#druidic serpent power

[blackjackkent]

Yet another case of Rakha wandering over somewhere and finding people shouting at each other - in this case, several teeth-lings and the druids in the grove.

"Let my daughter go! Right now!"

"She's a thief, hellspawn. And you will wait for Kagha's judgment! Now get back!"

That, thinks Rakha, who didn't even want to be here in the first place except Wyll insisted on it, is the beautiful sound of Not My Problem, and stalks straight on by, ignoring one of the druids turning into a bear and roaring at the refugees.

The druids try to stop her too, of course, but she doesn't think much of it ("If it weren't for me, you'd be overrun by goblins by now," she says curtly. "I'll go where I please.") and it's quite likely there would be a fight, except that one of the druids pipes up with a message from their leader, the aforementioned "Kagha", who apparently wants to speak with them.

Rakha's really only interested in the healer, but the leader might know something about the Halsin that Zevlor mentioned. So she allows herself and her companions to be led into the stone structure that sits at the base of the grove.

As they walk, she looks with considerable interest at the ritual taking place at the grove's center.

The sense of magic here is intense. It moves in pulses and waves across her skin, resonating with her own power, but with a slightly different texture.

"Why is it different?" she asks Gale matter-of-factly.

"The distinction between arcanic and druidic magic is a matter of some academic debate," Gale says, perking up instantly at this question. "Certainly druidic spellcasting draws upon the Weave as surely as you or I do, but the focus of the casting is considerably different, drawing on natural forces as opposed to a learned intellectual understanding of the Weave's facets. In truth it is closer to a school of divinity than arcana - as evidenced by the presence of that idol of Silvanus at the center of this ritual. An elven deity of the wilderness."

It is the most he's said to her since they found Alfira this morning, and she finds she relaxes a little to hear him returning to his usual loquaciousness, even if most of the nuance is lost on her. "Interesting."

"It is, isn't it?"

-----

The inner sanctum of the grove is dark and cool, a sharp contrast to the warm spring brightness outside. Inside... once again, people are shouting, and one of them, unfortunately, is the person Rakha was sent in here to see.

"Please-- I'm sorry!" A young girl - probably the daughter of the refugee outside - is crying out in terror, faced down by an enormous serpent with fangs as long as Rakha's tusks.

Two of the druids are standing next to her.

"This is madness, Kagha!" one of them is saying, with a placating air. "She's just a--"

"A what, Rath?" Kagha snaps back. "A thief? A poison? A threat? I will imprison the devil--" Her eyes flick past Rath's shoulder to lock on Rakha walking into the room. "And I will cast out every stranger," she adds pointedly.

Rakha halts. She barely notices Kagha's pointed glare at first; her eyes are fixed intently on the snake.

Memory - a deep, thick flash of it, unbidden, unexpected. A creature like this, held between her hands, twisted at the mouth delicately against a clear empty glass. The spurt of a dark, stinging liquid.

Narrator: A death viper. You have milked their poison before. A single drop of it could kill that child in a heartbeat.

The beast in her mind stirs curiously, but does not quite rouse. The viper's poison is a clean kill, she remembers. There is no blood. Simple, effective - but uninteresting.

"One of your guards outside said you wanted to see me," she says, not moving her gaze from the snake though she speaks to Kagha. "Here I am."

Kagha shrugs dismissively. "We will speak soon enough," she says curtly. "First, judgment must be passed." She folds her arms, speaks with relish, evidently quite satisfied with the judgment she has decided on. "The parasite eats our food, drinks our water. Then steals our most holy idol in thanks! Rath - lock her up. She remains here until the rite is complete." She bends a little to the girl's eye height and smirks coldly. "And keep still, devil. Teela is restless."

Rath struggles to protest. "Come, Kagha. We took back the idol. Surely--"

"Do it!" Kagha snaps. Her force of personality is overwhelming; Rath is lost by comparison. His shoulders slump, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Rakha's eyes have not left the snake during this entire interchange. She is fascinated by the thread of memory that hangs from it, fragile, indistinct.

Narrator: The snake's hiss of approval reveals its intentions. Should the child struggle, it is poised to strike.

The beast stirs again, stronger this time.

Narrator: The death of a child. A timeless tragedy that never grows old...

The moment hang's on a knife's edge, and it would be so easy to push it over into chaos. A sharp flick of the eyes, a tacit encouragement to the child - run, run! And she would run, but the snake would be faster. Rakha can see images of the serpent striking, the quick impact like lightning, the two matching circles of dripping red... and death, inevitable as the breath that preceded it.

Her heartbeat quickens to think of it. The beast gnaws at her skull. Why do you hesitate?

She realizes that she is caught on another, much more recent memory as well. Wyll, in camp, telling her gravely the story of how he took the name the Blade of Frontiers. A lost child, an orphan, surrounded by goblins who fell under Wyll's blade to save the boy. "But what of the others?" Wyll said then. "The children never saved, the cries never heard? The frontiers demanded a blade, and so I heeded."

It is the only conversation about a child she can remember having, ever, before this one.

Wyll, she is certain, would not wish this child to die. The beast, equally certainly, wants to see her writhe as the poison takes her.

What do I want?

The question is... surprising. Up to now, her every decision not driven by the Dark Urge has been rooted squarely in survival, in the avenue of least resistance. But in this case... whether the child lives or dies has no bearing on her.

So answer the question. What do I want?

What she wants is control. Last night, the beast rose up and fed on Alfira's guts, and she had no choice in the matter before it was all over. But she is awake and aware now. She has a choice here, to ignore the beast, to ignore a death that will not serve her.

And Wyll, who thinks she carries a light alongside her darkness, would not want the child to die.

Your mind wants the snake to kill the child. But your heart doesn't. Snap out of it.

Narrator: Her life matters more than satiating your dark fantasies. You focus... and they're gone. But clearly, this child's life is still in danger.

Her breath catches. The moment of focus... and the beast recedes, grumbles back into silence. She has never stood against it before. She is not sure she knew it was possible.

She realizes she has been standing there with her eyes closed, forces her gaze open. The others can see she looks abruptly shaken in a way they have never witnessed before.

[PERSUASION] "Release her," she rasps out sharply. "I'll see that she stays out of trouble." The words surprise her as they reach her own ears. But it is the fastest way to end the situation, and she wants suddenly nothing more than to be gone from this moment, to have time to think over what just happened.

Kagha glares at her, a muscle working in her jaw, clearly gauging whether she would win, should this come to blows. And something she sees in Rakha's eyes frightens her just enough that she submits.

"Very well," she hisses, like an echo of the snake she commands. "She may go. Break your word, and my serpent shall feed." She snaps a hand out. "Ssifisv - Teela, to me!"

Obedient, the snake crawls from its perch to curl around Kagha's boot. The girl whimpers with fear, watching it curve past.

"Out, thief!" Kagha snarls at her. "My grace has its limits."

With a noise of pure terror, the girl rockets to Rakha's side, taking up a position behind the half-orc's robes.

Rath relaxes visibly. "Thank you, Kagha. Master Halsin would--"

Kagha rounds on him with sudden fury, one hand lifting as if to strike him across the face. "Halsin isn't here," she snaps. "Keep his name off your tongue, lest Teela pierce it."

-----

Arabella, for that is the girl's name, peers up at Rakha as they walk towards the sanctum door. "I-- I didn't think you were gonna help me," she says unsteadily.

Rakha says nothing. She has withdrawn deeply into herself; as they move out of Kagha's line of sight, she pauses and leans against the wall, her eyes half-closed.

"Hey." Wyll halts as well, and without thinking, reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. He's surprised when she doesn't jerk away. "Are you all right?"

She doesn't answer, but gives a short, sharp shake of the head.

None of them know quite what to do with that. After Rakha's cold-blooded murder this morning, none of them are quite in the mood for empathy towards her... and yet she pulled this child from danger, too. And something in all of that has thrown her terribly.

Wyll frowns uncertainly, then withdraws his hand and instead takes Arabella's. "Come on, lass," he says quietly, casting an uncertain look at Rakha. "Let's let her be a moment, and go find your parents."

Rakha does not look up as they walk away. Her gaze is fixed inward, staring at the black place in the back of her mind where the beast lurks. She can feel it staring back at her, cowed for the moment but not beaten. She can feel a shiver down her back as it laughs.

Let the girl live, then. There will be others. There will be so many others...

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #eyyyyyy our first active resist choice! :D #got an inspiration for it and everything #might have to have her and wyll have a chat tomorrow XD #bjk writes her own party banter

[asquared-ohgodnotthehorrors]

I feel real down rn so I’m just gonna ramble about this DND 5e world I wanna run some day to make me feel better.

Basically, the main premise is that every Spellcasting class is restricted to “one” race (the quotation marks will be explained later), and that had a big influence on the history, world building, and culture of the world. The exceptions are Sorcerers and Warlocks because the origin of those magics are inherently different and externally caused.

Wizards are exclusive to Elves. This is because High Elves are mechanically more strongly connected to Wizardry, Elves live longer so they have more time to study, learn, and improve their magic like a Wizard, Bladesinging, and Wizard magic in this world is inherently elven, and elves are the only race with the right magical connection to tap into that. This caused many ripples in worldbuilding. It reinforced the elven stereotype of them being isolationists, hiding away from the rest of the world to study magic as they do. However, one particular detail I like is the schism elves had on the topic of Necromancy. The Drow were initially banished to the Underdark due to advocation of Necromancy, however in recent times many sects of High Elves have begun to re-embrace Necromancy as a practical and useful school of magic, investing in it and reconnecting with the Drow. Meanwhile, Wood Elves see Necromancy as Sacrilegious, causing a schism between Wood and High elves.

Druids are exclusive to Dragonborn and Kobolds, aka Dragonkin. Dragons are inherently elemental beings, with the ability to control the elements, weather, plants and animals, and even turn into beasts. It would make sense then that Dragons would be the original Druids, and Dragonkin would learn from them, replicating their magic and using their Draconic Ancestry to perform Druidic Magic. Plus, almost every Druid Circle is connected to a type of Dragon. Circle of Wildfire connects to most Fire dragons, Spore Druids connect to Deep dragons who have Fungal Abilities and Topaz Dragons who invest in Necromancy, Stars Druids connect with Crystal and Amethyst dragons who are avid Astronomers and Cosmologists, Dreams Druids connect with Moonstone & Fey Dragons, Moon Druids connect with any Dragon that can shapeshift, and Land can apply to most any dragon. However, since most Dragons tend to be vain, and since a Druid must be a disciple of a Dragon or another Draconic Druid in order to learn most of the time, Draconic Druids tend to inherit some of that vanity. And since this kind of wisdom and magic makes for good leadership, many Dragonborn collectives tend to be quite imperialistic, performing the same conquering of territory and hoards their namesakes do. Kobolds also do this, albeit to mixed degrees of success in comparison. Druids also cannot wear metal still, as Dragonkin feel it is horrible to wear such valuable material for a Dragon Hoard as armor.

Clerics were an odd one. Religion could apply to any humanoid, since religion is inherent to many societies and humanoids tend to have society. However, if there is any race that tends to be a paragon of society in media, it’s Humans. So Clerics are restricted to humans. Granted, gods can grant powers to other races through their messengers (Celestial Warlocks) or grant them inherent power (Divine Soul Sorcerers), but these boons become independent of the god once granted, and can potentially be used against the gods’ goals. Humans are different. They were built to herald the divine will of the gods, and thus were required to be joined at the hip, as Clerics, and as stronger more direct channels of a god’s power. Of course, gods aren’t the only things that can grant them divine power. Devil worshipping is what resulted in the creation of Tieflings. Some gods even used the empty vessels of humans to change them permanently, as Serpent God Worshippers did unholy rituals to create Yuan-Ti. The list goes on. As such vessels for divine magic, some Humans believe themselves to be better than other races, as they are the righteous hands of divine will, and must lead other species to salvation using their god given gifts. Other races tend to believe human gods were more akin to Helicopter Parents than actual gods, as their divinity had faith in their independence. Regardless, Humanity used their divine gifts as excuses to do many horrible things.

Artificers are restricted to Gnomes. Not much logic behind it other than Gnomes are the magic item maker and tinkerer race.

Bards are restricted to Dwarves. Dwarves are very cultural people, with strong focus on their history, ancestry, and stories. As such, Bards would be a good fit for them. But most fantasy media tends to make Dwarves very insular, and Bards are meant to be well traveled jacks of all trades. So instead of changing the stigma of the class, like with Druids and Dragonborn, we change the stigma of the Dwarves, turning them into passionate artisans who hold their culture close yet value the idea of combining and gaining new ideas from others slightly above that. Things only grow stronger when repaired, and as such their culture is ironclad with the amount of times Dwarves have broken and rebuilt it. This also annoys the more uptight spellcasters of other races, as Dwarves always find ways to replicate their unique Magical Secrets, though it is often seen as mere mockeries of their crafts rather than the real deal.

Rangers are restricted to orcs. Certain media representations have portrayed orcs as very tribal groups of people, and as such Ranger is granted to them in order to reinforce that tribal theme as well as give them a theme as natural wardens. Horizon Walkers guard portals to other planes, Fey Wanderers protect the Feywild, Drakewardens protect Dragons or use Dragons to protect other things, Gloom Stalkers protect Underdark entrances, etc. This sort of flips the roles of Druids and Rangers, as normally Druids protect and work with nature while Rangers conquer and use nature. Here however, Rangers lack excessive natural magic to work with nature and take no more than necessary, while Druids use excessive nature magic to act as tyrants that bend it to their will. This also makes Orcs more of a neutral or good race, valuing the protection of nature and their ancestral homes. This comes into conflict with Dragonborn and Humans, however, as their natural magics make them feel obligated to have nature more often than not, leading to many conflicts between these races.

Finally, Paladins. I chose to restrict Paladins to Goblinoids (that being Bugbears, Hobgoblins, and of course regular Goblins). In the history of this world however, it wasn’t always like this. A majority of the worlds’ history had Goblins as standard archetypical goblins, as raiders, conquerers, and sloths. However, only 1 century and a half before present had the first Paladin been created, as a long Goblin swore an oath to protect their people and was granted Divine Power unlike any seen before. Since then, Paladins had begun to spring up as the news spread. Hobgoblins that had risen the ranks in their armies took oaths of Conquest to conquer more and foster power, or Oaths of Crown or Redemption to change their ways and foster a better nation with their resources. Bugbears took upon Oaths of Ancients to protect what they cared about, whether that be beloved homes and people or rampant hedonism. Goblins as a whole took the chance to change themselves, and change their perception of the world. A majority started to form nations, become stoic and disciplined people, become paladins to serve as warriors and ambassadors alike, and to change for the better. Suddenly, Goblinoids had went from pests and threats to a race of people that must be regarded as equals. Other races mostly saw political threats and opportunities, but Humans were personally offended. They were meant to be the bastions of Religion, why should Goblins wield power almost identical to theirs? Some humans passed it off, claiming it to be a fluke or another form of magic more similar to Wizardry or Druidcraft. The kinder humans welcomed Goblinoids in with open arms, with the more opportunistic looking for opportunities to convert. But in the shadows, cults and sects began to form focusing on the eradication of Paladins, of Heretics, bringing tension and conflict between races.

