senses. Sceldwa indicates for the couple to join hands and stand in front of the Shrine of Maedhros. The mother of the bride, Siv standing in and the father of the bridegroom, Ulric standing in, are urged forward by Sceldwa. Come forward and bless the marriage.

[4eyedBadger]

Player: DaysUntold
Game: The Coils of Veles
System: D&D 5e
GM: 4eyedBadger
Post: Broken

Reason for Nomination: In this post, DaysUntold’s fiery, Jinnborn wizard, Nae’laa, finds herself and her party lost within the living labyrinth demiplane that the Minotaurs call Mazuli Sul. Surrounded by a shifting, mist-shrouded maze-city and pursued by the silent skeletons of the lost bull-folk, Nae’laa and her companions must find a way to appease the darker spirit of the maze, known as “Broken” and appeal to the nobler spirit of “Poet” to let them pass.

While every player’s post in this round was incredibly evocative and powerful, DaysUntold crafted a post that delved deep into Nae’laa’s past, her complicated relationships with these companions, and her own pain at having been abandoned by her people. She wove in every bit of lore available to her and capped it all off with a heartfelt poem to appease the spirit. This truly is one of my favorite posts ever. I think you’ll see why it was so impactful, both within the story and to the reader.

 

Nae’laa ran in silence as she reflected back on the others whom had debated the fate of their companion. Had there been such a debate before she was sold off? Had her affliction been so offensive to her own people as Azar’s heritage was to this woman and her culture? Something tugged at her mind. Broken. The voice of Arous-ok-Hebb whispered to her as if sharing an intimate secret. Nae’laa had been broken. In truth, she still was, as much as she tried to tell herself otherwise - perhaps more now than ever. Longing. Loss. The emotion washed over her, suppressing her own fear. How long had it been since she was home? She couldn’t remember now. Did anyone miss her? Had her parents been the ones to send her off? How she longed to be reunited with that which she had lost. An overwhelming sense of loss punctuated the longing. Something was missing. A part of herself? No. Not herself? Then what? The whispers were no longer like that of Arous-ok-Hebb, instead taking on the voices that often spoke to her, often when she consulted the flames, though not always. What were they trying to tell her? She pulled at the string they dangled in front of her, yet the pattern it had begun weaving unraveled before she could glimpse it. Her thoughts continued spiraling. Had no one been willing to stand up for her such as this Milkherem had done for Azar? She had simply waited while the others argued, waiting to see the result. Should she have been more outspoken? Would she have left the woman behind? Would she have stayed with her? Return Return? There was no going back, she was sure of that. When she had gazed back behind them it was as if it were a place they had never been before. Nothing was familiar and she knew that finding their way back would have been an impossible task. She scoured her mind for answers, for solutions, yet the faster she pulled on the thread the faster it unraveled. Poet It was poetic, wasn’t it, that she found herself in this labyrinth pondering a scenario that reminded her so much of her path with a woman whose powers were so similar to her own? So close to home. There were tunnels here that would bring her upon the threshold of her own homeland, that she was sure of. She couldn't remember how she knew this, exactly, but she knew. She ended with more questions than she started with by the time the ground began to move beneath them. It took a long moment for her to clear her head and realize that Vrakiras was singing. His voice echoed softly off of the narrow alleyways and for a moment she thought he was going mad, yet as she watched the maze itself responded to his voice. She stood in awe, mouth slightly agape as she watched the mist recede with each syllable he recited. The song was beautiful, even if she couldn’t understan- Imashmon… Nae’laa’s thoughts snapped back into place as the string of musings that she had been tugging at spun together into a beautiful, tragic tapestry. Imashmon. Suddenly Nae’laa was back around a campfire listening to a refugee singing in exchange for a respite from the harsh desert and a few gold. Minotaurs were common enough in the towns and cities her tribe traveled through. In fact, the ruins of Cindass and Roshgazi, the very cities the dragons had destroyed and Arous-ok-Hebb spoke of, were remarkably close to where her tribe roamed. This particular