After a momentary struggle that ruins and demolishes half of the trophy room, Tutti the bear, dwarf in arms, staggers out of the hut. She has superficial injuries but they aren't enough to have caused actual HP loss - and clearly she got the better of the altercation, because the dwarf is properly beaten up. With a joyous roar, the owlion darts forward, her huge head nonetheless striking with the swiftness of a viper. The dwarf has hardly the time for his eyes to widen before he is yanked out of the bear's grasp and messily devoured.
Meatsnacks was watching this, and roars in approval! The forces of Numaria quail in terror as the Owlion eats one of them, and the battered leader with the wild red hair turns to shout at them, rallying them back to the fight!
Meanwhile, the tribe is energized by the emergence of a seemingly allied bear, covered in trophy jewelry from Meatsnacks' hut from the fight. The tribe just assumes that the bear is a tamed animal that belongs to their Chief. With a concerted "WAAAGH!" the goblins regroup and raise their weapons, charging the armored invaders!
Gathering his power about him like a cloak, Retzack communes with the Towering pillar of madness that only he has seen, and forcefully shoves the rock up from below with fingers borne of dark magic. The rock is then shaped protectively in a cone around you, shielding you from the onrushing horses. Some of them jump directly over the rock shield you've created, their armored bodies thundering overhead. Recognizing your spellcasting when they see it, your followers gather closely around you - but about 25 other nearby goblins are not so lucky or observant, and are crushed by the stampede as it rolls over either side of the barricade. Even when things go well, the goblins are dying by the droves. Ah, such is the way of the Waaagh.
Hidden beneath the rock, the sorcerer is unable to see the way Tutti takes to the sky and mimics the Australian drop-bear! Such a surprise overhead ambush is commonly known and attributed to these fierce beasts, and Tutti emulates their terrible hunting patterns beautifully. With cries of dismay, two of the dwarf berserkers are knocked clear. Their armor is shattered by the crushing weight of sudden bearflesh, leaving them vulnerable. Marvexa roars in bloodlust and directs her hobgoblin troops to slaughter the exposed dwarves. Drop bears, though terribly strong, are rather clumsy. -1 Dex.
One berserker escaped the druid's attack by climbing on the owlion's back. Reaching down, the dwarf's face lights up in delighted surprise. "Why, the greenies were gonna try to ride this thing!" he cries out to the other warriors battling before Meatsnacks' throne. "HYAH!" the dwarf cries, grasping hold of reins in two hands and yanking it to the side! With a growling grunt, the owlion is yanked off its feet and stumbles sideways, carrying you with it, Tutti! You're off balance and all of you are rolling toward the Chief's hut!
Prox, as you land, you have to twist in midair to dodge a wildly-cast defensive spell that was hurled at you by one of the women. You escape its full blast - but it strikes you in the hand, affecting you there. It was a Baleful Polymorph spell - instead of a left hand, you now have a chicken wing that can barely clutch! -1 to all rolls that involve the use of your left hand until the spell is lifted!
You land ferociously among the squishy clothies. They all recoil in horror and fear as you snarl and gibber - they are used to slinging spells from afar, and are cowardly to the last wizard, as most mages are. Their crusader allies are jostling behind them, trying to shove them aside to kill you, but they have to be careful with their weapons drawn, and the crush of battle is all around them. "Move! Get out of the way!" you hear them shouting angrily at the casters.
You'll note that I never said the fire was hurting you, just that you broke out in a sweat all over from it. Your Boons don't prevent you from getting uncomfortable. :)
Normally, the CLW spell would not affect the spider venom, as that's a debilitating effect and CLW only affects HP. However, since you rolled a 13, and you recently acquired the favor of your gods, I'll say that your spell completely revitalizes you. However, because your gods are dark, evil, and sadistic, they don't simply heal your eyes. That kind of Jesus-y crap is not what your deities are all about.
No.
You feel the dark presence of your foul gods as your eyes begin to change as a result of the spell you cast on yourself. You feel an incredible pain as your eyes feel like they're being held in ever-tightening fists. Your eyes absorb the venom into them. This permanently changes your eye color, and you can see clearly through poisonous gases that would normally be opaque.
Incensed by the dark knowledge of Retzack's patron, and filled with determination and fury by the chanting of Blibberblab and his followers, Groonk enters a deep rage, throwing his massive bulk against the Tower.
CRASH, and the stone trembles. Groonk shakes his head dully from the headbutt.
SMASH, and the tower's stone begins to crack. A shard of one of the crystals embedded in the massive goblin's back snaps off and goes flying; heedlessly, Groonk rears back again.
SMASH SMASH SMASH. His arms begin to flail in huge windmilling motions, continuously beating upon the cold dark stone. The fodder goblins are cheering continuously now, chanting "GROONK! GROONK! GROONK! GROONK! GROONK!"
You hear the sound of stone snapping from the immense force of the impacts. The tower won't take much more. Groonk braces his shoulder against the structure itself and - heedless of the dark magic in the stones - presses with all his might.
AaaaaaAAAAAAAHHHH..." the goblins, in awe that the tower's actually being moved, let out a drawn-out scream as the tower actually begins to tip!
The drow aren't beaten yet, however. Groonk has had to be in constant contact with the darkly-spelled stones of the tower. Now, as the tower begins to ponderously lift up, the magic strikes!
Due to Blibber's 9 roll on his Arcane Art... the stone opens up spinneret orifices all over itself, and sprays a thick webbing!