Of course there are races that gain no unique magics. Halflings tend to be happy as is without magic, in their own individual villiages scattered across the world. Meanwhile, Goliath Giantkin resided in small groups, following powerful giants who gifted Giant Magics to their most devout. Firbolg often resided near or in the Feywild, making Warlock deals with all kinds of natural and Fey things, like trees, groves, ancient plants and animals, and whatever else. Half Races, such as Half Elves, Half Orcs, and even Tieflings, Aasimar, and Yuan-Ti, had the ability to draw on the magic of any or both of their original heritages, with some famous Half Orcs becoming renowned Hunters with some divine Knacks and Half Elves becoming ambassadors of the elven gods of magic, and whatever else. But the main spellcasting races are those who have the most dominance over the world.

And that’s about it… I don’t know how to end this post.

#dnd #dnd5e #dnd stuff #dnd campaign #dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons

[senatushq]

“Erik Alstroemeria trusted that the world as it was would never change. This rubble is the legacy of that trust. Empires fall, and regimes change, Senators. I want to make sure we’re all still standing when the dust clears.”

-   An address from Elena Montoya (The Voice) to the Senate

Oztalun’s arrival to Knossos was preceded by a rainless storm, thunder battering the sky as golden wings unfurled, large enough to block the sun as he landed amidst the ancient palace. Fanfare and reverie sang around the people as the praise and devotion lavished the God, the last of his kind to remain in the mortal realm, spread within his true form golden light brought with it a ceaseless warmth. Comforts and joys sang in their hearts as anyone who looked upon Oztalun was placed under a form of compelled devotion. Anyone who gazed upon his golden scales was struck with a sense of camaraderie and fealty that could not be shaken, even in his parting.

When he roared, the foundations of the city shook, the labyrinth beneath them reverberated with his seemingly boundless strength. Knossos, a city of nearly twenty-thousand people, roared in return as they threw offerings at his feet in the hope that his gaze might fall upon them. Bless them, and raise them from their station. The people of Crete had known thousands of years of prosperity, formidable warriors and were among the most feared in the Mediterranean. It paid to have the favour of a God.

The druids that had all been called to the city, flocked to him, archdruids and those who’d resorted to chimerisms were immune to Oztalun’s compulsion as those who felt the impending doom moved to protect him. There were those who’d come to learn the truth of the situation, and those that had not were still still drawn in towards the light of The First. For most, this was their first time gazing upon him and any trepidations were quickly washed away. Archdruids carried a glimmer of this magic, it was part of what inspired the devotion of their followers and what kept them immune to Oztalun’s compulsions. Chimeras had broken their own minds and in so doing, had indirectly broken whatever hold The First had over them.

Bolstered by Trivia’s magic, across time the necronomicon sang to the Asphodel, bolstering their magic and increasing their power tenfold. Creatures like The Exile, The Secret, and The Violent and other followers or acolytes of the Asphodel were all empowered by their connection to the infernal book. Unmatched by other lycans, demigods, or demons, they lingered in the crowd beneath Oztalun’s light - their minds protected by the necronomicon as they waited for their time to strike.

Beneath the city, in the heart of the labyrinth: The Returned, The Sacrifice, and a Swamp Witch began their summoning. Bodies of those they’d slain littered the area around them, fey, druids, and mortals alike fueled their dark art as Abominations rose from the Inferno to greet Oztalun’s protectors in the streets.

The Egotist led an order of newly-minted changelings from the Otherworld, joined by The Burnt who conjured the long-forgotten warriors of the Inferno: demogorgons. Once druids, long abandoned by Oztalun, the pair of necromancers led their infantry into Knossos and against The First. It was in the arrogance of Gods to not see an end when it was laid before them, the dragon roared, and the fighting began as the people of Knossos, joined by Oztalun’s druidic protectors, took to the fray.

Bones long laid to rest in the sea were drawn from the tides, a foe once slain by seraphim was resurrected under the instruction of The Pythia. The Nomad, The Hidden, and The Liberated resurrected a fallen serpent and breathed life into it once more. The creature’s mind bewitched by the conjunction of their magic in accompaniment of The Pythia, the mighty and unyielding creature was formidable in size, but even it was middling when compared to that of Oztalun.

Dionaeia and Aren rose to stand at the side of The First, while Nettelia was not seen on the battlefield. Octavian, compelled by the necronomicon, fought against his brother and his sister with the inflated strength of his perfect chimerisms. Distracted by the conflict of siblings, the archdruids were preoccupied while the druids of the city were left to fend off the waves of attacks, and defend Oztalun on their own.

The battle was not short lived, impaled by conjurations of the world tree Yggdrasil, Oztalun’s strength was sapped and he fell as obsidian-like branches shattered at the spell’s breaking. Where The First landed, Nettelia waited. When the Asphodel descended upon his fading, divine body, the archdruid was already gone. As Oztalun’s ichor poured, The Burnt bent her lips towards it, and drank. The Pythia gouged out the dragon’s eyes, wrenched a scale from his hide, and tore a fang from his mouth. Ichor spilled into the grass as the God took his final breaths, ragged and tormented, his body dissipated until there was nothing left. Where his blood had spilled, uncaptured, flowers of the pharmakis bloomed. The rare herb that allowed a person to transform into their truest self, it was this crop that was harvested by many and kept as keepsakes for years to come. Rare flowers that became more and more rare over the centuries until Titania inevitably ate the last of its kind.

As dawn broke, the spell that had brought them back in time began to fade until the Asphodel were drawn back to Necromanteion. Their connection to Trivia now broken, their lair was once again concealed by their power over the Otherworld.

In the mortal realm, those that were trapped in the labyrinths were returned to normal reality by the same pressure that had broken it in the first place. While The Eye has ensured that the civilian officers are immune to illusion magic, The Dahlia, The Narcissus, and The Amaranthus worked together to rid the humans of Rome from the knowledge of what happened. To any but the supernatural population, Mercuralia was just a fun festival that made a lot of money.

The senate, in cooperation with The Eye, called for a summit with the Lupo and the Fairy Court - to which the lycans and the fey refused. They closed their borders and ceased political correspondence with the senate entirely. In representation of the rising druid population, the archdruids have reclaimed the druidic seats upon the senate. Aren, Dionaeia, Nettelia, and Octavian will attend the summit. Other aspects may appear as well, in doing so they’ll either choose to align with the senate and The Eye, or stand against them and declare themselves for the Fairy Court of the Lupo.

Ooc info

Oztalun is dead. Every druid will inherently know this and grieve his passing like they’d lost a parent.

The Forest’s boundaries are closed to all seraphim, humans, vampires, coven witches, and members of the senate. Only those expressly permitted by the Alpha or the King will be permitted within, all others who enter will either be rejected, or made to swear a binding oath to King Meryasek.

Current Triumvirate members: The Hand, The Immortal, and The Speaker.

Current Senators: Octavian, Aren, Dionaeia, Nettelia, The Cardinal, The Oracle, The Sacrifice, The Tower, The Praetor, The Heretic, The Future, and The Enforcer.

Trivia’s full strength has returned.

Asphodel Members have returned to their normal strength. Their faces were revealed to Melpomene and passed on to the Fairy Court who came to learn each of their identities. The souls of every member of the Asphodel have been stained, those who kill a God cannot go on to live normal lives. The next person that they lose who is close to their heart, will disappear forever into the aether. 

The Burnt (Lucretia) has become an aspect and is now a perfect chimera that can shift into a dragon.

Everyone is still welcome to post starters for all the plot drops, but please no new starters after June 5th.

We’ll be releasing the rest of the Aspects over the weekend, and the character limit has been upped to 15 - if there are characters you’d like to retire please consider doing this before taking up any others. 

#senatus.v #senatus.event #senatus.plot #senatus.mercuralia

[choroin]

eden's grace in a chokehold; divided in two .

( poppy drayton, cis female, she/her, 26) ** ♔ announcing ATHDARA MACDONALL,  the HEIR TO THE HIGHLAND CLANS ! in a recent portrait they seem to resemble POPPY DRAYTON. it is a miracle that SHE survived the last five years and for that reason, they are AMBIVILOUS the kingdoms working together. reflecting on them now, they remind me of THE BRINGING OF A PEOPLE TOGETHER UNDER ONE BANNER, THE WILDNESS OF THE NORTH WRAPPED INTO A WOMEN, FORGOING SAFETY FOR THE SAKE OF THE PEOPLE, THE SERPENT BENEATH THE FLOWERS OF EDEN.

tw: mentions of religious discrimination ( catholicism vs druid ).

She is a child of the North , through and through . Druidic , yes . Pacifistic ? No . It is impossible to be so in these times , when your lands are split by the Lowlands favouring England , and the Highlands fighting tooth and claw for their traditions , their kinship , their ways of life . She is the dagger beneath the hem and the tip to the canine . Athdara is a bridge , or a torch to burn it .

Athdara was born screaming . Hearty lungs , red faced , that would only be calmed when soothed with Gaelic rhyme . One child of many in her father’s brood , but the favourite without a doubt . Seven siblings , two surviving to adulthood and wedded and warred off for the sake of the Highlands , Athdara took up the idea of bridging Scotland with a wedding to the Stuarts — or , if necessary , pincering them with a wedding to the English . A bold and risky move , but one that would allow infiltration from the inside ( and give Scotland a right to the English throne ) .

It was from fifteen onwards that she would take speeches , that she would muddy her hems and hands in aid to the people . From farming , to cooking , to distribution , to rallying up the warriors with war speeches . Any aspect in which she could touch the hearts of her people , she took . And in this respect , she is their future Laird . Even , their future Queen , if the need arose . Especially after the most recent six years gone .

At age nineteen , Athdara was packed up with her hounds , her horse and her maid , and sent for a year’s mission to the Stuart household . A diplomacy . A scouting mission . Secret letters back and forth , describing the state of the house , how they ruled , and how the power balance swayed from day to day . It was only meant to be a year sacrificed , something to be finished with a potential engagement and returning to her home in the highlands , lesser prince in tow .

And then , at twenty , the plague hit . And Athdara was trapped .

Unable to travel northwards for fear of introducing more plague to remote lands that remained somewhat untouched , the heir would witness the disruption to the Stuart household . Their Queen’s death , the shift in heirarchy — but most of all , their aid to the English , and the lack of response . The people began to hate and fear and Athdara would take none of it . Her hands would take callouses with shovel hilts , as she resumed her previous habits of farming in nearby fields , in delivering grain where she could grab it , in even dismantling what small amount of finery she owned for the folk to trade at any chance . It was all she could do , those five years , and it was enough to put the Highlanders in the Lowland common’s good graces .

Perhaps even whispers of a change in crowns .

And now , twenty five and aching for home , she stands in the halls of Switzerland , surrounded by monarchs and nobles alike , aware of sharing space with the English , with the Catholicism that wished her ways gone . Uneasy and homesick , she stands , and she waits for the nonsense to be over , for the home calling for her to be revisited .

#* -- oh by the scales of knowledge ; about.

[heroforge-official]

Time to introduce you all to another daring band of heroes. (Top to bottom)

Balamar Ungart. A mischievous young dwarf of the duergar variety, capable of turning invisible and doubling his size in battle. Though a rogue by nature, Balamar is also a member of the Druidic circle of the moon, and boasts shapeshifting abilities that come in handy on his many heists. A very mysterious little fella.

Barry the Consolidator. An elfman monk who trained at a mountaintop mine start under Shaun, a master of the arts. Barry has since become something of a megalomaniac, intent on cultivating an army to do his bidding and to seize control of the powers that oppress the people of the land. When he and his travelling companions happen upon a treasure trove, they use the funds to build a stronghold where the Barrison is born.

Ercis Tenebrae. A mischievous young tiefling with a penchant for petty theft, public unruliness and the odd murder. He has a blood pact with Dendar the Night Serpent, a powerful elder god who might once have seen promise in him, but has since continued to sponsor him out of a sense of abject curiosity, simply fascinated to see what he’ll do next.

Hecate. Named for her mother, Hecate is the result of an unholy union between a human man and a devil goddess of witchcraft. Having spent the first few decades of her life shut away in a cave by her father out of shame, Hecate has very little knowledge of the outside world, but is intimately familiar with the ebb and flow of wild magic.

Orilos Orneryhorn. Plagued by the memories of what has been taken from him, Orilos is a veteran city watchman of a long since destroyed settlement in Wesfolk. When his home was besieged by a cult of Tiamat, who succeeded in killing the village elders, Orilos helped the survivors to safety and was then drawn to the church to serve Bahumat. More recently, he has felt a calling to travel abroad to begin his adventures anew; somewhere deep within him, though he does not know it, he senses a greater evil on the horizon.

#hero forge #mine #PCs #dungeons and dragons #fantasy #the turn of the barrison #balamar Ungart #Barry the consolidator #Ercis tenebrae #Hecate #Orilos Orneryhorn

[tempest-sorcerer]

Preseli Bluestone

This is Preseli Bluestone. It is an EXTREMELY POTENT substance used by Iron Age Druids (that includes the Pheryllt of Iolo Moranwg) (die mad about it 😈). It forms the Inner Ring of the most sacred Druidic site on the planet: Stonehenge. Now that we have excavated it from Wales & studied its properties we now have an idea of how & why the Druids used this potent stone. Here are its known properties (along with what mine is telling me):

It is HIGHLY connected to the Earth's magnetic field so it is very grounding. It improves electrical communication throughout the body & so regulates the body's neurotransmitters. This means that combined with electrolytes it quite literally activates meridians & moves mana through the body, transmuting thoughts with emotional energy, & refining it into mana. It also activates & strengthens psychic and psychokinetic abilities. I know this because it has fine tuned my Atmokinesis & Empathy (and other powers I have developed throughout my life), and expanded them beyond what I thought possible. It opens & clears the Heart & Throat Centres, and forms an open line of communication between the Heart-Mind. It is great for past life regression/atavistic resurgence, neurolinguistic programming, astral projection, soul retrieval, shamanic practices, grounding, activating/reactivating latent/dormant magickal powers, & creating a relationship/working with the spirits of the Land. It also connects you with ancient Celtic Wisdom & Egyptian Knowledge.

#the serpent set me free #druidism #druidry #druid power #druidic serpent power #kêråilyn zålvor #mind over matter #psychokinesis #hermetic principles #psionics #psychic development #keranomancer #neuromancer #preseli bluestone #druidblr #pheryllt druid #book of pheryllt #wood elf magick #atmokinesis

[transcending-chaos]

Alt. Perim ideas - @actuallyastingray

Okay, so this is kinda long but I needs to be in a way.

So a few of my friends and I got on the topic of Chaotic coming back and we started talking about how they can introduce new creatures/locations without any, "ooh, look; crazy powerful new creature showed up on new location. Where has this been the last three seasons? Hell if we know". I understand the Far-Frozen and potentially the Spiritlanders can be new tribes, but that wouldnt explain how new members of the existing tribes are introduced.

The idea is this: Perim is just one landmass on the (planet?). SO there have to be other continents with potentially their own creatures. We came up with a HC that at some point in the past, when the continents divided, some creatures from each tribe ended up on the now separate continents. Being now separate tribes, they wouldnt adapt in the same way.