bard, however, had spun a wondrous tale of a man driven to heartbreak. He called it Blood Moon. She had been asked to weave the flames of the campfire into effects to accompany the man’s song, as she had done for many others before him. Afterwards, she had sought out the minotaur, wondering of what it meant. He had told her the history behind the tale. Of Roshgazi, the Moon Kingdom, and its fall. Of the dragons who razed cities with their relentless attacks. Of a large fleet of minotaur warriors who were said to have sailed away and been lost to the sea three hundred years ago. Of Mazuli Sul, the Maze incarnate and how the tragedy had driven it into madness. Of the Broken and the Poet; two, yet one. She had dismissed much of it as the natural embellishment of events passed down over centuries. However, at the mention of Imashmon, the ancient queen, the memories flooded back to her. As did the rumors of those same missing minotaurs returning and venturing into the Maze with the promise of mending the heart once more. She had paid little heed to the rumors at the time. Yet, here she found herself, walking upon the very ground she once doubted existed, tormented by a living maze fighting desperately to keep them out and arguing with a priestess who held a burning hatred for dragons. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks as she watched Zenda dance to the minotaurs haunting tune. She thought of the thousands lost in the war. She thought of the collective wound the minotaur culture bore and how it manifested within Mazuli Sul itself. Before she realized it, she knelt, pressing both hands to the ground, her head lowered and her smoke-like, wispy hair falling across her face as she gazed downward. Her body glowed, then dimmed as arcane energy flowed through the magma-like lines that criss-crossed her body and seeped into the ground beneath her. This was not the energy of a harsh blaze that would scorch the earth, leaving it a barren wasteland. This was the energy of a cleasing fire clearing way for new things to take root in land more fertile than it was before. It was the heat that warms and nurtures, and she poured it into the maze around her. A small amount of energy, however, she fire boltdiverted towards a dead Cyprus tree sitting several hundred feet in front of them. It burst into flames, lighting the way like a giant torch. Within it, several shapes and figures began to appear as she control flamesmanipulated them, all the while reciting the song she had heard so long ago. She didn't sing causing it to come off as more of a poem, and she wasn't a performer, so it wasn't nearly as entertaining as when she had witnessed it as a child. Still, their current situation led it a weight that was hard to ignore. Lost in the still and tranquil chill of this clear, moonless eve, one might gaze aloft and wonder how long a man must grieve until his mad and lonesome soul can finally earn reprieve. For such a man exists today, hidden from prying eyes. On twisted turning passages, the Broken one relies, dissuading those who venture close from meeting their demise. For it was she who brought him life and she who lent him light, always the moon that guided him through the darkest night. When flames aloft came crashing down she gave her all to fight. Never before she'd shone so bright, nor cast the path so red, as wings aloft set rings of fire upon her lofty head. Watching aghast from far below he choked on fear and dread Beyond his reach, the man did seek to save her from this fate. The night dragged on for far too long, his burden growing great Still, little could he do for her but sit and hope and wait Who here can blame a broken heart after so many years, for giving up and sulking in its deepest, darkest fears? Only if she can once more rise will the Poet dry his tears. When it was finished, she left the fire burning, somehow feeling as if extinguishing it would be a betrayal of Azar, though she would put it out if requested. After a silent moment, she uttered one last phrase. “We need to find Senator Evadne.”

[Grouchy]

Player: DemonSlayer
Game: Wretched Curse of Strahd
System: D&D 5e
DM: Wretched Rick
Post: LINK

Reason for Nomination:
There are tons of amazing posts in this campaign so far. Definitely one of my favorite games on RPGX currently due to the talents of the DM and the other players. This post by DemonSlayer is no exception.

DemonSlayer's Hexblood Monk Polly takes it upon herself to begin trying to teach some of the NPCs tagging along with us martial arts to protect themselves. The descriptions, attention to detail, lessons and overall tone of the post is just outstanding.