The tower is stabilized! It rests now, partially lifted up, against a massive pile of webbing that completely covers Groonk. The webbing prison has 12 HP...and because of the 7 on the Aid Another...has the Acidic tag, and 2 Armor.
Groonk is immobilized, only capable of Hacking and Slashing to try and free himself. The tower is held up by the same webbing that is trapping Groonk.
You hear laughter coming from higher up on the tower. A dark elf, female, is staring down at all of you from a high window, her white hair whipping in the wind. With a laughing shriek, the elf witch lifts her arms to the sky, and spiders crawl up the length of her body to escape the tower.
A living wave of spiders is swarming down the tower toward all of you, what do you do?
Haluk, your sacrifice pleases your dark gods. You experience a vision!
You stand at the heart of a great mountain, taller than any mountain on earth - the Mount of Gods. You are within the mountain, but from your third eye, your spiritual eye, you feel as if you can see every inch of it, the inside and the outside. Your awareness expands far out around you in an ecstatic unfolding of potential; then, your awareness touches upon the dark consciousnesses of your gods, looking down at you from their dusky thrones.
From within the darkness you can see them nodding. Your quest is blessed by the Gods!
The splashing of the drow's blood on your hands brings you back to yourself.
Baelgrin comes to himself again. Terrible as the situation may be, his clan needed him.
He reaches for the rope he always carries; as a seasoned skald, he knows how often good rope factors into the stories. "Here!" he shouts, handing it off to Brynjolvar as soon as he's able to.
As for communicating with them...the skald shakes his head. "In the old stories, the Jotun were ancient adversaries of the Gods, condemned to form the land that the worshipers of the Gods would live upon. They were vicious, and far stronger physically than any god; but they could be tricked. Somehow, they know the language of man; perhaps they hear the words spoken over stones through the ages, and learn of them that way." he lowers his voice. "They're fearsome, but stupid. Our best bet is to find out what it wants and convince it somehow that destroying us won't help him get it!"
Baelgrin, you remember stories of creation and the Jotnar of old. Certainly there are the typical Jotnar, the giants that live in the mountains, but the Old Ones that took part in forming the earth some say are many of the mountains themselves.
They would care little for humanity, paying it no mind at all, were it not for humanity's tie to the gods. Were these giants of old to rise, not only would the mountains and sea move beneath them, but they would likely destroy any civilizations they might come across in spite of the gods they despise.
But if they rose, they clearly have a purpose, since they've lay silent for so many centuries. Why do they rise now, Baelgrin? What do you suspect is the greater purpose?
"The Jotun are as old as the world itself...ancient enemies of the Gods trapped here as the very mountains' forms," Baelgrin says, recovering from his manic fit of giggling and wiping the tear from his eye. "Ohhh, we are so beyond screwed. If the Jotun are awakening, then my greatest fears are true. The Gods are weakening and their enemies are rising once more. These are the end times. Just...try to speak quietly so he doesn't notice us...we can try to cling to its shoulder until his rampage ends and he goes to sleep."
GM Mogthrasir wrote:
Giants of a typical variety (such an ironic phrase) are extremely difficult to kill as they're unbelievably hardy.
Blibberblab, your shouting distracts you from the vines that you were thrown onto. At first you think it's a comfortable mass of vegetation, but as you shout encouragement at Groonk, the vines wrap around your ankles and wrists and begin pulling you deeper inside. Some of your fodder notice you being consumed first and shout warnings to everyone, "Hey! Loudmouth is bloodvined! Loudmouth is bloodvine!"
Soon all the fodder goblins are gathered around where Blibberblab is being grappled and shout at him. "Bloodvine! Bloodvine! Bloody viney! Vinerino! Blood blood blood blood..." As the goblins chant, the vines from the thorns dig into your flesh, Blibberblab, take 1d6 damage.
While the fodder get completely distracted from the enormous beetle, the beetle takes off into the sky with Groonk on its back! Tutti's taunting in Spirit Tongue appear to have enraged the beast, causing it to open its carapace wide so it can dive-bomb her! Groonk, roll your damage! (That was hack and slash, by the way).
Tutti, the beetle, which is now aerial and on fire with a brutish goblin on its back, rolls its giant horn around in the air and roars as it tilts its body downward toward you! Before you can even gasp, the horn drives itself into the earth near your tree-form - get knocked flying, roll DD, or spend 1 Hold to Grasp Tightly with your Root-Toes.
Blibberblab, you suddenly find yourself being lifted high in the air atop the horn of a monstrous rhinoceros beetle. The standing stone - engraved eagle's skull and all - is actually the rhino beetle's horn. The beast lets out an ear-shattering bellow that actually knocks off all the goblins that were climbing over the signpost. Two-trees, you're among the goblins knocked flying by the blast, you're thrown over 10 feet away in a heap of other goblin fodders.
The rhino beetle is of ridiculous size - towering over all of you with a body as long as a school bus. It shakes itself loose of the earth that it was partially buried under and glares at Blibberblab. Its eyes, originally black, are turning red. What do you do?
"We have no business with you, if passing is all you wish. But I ask for a tale in recompense. Then let us continue our business. Tell me of a man with red fur, who marks himself with the raven. Or, if you prefer, of a spear that smells like the living trees."
Baelgrin glances around himself uncertainly. "Man with red fur? Pursuit, know you of the tales of Immenrock? The druids that reside there speak with the voice of the wind and are said to take flight for many miles among the ravens when the mood suits them."
He begins warming to the tale now. "The man with red fur you speak of was the greatest of their order, the Chief Druid known as Danu. It is said that his two legs could match the speed of any of Machra's animals, that when he chose he could call down the wrath of the God of Storms himself, who loved him like a brother, though he was yet mortal."