The Alt. Overworlders we designed to be heavily Asian themed, drawing from Hindu, Chinese, Japanese, and some Polynesian inspired appearances. Think mythical beings like Sun Wukong, Agni, Hou Yi, etc. Their home is in a mountainous area, like the Himalayas (OVERworlder). In the week since we invented them, I will say they are sort of the least developed idea we had, but thats what we came up with.

The alt. Underworlders dont have the same inspiration as the Perim ones. Instead of demonic or cyborg beings living in a steampunk-esque society, we traded that out for a Victorian England style of living. The creatures are more horror movie based (werewolves, mummies, goblins) along with several cryptid-esque creatures (wendigo, Chupacabra). Most of the basic citizens have vampire qualities. The Underworld isnt located underground, but in a massive valley near to the mountain ranges of the Overworld, so they dont get much sunlight. A plot point someone brought up is that the hierarchy needed a rival, like Chaor with Von Bloot, so we thought that the throne could belong to a pair of siblings, with the current queen having ousted her brother for being a crazed tyrant. 

The alt. Mipedians were fun. It started with the idea of "what if their jungle wasnt drained dry by the Danians, how would they have evolved?" We ended up with an Aztec themed empire, with the Mipedians having one of the largest territories on the new continent. Instead of being able to turn invisible, we came up with a new twist to fit the theme; being able to use mugic to "ascend" to a more powerful avian form; kind of like Archaeopteryx. It was all around the "feathered serpent" ideology of the Aztec gods. Speaking of gods, these Mipedians have a full religion based around the sun and the moon, just like the Aztecs. It was fun to work a 'worked over' theme of reptiles into something new.

The alt. Danians were basically us taking out our disappointment over the lack of diversity in the canon tribe. The alt. Danians are a conglomerate of different insects species, but they arent all necessarily one tribe. Basically, there are different 'broods' of insects in the hive under different queens/brood mothers, with all of them falling under one matriarch of the swarm. We wanted there to be diversity so that they werent all just ants. (We even tried to HC that the reason all Perim Danians are ants is because when the continents split, only the ant queen was in Perim at the time) Back to the alt. Danians; they live in a massive, misty forest on the edge of a scrub plain, trying to include as many habitats as possible. Their palace is in a gigantic tree that dominates the region. Their lifestyle is very druidic; they see the forest as their first line of defense and source of food, so they religiously tend to it. Unlike the Perim Danian hive, this hive is much more democratic then other tribes; the queens/brood mothers all can voice their opinions, but the matriarch usually has last say. 

Just one of the ideas we came up with, and it was fun working on it.  Next task is to figure out, theoretically, how this could mix into the show.

These are all really cool! As for how it can fit into the show: Kirvac Mound. It's not just time travel, it's also possible timelines and space travel. Perhaps there's a reason a particular tunnel is kept nearly sealed, and curious Players discover a new reality, or -like in some of my more intense AUs- it gets blown up and now elements of different realities come crashing together to create cataclysmic events.

#ideas for sharing #thoughts on writing #thoughts on the show #submission post #@actuallyastingray

[thecreaturecodex]

Dulklorrkelorrkeng

“Wailingraad noble” © deviantArt user TheIvoryFalcon, accessed at their gallery here

[Commissioned by @wannabedemonlord​. This Australian bogey is another native of Arnhem Land, where it is said to live in dry forests with no groundwater. It can cause trees to such extra water up for them, and uses these to lure victims in. Sounds pretty druidic to me. It typically eats poisonous snakes and the resin of gum trees, which gave me an ascetic vibe. Since it’s mostly humanoid, but can change form and has the head of an animal, it sounded to me like a rakshasa. At least, a Pathfinder rakshasa, as opposed to an actual Hindu one. The art doesn’t quite match the hermit flavor text I had in mind for them, but it was the best bat-headed vampire I could find. Maybe this one has gotten dolled up for another rakshasa’s party.]

Rakshasa, Dulklorrkelorrkeng CR 13 LE Outsider (native) This humanoid creature has the head of a bat, with long ears and a nose like a leaf above a maw of small, sharp teeth. In one of its clawed hands it holds a live snake, which it wields as a whip.

Dulklorrkelorrkengs are sometimes called “ghost bat fiends”, because of their pale color, bat-like aspect and sinister demeanor. They are rakshasas that derive from the souls of evil druids who cheat the powers of reincarnation—a druid who abuses the reincarnate spell may return as one of these fiends. Unlike other rakshasas, they shun creature comforts in favor of an ascetic lifestyle, living as hermits in remote and unforgiving lands. There, among heat, cold, hunger and thirst, they better contemplate ways to do evil in the world and devote themselves to the gospel of pain and fear.

Any whip a dulkorrkelorrkeng holds absorbs a piece of the monster’s soul and animates as a snake. Some sages note the similarities between these animated whips and the raktavarnas, the least of rakshasa kind. A ghost bat fiend can wield this whip with deadly grace, using it to transmit its own venom at a distance. The venom of a dulkorrkelorrkeng causes muscles to become flaccid and limp while bursting blood vessels—creatures that succumb to this poison die exceptionally messy deaths. They are also skilled spellcasters, mixing arcane magic with druidic spells.

Although dulkorrkelorrkengs typically live apart from the world, that does not mean they have no influence in it. Some try to turn fey and other creatures of their distant environments to the cause of evil. Some make periodic visits to the courts of other rakshasa, where they act as traveling advisors and special agents. A few even tutor evil mortals, especially druids or monks, in their philosophy. In these monasteries of evil, the dulkorrkelorrkeng is usually found in disguise, and even their star pupils may not know of their master’s monstrous form unless the school comes under threat.

Dulklorrkelorrkeng              CR 13 XP 25,600 LE Medium outsider (native, rakshasa) Init +9; Senses blindsense 40 ft., darkvision 60 ft., Perception +23 Defense AC 26, flat-footed 17, touch 19 (+9 Dex, +7 natural) hp 175 (14d10+98) Fort +11, Ref +18, Will +15 DR 15/good and piercing; Immune poison; SR 28 Offense Speed 30 ft., climb 20 ft. Melee +1 whip +25/+20/+15 (1d4+7 plus poison), claw +18 (1d4+3), bite +18 (1d6+3 plus poison) or 2 claws +23 (1d4+6), bite +23 (1d6+6 plus poison) Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with whip) Special Attacks detect thoughts (DC 23), whip snake Spells CL 10th, concentration +16 (+20 casting defensively) 5th (4/day)—baleful polymorph (DC 21) 4th (6/day)—cure serious wounds (DC 20), enervation 3rd (7/day)—fly, haste, spike growth (DC 19) 2nd (8/day)—bull’s strength, invisibility, resist energy, scorching ray 1st (8/day)—cure light wounds (DC 17), mage armor, magic missile, ray of enfeeblement (DC 17), speak with animals 0th—create water, detect magic, mage hand, prestidigitation, purify food and drink, ray of frost, resistance, touch of fatigue (DC 15) Statistics Str 23, Dex 28, Con 25, Int 20, Wis 22, Cha 23 Base Atk +14; CMB +20 (+22 trip); CMD 39 (41 vs. trip) Feats Combat Casting, Combat Expertise, Improved Trip, Improved Whip Mastery, Weapon Finesse, Weapon Focus (whip), Whip Mastery Skills Bluff +28, Climb +14, Disguise +32, Fly +23, Knowledge (arcana) +19, Knowledge (nature, planes) +22, Perception +23, Sense Motive +23, Spellcraft +22, Stealth +26, Survival +23; Racial Modifiers +4 Bluff, +8 Disguise Languages Common, Infernal, Sylvan SQ change shape (humanoid, alter self) Ecology Environment any land Organization solitary or pair Treasure standard (+1 whip, other treasure) Special Abilities Poison (Su) Bite or whip—injury; save Fort DC 24; duration 1/round for 4 rounds; effect 1d4 Dex plus 2d6 damage;  cure 1 save. The save DC is Constitution based. Spells A dulklorrkelorrkeng casts spells as a 10th level sorcerer. It can choose spells from the druid list for its spells known, as well as from the sorcerer/wizard list. Whip Snake (Su) In the hands of a dulklorrkelorrkeng, a whip transforms into a live serpent. It can deal lethal or nonlethal damage, as the rakshasa wishes, and can deal damage to creatures with any armor or natural armor bonus. The whip can also transmit the dulklorrelorrkeng’s poison. This is an ability of the rakshasa, not the whip.

#dulklorrkelorrkeng #rakshasa #australian aboriginal #pathfinder 1e #commissions

[wild-magick-child]

The Path of Sorcery I walk is Baphometic Druidry. It is a path I created from my Tradition (Merlinean) combined with my path of Satanism (Sabbatic Luciferian). It embraces pre1600s Traditional Witchcraft practices from Great Britain, Scots-Ireland, Cornwall, Wales, & the Isle of Mann. It's symbol is the Tree of Knowledge with the Serpent entwined upon its branches, with the Awen shining within it & the Chalice Well at its roots. It follows a Fayerii Faith type of sorcerous practice & utilizes a traditional Pantheon of 5 entities: The Bucca, the Fayerii Queen, the Genus Locii, the Atavat'ii (Ancestors & Therionick Demons), & the Baphomet. Baphometic Druids wear the symbol of the Path (working on getting a few forged as this path is still new) upon initiation & the Baphomet (which contains our Pantheon & us within it) at any time. HEAVY emphasis on the An Carow Gwyn system of sorcery as well as pre1600s Trad Witchcraft practices such as the Infernal Witches Sabbat, Familiarus Magia (Maleficarum Style), Copula/Coitus cum Daemonia, Divine Possession, & Druid style Sex Majik. As for spellcraft, the language we use is based on the sigillic manipulation of words, as this style of sorcery is highly reliant on Sigil Majik. HEAVY use of sigils, bindrunes, Words of Power, & sigillic mantras. Use of scrolls, Wandulurgy, & natural Majik.

I am in process of writing a few Grimoires & several notes about this Path of Sorcery. If anyone is interested in practicing a system of sorcery that is based around pre-Xrstian nature-based sorcery & is also Satanic, then this Path might be for you! My books will be available by May 2020. Support me on Patreon & feel free to donate if you can! As a $25 Tier you will get an ecopy of the selected book + a talisman of the Sacred Symbol of the Path (when available). I will also be experimenting with leather book binding & the creation of parchment paper for handmade Satanic & Druidic Encantuses in coming months, so those will be available as soon as I can!

Baphomet Bless /|\

[airanke]

20. “Always yours, always mine.” - For Volita! :3

Vol’jin x Amita20. “Always yours, always mine.”

Vol’jin had dragged himself through the years. He was as hollow as he felt. Relinquished his hold on the title of warchief because it was too much to bear. Stepped down from his position as chieftain and given the role to Rokhan, opting instead to disappear.

This must have been how Amita felt when she had received the news of his death in Pandaria, but unlike then, this was real. She was gone. No amount of praying or hoping or dreaming or begging was going to bring her back. There was no bargain Vol’jin could offer any of the Loa that would be enticing enough; no bargain that wouldn’t result in one of them being left behind.

Vol’jin wandered. He crossed paths with Jaina during the many Legion assaults, and for a time, they kept each other company. Found comfort in each other’s pain. Found solace in their shared suffering. Both had lost their midnight sky. Both were still alive because of her. The roots Amita had laid still stood strong on the Broken Shore, coiled around the portal spires, breaking them apart.

He was hard-pressed to leave her, but Jaina insisted that she needed more time alone, and Vol’jin only agreed when she whispered, “and you need more time to grieve. You loved her so much. You look– lost without her.”

To which he had replied, voice choked, “she was a lamp unto my feet.”

The two parted. Vol’jin wandered once again, taking the most comfort in Val’sharah. The winding trees, and druidic presence kept him from missing her so.

But the Nightmare clung to him like sweat. It feasted on his pain, revelled in his grief, and once Ysera was slain, Vol’jin had no choice but to leave, and he drifted once more. Illidan was restored. The heroes trekked to Argus itself. The Legion was defeated.

Not too soon after the return home, tensions between the Horde and the Alliance rose again. Vol’jin caught winds of the plans for Teldrassil, and was there evacuating civilians under the guise of a worgen not long after. As lost as he felt without the moon to guide him, he couldn’t give up on his life.

Amita would never forgive him for that if he did.

He had practiced his disguise voodoo until even Rommath could not tell that the new blood guard in their ranks was Vol’jin himself.

Teldrassil’s burning left him weeping.

‘This is my fault.’

He followed Rokhan, and Thalyssra to Stormwind to ensure they made it out safely.

‘This is my fault.’

He stowed himself away on the boat to Zandalar, always keeping himself just out of sight, refusing to reveal himself when Talanji’s Loa informed her that a powerful shadow hunter lurked in the darkness. She had called out to him. He merely shrunk back further.

Once again, he wandered. He explored Vol’dun, helping wayward heroes where he could, regardless of their faction. He avoided Bwonsamdi like the plague in Nazmir, forfeiting sleep in favor of not having the angered Loa descend upon him in his dreams. Avoiding the Loa of Death in his waking hours was difficult enough.

Vol’jin was there when Rezan fell.

And he was there when the Zandalari discovered new worshippers in their midst. They had descended on Dazar’alor in a fervor. Two had morphed into dragons, fending off Mythrax tooth and claw alongside the Loa themselves, and their efforts were not in vain. Even if the huge being had managed to destroy the third seal, Mythrax fell.

Others still tended to the fallen, and when Talanji and Rastakhan attempted to have some questioned, they disappeared as silently as they had arrived.

“Please, Vol’jin, if there be anyone who can be finding a new Loa, it be you.”

“… what makes you be saying that, Rokhan?” Vol’jin inquired, running a whetstone along the length of his glaive.

“Because I know you. Don’t go thinking that ol’ Rokhan doesn’t know you’ve already been asking around,” Rokhan offered Vol’jin a lopsided smile when the red haired troll finally looked up at him.

For a while longer, Vol’jin was silent. He’d been asking around, yes. The best information he had gotten was from the trolls in Zeb’ahari. They’d come across the temple before, hidden away in the mountainside, beneath a massive waterfall - at least, part of it was. The water cascaded from the top of the mountain, to the roof of the temple, and over the sides - or so they claimed.

They had also claimed that there were already guards stationed there, dressed in luxurious silks, brandishing glaives and scythes with dragon motifs. Their armor included more dragon motifs, along with floral ones.

Particularly the peony.

It had taken every ounce of Vol’jin’s self control not to run blind into the mountains to try and find this hidden temple himself.

But, he had refrained.

“They say the Loa is called Mother of Triumph, or Bringer of Forgiveness,” Vol’jin found himself saying, and he tried to hide the shake in his hand by continuing to sharpen his blade, “or Loa of the Exploited and Overburdened, or Loa of the Purposeless…”

Rokhan scrutinized Vol’jin as he trailed off, and soon prompted, “or…?”

“Moon Dancer.”

It sounded so strange rolling of his tongue. Moon Dancer. Moon Dancer.