 

Polly Titchwillow Polly nodded. She was a little disappointed none of the mud people seemed to speak Sylvan, but throughout her travels she had noticed very few people did. Which was weird, for someone who had basically grown up with it. Still, Barry seemed to have a solution, so she decided to table to conversation for now. 'Tomorrow,' she agreed. No doubt whatever needed to be done was too complex for the broken common. 'Shadows flee before the light. We'll be the light,' the monk promised, paraphrasing her order's mantra. With a final nod, Polly got up, and left to find a place of seclusion. 'Ireena,' she called out, taking a moment to look for her employer. 'You said you wanted some training. Suppose that, with our destination in sight, I should step up. So let's go over some of the basics, yeah? You too, Lucien,' she told the boy. 'You gotta be able to stand your ground in these lands. And Mara!' the monk called. 'You're with me. You know more about weapons than me, and I can't teach someone proper punching and kicking that quickly. Correct me when you feel the need.' Honestly, she hadn't taught anyone, ever- her fighting techniques were a tool to promote self-reliance and discipline first. Though punching someone's teeth out was definitely a valid form of self-defense. Especially when facing vampires, she supposed. Once she had all three in a quiet place, she nodded, gesturing for the two "students" to stand before her. Then she herself straightened her posture, imitating the stern masters of the dreaming blossom as best she could. 'Alright, first lesson. Standing still and trading punches with someone is dumb. You-' she said, looking at Lucien, 'are tiny. And you,' she added, turning to Ireena, 'face someone stronger than yourself. Standing still is losing, for both of you.' She extended her hand to the side, inspecting her slender limb. 'I'm not physically strong,' she admitted. 'I don't need to be. All I need is to not be where the enemy tries to hit me. And then punch them,' she added with a smirk. 'But at the same time, you need to find your center while moving, rather than flailing about the place. So, first lesson is all about footwork.' She bent her knees slightly, a single moment before lunging forward. One foot never left its place- the other shot forward, planted into the dirt several feet before her. As the monk's left foot shot forward, her right hand balled into a fist and shot forward, snapping towards her students. 'Keep low to the ground,' she instructed them. 'Stronger opponents are usually bigger than you- stay low, give 'em less room to hit. Besides, low point of gravity makes you more stable.' She let her fist fall, patting her forward leg- her knee almost at a right angle. 'If you want to attack, keep your front leg bent and ready to move. Keep your back leg straight,' she added, patting the upper part of her right leg. 'Enough tension to properly plant your feet. Enough stability to support your punches.' 'When you're defending,' she continued, switching to a different position. Now her back leg was bent, almost fully underneath her, her knee pointing to the side. Meanwhile her front leg was more relaxed. Neither of Polly's feet had left their place- only her torso had shifted. 'Assume this position.' She made a few quick swipes with her arm to demonstrate, her lower arm describing several blocking motions. 'Your weight'll be on the back leg, ready to absorb the shock of whatever your foe throws at you. Meanwhile your front leg is relaxed, ready to respond and react- a quick kick if necessary, or a rapid retreat if you must.' Polly demonstrated moving back and forth then- assuming her offensive stance three times with each step forward, explaining it was a good way of keeping up the attack. Then she took three steps backward, now assuming her defensive position, explaining it was a good way to escape an enemy while blocking their attacks. Between each step- attacking or defending- she returned to her center, an upright position with her legs bent, so that she didn't have to raise her head after each step. Then she stepped backwards a few times, but now took an offensive stance. 'If you can, keep pressure on your enemy as he advances- make him pay for every inch he comes closer. Obviously not a good way to proceed if you're fighting someone stronger than you,' she elaborated, shooting Ireena a warning glance. 'But if you're evenly matched, or if your opponent is coming at you slowly? Yeah, it's alright if you take a more aggressive stance even as you move back. Likewise,' she said, switching to the defensive stance and taking several steps forward. 'If an enemy's attack you, but you're evenly matched, try pushing him back. You're blocking, but you're driving him backwards, which helps to destabilize him.' Straighening herself, the monk invited Ireena and Lucian to take up position beside her, and trained moving forward and backwards with them, slowly. When she was confident they understood the basics, the monk stopped but urged the two to keep on going. Polly observed her students closely, adjusting their posture as they went, correcting them both as needed. After half an hour, she smiled, and bid them to stop. 