"It is said by the seers who beat upon the sun-stones of Immenrock that Danu's downfall could only have been wrought of his own design, and his fall would bring about the end of Immenrock itself. He knew nothing of the designs of the Gods, but he knew that he loved Immenrock and its people more than his own life. He fled the island, thinking to put its halcyon shores beyond his grasp."
Baelgrin's voice grows bitter. "It was all a trap. While the God of Storms demanded answers from the One Above All Others, the God of the Sea, who was jealous of Danu's favor, sank his ship. Even the mightiest of mortal druids was no match for the God of the Sea in his own domain. Nearby, on Immenrock, the people gnashed their teeth in despair, for their Lord that they loved had forbade them from ever aiding him or assisting him."
Baelgrin gestures to the raging sea behind him. "Now, to prevent a similar fate, we sacrifice to the God of the Sea, and offer him our dead in our rituals." He sighs, keeping his last thought, for all the good it ever does, to himself.
Baelgrin's thoughts were with the young boy, Agwelf, whose body rested in the smaller of the two "ships", burdens on the shoulders of the survivors. He had struggled with the rest of the healers to save his life, but Agwelf was always less than hale. It was foolish madness that drove him to challenge Signy. Though he labored through the night to stitch the wounds and stop the bleeding, he died by morning. Another young corpse...another young corpse... the words haunted Baelgrin all night long, leaving him exhausted and haggard.
As the funeral procession marched on it seemed that those who lived and breathed in the Berrywine clan were followed by a host of spirits in their wake...the legacy of those who died before their time. The Berrywines were on their way to the high-cliffs of Bjornsfall, to offer the slain's bodies to the Sea-God. Baelgrin shivered as a loose thread in his cowl allowed the frigid air to touch his underclothes, and tugs his cloak tighter about himself. He needed to focus, to remember the words to the Song of Parting that would be sung by the entire clan when the spirits were released from the bodies forever.
When he catches sight of the banner below, however, he cries aloud and clutches his forehead wordlessly, falling to his knees. The Song of Parting flies from his head. He gnashes his teeth and beats his own head in despair, crying, "The Red Banner, standing alone! The Stormheralds! The Stormheralds!"
The Stormheralds are an order of frightful heretics that sought to harness the elemental power of the storm, and kill the Gods. Their madness drove away the other clans, but even without any allies they held a dominion of fear over the entire land in their heyday, when Baelgrin was very young. Their red banners were once dotted throughout this land, when their power was greater. Were there a Stormherald standing beneath the banner, they could have struck us dead where we stood.
What trick do people employ to withstand the Thundersnow?
In the stories that people tell of the gods, even the prophecies that speak of these final days. What have you found to already be proven false?
What remains of The Sea King, as far as you know? And what do you carry with you?
1. *Laughs grimly* You talk like there IS a trick, lad. A roof over your head and regular trips outside to make sure the snow isn't piling up too high, that's our "trick." Try not to get hit by lightning or it means the Gods farted in your direction.
2. The prophecies speak of a leader to unite the disparate and wandering clans under one banner of peace and cooperation. I don't exactly see that happening.
3. Ahh the Sea King, what a vessel. All that remains of that mighty ship was repurposed, turned into our long-hall that we sit in as we speak. Oh, they tried to keep it looking as much like a ship aground as possible, but they had to saw bits off. It was heartbreaking...
*reaches inside coat, pulls out a small bag* I saved some of the shot from the cargo hold. All I could grab before it all was torn asunder.
What incredible signs have occurred that indicate the end has come? How do people know this is Ragnarok?
Sub-question: Why will Spring never come?
What rumors have you heard regarding the gods and the reason for the sudden silence?
What taboos have long been respected by your culture, but now are beginning to wane with the end?
When the Wise Women interpreted the strange visions you've been having, what did they warn you against?
Personal Questions
Baelgrin the Old
As a revered Skald, you are a wealth of stories and insight. Tell me a little about the people that were, before this cataclysm hit. How did communities work and what were people like? You're welcome to draw on the ship concept that Sven was developing. We are not confined to it however, since we will no longer have a Sea King.
1. A little thing called Thundersnow. Coinciding with the red light in the sky, lightning storms are blending with the bitter cold of the northern air to produce snowy storms with lightning and thunder included. The weather is enough to make the most seasoned of Vikings blanch.
2. Baelgrin has never been a religious man. Though he will sing praises to the gods in his songs and he has seen the miracles wrought by clerics, he never truly felt the gods were worthy of his respect. Thus, it doesn't surprise him that they've fallen silent in recent years. He was expecting something horrible to happen in regard to them.
3. There are dark rumors from other clans spread across the land that Chieftains who bore no sons or daughters with their wives would breed incestuously their own family members to produce heirs, bedding their own sisters or claiming their mothers as whores. This disgusting practice would never have existed in Baelgrin's youth.
4. The Wise Women warned me of a terrible beast, a bear that walks as a man, in Man's clothing, with a bear's heart and a bear's ferocity. I am always on the alert for any signs of a skin-changer.
Personal question:
From my youth, I can recall the days when our entire clan sailed proudly on six ships all abreast. We were nomadic, able to pick up our entire clan and move them together. I can even recall their names, as I often shout them one by one when I'm extorting the clans of ancient virtues. The names are;
The Amerigo Windchaser Tall Lad Final Grin Wendigo
and The Sea King, the mightiest of them all. We were shipbuilders once, navigators who came close to mapping all corners of the seas. How far we've fallen since those glorious days...