The shadow hunter would be a liar if he claimed that he had not made an attempt to try and contact this new Loa the very evening he returned to his quarters in Dazar’alor.

He had been terrified, and right as he had felt the familiar pricks of a more powerful being trying to make a connection, he panicked. Opened his eyes. Sat upright, and once again, refused to sleep.

“Vol’jin…” Rokhan’s voice was filled with trepidation. Vol’jin shook his head.

“Go find it.”

“I–”

“At my behest, as chieftain of the Darkspear,” Rokhan interrupted. Vol’jin knew that twinkle in the older man’s eyes. The hope. The eagerness;

“Go find the temple.”

The trek was arduous. One of the witch doctors in Zeb’ahari had told Vol’jin that she had anticipated his return, and gave him far too specific of directions for this new Loa to be some kind of hoax. Along the way, Vol’jin encountered Zul fanatics.

Apparently they too were looking for this new Loa. Vol’jin had barely managed to avoid detection by a patrol group, and he listened in on their conversation.

“Relatively new.”

“Should be weak, easy to corrupt.”

“Easy to break.”

“Has already amassed an impressive following; her worshippers should not be trifled with. We’ve already lost two scouting parties to the ones that call themselves Dreadnoughts. The dragons.”

“Did you hear? One of them is truly a dragon, from the blacks.”

“I heard there were others. One from the greens, and one from the blues.”

Vol’jin opted to sneak past the camp that evening. Engaging them, he felt, would be foolish. He was too exhausted by his self-induced insomnia, and they were all sleeping soundly.

Unfortunately for Vol’jin, just when he had found what looked to be a hidden path - as described by the witch doctor - the fanatics caught up with him.

For a moment, the lone shadow hunter and the group of trolls stared at each other. Vol’jin was too distracted by his discovery to be immediately aware of the danger he was in, and the group was too shocked at his presence to make any attack.

They recognized him.

Vol’jin, of course, was uninterested in combat. He bolted up the narrow pathway instead, holding onto his swift serpent form as long as he could.

Arrows pelted the ground around him, and one went through his arm when he was forced back into his troll form. The path went on. He dropped his serpent totem, and paused only long enough to send off a few arrows of his own. One Zandalari he felled with a powerful blast of lightning magic - and then he was on his way again, weaving left and right, ducking into the jungle, trying to lose them.

He found his way back to the path, sliding under a broadsword. Vol’jin glowered at the troll that had swung the weapon - but instead of doing anything, Vol’jin continued on his way along the path. It twisted and curved, and the further along he went, the darker it became.

And now, as Vol’jin continued to evade arrows and other attacks, he could hear the distinct roar of a waterfall.

He faltered.

Arrows pierced his flesh. Vol’jin stumbled forward, barely feeling the pain.

Wind and gravel kicked up around him, and the shouts of the trolls pursuing him turned to cries of fear.

Obvious dragon feet wrapped around Vol’jin’s torso, and whisked him away, while another released a ferocious battle cry that clung to the leaves. Vol’jin was deposited gently onto the ground right in front of what looked to be the temple entrance. He stared at it, noting all the flowering bushes - roses, and peonies, specifically.

Not plants that normally grew in the lush jungles of Zuldazar.

The sounds of a swift battle was lost in the deafening roar of the waterfall.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dragon-esque being that had been carved of stone, undulating atop the temple roof. Moss, and star flowers covered much of the rock that made up the entrance - both varieties of star flower, Vol’jin noted.

A Kul Tiran human and Zandalari stood guard at the entrance, their armor radiant golds and silvers and oranges and pinks. Further in, Vol’jin could make out a dark doorway, and such a variety of races that he wasn’t even sure he could name them all in his current state of mind.

One individual was approaching swiftly. Vol’jin stared at him blearily, then leaned forward, eyes narrowed as a dragon flew over his head. Naturally, the dragon shifted to their mortal form and–

Vol’jin had thought that the fanatics were rumor mongering when they had said one of the followers was a black.

This many had the tell tale signs. Bright red eyes. Black scales. His armor reminded Vol’jin of Pandaria. Mystical dragons coiled around his arms, fading in and out. The mortal form he chose was a dark skinned blood elf - or perhaps Vol’jin should say high elf.

“Vol’jin!”

The other man that had been approaching, the shadow hunter found he recognized, “Zelun’jin. Never though’ ya could be making all dem colahs work.”

The younger troll scowled at him, then proceeded to begin breaking the points off the arrows that had gone through Vol’jin.

“What brings you here?”

Vol’jin narrowed his eyes at the black dragon, choosing not to answer, if only because growls escaped him as Zelun’jin worked to remove all of the arrows.

“Odaniar,” the black dragon continued, unperturbed, “Dreadnought of the Moon Dancer. What do you seek - what sent you to us?”

Vol’jin rose to his feet, shrugging off Zel. The other followers seemed content with letting Odaniar deal with this newcomer - either that, or they knew better than to come between a black and their prey.

‘Which I certainly consider myself to be. Can never trust a black,’ and Vol’jin shook his head, “I be here at de behest o’ de Darkspear chieftain.”

“Is that not you?”

Vol’jin flinched, “no.”

Another obvious dragonkin came up alongside Odaniar - but her scales were blue, and her horns were more prominent. She gazed at Vol’jin with worry in her eyes, “you are seeking. You would not have come here for any other reason.”

“I be directed.”

“Asking directions is a requirement when one seeks what would rather not be found,” Odaniar said. His bright eyes were pinched inward, “you are missing something.”

“You be seeming ta know a lot about me,” Vol’jin snarled, frustrated, “so I’d be appreciating it if you stopped beating around the damn bush, Odaniar.”

Odaniar exchanged looks with the blue next to him.

Finally, he spoke;

“You are the sun.”

Vol’jin felt his heart drop into his stomach. He was sure the shock was written all over his face.

“And the moon has been missing from your sky.”

Moss dressed the dark halls. Starlit roses decorated the path, offering guidance to those that walked. Odaniar had moved, and Vol’jin had followed.

Small lights hung, high and low, throughout the final chamber Vol’jin had been led to. Of course Odaniar had pointed out various other paths: “this hall leads to the followers chambers, above and below us”, “this one leads to the kitchens”, “this one leads to the herb gardens outside, and that one leads to the alchemy stations”, “the room we left was for worship and offerings, I should have informed you of that sooner”.

But this chamber. Vol’jin was afraid to look around. All the lights looked like stars suspended in a sky of moss. He recognized many of the species of trees as the ones from Suramar, and despite being so deep in the mountain side, the chamber was warm. Water trickled from somewhere, into a pool.

Vol’jin would have sought the pool, but the figure lying on a bed of flowers before him demanded all of his attention.

The Loa sat up.

She smiled lovingly at him.

“Hello, sunshine.”

Hot tears streamed down Vol’jin’s face. He sunk to his knees, heaving broken sobs into his hands. Her hands were soft when they came to cover his.

“Leave us,” Amita’s voice was gentle.

There was so much Vol’jin wanted to say, but he couldn’t find his voice. Footfalls went further and further away, and Amita pulled Vol’jin’s hands from his face.

“Ami–” he began, but she silenced him with her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his mouth, “I wanted to tell you, I was so excited when you be tryin’ to reach me that one evenin’. What be scarin’ you?”

“That it might be true,” he admitted, “that it - this might actually be you.”

“It be me, sunshine,” Amita purred, nuzzling her nose against his. She pulled him to her bed of flowers, and Vol’jin couldn’t stop a short laugh from escaping him. As she had at her home in the Barrens - the place he now called home, refusing to let anything happen to what Amita had worked so hard on - Amita had pillows and cushions and blankets to lie on.

“I want you,” she groaned, tangling her legs with his. Vol’jin slid his hands under her sheer, iridescent top. He’d hardly given himself the time to admire what Amita was wearing, and though she giggled at him and his eager hands, she grasped his wrists and brought one hand to her face.

“Not here, bal’a; not in my temple. If I be requirin’ it of my followers, then I best be an example.”

Vol’jin had to chuckle.

“You be dedicated.”

“I be.”

“Have the… other Loa been giving you troubles?”

“Rezan be advisin’ that I be focusin’ on buildin’ my temple first. As I be mentionin’, I be wantin’ to see you. The moment I be findin’ out I be a Loa, I wanted to test how far I could be goin’, but after the events of the Broken Shore, I be too new to be leavin’ Zuldazar.”

“So you be here this whole time?”

“This whole time,” her eyes danced like the stars in the night sky, “make me your Loa, Vol’jin. Be mine; be my champion.”

Vol’jin’s mind swam, “you be asking much of me, Moon Dancer.”

Amita beamed, unrelenting, “be my night warrior.”

His eyes widened at this, “a night warrior? But that–”

She pressed a finger to his lips, eyes glimmering with mischief, mouth pulled up in a smirk.

“Who do you think made me a Loa? Or did you forget, Vol’jin of the Darkspear, that I be a druid, and that we all shared a goddess?”

Vol’jin inclined his head to Amita’s shoulder. She carded her fingers through his hair.

“Vol’jin.”

“Hm?”

“I am always yours,” she ran the back of her nails along his cheek, “and you are always mine.”

“Always,” Vol’jin agreed, wrapping his arms around her waist, “but when can I be having you?”

“Whenever you want,” she shifted against him, pressing her lips to his forehead, “I be needin’ to make my presence known in Dazar’alor. I be strong enough now.”

“I suppose being your champion also be meaning I’m your speaker?” he questioned, and Amita shook her head.

“No, that be for Landrida - she be a green. You be brought here by my black, and blue - Odaniar, and Ulriegosa. Landrida presents herself as a Zandalari. She be with new worshippers.”

“I have so much I be wanting to ask you.”

“I have all the time in the world to be givin’ you answers, heaven.”

Vol’jin pressed his face harder against Amita’s neck, “I believe you be heaven, moonlight.”

“Ahh, there it be,” she purred, running her fingers through Vol’jin’s hair once again, “and if I be heaven, you be earth - but, you will always be my heaven, Vol’jin.”

She pushed him onto his back, and laid on top of him, “tomorrow, we go to Dazar’alor. I be takin’ my place among the other Loa, and if Bwonsamdi wants you, he has to fight me.”

“Amita, I don’t be thinking that be wise.”

“It be okay. I’ll just be eatin’ him,” she grinned when Vol’jin laughed.

“Tomorrow.”

“I can–”

“Time for the sun to rest, Vol’jin. Sleep. I will be keepin’ you safe.”

(( I also borrowed @lolygagger ’s bby Zelun’jin for this to make a brief appearance. ))

#Air writes #written prompt #Transference prompts #Vol'jin #Amita Dakini #Loa Amita #WoW #World of Warcraft

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Unique Weapons, 2: Blades, bludgeons and bows of all shapes, sizes and mysterious backgrounds. Heroes and villains across fiction can often be immediately recognized by their signature weapon, causing the weapon itself to be an iconic part of the character. From Perrin’s spiked half moon axe to Roland’s enormous sandalwood revolvers, the jedi’s lightsabers, Arya’s needle, Legolas’s bow, Wolfwood’s Punisher, Detritus’s Piecemaker, the bride’s katana, Bond’s Walther PPK, Robin Hood’s longbow, Jason’s machete or Indiana Jones’s whip, a weapon can even function as a physical manifestation of the character’s personality. None of these weapons are intensely magical in their own right but can serve as the physical basis for family heirlooms, legendary artifacts and magical or masterwork weapons. Alternatively they can be found as loot and become part of a PC’s distinctive appearance, allowing the player to become fully immersed in their character’s look and feel. —Note: Some entries call for the DM to “Roll a Random Weapon” which simply means that the DM can roll from the pregenerated lists on this blog or choose whatever weapon they feel would be appropriate for the situation.

A shortsword whose grip was forged from a pale ivory-like material that's smooth in parts and rough and porous in others. The pommel of the sword is an oddly contoured knob and Knowledgeable PC's can determine that parts of the weapon were created using materials taken from the arm bones of a humanoid.

A beautiful recurve bow (Composite bow statistics) made for a tall being. It appears to be constructed from layers upon layers of glued and compressed maple leaves of many different autumnal colors. It's functions perfectly well and is surprisingly sturdy despite its leafy components.

Roll a Random Weapon: A worn, ancient weapon, heavily tarnished with use. It lacks adornment and is coloured in drab muted grey tones. When wielded by a creature capable of casting druidic spells or nature based magics, the weapon transforms into a masterfully made version of itself that lacks a single nick, dent or imperfection. The weapon is bathed in rich vibrant hues and seems to project a small aura that sharpens and intensifies colours around it. The weapon returns to its dull appearance whenever not held by a creature capable of casting nature based magic spells.

A two-handed mace with a thick, slightly bent shaft of antler for a haft that has been polished amber by antiquity. The based is capped by a gnarled socket of bronze, while the head is vaguely shaped to form four battered bulbs and made of a deep blue, mercurial metal that's harder than iron.

A plain wooden sheath containing a two-handed sword with a silver dragonskull pommel and an archaic crosshilt. When drawn from its sheath, the sword groans awake, emitting chains of smoke and filling the air with the sounds of creaking wheels and a chorus of hopeless moaning. Any blood that falls on the blade instantly boils and turns to ash.

Roll a Random Weapon: The weapon is inexplicably made solely of a crystal clear, glass prism. The glass has been magically enchanted to be stronger than steel and the weapon is as flexible and functional as a typical one of its type. The transparent material refracts even the weakest light into a rainbow of colours that shine in all directions.

A curved dagger with a gold scabbard worked in strange symbols. Fine gold wire wraps the hilt, which is capped by a ruby as big as a man's thumbnail, and the quillions are golden-scaled serpents baring their fangs. The bearer of the dagger gradually becomes more suspicious and distrusting of the creatures around him. A long term bearer could develop full blown paranoia and refuse to trust anyone. These feelings fade slowly on their own when the creature no longer carries the dagger.

A mace with a partially hollow head that contains a small chamber closed off by a set of iron grills. The chamber can be filled with pitch, oil and rags, coals or other flammable objects in order to be set alight. The mace then serves as a torch as well as a weapon which can free up a hand in a dark dungeon. While the reduced weight of the mace does make it less deadly when unlit, the heat and flames of a burning mace balances out its lethality. When lit, half of the weapon's rolled damage is fire damage and the rest typical for a mace. When unlit, the hollowed mace only deals half its rolled damage.

A long katana that constantly emanates a pale green mist from the blade. The symbol of a thundering storm cloud is etched on the grip of the weapon. Small winds can be seen whirling around the sword and harmless thumb sized tornadoes form when the blade is first drawn or the wielder is angry.

Roll a Random Weapon: The weapon's grip is wrapped in perpetually pure white linen from which a network of thin golden veins extend outward. When held, the wielder's mind is filled with thoughts of redemption, righteous vindication and protecting the innocent.

-Click Here for homebrew Masterwork Weapon Bonuses to give these objects even more personality and mechanical benefits.  

-Or keep reading for 90 more weapons.

—Note: The previous 10 weapons are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A shortsword whose grip was forged from a pale ivory-like material that's smooth in parts and rough and porous in others. The pommel of the sword is an oddly contoured knob and Knowledgeable PC's can determine that parts of the weapon were created using materials taken from the arm bones of a humanoid.