'Very good,' she told them with a smile. 'Now that you know how to move, let's show you how to throw a punch.' She moved behind Ireena and clutched the woman's wrist, not paying any attention to protestations or sense of impropriety. 'When you throw a punch, you do so from your hip. Make a fist,' Polly instructed, then planted Ireena's fist just above her hip, palm upward. Then she guided her arm forward, slowly rotating the fist and lower arm, so that Ireena's palm was facing downward at the apex of her punch. 'Turning your hip at the exact right moment is key. I don't care how strong you are, you always punch harder if you move your hip accordingly.' Polly placed her free hand on Ireena's hip and pushed, showing the woman what she meant. Then, she moved over to Lucian and showed him the same thing- that by turning your hip properly, your torso gained both momentum and stability, which translated into more control during a punch. 'Let's practice that for a while, yeah?' she offered, getting up and offering both students to thrown a series of practice punches at the air. Again, Polly oversaw both, correcting her students as they practiced. When she was certain they had punching down- in as far as people could have the art of punching down in under an hour of practice- Polly bid the pair to stop, and stood right in front of Ireena. 'Punch me,' she said, simply. After a moment's hesitation, Ireena obeyed and threw a punch. Polly was glad to see the woman hadn't forgotten everything she had just learned just because there was an actual opponent in front of her. But still, execution was as sloppy as one might expect from someone new at this. Polly brought her fist to her ear, then swiped her lower arm vertically before her. Her wrist connected with Ireena's, and as it did, she turned her wrist just enough to spread the impact out over the breadth of her forearm. Ireena's attack was turned aside harmlessly- and for effect, Polly used her other arm to immediately launch a counterattack, the blade of her hand stopping less than an inch removed from Ireena's throat. 'Good- but no attack is ever going to hit on its own,' she explained. 'You have to exhaust your opponent, block what they throw at you while conserving your energy. For that, you need to know how to block- and that'll be your third lesson.' Again, Polly instructed the pair, this time explaining how to turn away an enemy's attack, how blocks were launched either from one's temple or one's hip, and what block to use against what punch. She taught them to turn their wrists at the right moment to prevent injury to oneself, and was pleased to see how quickly they were picking up the basics. She then continued on to counterattacking after a block. Finally she started throwing some of her own punches- and a limited series of kicks- at her students, though Polly held back considerably to give them ample time to learn the lessons she was trying to instill. She finished the day's lesson by letting the pair perform a mock fight against each other, which quickly devolved into playful fighting due to Lucien's young age. Nevertheless, the Hexblood couldn't help but laugh, a laugh filled both with amusment at Ireena and Lucien's playing, and pride at having taught the pair a little of what she had studied for years. 'Alright, this is where you two say goodbye,' Polly smiled. 'Lucien, I'm going to teach you how to use a staff. Mara, would you instruct Ireena on using bladed weapons? I'm not sure Lucien is quite old enough to not cut his fingers off just yet,' she smirked. Then she turned to Lucien, ruffling his hair. 'I'll be right back, buddy,' Polly assured the child. 'Gotta talk to Ismark for a moment. You go on and practice on your own for a moment, yeah?' Polly then hurried over to Ismark, nodding at the mayor's son as she approached. 'So,' she started, matter-of-factly. 'I know you guys paid us to get you to Vallaki, and we're almost there. But, these mudpeople apparently know something about the shrines to the Fanes. And the Vistani told us, we need to help the Fanes to get a decisive advantage against Strahd,' the Hexblood elaborated. 'So... I just want to discuss logistics, how are we going to do this? Are we taking you to Vallaki first? Or are you alright with us tackling these shrines first, with you either waiting here or coming along to help us? Because I really don't know,' she admitted. 'I can't wait to get you lot to safety, but at the same time, I really don't think any of this will be over until we kill Strahd, permanently. And if this Fane business is going to help us do that, well, I'd rather like to get it done right away. I really don't want the risk of us moving away, only for us to come back to find these druids gone. Because they seem like the nomadic type, you know?' She was quiet then, waiting expectantly to see how her employer would react...