Struggle has been part of all of our lives, plenty of fodder for that. And we have myths aplenty about the building tension of the earlier times that led to now. What Baelgrin wants to know before he dies is how it will all end. Having fathered several children that are now fully grown and have families elsewhere, Baelgrin wants to hold out hope that these end times we're living through have some light at the end of the tunnel.
Dalton follows a strict schedule to maintain his discipline in the field. It would not do to return to the Temple in Manaket more sloppy than when he left.
He rises and gets dressed a half-hour before dawn. When the sunlight crests the horizon each morning, he stands on one leg on the main deck facing it. He presses his palms together over his chest and rests the bottom of his right foot against his left knee. He holds this position until his muscles tremble in protest, and holds it further, usually well into what would normally be considered breakfast time. Then he moves through a series of stretches not unlike Yoga in their smooth movements and muscle elongation.
After completing these stretches, he makes for breakfast, and demonstrates how he got his moniker "the Thirsty." Despite his mouth and gullet looking to be no larger than any man's, the monk is able to down an entire mug's worth of beverage in an instant, and does so frequently with satisfied grunts of pleasure afterward, accompanied often by tapping his own chest with his fist.
Over the course of the six days, Dalton would try his best to engage in friendly conversation with his teammates or Captain Bach. His past is an open book; after inquiring about your history, Dalton is likely to offer to share his.
If you listen to his stories and converse with him, you learn the following about Dalton:
Focusing his Ki and attaining perfect serenity is his eternal goal, but he feels very far from accomplishing it;
He has lost all contact with the previous group of adventurers he traveled with, some of whom were lost to violence or disease;
He feels very out-of-place in these northern lands, far from the desert sands of Manaket in Rahadoum;
He is eager to make friends, but confesses freely that he often pushes people away with his eagerness that he conceals poorly.
In Galduria, Dalton will cock an eyebrow at the Tower of the Twilight Academy. It was a smaller building than his home monastery but had a mysterious quality to it that he couldn't quite place. He stares at it a few moments, rubbing his chin, his expression a picture of rapt fascination.
Holy smokes, you guys are enthusiastic. I love it!
Dalton hurries to catch up. "Sorry for not responding sooner, I was lost in thought. I was thinking, if the Captain regularly ferries people to Galduria, he may know others who are heading up Ravenmoor way. It may be worthwhile to ask him."
Walking alongside the other man now, Dalton comments, "Just because Ravenmoor is remote doesn't necessarily mean society has stagnated. The Order that trained me in Manaket existed alone in the desert for generations before reconnecting with the greater world. Sometimes isolation can offer a unique perspective on things."
In response to the gruff halfling, Dalton raises his hand in greeting. "Hello there! Yes, we're looking for passage to Galduria for us," he waves a thumb between himself and Dramin, "As well as three others. Have you room?"
Bane-wise: I would define "passion" as feeling emotions really strongly. When you're feeling strongly about something you have to keep a rein in on your emotions or you risk losing control of yourself.
Passion's also meant to be a bane that essentially ruins your love life. It's the Jedi's life for you - or fall to the Dark Deer-k Side. :)
And yeah, James, I'd recommend investing in a pocket-sized lunar calendar...there are going to be two nights a week where you're going to probably want to keep yourself restrained.
Numeo flashes a grin at Janders when he arrives. "Good timing, my shlimy friend," he fires off. He stumbles a little bit making his way to the ladder, his brain fuzzy and finding it difficult to think straight. When Janders asks, incredulously, "Are you...drunk?" Numeo will simply say "Shut up."
As he descends the ladder the prophet considers the mad course of events over today. The stormclouds overhead, the paradox beast, the mysterious disappearance of that foul cleric, Obed Marsh...all point to the doom of his visions coming to pass sooner than even he feared. He glances around at his companions, worry forming a stone in the pit of his stomach. They didn't understand, couldn't comprehend. How could they? They didn't see what he did, weren't granted the visions...
His inebriated mind thinks dark thoughts as the rain taps the top of his hood. Water, water, all around, and not a drop to drink....water, water, all around, and not a drop to drink...water, water, all around, and not a drop to drink...water, water, all around, and not a drop to drink...
The mantra takes him back to memories of being a child on the island he called home for his entire life. He recalls the creation myth, the hushed tones the old storyteller adopted, the nightmares of the sea that plagued his childhood until he mastered lucid dreaming.
The world is mostly water, Bomba would say. She held up a fruit; an orange. Life on land is like a pestilence, when you take the whole world into your perspective. We exist on little specks of dry until the land is swallowed by the sea once more. When the Mother Darkness birthed our world, she birthed it for the sea creatures, the monsters beyond our understanding at the bottom of the sea. She turned the orange around, showing a small gnat sitting on the skin of the orange.
We were an afterthought. Numeo remembers shuddering as Bomba's gnarled old thumb squashed the gnat, pushing it into the orange when her thumbnail broke the rind. The old storyteller began to suck the orange's juices messily as the all children glanced at each other fearfully. All except Numeo. His eyes were fixated on the endless darkness of the ocean.
Male Skinkfolk Necromancer 1| 3 XP| 1 Armor | 4/6 Load| 8/16 HP
Mandus looks to the barn. Seeing it smoldering and smoky but intact, he rises (unsteadily) to his feet. He lifts both arms over his head slowly, exulting in his triumph even as he winces from his painful cracked scales rubbing over one another. He laughs, throwing his head back, and the chuckling turns into a whoop of celebration! "PRAISE BE TO THE SUN GOD!" he cries, then doubles over, clutching his stomach in laughter. "My service was done well," he repeats in a muttering voice to himself a few times. His voice sounds cracked and harsh from inhaling so much heat at once.