A beautiful recurve bow (Composite bow statistics) made for a tall being. It appears to be constructed from layers upon layers of glued and compressed maple leaves of many different autumnal colors. It's functions perfectly well and is surprisingly sturdy despite its leafy components.

Roll a Random Weapon: A worn, ancient weapon, heavily tarnished with use. It lacks adornment and is coloured in drab muted grey tones. When wielded by a creature capable of casting druidic spells or nature based magics, the weapon transforms into a masterfully made version of itself that lacks a single nick, dent or imperfection. The weapon is bathed in rich vibrant hues and seems to project a small aura that sharpens and intensifies colours around it. The weapon returns to its dull appearance whenever not held by a creature capable of casting nature based magic spells.

A two-handed mace with a thick, slightly bent shaft of antler for a haft that has been polished amber by antiquity. The based is capped by a gnarled socket of bronze, while the head is vaguely shaped to form four battered bulbs and made of a deep blue, mercurial metal that's harder than iron.

A plain wooden sheath containing a two-handed sword with a silver dragonskull pommel and an archaic crosshilt. When drawn from its sheath, the sword groans awake, emitting chains of smoke and filling the air with the sounds of creaking wheels and a chorus of hopeless moaning. Any blood that falls on the blade instantly boils and turns to ash.

Roll a Random Weapon: The weapon is inexplicably made solely of a crystal clear, glass prism. The glass has been magically enchanted to be stronger than steel and the weapon is as flexible and functional as a typical one of its type. The transparent material refracts even the weakest light into a rainbow of colours that shine in all directions.

A curved dagger with a gold scabbard worked in strange symbols. Fine gold wire wraps the hilt, which is capped by a ruby as big as a man's thumbnail, and the quillions are golden-scaled serpents baring their fangs. The bearer of the dagger gradually becomes more suspicious and distrusting of the creatures around him. A long term bearer could develop full blown paranoia and refuse to trust anyone. These feelings fade slowly on their own when the creature no longer carries the dagger.

A mace with a partially hollow head that contains a small chamber closed off by a set of iron grills. The chamber can be filled with pitch, oil and rags, coals or other flammable objects in order to be set alight. The mace then serves as a torch as well as a weapon which can free up a hand in a dark dungeon. While the reduced weight of the mace does make it less deadly when unlit, the heat and flames of a burning mace balances out its lethality. When lit, half of the weapon's rolled damage is fire damage and the rest typical for a mace. When unlit, the hollowed mace only deals half its rolled damage.

A long katana that constantly emanates a pale green mist from the blade. The symbol of a thundering storm cloud is etched on the grip of the weapon. Small winds can be seen whirling around the sword and harmless thumb sized tornadoes form when the blade is first drawn or the wielder is angry.

Roll a Random Weapon: The weapon's grip is wrapped in perpetually pure white linen from which a network of thin golden veins extend outward. When held, the wielder's mind is filled with thoughts of redemption, righteous vindication and protecting the innocent.

Roll a Random Weapon: The weapon's grip is wrapped in dark purple leather from which a network of thin black veins extend outward. When held, the wielder's mind is filled with dark thoughts of cruelty, senseless violence and causing harm to innocents.

A greatsword with a blade made from a light, translucent metal and a pommel bearing a beautiful ruby. The wielder can feel that the weapon's power is dormant, lying ready to be awakened by a worthy being.

A gleaming white scimitar with a wavy hilt and similarly patterned blade.

A cane blowgun with a prayer to the forest gods carved onto its length.

A heavy stone greatclub with bone spines drilled through it.

A steel dagger concealed in a special sheath in a pair of boots. The dagger is clearly unused, its blade is sharp and polished to a high sheen.

A six-foot quarterstaff whose surface more closely resembles stone than wood but weighs little more than a staff of oak. Visible along its length are faint images of various foes caught in defensive postures, appearing almost as though they had been suddenly turned to stone and etched into the staff.

A dagger made from the tooth of a giant purple worm. The monstrous creature the tooth comes from is capable of chewing clear through stone. Without the worm’s massive jaw strength behind it, the dagger is simply incredibly durable.

A morningstar, consisting of an oaken tree-limb embedded with 23 obsidian spikes

A cutesy, steel warhammer, sized for a halfling.

A sharp scimitar made of the thick, yellowed, thigh bone of an unknown creature. Its grip is wrapped in sinew, assumingly of the same creature.

A short sword with a long, leaf-shaped blade, which is damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold. Fiery stones are set on the strange, yet light and strong, metal. The blade gleams and displays marvelous workmanship.

A broad, flat club carved from driftwood, lined with the razor sharp teeth of a great white shark. The wielder can choose to deal either piercing, slashing or bludgeoning damage when they attack. Whenever the wielder rolls a natural 1 on a hit with this weapon, they must roll an additional 1d4. If the roll is another natural 1, roll damage as normal and the weapon shatters, dealing half of the damage to the wielder as well as the target.

A straight-bladed tantō (Short sword statistics) with a small, circular hand-guard that gives off white streaks of pure magic when swung.

A heavy maul made elusively of wrought iron with blue patches on each end of the head. While in the bearer's possession, the creature will prefer to sleep nine hours a day instead of eight and will seek out the odd afternoon nap. The bearer suffers no penalties for not partaking in this additional sleep.

A lance of maple carved with scenes of lovers dancing and kissing. While held, the bearer feels a strong sense of calm and ease.

A karambit-style dagger fashioned from the claw of a large predator, with a wrapped sinew grip.

A glaive of steel sharpened to such a fine edge that it almost cuts to look upon.

A set of 12 wooden war darts, all carved with ancient runes beseeching the old Gods for true flight.

A sickle with a crimson colored steel blade that when swung, smells strongly of freshly spilled blood.

A well balanced morningstar with large, polished spikes. When wielded, a dull yellow glow similar to a sunrise emanates from the spikes.

A grimy dagger of dwarven design. The maker’s mark suggests that it used to belong to royalty  

A petrified bone club with an obsidian head.

A crude shortbow made of treated bone with braided sinew bowstring.

A longbow carved from purple heartwood with bright steel fixtures and a black bowstring.

A quarterstaff carved from heartwood, bearing ornate symbols of nature along its length.

A hunting knife and a sheath which sharpens and oils the blade (And only that specific blade) every time it is sheathed.

A slim bamboo quarterstaff that is a quarter of the weight of a normal quarterstaff but much more fragile. Whenever the wielder rolls a natural 1 on a hit with this weapon, they must roll an additional 1d4. If the roll is another natural 1, roll damage as normal and the weapon shatters, dealing half of the damage to the wielder as well as the target.

A slightly curved longsword with only a single bladed edge. There is an etched symbol of a heron on the base of the blade. The longsword doesn’t rust and never need sharpening.

An iron dagger that is slightly longer than the palm of a hand, but wide in proportion. It appears to also have never been sharpened, with an edge that would not cut much more than butter. The hilt is made of deerhorn and wrapped in gold wire.

A steel spike shaped implement with a curve on the base where is turns into an attachment of sorts. Knowledgeable PC's will recognize this as a spiked bayonet or “pigsticker” that can be affixed to the underside of a crossbow. It's used as a last resort for crossbowmen and allows the wielder to make a melee attack with the spike. If the wielder is proficient with crossbows they are also proficient with the bayonet which is treated as a dagger attack, but only deals a single point of damage on a hit.

A blowgun made of bone with red and brown cord wrapped around it for a handle.

A light pick whose blade is made of a vibrantly purple colored steel.

A three-pronged mace made of black iron and fiend-leather. Knowledgeable PC's will recognize it as the scepter of a recently slain devil lord.

A black, lead flail whose head is sculpted to resemble a pair of grasping tentacles.

A curved iron dagger with dried blood on the tip. Its cross guard is slightly wobbly and cured leather is wrapped around the weapon’s handle.

A greatsword forged from silver, with black runes etched into its blade.

A war scythe with a blade of the purest obsidian and a handle made of dark ironwood.

A short sword of exceptional quality. The sword's blade is a polished silver colour with curling patterns and designs etched along the edge. The quillons of the sword have the designs of a sun and crescent moon pressed into them, and the pommel is in the shape of a silver rose. This sword feels supernaturally light and balanced in the hand of a wielder who acquired it thought legal or honorable means.

A bastard sword with an aquamarine crystal fitted into its pommel and smaller slivers of the gem scattered throughout the blade.

A leather brace or quiver containing 3d10 blunted Throwing Weapons or Ammunition specially designed to hurt but not seriously injure the target. The weapons deal nonlethal or stun damage and cannot critically injure or kill a target.

A crude rapier made of a single piece of sharpened whalebone with a seal leather grip bound in sinew.

A double-edged battleaxe that always feels wet to the touch. Barnacles cover the weapon and it emanates a strong briny smell.

Roll a Random Weapon: This weapon radiates evil and profanity like a sour odor that permeates any creature who keeps it on their person for any length of time. The constant influx of immoral and selfish influence can wear on the bearer's mind and long term owners are never quite sure if they wield the weapon, or if the weapon wields them.

Roll a Random Weapon: This weapon radiates goodness and radiance like a fresh breeze that surrounds any creature who keeps it on their person for any length of time. The constant influx of positive moral and compassionate influence can wear on the bearer's mind and long term owners are never quite sure if they wield the weapon, or if the weapon wields them.

A single headed greateaxe bearing a steel blade with silver glowing sylvan runes carved on it.

A grim longbow made from twisted black wood that slowly seeps poisonous sap.

A pair of spiked gauntlets made of pale silvery metal, inscribed with jagged patterns and numerous sharp edges

A brass handled mace topped with a large spiked conch shell, that's as durable and lethal as steel.

A pair of knuckledusters made of large cowrie shells that are as durable and lethal as brass knuckles.

A silver-plated, steel longsword with a large jet gemstone set in the hilt

An ebony quarterstaff capped at both ends with highly polished brass that constantly emits a quiet hissing sound.

An oak lance carved with spirals in such a way that the wood looks as though it was shaped and grown into a weapon rather than carved into one.

A falchion (Short sword statistics) with a segmented, fully rectangular blade, similar to that of a cleaver. The entire weapon is forged of a pitch-black metal. Embedded in the weapon's hilt, is a yellow, crystalline cat's eye.

A scimitar with a jet black blade, inlaid with three rubies along each side of its blood red hilt. The pommel holds a large ruby cut to resemble a rose in full bloom.

A dagger which was never fully completed. It is just a blade and tang; the blade is sharpened and hardened, but the hilt was never finished. There is a strange swirl mark on the blade, and the weapon itself has a slight Random Colour.

A bastard sword with a curved golden blade with a translucent edge and an ivory grip and pommel. The weapon shines with an unnatural brightness and is lighter than an iron sword of the same size.

A leather whip studded with coin-size, dagger-sharp, overlapping half-moon blades.

A quarterstaff made of an unhealthy looking, dark purple wood capped with an unknown blue metal on either end. It randomly emits whispers that are on the barest edge of the wielders hearing.

A folding pocket knife (Dagger statistics that deals half as much damage.) entirely made from tempered and sharpened glass with a smooth glass handle. The crystal clear glass is as strong as steel.

A long, cedar wood quarterstaff with a single red rose at the top end. The rose is always in full bloom and never seems worth for wear despite what may happen to it.

A longspear consisting of a thick ash haft topped by a broad leaf-shaped head made of an unknown stone

A crescent battleaxe consisting of a thick haft as long as a grown man's thighbone, with three-quarter moon iron blades attached at each end, their planes perpendicular to each other.

An extraordinarily thin greatsword whose twin fluted blade has a long tapered thin and edged on both sides. Its surface is a strangely mottled oily blue, magenta and silver. The sword's rounded grip ends in a pommel consisting of a single sphere of hematite.

An ancient single-edged longsword sheathed in a bronze-banded boiled-leather scabbard. While wielded during times of intense anger, bloodlust or rage, the weapon emits a deathly high-pitched keening sound and begins to take on a strange shivering blur.

An antlered hornwood longbow with a bronze-banded, boiled-leather quiver containing 15 rune-etched stone-tipped arrows.

An enormous iron warhammer with a copper wrapped handle.

A massive two handed double weapon that is a crescent-bladed battleaxe on one end and a studded mace painted with the word "SATRE" on the other. ---Note: The wielder can attack using either end of the weapon as a normal two handed weapon, or can attack with both ends of the weapon at once using whatever two weapon fighting penalties exist in your system.  

A tip-heavy, black bladed scimitar.

A battleaxe with a wide, half-moon shaped blade on one side, balanced by a thick metal spike on the other. Whenever the weapon is used in combat, the wielder can hears the faint howling of wolves in the distance.

A longspear with a spiraling blade that has a metal crossbar approximately halfway down its length.

A pike with a metal crossbar on which is attached a war banner of red, bearing a circle in the middle, split by a sinuous line. One half of the circle is black, the other is white.

A battleaxe with an oversized head bristling with spikes and a long, thick haft that only barely counterbalances its weight.

A broad-bladed bastard sword with nine heavy rings threaded through its spine, providing additional weight to add to the force of its impressive chopping power.

A longbow made of black yew, with a bowstring constructed of tightly wrapped cords coated in a thin layer of beeswax to protect it from the elements.

A basket-hilted cutlass (Shortsword statistics), with a grip of cracked red leather wrapped in gold wire and a single deep notch low on the heavy blade.

A driftwood handaxe set with a clamshell blade and a grip of tightly wrapped dried kelp.

A slightly curved, elegant steel blade (DM's choice of sword type.) with a striking black grip that feels like wet, polished stone.

A long silver hilted bastard sword with an inky blade so dark it seems to swallow light. The weapon is plain and bears no inlay, no pattern welding and no watermarking, just a long straight-edged black blade with a tapering point and a single dorsal spine flanked by ferules. The blade tapers to a narrower base just above the plain cross-hilt and the weapon ends in pommel consisting of an unpolished silver weighted ball.

A well-balanced warhammer bearing the screaming face of a dwarf at the top, with arms going out to either side, making the bludgeons of the weapon dwarven fists.

A heavy maul made of cracked gray stone that reeks of elemental power. The weapon was carved from the stone heart of a powerful earth spirit and inlaid with geometric sigils in black marble.

Living Blade: A paddle of wood, more club than sword, it is carved with a pattern of thorns and leaves. The weapon is still alive and its magical thornwood edges bite and tear at enemies just as a steel blade would. The wielder can choose to use the weapon as either a club or a shortsword, however the weapon is twice as vulnerable to all sources of fire damage.

A longsword whose blade appears to be made of chalk, and is utterly weightless, although it still has mass (Meaning that is carries momentum when swung, but if placed on a scale it weighs nothing). The handle and cross guard are made from polished bronze, forged into deeply ridged rectangles. It rests in a scabbard of bronze-bound leather.

A two-handed warhammer, forged from a single piece of cobalt.  It is unadorned, except for a shallow-relief sculpture of an elephant's face on each side of the hammer's head. Its long haft is wrapped with a single strip of dragon leather.  If the leather is unwrapped, dwarven runes on the haft tell the story of the weapon's forging.