[Strangemund]

Player: QueenQatherine
Game: Ashes of the Sea
System: Numenera (Cypher System)
GM: Retry
Post: here

Reason for Nomination: I have two words for you: nyan cat. Yes. That's right. The legendary internet figure beloved across the cosmos played a huge role in our Numenera game. Picture this. A trio of adventurers, all incredibly incompetant, have found themselves not only thrust into unknown, snow-laden lands, but they have lost a member of their party. Abanti, a strong and powerful warrior, vanished into the night, leaving behind Vinter, an arrogant alchemist with the survival skills of a potato; Jolm, an explorer whose mind is currently in a time share with an artificial entity; and Violet, an old woman who is either very eccentric, or incredibly senile, and we are too afraid to ask which because of her monstrous grafts, are left wondering what they must do to survive the terrible odds that face them.

A winter that would see them dead by morning: mysterious beasts that are closing in on them from the dark: grief and hopelessness that drags them deeper into dreadful passiveness. How will they overcome such challenges when all they want to do is hide and cry?

That's where nyan cat comes in, and less importantly, Violet, QueenQatherine's beloved granny. Now, earlier in the game, Violet acquired an 'ancient magnetic artifact in the shape of a feline exhuming a prismatic spectrum.' It was a throaway joke that got a good laugh out of all us because the Ninth World is full of strange oddities that are beyond comprehension. But here, when everything is looking dour for the party, and spirits are incredibly low, Violet steps up, and uses the magnet as a party motivator, stripping Vinter of the magnet as she deems Jolm more worthy of it, all in the effort to push the sad, hopeless lads into action, and it works.

Because Vinter wants that magnet back, and Jolm is filled with renewed confidence.

So yeah. It's a great post. Its funny. Violet is just a treat to read. And honestly, I think any post that changes the tide of a party's motivation from 'we are all going to die' to 'let's feast on their flesh' is worthy of a nomination. Also. Nyan cat. C'mon. That's pretty great!

 