After a moment, he whirls around. "AH! But my service is not yet complete! Skorabor, my dwarven friend!" he reaches deep into his pack, rummaging a moment, before pulling out a hunk of the dwarf's calf that was ripped clean off by the wolf! He holds it aloft triumphantly, not noticing some of the dwarf's blood still dripping down his clothes until after a few drops have already spilled.
The skinkman approaches Skorabor with an air of sudden, curt professionalism. "Now then," he says, taking out his needle and thread, which are of fine quality and design, "We'd best get started before it begins to smell! More than you usually do, I mean!" he elbows the dwarf in the ribs good-naturedly as he moves behind Skorabor to reattach the...well...back of his leg. Hoping that might help him move away from the Shakey condition, perhaps after a night's rest?
Male Skinkfolk Necromancer 1| 3 XP| 1 Armor | 4/6 Load| 8/16 HP
During the battle: Mandus' hexed eyeball rolls around in its socket as he grasps the skeleton by the head. In that eye, and only in that eye, is a vision - a pit, with a barbed fence all around, and a gallows hanging overhead. A tall humanoid shape stares at the skink, but he can't make out the details.
The ritual's cleansing effect purifies the corpses that remain in this room, having an unfortunate side effect on Barley. The pirate corpse collapses to the ground, and I can sense with my necromancer's intuition that it has been hallowed, preventing its use by mortal necromancy. A pity.
Mandus' attention is distracted, however, by the new guest in the room. Speaking now as representative of his office in the church of Quetzalcoatl, Mandus addresses the woman warmly, but formally. "Quetzalcoatl requires but one service from you, oh deceased," the lizard speaks in a deeper voice. "Tell me where the one who raised you from the grave can be found, and I will release ye to your eternal rest."
Hello everyone, I'm DM Frogfoot, and I run homebrew campaigns. Currently I'm actively DMing a campaign in the Dungeon World setting. Dungeon world has an SRD that you can flip through to get familiar with if you're not. I WELCOME PEOPLE WHO HAVE NEVER PLAYED DUNGEON WORLD - it's the simplest pen and paper RPG system I've come across yet, and very welcoming to new players.
Basic gist of it is that the DM doesn't roll anything - he merely tells the players what's going to happen and asks what they do. The players tell the DM what they want to do in response. If that action requires a roll, roll 2d6+the relevant stat.
Roll 2-6: You fail, mark an experience point and something bad happens according to the fiction of what's happening at the time.
Roll 7-9: You fundamentally succeed at what you're trying to do, but there's a complication of some sort - the DM tells you what.
Roll 10+: You succeed at your task!
And that's the basics of dungeon world. There's your basic classes you can find on the SRD I linked above, and there's also other available classes made by third parties, since DW is a system that is quite easy to hack and make modifications to.
Campaign Setting Description:
Our world is winding down. The Gods, they say, have turned their backs on us, dismissing us as a failed experiment. There's a new natural disaster every month, somewhere. Entire societies and cultures, stripped of almost all their creature comforts, have turned on one another in endless wars, both abroad and within their own borders. Magic, long the servant of all intelligent races, has bucked its collar in some regions and run amok. The resulting maelstrom of unstable energies left behind broad swaths of land that are completely uninhabitable by everyone except oozes and similar monsters.
A cadre of 25 wizards, clerics, and druids have put aside their differences in order to save the planet they all share. By putting their heads and resources together, they have managed to create a self-contained, orbital space platform that can only be accessed through a series of magical way-gates in various protected locations. This group of spellcasters have named themselves Gaia's Hand, and have dedicated years to the pursuit of returning your troubled world to the peace and prosperity it once enjoyed, independently of all world governments and powers.
My party of players are Agents of the Hand of Gaia. Working with their arcane contacts in space, they seek to return to the past, to undo the future that is Aku to prevent the world from embracing entropy and summoning a horrific void beast from beyond the stars.
The Story So Far:
The Agents of the Hand, Si-Yi the Irascible, Olivius Telraven, Hawke, Sinathel, Dambreth and his pet panther Scram have climbed the sacred mountain of Haujobb. Atop this holy peak, they were greeted by the spirit of the mountain, who took the form of an ethereal dwarf lord. With Haujobb's assistance and Gaia's blessing - plus a little meddling from Chronos, Lord of Time - the party was sent forward a decade from their current time, and witnessed the end of the world at the hands of a void beast from space the size of our moon. After bearing witness to their world's doom, they were given the opportunity to save it. But first, they must prevent certain events that have already happened from happening.
Now, they have been sent back thousands of years to an unknown time period early in Earth's history, to an island. The island is volcanic, and there was a dinghy on the beach they landed on. They've been following the set of footprints leading away from the boat, trying to get a handle on the situation. Well, they found him - and got themselves in a pickle at the same time.
This is where I was thinking you would come in. You would be an inhabitant of the island, a native of that ancient era, who joins the party for reasons that you may decide yourself. We have a Fighter, a Druid, a Ranger, a Thief and a Barbarian in the party currently - room for one more.
Note: since the setting (an ancient-era island) can be a little limiting on character creation ideas, I'd be more than happy to discuss applying an "ancient era paintjob" to an existing class. For example, it wouldn't make sense for a Wizard to be living in this ancient era, before they discovered writing - unless you reworked the Wizard to be less tied to the trappings of civilization. Just an example. I'm a DM who lives by the Rule of Cool - if it's cool, I'll allow it.