A long handled iron staff (Quarterstaff statistics) topped with a complex symmetrical pattern, upon which six tin rings are hung. The tin rings swing freely as the staff moves, constantly making noise. Knowledgeable PC's will recognize this as a khakkhara or singing staff which belongs to an order of priestly monks. The staff and its rings serve a number of purposes: To warn small creatures to move from the wielder's path to avoid being accidentally trodden on, to alert the faithful that there is a priest nearby, as a walking staff and as an implement of self-defence. The staffs are most commonly carried by monks who have taken a vow of silence as a simple method to allow them to create sound in order to communicate.

A basket-shaped, brass censer on a chain that can safely hold hot coals in order to burn incense during sacred rituals. The outer plating contains etched images and icons of a well-known war god. Heavier than a normal censer it is reinforced with a steel frame and fortifying spells which allows it to be used as a flail. The reduced weight of the flail does make it less deadly when unlit, however the heat and flames of a burning censer balances out its lethality. When lit, half of the weapon's damage is fire damage and the rest typical for a flail. When unlit, the hollowed flail only deals half damage.

A bronze scimitar sporting a bone and wire-wrapped grip and a series of odd, stripe-like striations along the dull edge of the blade. The wielder can sense a certain cruel animal intelligence from within the blade that thirsts for blood. The sword whines and vibrates unhappily when chopping into undead or other bloodless enemies, but purrs and sings when used against living creatures.

A small sharp jewel strung on a flexible steel wire. The mostly green flat gem has a blue oval shaped dot in its center and strongly resembles a peacock feather. Knowledgeable PC's will recognize this as an assassin's weapon known as a peacock slasher. The razor sharp gem is easily hidden in plain sight among other beautiful jewels as a hairpiece, bracelet or necklace and the bearer gains advantage on checks made to conceal the weapon as jewelry. The weapon is used by swinging the jewel around by the steel wire allowing the wielder to hit targets up to five feet away (Dealing as much damage as a shuriken) and can be used as a garrote. The uncommon weapon requires at least one hour of practice per week to use properly and remain proficient in.

A bronze longsword with a repeating dark rhombi pattern on both sides of the blade and decorated with blue crystals and turquoise. The grip of the sword is bound by silk, while the pommel is composed of eleven concentric circles. The sword is sheathed in a wooden scabbard finished in a black lacquer that has an air-tight fit with the sword body which keeps the weapon untarnished.

Roll a Random Melee Weapon: The object is a heavily weighted, wooden practice weapon, used as a way to build endurance and expertise. It contains a lead filled core and weighs twice as much as a normal one would, causing it to be somewhat unwieldy at first. A creature unfamiliar with the type of weapon could become proficient with it after enough time and an already wielder could benefit from regular training. If a creature drills, spars or otherwise trains with the weapon for at least eight hours a week for one month they become temporarily proficient with the type of weapon. An already proficient wielder who trains in this way gains a +1 bonus to accuracy rolls to hit targets which represents the improved focus with the type of weapon. After gaining the proficiency or improved focus, the creature only needs to train for four hours per week to maintain it. The benefit from training is lost if the creature does not meet the minimum weekly training hours, however the creature can begin again from scratch. If the creature trains and maintains the necessary hours for one entire year, the proficiency or weapon focus benefit becomes permanent. ---Note: A creature must be permanently proficient with the weapon before they can gains the weapon focus benefit. These rules are of course subject to DM approval and are meant to serve as an organic way to introduce character growth, hobbies and downtime training. Feel free to introduce this item without the training rules at all if you feel it will cause problems or distractions.  

#d&d #dnd #d&d 3.5 #d&d 4e #d&d 5e #d&d homebrew #d&d 5e homebrew #loot #custom loot #loot generator #random loot table #pathfinder #trinkets #roleplaying #rpg #dungeons and dragons #dungeon master #dm #d&d ideas #treasure #treasure table #d&d resources #tabletop homebrew #d&d weapons #weapons #unique weapons #homebrew weapons

[senatushq]

NAME. Chrysaor AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3500+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Spirit VARIANT. Banshee OCCUPATION. Weaver at Woven, Marshal FACE CLAIM. Drew Ray Tanner

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, blood, violence, imprisonment ) Cruelty glinted in the smile of the man who bore a sword with the crest of the bear, a hunter who wished to earn his place among the stars that threaded the garden of snakes and stone to hunt the demon within. A pair of whelps, wide eyed and defenceless is what he found instead, Chrysaor stood with shaky legs and placed himself between the stranger and Pegasos. Here in a place where the Otherworld and the mortal realm blended, there was no reward for bravery, just the cruel arm of a man willing to cut down children so that he might return home to boast of his greatness. Yellowed teeth with a hungry gaze, Pegasos cried but as the hero raised his arm he was met with serpents instead. 

Another statue for the garden. 

They spoke of the monstrosity that was Medusa and her sisters, the curse that plagued the druids who’d turned themselves into gorgons. But Chrysaor remembered a different woman, one who was once visited by a warrior-born fey who gifted her with not one, but two children. One of faiman blood and one of the druidic order. A grey-eyed goddess who taught her to weave, worship, and battle all at once. They said that Medusa was beautiful, that she turned into a monster and was hideous for all the days that followed, but Chrysaor remembered when she would let her serpents down and raven hair would fill the places where her tresses would cease to rattle. When Medusa and her sisters would pluck the strings of a lyre and sing the old songs of the druids and their decision to remove themselves from the authority of the archdruids. 

Perseus came like a blaze of lightning. Chrysaor and his twin brother Pegasos hid behind the legs of stone men, they peered over the sides of granite as their mother battled another hero who’d come to put her to rest. Medusa was invincible, Chrysaor had watched her fell a hundred Perseus’ already, this would be no different, her serpents coiled and struck - great velvety wings kicked up debris and with a bloodied howl the gorgon’s head rolled across the ground. Twin boys ran to her side, dipped their limbs into the ichor as Perseus shoved their mother’s head into a sack to carry home as a trophy and proof of his victory. 

“She was a monster, someday you’ll understand” came the Greek’s reply, Perseus and archdruid, descended from divinity. Gorgon-slayer and murderer. 

Stheno and Euryale emerged from the depths of their temple, together with the brothers they mourned and buried their sister. Her immortality cut short, the gorgon sisters reared the boys in Medusa’s place, Stheno the strong and Euryale the far-springer trained Chrysaor and Pegasos from childhood until they reached manhood. From the fairy realm where Athena was made to serve a hundred year sentence, she would whisper to her sons in secret, through dreams and pools of still water Athena would appear before Chrysaor and speak to a promise of greatness. Power that lived within the faiman’s blood if he only reached out to seize it. As he trained among the gorgon sisters he also refined the magic that dwelt within him, regenerative healing that kept his body strong, that closed the gashes that his aunts opened and led him to rise again and again. While Chrysaor was born with a warrior’s heart, Pegasos fate was elsewhere, he learned to transform and sought a life outside the chimera sisters. 

Gifted a relic from the old world of Hyperborea, a golden blade glinted about the faiman’s waist as he went out to strike a name for himself that would outshine that of Perseus. From the darkness of the Otherworld Chrysaor crawled towards the light of the mortal realm, to an ancient world that was alive with monsters and stories alike. Butchers of the enemies of humanity, Chrysaor was a weapon that had been forged in the dark but still shone with the brilliance of the golden blade he became known for. A sword that cut through magic and horror alike, felled his enemies and blazed a path that was clear for him to follow. No wound that was inflicted upon him would last, no injury was too much for the faiman to surmount. Chrysaor aged to maturity and then ceased, his body was ageless as the magic within his veins kept him youthful. 

Heroism and travel inevitably led him to cross paths with a merchant who left a mark on him that was indelible, a fellow halfblooded, Elijah was a nephilim born of mortality and divinity combined. The divine and mischievous spark that burned behind the other’s dark eyes fed something that Chrysaor had only touched on in the occasional and quiet moments that he’d spent in the temples of Aphrodite under the care of the hetaerae. They were friends and while something further bloomed within the faiman kept it buried in his heart, a secret that Chrys intended to bring with him to his grave. 

For years no wounds could touch Chrysaor that did not heal in a moment, the friends he made gathered in a village where they intended to make a life for themselves. Faimen, cambion, nephilim and halfblooded of all kinds came together under the golden blade as the Eye rose to power. They pinned their hopes on what power they had among them that could be made useful and on the fabled sword that Chrysaor wielded. In a single night those hopes were dashed, the screams of those who’d followed them to their doom echoed all about him. Bloodied and butchered he laid in Elijah’s arms, the nephilim whom he’d accompanied for so many years along the open road, regaling him with his hopes for his divine future, whispering in the late evening hours of the dreams he had for their people. A world where the halfblooded were not hunted, where druids were free to choose their own leaders, and one where the fey were encouraged to walk among the mortals once more. In his dying breath Chrysaor whispered: I love you.

While Chrysaor awoke among the eternal fields and flowers of Elysium, his legacy was embedded in his heroic heart, a piece of his soul was rooted itself in the foundation of the Etruscan hamlet that would someday be the place where Rome would rise out of the ground. Amidst the horror of the days that followed a spectre appeared, stories would circulate in the area of a man carrying an empty scabbard, armour torn and dripped in blood.  The golden blade pilfered by the Eye, any trace of Elijah gone. At night those who drew too close to the deserted village would hear the sounds of screaming, but a banshee didn’t scream, they wailed. 

Haunted fields held the faiman’s soul as he gradually took on his physical form once more, unaware of his own death but plagued with visions of death and a deafening wail that foretold demise. Years blurred together as he foresaw not only Amulius’ fate but the fate of the two brothers who battled atop the hill. Darkened trees held his visage as the spectre retreated into the Otherworld from time to time so that he would know a reprieve from the agonies of the mortal realm. Humanity brought about his visions, it was they who fought and killed and slayed one another in mass. They were rife with diseases and plagues that filled ditches and graves. In the Otherworld there was peace, and it was there that he found his mother’s garden once more. Chrysaor was a spectre, a banshee, his form was only as firm as he wished it to be, but there in the memories of his past he wished himself to join them. Statues did not weep, statues did not wail. 

In time Chrysaor learned to slip between the seen and the unseen, when he would visit the realm of mortals he would do so without visible form. The banshee would wander the land of the dreams, from one host to the next in search of… Something. Something he’d forgotten, but always there were a pair of warm eyes that looked down at him. A feeling that he could not forget that was sweet and cutting all at once. In those dreams he met a witch that was more monster than person, Chrysaor treaded where he ought not to and for that the necromancer ripped his voice from him to use in a budding war amidst Roman streets. In the end the senate won out, the necromancer was defeated and his holdings seized. There, deep within the vaults of the coven the banshee and his scream were locked away. Hidden and untouched save for those who wished to use the relic in times of need - to rip the souls from their intended foes. 

Years passed and the banshee’s seal weakened, as the necromancer’s soul reincarnated for the last time, the magic that held the creature at bay dispelled enough so that Chrysaor would slip free from his holding. The Otherworld had changed, the world had changed, so in dreams he wandered and hid until he took up a home and braved his form once more. The death that permeated Rome followed him when he tried to leave, it haunted his peripherals and seeped into his core. At every turn all roads lead back to the city that had taken so much for him. His soul was tied to the place but another within the city called back to him. 

PERSONALITY

+ considerate, creative, talented - withdrawn, aloof, despondent 

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. He/Him.

#takenm #takenc #takenspirit #original character

[zandali-dominion]

Fon'akaai Ceremony

The Temple of the Five Pillars was kept clean. However, it would still appear deteriorated, no one could return it to what it used to be - At least, not now or anytime soon. Still, this was a place for many followers of multiple Loa.

A ceremony was made in hopes of assisting the return of the Loa to the island, the stone of the ruined temple was marked with runes of power. Hope for the return and faith in the Loa was steeped on the breath of every attendant. While small, they’d hold much in their hearts for the future. 

Rafeek was the first to approach, the Priest of Gral moving towards Zin’Vik as the Snake Priest’s behest. He’d offer his blood, being given a skull to hold as his palms would bleed, and he’d be given his time to speak.  “Half a decade now, Atal'Gral lay under the ocean, where the bones of my people lay, unrested and angry. And underneath those bones are even more unmarked graves - to my ancestors who lay beneath the ocean floor, unrested and confused. And yet... I feel it, even now that my power to the sea is so dim... I feel it still. The bones of all of them; unrested. Angry. So - Antu'jin Zin'Vik - Priest of Hethiss. Do you wish to gain the boon of the Sea through Grallian eyes?“ When the Snake Priest was confronted with the question he’d give him the chance, but once the prayers and offerings were given. Hir’ackee, Priest of Hireek, would have his chance to give to honor the Loa. 

Hirackee would nod and seemingly offer his staff to the air, which immediately began to somewhat float in front of him. He began to gently raise his hands up into the air as if raising something. Closing his eyes and began to murmur. Verdant energy would spring forth from his hands and roots, spreading outward around him slowly in a beautiful pattern. Flowers would quickly bloom, pollinate, and produce a variety of colorful tropical fruits. "I would like to offer these to Hir'eek." He would say after his spell and snatch his staff out of the air. Zin’Vik just barely began to turn around to hear what Hir’ackee had to say. Then he'd catch the glimmer of the magic of the dream. Noticing the affect the crystal he wore around his neck had. Still, he'd then watch as the flowers would bloom. "Gather them. But I may need you to show me your true form. That is very generous, I am certain the Loa of yours will be proud to see your care." He'd voice openly at the side. Soon, the Hireek Priest turned from his druidic form, one he said he had learned while he spent time within the Cenarion Circle, and showed himself for what must have been weeks. Hirackee nodded quietly and murmured a incantation that caused a controlled vortrex of wind to rise. He would gesture towards the pillar with Hir'eek’s name carved into it. At the base of this pillar an increasingly more powerful force of wind would swell up and bring in all of the fruits and flowers quickly and efficiently. Hir'ackee would then sigh as the bark began to recede from his skin, branches would drop and vanish, and what would be left is a Gurubashi Troll.