Violet Vatrice Jolm was uncertain the device he had fused with could ever be separated from him, commenting that he didn’t believe it was ever meant to be installed in a human being. That did raise an interesting question as to what its original purpose was, but of course none of them had an answer to such a question. He seemed to be making his peace with his predicament which was fine and good on it’s own but she contemplated what, if anything she could do to ease his burden a little. It was something to ponder later. They couldn’t dwell on such things, not with more pressing matters at hand. Such as not succumbing to the terrible cold. Vinter managed to offer help with the biting cold that threatened to end their journey somewhat prematurely, however as always he did so in the form of his alchemic drugs. The way he slumped when he huffed his own vapors made the man’s addiction all the more apparent. As much as he wanted to complain about his position being stolen from him, it was easy to see that had developed a dependency on the hard stuff, and that just wasn’t a good optic for a priest. Still in this situation it seemed his addiction came through for them. He unbuckled a hose and sprayed them in his foul black vapor and while Violet wanted to object to being so unceremoniously drugged but as the mist started to take effect the bitterness of the biting cold slowly subsided. While her initial response was to object to his hypocritically cavalier behavior of spraying an unfamiliar chemical on a group of people without knowing for sure how their bodies would react, she did notice that the hateful wind didn’t dig its claws quite as deep into her as it did moments earlier. “Ah, sweet Vinter, a breakthrough at last! Bless you!” She said with a hum before gingerly putting the prized magnet on his suit. He was the first to aid her and thus won the little competition she had trumped up seemingly for her own sake. Now he would be further motivated to help the group arrive at their new destination, which unfortunately turned out to be a barren spot of land among the shell snow. Poor Jolm did his best to shovel snow and hack away at trees to make conditions livable but without Abanti’s help it was slow going. Violet pitched in where she could but ultimately she feared that she was only slowing him down. What a pathetic sight they must have been a teenage boy and an elderly woman scrambling to make a camp in this blizzard, how a real group of adventurers would mock them if they could see. When a fire was started at last the old woman could provide Jolm assistance no longer. Drawn like a moth to the flame, she sat in front of the small heat source and let it wash over her. Picking up a small branch from the remains of Jolm’s work she let her talon glide down the length of the limb to sheer off the smaller growths until she had a relatively clean stick. She used it to poke at the fire, hoping to urge more heat from it as she stared deeply into the dancing flames. The old woman had a somewhat complicated relationship with fire. She needed it to survive just as much as the others, but if she stared at it long enough she could feel it all around her, all over her, outside and in. How cruel that something as primeval as fire could easily end some of the brightest minds the world had ever seen, all in a single night. A joke with a miserable punchline, that’s what it was. She wouldn’t let the Vatrice name die in such a plain way. Neither cold nor flame would best her, she was more then a feeble old woman, she was nobility, she was a scientist, she was the best dandblamed fast-talking-explorinatin-problem-a-squishina-mastermind to walk the territory. She could lick this just like everything else! Her inner pep talk was suddenly interrupted as she heard an eerie howl. Snapping back to relative reality she realized that the other two had become fitful. She smiled the soft smile of the wise elder as she listened to their conversation, realizing as they spoke that Abanti had not yet returned and her friends were trying to figure out whether they should wait for them or press on, all while an unknown creature seemed to close in on them. They needed guidance, they needed a helping hand from a wise old woman, good thing she happened to know one... “Hm, sad to say, we may need to cut our losses lads.” She confessed, “We don’t know where to find Abanti or if there’s anythin’ left to find, if we terry too long, won’t be much of us left to find neither.” She tilted her head as she watched the panic take hold of Vinter’s heart. The man made a logical argument, if Abanti couldn’t make it in these conditions, what chance did the likes of them? From a scientific perspective it would seem they were boned. But the variable he failed to account for was the general stubbornness of his eldest companion. Pursing wrinkled lips together she thought in silence for a moment, looking at the fire as she considered their options, and ultimately decided on a course of action. Standing up she reached over and stripped the magnet away from Vinter, giving the technicolor rainbow feline instead to Jolm, “The gas was temporary relief. Poor Jolm worked way harder and gave us something a little more lastin’, I’d say that’s well worth the reward wouldn’t you say sweetie?” She teased. Her tone wasn’t truly mocking, but more in jest, a bit of humor to break the tension in the air before she spoke to what was really on everyone’s mind. “Which among you think ya’ll are good enough ta hide from the what-have-its that hunt in these territories?” She pointed to the fire, to Vinter, Jolm, and then thumbed at herself as she said, “Burnin’ fire, huffin’ mask, glowin’ eyes, and creakin’ bones, all of which reekin’ of burnin’ sap! Less what’s comin’ is blind, deaf, and sportin’ a broke down sniffer it’ll have us dead to rights. So either we run or defend huh?” She took a few steps away from the fire, her body creaking and crackling as she did so, “By the same logic we probably can’t be outrunnin’ the beasts either, so if we make for cover we’ll have them at our backs. My runnin’ days are about done. So I say we make a stand boys. Fend off what thinks to make an easy meal of us, make short work of them, show them we’re no easy meal and they’ll surely run. Then we can make our escape somewhat peaceful like.” She turned back around looking at the two men with hands on her hips and a smile on her face, clearly quite impressed with herself having felt as though she was demonstrating her logical mind and skilled tongue in tandem, ”So what do you say boys? Not going to let a few critters get the best of us are we?”

[PlaidPeregrine]

Player: Fillyjonk
Game: Falcon's Festive New Year's Eve
System: Homebrew
GM: LostCheerio
Post: This Post Here

December and January are a festive time of year! LostCheerio, Fillyjonk, Bananabadger and others gathered 'round the old hearth of joy and created a 'Reluctant Heroes' type of Yule atmosphere with games and entertainment for one and all - players could bring their PC's to play in the numerous threads with wild abandon.

In this thread, Yoshimi brought A'ru and Sneech (A'ru's fluffy puppy mount) to Filly's thread "Tru-Sight Futures: Divination via Dwarven Coins". Here, Tru divines the future with coins (dice are rolled) - and this time for a canine mount (and the doggish rider). This is just a lovely example of fortune telling that I wanted to share on top of a wonderful seasonal game for the holidays.

As Tru said, "To love, to luck, and merry memories."