Kale chews thoughtfully for a moment, then swigs from his flagon of rum to clear the taste of pterodactyl out of his mouth. "Not to say I'm ungrateful for the food, prophet, but this damn lizard tastes like fried leather." He looks down the beach, where a half-dozen fires have been lit, and his men laugh and drink and try not to think about the work they'll have to do tomorrow. Somewhere down the beach, Sebastion's voice rises higher than all the others, spinning some outlandish tale about six mermaids and the horrifying sea beast he saved them from.
"I ain't sure what brought you out here, half-past the edge of nowhere, on a isle that's known to have made short work of better men that either you or I. You'd say its fate, or prophecy, or the work of some god or another." Kale sips from his rum again, grimaces, spits. "I don't know a damn about that--if there's a destiny for me, I don't give a rat's ass, as long as I'm on the sea to face it."
"I'm not taking you on 'cause you asked, or even 'cause you fed my crew when they needed it, though I'll admit that swayed me." Kale stands, wipes the sand off his pants, and starts to walk away. He looks back after a few paces, his expression hidden in shadow. "I'm taking you on 'cause by those old burn scars on your face I can see you're one who knows what it is to suffer. And what it means to want something bad enough that you just get right back up and stick your face into that fire all over again."
"And if you know that, prophet, then you already know what kind of man I am. Point of fact, we ain't all that different."
Pterodactyl Island flashback:
Numeo looks up at the tall captain as he stands over him in the firelight. His gaze is drawn back to the fire and he purses his lips, nodding thoughtfully as his fingers rise to his face to touch the burn scars. He smiles at Kale, the gesture stretching the cracked skin on his cheek and causing it to bleed slightly.
"The skies above us are clouded, Captain. The waters below us are dark, and none among us have plumbed their depths. If fire burns us, it at least also lights our path. And we will need all the light we can manage, I think." He draws his robes more tightly around himself, shivering despite his proximity to the blazing fire.
Another moment, and he turns back to Everett. "Your crew are decent men. But none can defy the coming doom, only understand it." With that, he uses the edge of his thumb to work some more island leaf into his wooden pipe. He lights it with a small branch from the fire and lapses into silence.
Warlord Spirit 13/13 HP AC14 (+4/animals); Touch: 14; Flat-footed: 10, CMD: 12 (+4/animals), Initiative: +9, Perception +2, Fort: +0; Ref: +4; Will +0 (+2 vs. disease, mind-affecting effects, death effects, negative energy, necromancy spells)
"Glorious." Tsao's voice issues in the eldritch Zalgan speech. A satisfaction washed over him as he saw the control of the goblins shift to his allies.
My allies, the disconcerting thought came to him. Not me. Them. I helped to broker our passage to this world...brought them here...have I doomed the world I hope to conquer by doing so?
Doubt over his failure to kill Mum himself gnawed at him like a sore in his lip. Narrowing his eyes, he keeps to the shadows and stays alert for new opportunities. Tomorrow is another day, after all, he thought to himself, with an evil grin.
It's not that I'm undecided, per say, more that it's not my place as a mediator to take sides.
:)
Make no mistake - the coldborn have views on how the matter should be handled. It's mainly Temmuruk and his aides that will be forced to be impartial moderators, but the voices of the coldborn will be heard as well.
On that note I will be submitting writeups for the various opinions that the tribal leaders will share with you on the way to the meeting, during your journey to the Plateau. It will be held in the discussion thread, as a sort of "prologue chapter" to the tribesmoot, chapter 1, for those players that are selected.
*Notice*
I will be experimenting with Strain HP variant rules for this campaign. Take a look at the URL, it's a relatively minor rules change but it will affect your day-to-day adventuring.
A CG witchwolf skinwalker, 3rd-level cavalier (beast rider). Order of the Blue Rose. I'm planning to have him go into Mammoth Rider, if that's alright.
He's ofte at war with himself due to his racial predisposition towards cruelty, and although some small part of him appreciates pain and cruelty, even THAT small part of him just wants to be able to practice in peace and quiet.
The more active version of him, of course, is not so cruel ad wants nothing more than for al peoples to live in harmony.
He will advocate for the skinwalkers to do their best to integrate with the humanoids. Living like hermits in the wilderness has only fostered the distrust and fear that the humans feel for them. He believes that civilization is the next step for the skinwalker tribes.
He has spent much of his life as a hunter and as a protector, guarding his home against vicious beasts and against vicious humanoids as well.
My plan for him brings him to cavalier7/ranger3/mammoth rider10.
If this idea is interesting and acceptable to you, I'll make up a statblock later.
Warlord Spirit 13/13 HP AC14 (+4/animals); Touch: 14; Flat-footed: 10, CMD: 12 (+4/animals), Initiative: +9, Perception +2, Fort: +0; Ref: +4; Will +0 (+2 vs. disease, mind-affecting effects, death effects, negative energy, necromancy spells)
I was with family this weekend. Future notice - it's hard for me to find time to sit down and write up multiple posts a day during the weekends. One or two is usually all I can manage. I'm still here.
Warlord Spirit 13/13 HP AC14 (+4/animals); Touch: 14; Flat-footed: 10, CMD: 12 (+4/animals), Initiative: +9, Perception +2, Fort: +0; Ref: +4; Will +0 (+2 vs. disease, mind-affecting effects, death effects, negative energy, necromancy spells)
"Er...Dis be great news! Gorfeen big mad for Giirk and Simix getting crunched by tomb bugs! Lamashtu will save us!" he pumps his arms enthusiastically as he follows the goblin flow.