Zinvik then moved to stand beside the circle of stone. Bringing a clay pot from a bag at his side, then filling his hand with what seemed to be a dark tar-like substance. Afterwards, he'd make marks on the stone, it seemed to flare out towards the center. Five circles of power were made on the outer circle. A prayer, and trinkets made of jade were carefully placed within and beside runes embodying the Loa. "Countless... Voiceless... And the sightless... We invite you to this island where the drums of your people have gone unbeaten for countless suns." He'd voice, and then bring his ornate bronze blade out once more. "Those who are here, we offer you this - A beginning to a new home. Let our hearts be the drums that call you, let us make them hear you... We are your children, and we are lost without guidance. Let us hear you. From the sea, to the land, and to the skies. This place will become your home as it becomes ours. Protect us and show us the way we may not yet see. For you are all-seeing wise." He'd say lowly, then as they'd come around, the Snake Priest also brought out a bag of salt... Using it to mark around the individual people. Keeping them within it. "Do not step out of it." He'd say towards them. "Place your skulls within offering circles in front of him." He'd say, as the tar circles were conveniently within arms reach on the ground in front of them. The ceremony had gone on, and mistakes had occured, the braziers went unlit, a mistake on behalf of the Snake Priest. Still, he’d think quickly, telling Tazjiin to ignite the braziers set at the base of every pillar. While it took long, and the ritual was a bit paused, there were things here which took their call. The fires burned brightly, and Zin'Vik reached out to take the crystal from Kie'fon, and placed it within the circle. It crystal would be dim, as if it held no power, but it was always that way. It had offered some respite to the nightmares, but what was it now? Another offering to the circle. The Snake Priest murmured beneath his breath, almost giving up, but then they'd all see the movement of the jade statues. The crystal began to glow brightly, pivoting and turning towards specific jade statues. Rezan, Torcali, Shirvallah, Kimbul, and a few others. It span wildly, and then shattered at the center into many, many pieces. However, all of these pieces glowed brightly. Then they'd all feel a sudden surge of wind over them, the flames glowing brighter in this harsh wind. The jade statues holding firm, and the circle held up.... It lasted for many moments, and after a time it would pass - Leaving them with the question of what remains. The blood from the skulls were gone, and the fires would burn out after. Afterwards, the island was quiet, in time, the sounds of birds came about again... But now, they could hear something. All of them. Calling them at the back of their heads, pecking at their consciousness, and they'd notice a single fish jump out from the coast, then fall back beneath the water. One may see a serpent hanging from a branch. Another may yet sense the call of a feline in the distance. And the last would see the plants around him begin to decompose and wilt, as the cycle may yet demand. A subtle hand. Afterwards, the members of the Zandali Dominion would find themselves in different levels of disbelief, some of them questioning if what they saw was truly real.

#Zandali Dominion #Event Summary #Ceremony #Long event

[hermitbackground5e-blog]

Hermit Background 5e

So the Hermit background in 5e incorporates this diamond:

Feature: Discovery

The calm separation of your all-encompassing hermitage gave you access to an extraordinary and amazing discovery. The careful idea of this disclosure relies upon the idea of your confinement. It may be an extraordinary truth about the universe, the divinities, the ground-breaking creatures of the external planes, or the powers of nature. It could be a site that nobody else has ever observed.

You may have revealed a reality that had been for quite some time overlooked, or uncovered some relic of the past that could revamp history. It may be data that would harm the general population who entrusted you to banish, and henceforth your motivation to come back to society." Presently there has been some talk this is a frail background thing, for when you share it with the gathering it quits being exceptionally yours.

So we should think of 101 disclosures. They don't need to be unsharable, however you get extra focuses on the off chance that they are.

Hermit Discoveries:

You can get the discoveries of the hermit 5e background and those interesting features let you know about this d&d 5e background. Why late just check out them.

1 The character is the last scion of an as far as anyone knows terminated illustrious line.

2 The character is the knave posterity of a present regal line.

3 The character knows the name of an extraordinary devil ruler. Under the correct conditions it could be utilized to tie or demolish him, yet can draw in his consideration whenever spoken or composed.

4 The character knows the song that opens the lock on the Tomb of the Lost Muse. What he doesn't know is the place it is.

5 The character knows precisely where and when and to whom an infant will be conceived, who is destined to vanquish the Kingdom in flame and fiery debris 30 years henceforth.

6 The character knows the 11 mystery herbs and flavors.

7 The character knows the area of an unclaimed precious stone sufficiently extensive to be utilized in a True Resurrection.

8 The character knows precisely what occurs after death.

9 The character comprehends the fragrance based language of the shambling hills.

10 The character found a spot where an impression is singed into the ground in gleaming gold, however it has such a large number of toes.

11 The character knows the names on the tombstone of a grave that contains an extraordinary fortune yet not the area of the memorial park.

12 The character knows the area of a memorial park that contains an extraordinary fortune yet not the name on the tombstone in which the fortune is covered.

13 The character has realized why the Gods relinquished us

14 The character realizes how to accomplish godlikeness.

15. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds and lives among a ruin of an idea lost old city/progress. In this way, he knows its area and the extraordinary fortune famous to be inside (which he/she/it, normally, had no enthusiasm for and consequently did not discharge/stir the fear watchman of the ruin).

16. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds and lives among the final individuals of an idea lost antiquated human advancement. Uncovering their area to the outside world would, without a doubt, realize their decimation (they know some mystery enchantment, incredible riches, absence of invulnerability to fundamental illness, no understanding of "contention", and so on and so on. and so on that outside people groups would love to get their hands on/misuse.)

17. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds the changed perspective to see spirits of the dead...but can not address or hear them.

18. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds the modified perspective to hear spirits of the dead...but can not see them (or generally demonstrate what/who the soul really is).

19. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds a jeweled tablet with the expressions of capacity to convey a divinity to the material world.

20. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds a sword and intuits the mantra that changes him into a super-quality savage victor diverting force from some place called "Greyskull." He has no clue what or where that is, however.

21. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds the adjusted perspective/procedure to shapeshift into creature frames (a la druidic shapeshifting).

22. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds/predicts/can figure the excellent design that enables one to know when/where/how/who will cause [or any blend thereof] a worldwide calamity will come to pass for the world. Normally, the PC's activities consider along with the astronomical commencement and may move the time table up or back.

23. In his/her/its hermitage, the character realizes where to discover clean/drinking water...anywhere.

24. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds the modified perspective to address rocks. Shockingly, not all stones speak...and at times what the hermit "hears" is only their own inward ramblings.

25. In his/her/its hermitage, the character finds the modified perspective to address trees. Tragically, not all trees speak...and here and there what the hermit "hears" is only their own inside ramblings.

26 [+infinity]: The hermit had dreams of a free voice letting him know/her/it things. The wellspring of the voice and veracity of what it says (at any rate at first) is obscure. DM's vacation/roulette. Is it something somebody is saying...or just reasoning? Is it a human "genuine" individual/animal or some extraplaner being or soul? Possibly it sounds like some in need/inconvenience?

Perhaps its the plans of a sequential executioner/vampire/evil presence/were-animal uncovering their next injured individual? Perhaps it's simply some everyday person's better half? The hermit doesn't generally know/needs to make sense of it. Anything, truly, goes.

27 [+infinity]: The hermit hears a voice in the breezes. The source or veracity of what the voice says is [at least initially] obscure.

28: The hermit has found [or inadvertently or by the region of some god for obscure reasons] how to in part open their mystic personality and hears the contemplations of somebody they know/used to know preceding their hermitage. 28a: The hermit has an empathic feeling of said person.

29: The hermit has found how to travel through nature landscape unhindered and leaves no tracks anyplace (even in mud, snow, sand, etc...).

30: The hermit found the last realized titan staying on the planet and gathers periodic or irregular Wisdom rewards from his discussions/lessons with him/her/it.

31: The hermit found the shrouded valley of the unicorns (where they mate and raise their young).

32 [+infinity]. The hermit found the mystery kicking the bucket/graveyard of the monsters/holliphants/embed enchanted animal here.

33: The hermit found how to speak with flumphs.

34 [+infinity]: The hermit found how to conquer a specific enchanted assault/impact: look a medusa/basilisk in the eye, inhale (or hold their breath extremely since quite a while ago) harmed gases (green winged serpent breath, gorgon breath, etc...), can cast enchantment in a spectator's enemy of enchantment field, and so forth...

35: The hermit either was or ended up visually impaired in their hermitage and grew/presently has super-hearing/sonar/eco-area a la Daredevil or Thundercats' Lynx-o.

36: The hermit found the FIRST grimoire composed by the FIRST/most prominent enchantment client/spell-caster ever.

37: The hermit found the FIRST religious content/orders, composed by a begetter/long dead divine beings.

38: The hermit found and completed his/her/its hermitage in a cavern containing the prophet/obscure statue of some divinity nobody has ever known about. [whether or not the prophet capacities/talks/tells the hermit anything or not is DM's holiday]

39-41: The hermit found how to peruse the stars and their connection to specific areas that can be utilized as teleportal stages [40: or open/hop entryways to various planes or 41 [+ infinity]: constantly/just a similar plane - like dependably discovers spots to enter/leave the place where there is Faerie]

For more updating and interesting facts about this d&d 5e background hermit, you can use the above given link and it was awesome.

[jakkosisle]

The Battle For Lordaeron:  Part I - Battleplans

War horns echoed through Orgrimmar for the umpteenth time, summoning every able-bodied champion, adventurer, hero, mercenary, or miscellaneous within earshot to Grommash Hold.  An ocean away, the Undercity was under attack.  In retaliation for the burning of Teldrassil, a massive Alliance fleet had landed on Lordaeron’s northern shores, deadset on dethroning the Banshee Queen once and for all.  Thus, Sylvanas is calling on every champion of the Horde to rush to the Undercity’s defense, for it is not only her seat of power and a crucial Horde foothold in the Eastern Kingdoms, it is the home to the Forsaken - a pillar of the Horde for years.

The line outside Grommash Hold was long.  Everyone had a different reason for answering the warchief’s call.  Some were genuinely loyal to Sylvanas, seeing her as worthy of the mantle.  Others were loyal to the Forsaken, if not Sylvanas herself - the Forsaken had proven their commitment to the Horde time and time again, so many viewed it as only honorable to return the favor.  And some were just happy to finally have an excuse to do away with all this “greater good” nonsense and just smash some Alliance skulls.

It was in this line that Jakko, Spritzie and Soozee Boomsprocket found themselves standing.  Being champions of the Horde themselves (seems like the word “champion” has a loose definition these days), they too answered the call.

“Still can’t believe this is actually happening.” the goblin-raised troll druid (yeah, it’s a long story) muttered to himself as he looked up and down the line of Horde volunteers, which seemed to extend all the way into the Drag.  “First Teldrassil burns down, now this.”

“You sound surprised that Alliance and Horde are fighting again.” Soozee observed.

“Well yeah, but usually it’s just a glorified slapfight over resources in some box canyon in the middle of nowhere, or somethin’ stupid like that.” Jakko explained.  “But this?  A capital city burns down and another one is under a massive attack?  Shit hasn’t gotten this bad since the Siege of Orgrimmar.”

“Worse, actually.” Soozee replied matter-of-factly.  “After the Siege, the Alliance allowed us to keep our city.  I doubt they’re going to show us that kindness a second time.”

Jakko scoffed.  “Fuck, man.  We didn’t even wait for the Legion’s corpses to get cold before we started going at each other’s throats again.  Then again, I should’ve seen this comin’, with Queen Bitch as our warchief.” Jakko commented.

“Hey!” said a Forsaken in front of the siblings.  “Show a little respect to your warchief, dog!”

“Bite me, deader!” Jakko snarled.  The Forsaken stomped over to the troll, but a tauren stepped in.

“Alright, break it up!” he said.  “Save it for the Alliance.”  With that, tenuous order returned to the line.

“Hey Jakko - if you hate Sylvanas so much, why you even in this line?” Spritzie asked.  “I mean, technically, everyone here is a volunteer.  You don’t really HAVE to rush to Lordaeron’s defense, yanno.”

“I’m not stupid, Spritz.” Jakko replied.  “I know I’ve got a dog in this fight.  If the Horde goes down, we go down.”  He was at the Siege, all those years ago.  He remembered Varian’s promise - that if the Horde failed to uphold honor, the Alliance would end them.  After Teldrassil, he had no doubt that Anduin was planning to make good on his father’s promise.

He smirked at his baby sister.  “Besides, you’re goin’.  And someone’s gotta watch your back.”

A few years ago, Spritzie would’ve smiled at that.  But not this time.  She gave Jakko an oddly neutral look, then turned her eyes back toward the front of the line, barely even acknowledging the troll.  Spritzie had been like this for a while now, ever since the Legion War started.  She’d grown more distant, more prone to running off on her own, rather than faithfully stick by Jakko’s side like she used to.  He wondered if it had something to do with Rikko’s death.  He remembered that it hit her hard.

Slowly but surely, the line would move forward.  Each volunteer champion was quickly assessed for battle readiness before being let through the portal to Undercity.  The three siblings were well-equipped for battle.  Jakko was wearing his usual leather gear, decorated with tiger’s claws and teeth, his two druidic swords strapped to his back.  He sat atop his hippogryph, Stoneheart, who stoically kept its eyes facing forward.

Spritzie was dressed in her tight mail gear (which showed way too much skin in Jakko’s opinion) and was carrying her shotgun that she’d been using since Argus, as well as a small army of beasts, which took up a large portion of the line, much to the chagrin of other Horde champions in the line.  The largest of which was her jade cloud serpent, Spritzie Jr., who she raised herself from an egg during her time in Pandaria.

Finally, Soozee was dressed in her signature “Void Suit”, and armed with a dagger/taser/thingy strapped to her belt as well as her void detector.  She sat in the driver’s seat of a large mech that she had dubbed “The Void Buster.”  Yet another product of her mad experiments with the Void.  Speaking of which…

“You sure you’re gonna need that void detector, Soo?” Jakko asked.  “Don’t see how much good it’ll do in the middle of a battle.”

“If certain rumors are to be believed, then trust me, this detector will DEFINITELY come in handy.” Soozee cryptically replied.

Jakko sighed as the line moved, Grommash Hold getting closer and closer.  He didn’t really know how this day was going to end, but he knew one thing for sure - he wasn’t going to let anything happen to his sisters.

The first thing that Marbelma noticed was the smoke, which hit her nostrils like a steam tank.  Tirisfal’s shoreline defenses fell quickly, and it was easy to see why - the beach was littered with black, smoking craters, as was much of the land further inland.  As the Alliance landing force marched towards Brill, she looked up to Roniaar, her adopted uncle (yeah, it’s a long story), who was riding by her side.

“So, we came here to liberate Lordaeron, yes?” he asked.

“Aye.” Marbelma replied.  A nearby farmhouse, ruined by bombardment, suddenly collapsed into a massive pile of bricks and wood.

“Then why does it look like we’re destroying Lordaeron more than anything?” the draenei asked.

“Lordaeron was destroyed a long time ago.” Marbelma argued.  “It’s a rotten old house that needs to be torn down before we can build something new.”

“Hm.” Roniaar hummed.  Tygoon, the wind drake he rode, huffed as it made its away across the ruined land, anxious from something brewing in the air.  Marbelma’s hippogryph, Cinderwing, ruffled its feathers, scattering embers to the wind, as it got nervous.  All of the mounts knew that battle was drawing near.

They eventually arrived in Brill.  The Forsaken Town was almost entirely bombed out, the landing force having made a command post out of the town’s ruins.  The statue of Sylvanas Windrunner that once stood proudly in the town square was now in pieces all over the ground.  “We move out in twenty!” a worgen commander cried out.  The group split up to make their final, last-minute preparations.  Marbelma and Roniaar spotted a familiar face in the crowd, standing near a table filled with weapons, rations and other supplies, and directed their mounts towards him.

“Hey kids.” the void elf greeted as his two fellow Servitors approached.  He was dressed in purple leather armor, bone-like spikes mounted on his shoulder pads and the lower half of his face obscured by a mask made from shal’dorei silk - a souvenir from his time on the Broken Isles, no doubt.  Strapped to his belt was a pair of evil-looking daggers - straight edged with tips at the end, making the blades effective at both stabbing and chopping.  But what really made the blades unnerving was they constantly exuded a strange, purple mist.