It worked? IT WORKED! HAHA! YOU ARE MINE NOW, GOBLIN SLAVE! Tsao roars over the spectral head-goblin inside the goblin's mind. Now.. Tsao continues, his mental voice lowering to a deadly purr, tell me your name, and everything you know...
No, I don't think you're missing anything - it's simply not something that the original game designers appear to have thought of doing. I think you're free to assign stat values as you see fit in this case.
Another fun idea I had for a parasite form: a plant-type parasite who infests their host via spores ejected from the previous host's body. The unsuspecting host happens upon a flower - sniffs it for the fragrance (CHA based parasite?) and breathes in spores that later attack their very free will through their bloodstream. When the plant is ready to move on (maybe the spores have a degenerative effect on the host over time?) the host forcefully holds down another victim and breathes a cloud of spores into their mouth, before going inert.
Cool, glad to see you pick this up again Vicon. Here are my initial thoughts based on what I've read:
Might make a bodysnatcher who is the long-dead spirit of an ancient warlord. He was backstabbed by his Lieutenant ages ago in the height of his military conquests, and such was his arrogance that he was unable to move on from the Material Plane. He feels that he was unjustly robbed of a long life full of military glory. As a result, he is drawn to those who display great martial prowess, especially those who were like him in life - confident, greedy, and casually cruel. He possesses them so that he may one day rebuild his ancient armies and conquer the world through his puppeted host.
Mechanically I'll be making him a Hungry Ghost Monk - and he's the Hungry Ghost.
That's why my barbarian is a Mad Dog archetype. His tiger provides an extra set of fangs and claws on the battlefield, AND it licks him clean after! Best way to keep her fed and happy is to keep stumbling into random encounters.
I may be crazy for even considering doing this...but I have the time and interest, so AVANTE!
Hi, my name is DM Frogfoot. I do homebrew campaigns set in Golarion. I am currently fortunate enough to be employed at a job that gives me enough free time to regularly check these forums, and so...even though I am an active player in 3 PbP campaigns and DMing one PbP campaign on this board already, I am considering adding one more small thing.
I love when a group of players enters into a campaign with a network of interconnected backstories. I find that it enriches the roleplaying experience tremendously when that level of trust - or at least, prior knowledge - is there between PCs. One of the coolest ways of achieving this, in my eyes, is to have a party comprised of all the same race, coming from the same local community. We Be Goblins is a fantastic adventure path imo for that reason alone.
I'd like to set up a small, casual PbP campaign in which all the players involved are the same race and from the same community - or at least are a relatively known outsider. Here's the twist. I'm allowing my applicants to decide what race they will all be.
Ground rules:
25 point buy. I like more the direction of high fantasy adventures than gritty realism and E6-type gameplay - though I definitely have an appreciation for that as well. This campaign is going to be something I'm doing in addition to a few other things, so I'm going to be adding a lot of extra flash.
Starting level 4, average starting gold for that level.
Two traits, from different categories.
Posting requirement - at least once a day, even if it's a one-line post letting me know you're still active, just busy.
Banned races:
gillmen, they're pussies.
humans, bah, we're all humans already, let's pretend here.
Fetchlings, Vishkanya, and Wayangs - I don't know enough about them to make up a story about them on the fly.
That's it. No other race or class restrictions as long as it's not third-party - sorry, no psionics. I have nothing against them but I'm not familiar enough with their rules and I don't want to bother learning them right now. One special rule that I have: the more optimized your character is in combat, the more I expect you to roleplay in the right situations. I like creativity and flavor in my campaigns - no posts that consist solely of die rolls, please.
But yeah, I'll make up a homebrew story involving the characters of the people I accept. Include your suggestions for what race you think the party should be in your application post. Also, acknowledge my posting requirement please.
I'm also open to taking the direction of whatever story I decide to use in unusual directions. Want to play a party of scholarly halflings in a Lovecraftian horror setting (Ustalav)? Want to play tiefling missionaries preaching elemental worship in the fringes of Vigil? Duergar mercenaries in the deep underground? A group of ratfolk with aspirations of creating their own thieves guild? Let me hear your most creative ideas!
Hello, I'm DM Frogfoot. My homebrew campaign set in Golarion, The Wastes of Belkzen, has had a few players drop off the face of the earth. It's a sad state of affairs, but not uncommon to play-by-post campaigns. Ordinarily I would want to just soldier on until they return, however, this time it's affecting their ability to move forward with the story.
SO! I am opening recruitment for two or possibly three more players to join our team of 4. You would be a deputy for the sheriff of Freedom Town, a haven for thieves and malcontents who fled the authority of the city of Vigil. The roster of our team:
Suny, a Sea Elf Fighter from the southern coasts, who wandered up the Flood Road to Freedom Town in search of adventure and joined the law on a whim. She fights with great skill in melee, and is extremely difficult to land a strike on - but outside of combat, you can not find anyone with a sweeter, more friendly disposition.
Arwen, an Aasimar Scion of Humanity urban barbarian, the only remaining deputy who was a local of Freedom Town before the campaign began, who switches weapons for different situations, fights selflessly for his fellow deputies, and favors a simple, direct solution to problems.
Caln, a human cleric of Pharasma who was guided to Freedom Town by prophetic dreams that told him of a great need there. He is still troubled by these dreams, which warn of a great calamity, and has been warned by a shadowy individual to trust no-one in Freedom Town.
and last but not least, Jethro, whose true race is a mystery even to him, but resembles a tallish gnome. His arcane art is a secret to most, and manifests as tattoos on his skin. He joined the sheriff's department as a way to have a steady job, being a drifter who wandered into Freedom Town. He usually fills the sarcastic deadpan humor role in social situations. ;)
So, read the list of players and decide for yourself what would be the best fit for the party, both roleplaying wise and combat wise. I try to keep an even mix of RP and combat in my sessions, giving equal time to both. I also try to make skill checks important and varied, with real consequences for failure. So keep that in mind too.
I have a posting requirement of one post per day. This requirement must be acknowledged in your application post, please. It's very important, as it helps keep the campaign flow going.
You're starting at level 2, with 1,000 gold. I'm pretty sure that's in-line with what the other deputies have in terms of wealth - players, correct me if I'm wrong there. Regardless, you'll be starting with the same amount of gold as they have had access to, whatever that is.
Two traits, of different types. No evil please.
All classes and races are allowed, just make sure it's explained properly in your backstory. Here is a list of known NPCs. Feel free to include them in your backstory if you choose to be a local or new in town.
Known NPCs:
Marshall Oswald, Ratfolk Gunslinger, Sheriff of Freedom Town
Lewis Faelorn: Lewis is not actually as old as he looks, merely defeated. He was a former soldier for Lastwall's armies, fighting orcs in the mountains to the southwest of here. When the orcs were sacking Ironhearth Foundry, Lewis was chastised for leaving his post to fight in the battle. He fought alongside the dwarves there, for he knew some of them and called them his friends. They all perished when Ironhearth was sacked by the Steel-Eaters. When he escaped, he bitterly returned to Vigil and made an impassioned attempt to "Get those scum-sucking vermin to answer for their crimes." He doesn't elaborate further on what it was he attempted to do, but he was exiled for it and has been drinking away his sorrows ever since.
Leonard Truffe: The tall man identifies himself as Leonard Truffe, and he walks around the countertop as he identifies what Suny is after. By the time she's finished paying, he's standing directly in front of her - looming at a height of almost seven feet. Arwen and Marco know as residents that Truffe's reputation as a gentle giant is well-deserved - any trouble that happens within Freedom Town's limits hardly ever touches his Inn.
Orsain: A traveling human merchant with connections in Vigil, he and his travelling companions were captured by the Gnarltusk tribe and rescued by the Freedom Town deputies.
Leora: a half-elf girl who was travelling with Orsain's merchant caravan when it was captured by the Gnarltusk tribe. Has a crush on Gryndar Grogslayer.
Melisa: a human woman whose son, Trent, was killed in the escape attempt from the Gnarltusk tribe.
Erwin: A human druid, operating for some unknown reason in the Hold of Belkzen region. With his animal companion Hierodotus he works to undermine the orcs in the area in their nefarious schemes. Has past connections with Oswald.
Also, you're about to be dropped into an ambush encounter once recruitment ends. So, yeah. Be ready for that.
The gameplay thread is here. After you apply, familiarize yourself with the events of the past few pages, because you're going to be retconned right into it.
Cheers folks! Have fun creating a deputy for me :)
Rhuk does not correlate exactly to any word in Orcish.
Hierodotus gazes down his beak at your group. "You know little to be so close to this precipice. You do not know your own peril. I am not Freedom Town's enemy, and we may be able to help one another, but you must understand first what these blasphemous orcs have been doing."Hopping off his perch, he glides on his wingspan - you can see it to be almost 7 feet across - and lands on the edge of the stone cliff overlooking the ruins below. All those on the stone outcropping feel the breeze of his wings as he lands. As all who are listening gather behind him, he gestures down at the largest bonfire below with one wing.
"There, down below. See those cages? Those contain what Erwin calls 'Rhuk-Orcs,' that you call...'weird'." He turns to your group again, and preens his chest feathers around his pendant before he continues. "The Gnarl leads the orcs occupying these ruins and has laid claim to the entire surrounding area. Of late, the swine have been in a...festive...mood. Something has them ruffled. The Gnarl has been making himself seen nearly every night, whipping his tribe into a frenzy before the entire tribe falls into an orgy of drinking, blood sport, executions of prisoners, and violence."
The large eagle paces back and forth a few steps on his talons. "My master and I were tasked with undermining the aggressive nature of the orcs of Belkzen, to keep them pitted against each other as their bestial natures intend. In this way, the balance of power in Belkzen is maintained. But the Steel Eaters are upsetting that balance in two ways." He stares directly up at Jethro as he speaks. "One way is by introducing this new, aberrant species of orcs and other races into the environment. But this is just the by-product of the Foundry's true heresy against nature. They are developing a weapon, and using the runoff and leftover alchemical materials of the weapon's construction to mutate their brothers. THAT is the true source of the Rhuk mutation."
He sighs, turning away and looking down at the ground with his wings folded behind his back. "Erwin understood the nature of this threat well. We sent for reinforcements a week ago, but it will take time before they can be mustered and sent. Two days ago, Erwin and I were attempting to discover more about the Gnarl when we were ambushed. Three of the Rhuks were unleashed on us at once, and we were overwhelmed. I barely escaped with my life."
He looks over his shoulder at your group again. "I helped you. If I take your star medallions to mean you are law enforcement, then you may just be able to help me. Erwin is still down there, among the orcs. I mean to rescue him at sunrise, when the orcs are most dormant. Are you with me?" He turns fully to face you all again, spreading his wings and puffing up his feathers in an aggressive pose. "Or are you merely thieves, come to steal my master's knowledge and flee in the night?"