“Tendalel.” Marbelma curtly agreed.  “How did the recon mission go?”

“Not great.” Tendalel said as he spilled out the contents of a sack on the table - the severed head of a night elf.  “I tried to tell him.  I told him ‘Look, buddy, I used to be a blood elf, I used to make business trips to the Undercity every other weekend, so I KNOW FOR A FACT that the Apothecarium is THIS WAY.’  But no, he told me to shut up, called me a void-addled abomination, and then lead the entire team into the Magic Quarter where Horde reinforcements were portaling in by the hundreds, and got himself decapitated by a big angry orc.”

He picked up the severed head and looked into its dead eyes.  “You see what happens?  You see what happens when you don’t listen to your good friend Ten?”

“Wow.  Guess you could say he lost his head in there.” Roniaar quipped.

“Roniaar, a man died.” Marbelma deadpanned.

“Basically, that operation is officially FUBAR.” Tendalel said as he casually tossed the head over his shoulder.  “Undercity is crawling with Horde now.  Sending anymore SI:7 down there would be suicide.”

“Were you at least able to sabotage anything?” Marbelma asked.

The rogue shrugged.  “I smashed a few important-looking bottles on my way out, but that’s about it.”

“So it seems we’ll have to win this fight on the surface, then.” Roniaar concluded.  “Storm the ruins of Capital City.”

“What about the sewers?” Marbelma asked.  “Can’t we get into the Undercity that way?  It’s how Varian got in last time the Alliance was here.”

“No dice.” Tendalel said.  “The Forsaken collapsed the entrance to the sewer tunnel long before we even got here.  It would take days to dig through all that.  Days we don’t have.” he turned and pointed to the Ruins of Lordaeron.  “Everything that’s gonna happen today is gonna happen within THOSE walls.”

The void elf then walked away.  He climbed atop his sable ruin strider, a purple talbuk courtesy of the Argussian Reach.  “Where are you goin’?” Marbelma asked.

“Debriefing and hopefully heading back home - SI:7’s done all it can do for this battle.  Good luck, kids!  You’re gonna need it!” Tendalel called before he snapped the reins and the talbuk trotted forward.

“Take care of yourself, Shadestep.” Marbelma said.  “It’s what you’re good at.”

“I’m VERY good at it, thank you for noticing!” Tendalel replied, choosing to take the insult as a complement as the talbuk disappeared into the crowd.

Marbelma turned her angry gaze to the ruins of Lordaeron City, where the Horde was holed up.  She then looked around and watched as the Alliance constructed siege towers, tuned up the steam tanks, and sharpened their blades.  She heard her shaman companion sigh.  “After Pandaria, I had hoped that Alliance and Horde would never again clash like this.” he opined.

“The peace was never destined to last.” Marbelma opined right back.  “Don’t let your feelings cloud your judgement, Roniaar.”

“My feelings aren’t-“

“Bullshit.” Marbelma cussed.  “I know about your old orc girlfriend.”

Roniaar looked at Marbelma, shocked.  “How did-“

“Rhyliaandra told me a while back.” Marbelma said.

Roniaar grimaced at the dwarf.  “You don’t know the whole story.”

“You and some Shadowmoon shaman start shaggin’ back when you were a Rangari, she disappears one day, and the Horde start their war with the draenei not long after.” Marbelma said.  “I miss anything?”

Roniaar had no response.  He just turned his gaze to the gates to the Undercity.  “Aw, what’s wrong?  Afraid ye might have to fight yer old girlfriend today?” Marbelma taunted.

“She’s gone.” Roniaar darkly replied.  “I’ve looked.  In Kalimdor, in Outland, no one knows what happened to her since those dark days.  She probably died a long time ago.”

Roniaar turned his gaze back on Marbelma and gave her a withering look that surprised her.  All her life, she had known Roniaar as nothing but happy-go-lucky, so the sight of him angry like this was…unnerving.  “Do not mistake my lamentations for hesitation…or weakness.”

With that, he puled the reins on his drake, and the two parted ways for the moment.  Marbelma scoffed.  “Whatever.”  Roniaar’s problem was that he was an idealist - someone who still believed, despite all the atrocities that happened, that peace could still exist between Alliance and Horde.

Daelin Proudmoore said it best.  Peace is like a dream.  Beautiful.  Ephemeral.  Unobtainable.

And eventually, you gotta wake the hell up.

One portal jump later, the Boomsprockets found themselves in the Undercity.  They were immediately hit by the stench of death - not the regular, slightly undeath that was the Undercity’s usual scent, but rather fresh death.  The death of the living.  The floors were stained with freshly-spilled blood.  “They already got into the Undercity?” Jakko asked.

“SI:7 did.” one of the death guards replied.  “The majority of them have already been routed.  Undercity is secure for now, but the bulk of the Alliance forces are still above us.”

“They’ve taken Brill.” another death guard added.  “They’ll be moving on the city soon.”

“Damn…” Jakko breathed.  They were really walking into the heat of battle here.

The Boomsprockets stood in a crowd of Horde volunteers in the magic quarter, champions who answered the Dark Lady’s call, and were separated into different battle groups.  A Forsaken death knight stood before the assembled group.

“Greetings.” he began, his death charger huffing.  “I am Commander Johriah Lawrence.  On behalf of the Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, I thank you all for coming in the Forsaken’s hour of need.  Your bravery today will neither go forgotten or unrewarded.”

He dismounted and motioned for a pair of death guards to bring over a table.  He placed a map on the table, a map of the Ruins of Lordaeron and the surrounding Tirisfal Glades, the Boomsprockets realized as they gathered around for a closer look.

“Alright.” Commander Lawrence began.  “You’ll all be on the first line of defense.  Here, in front of the main gate.  You’ll be meeting the Alliance head-on.” he said, pointing to the spot on the map.  Several Horde soldiers smiled and chuckled at the notion of spilling human blood.  “Should the line fall, you’ll withdraw back into the city.”

“Won’t the Alliance pursue us?” one tauren archer, Highmountain judging by his antlers, asked.

“That’s what the blight’s for.” Lawrence answered.  “We’ll bombard the Alliance lines with blight to cover your retreat.  We won’t have enough gas masks to go around though, so we strongly advise keeping your faces covered once we start blighting the area.”

An agonized scream echoed through the halls of the Undercity.  “What was that?” a nightborne warmage asked.

“Just another SI:7 that got caught, pay no mind to it.” Lawrence casually answered.  “Now, the hope is that the blight alone will deter the Alliance enough to call off their siege, but in the unlikely event they somehow get past the blight, we’re looking at two possibilities.”

He gestured to the entire northern wall.  “First scenario, they try to break through the main gate, seeking the most direct route to the Banshee Queen’s throne.  This would be foolish of them, of course, because the palace gardens is where the bulk of our forces will be gathering.  More likely, they’ll seek to punch a hole in the walls on either side of the gate, entering into either the west or the east sides of the city.  In either case, they would have to pass through here…”

He pointed to a large open space on the south side of the ruins.  “The Southern Courtyard.  Should the Alliance breach our defenses, that will be our first rally point.  That is where we will make our stand.”

“And if we get overwhelmed there?” Spritzie asked, speaking up for the first time since the Boomsprockets arrived.

“Same as the front line - we fall back, blighting the area as we go.” Lawrence answered.  He pointed to the fountain area, just in front of the Lordaereon Palace.  “Second rally point here.”

“And then?” Jakko asked.

“…I don’t know.” Lawrence said.  “All I was told was that we’re to wait there for further orders.”

“Which is code for ‘you’re fucked, good luck.’” Jakko huffed.  This notion generated a few worried murmurs among the other Horde soldiers present.  “This plan is bullshit.”

“Hey.” replied an offended tauren.

“You know what I mean!” Jakko snapped.  “With all these back-up plans, it almost sounds like Sylvanas is EXPECTIN’ us to lose!”

“Fair point.” Lawrence said.  “Change of plans, everyone.  We’re all going to abandon our numerous contingencies and defensible positions and instead charge head-first into the waiting jaws of the invading forces all at once.  Nothing could go wrong.”  The death knight’s roasting earned some chuckles and even a few laughs at Jakko’s expense, which left the druid fuming.

“In all seriousness, I will concede that this battle plan is a risky one.” Lawrence said once the laughter died down.  “Should the line fall, which it hopefully won’t, we would have to blight the area surrounding the city, effectively trapping ourselves.  And if they somehow make it past the blight, which they hopefully won’t, our plan would then be to essentially invite the Alliance into our midst.  A lot can go wrong.  All of that said, we do have one advantage.”

Dramatic pause.  “We are the Horde.” he simply said.  Those words were enough to elicit an eruption of cheers from the unit.  Nodding with satisfaction, Lawrence rolled up the map.  “You all know where the elevators are.  Make for the palace garden and wait for your cues there.  For the Horde.”

“FOR THE HORDE!”

As the crowd of Horde began making for the center ring where the elevators were, they passed several Alliance corpses on the way.  Jakko pulled on Stoneheart’s reigns as he noticed the nature of one of the corpses.  The purple skin and long ears made it obvious that she was a night elf, but what really surprised him was her garb - long robes made of wood and leather.  She was a druid.

A druid much like him.  She was even a feral druid like he was, judging by the daggers still clutched in her hands.

Lawrence trotted up to Jakko’s side and nodded to the corpse.  “Friend of yours?” he asked.  Apparently, he could tell that Jakko was a druid.

“…Maybe.” Jakko replied.  The night elf didn’t really look that familiar, but it was entirely possible that, just a year prior, they were fighting side-by-side against the Legion.

“Well, I hope you don’t have any other night elf friends.  We can’t have you hesitating today.” the death knight said.  “The Burning Legion is defeated and the truce is over.  It’s back to basics.”

“…Guess so” Jakko said as the commander walked off.  He considered the corpse for only a few more seconds before following the rest of the crowd.

He was able to catch up with his two sisters and board the same elevator as them.  They soon emerged into the courtyard of Lordaeron, the harsh sunlight above nearly blinding them after they were underground just a little too long.  The courtyard teemed with activity, crawling with Horde soldiers and mercenaries of every race and creed.

And off to the side, on top of a ledge, Jakko caught a glimpse of them.  The leaders of the Horde.  Saurfang, Bloodhoof, Theron, all surrounding the ‘Warchief’ Sylvanas, most likely discussing where to best place their defenses.

Jakko was skeptical of Sylvanas, to say the least.  He’d been skeptical of her since the Cataclysm, when she first started raising her army of undead.  Why Vol’jin used his dying breath to name HER of all people his successor was still one of the great unsolved mysteries of the Horde.  Something about a vision from the spirits.

It made him wonder if maybe the Drakkari had the right idea - eating their gods and all.

Off on the other side of the courtyard was a mechanical monstrosity.  It vaguely resembled a Horde Demolisher, but was much bigger, much more heavily armored, and seemed to somehow exude power.  Jakko knew that power almost immediately - enough to make him pull his reigns on his hippogryph and stop.  He had been in Silithus long enough to know that power very well.

“Is there azerite in that thing?” Jakko asked.

“Yes.  You can feel the power from here, can’t you?” Johriah asked in turn.  “It’s a prototype - a war machine unlike any that has come before.  And according to the engineers, it’s just a small taste of what we can do with azerite…”

Something on the side of the war machine sparked and exploded, sending the goblins crewing the machine into a tizzy.  One of them tried to put out a blue fire with a fire extinguisher.  “Behold, the future of war.” Jakko deadpanned.

“…Growing pains.” was the only excuse Johriah could offer.  “Are there any engineers among-“

The death knight didn’t even finish his sentence before Soozee hopped out of her mech and stomped over to the war machine.  “You idiots!  You misaligned the internal circuitry!  Haven’t you ever worked on a demolisher before?!”

The goblins all shrugged.  Soozee groaned and immediately started barking orders, which the other goblins took to following.  “Ah, I see she’s on top of things.” Johriah observed.  “The Dark Lady wants the war machine ready for combat within the hour!” he shouted.  Soozee gave him a silent thumbs up before going back to work.

Jakko remembered how Soozee used to be before the Twilight Highlands - how she had once been a tough-talking engineer and leader of a tank crew.  It was rare to catch a glimpse of the old Soozee like this.  Even better, working on the war machine should keep Soozee off the front lines - at least for now.

“Joe!” cried a female voice.  Jakko looked and saw a female Forsaken wearing leather gear and goggles came running over to the death knight.  “I haven’t seen you since Stormheim!  Good to see ya!”

“Ah, Dread-Rider Cullen.  Likewise.” the death knight replied.  “Any updates from the Alliance?”

“Nothing yet.” Cullen replied.  “Outside of the occasional scout, they’re all still in Brill.”

“Curious.  Thought they would’ve made their move by now.”

“That’s the good news - it doesn’t look like they’re ready to begin their siege yet, so we’ve still got time to set up our defenses.”

“And the bad?”

“We spotted more ships landing on the northern shore - hundreds of Alliance soldiers are still funneling in.  When they finally decide to hit us, it’s gonna hurt.”

“So that’s why they haven’t attacked yet.  They’re STILL gathering strength…” Johriah opined.  “Can’t be helped.  At least we still have home field advantage.”

Cullen looked over Lawrence’s group of volunteers.  “I see some of your guys have flying mounts.  We’re about to make a bombing run on Brill - don’t suppose you’d be willing to spare a few flyers?”

“Of course, my lady.” the death knight said with a bow.

“Aw, you’re still a charmer, Joe.” Cullen replied with a raspy chuckle.

“Horde!” Johriah Lawrence barked.  “The good lady is requesting volunteers with flying mounts to join in her bombing run.  Who among you will join her?”

Several Horde volunteers stepped forward, sporting mounts ranging from wyverns to drakes to cloud serpents.

Like the one Spritzie was riding, as she was one of those who volunteered.  “Spritz, what are you doing?” Jakko asked.

“Volunteering for the bombing run.” Spritzie asked.  “Duh.”

“You’re gonna be a target out there!” Jakko hissed.  “You think the Alliance don’t have AA guns?”

“I was gonna be a target today no matter what.” Spritzie replied.  “Come on, Jakko - if I can handle the Burning Legion, I’m pretty sure I can handle a bunch of drunk dwarves.”

Jakko growled in frustration with his sister’s inability to properly calculate the risks.  He stepped forward, volunteering for the bombing run as well.  Someone had to watch Spritzie’s back up there.

“Alrighty, looks like you’re all under MY command now!” Cullen shouted as she whistled for her bat.  “Don’t worry, Joe.  I’ll bring most of them back in one piece.”

Once Cullen hopped aboard her bat, she flew up to one of the higher towers of Lordaeron City, the volunteer bombers flying close behind.  There, combat engineers, again mostly goblins, were attaching bombs to flying mounts, some of them being less than cooperative.  A Forsaken engineer began affixing the bombs to Jakko’s hippogryph, about a half-dozen or so iron balls with pull-pins.  “Alright, to drop the bombs you just pull this-“

“I know how bombs work, pal.” Jakko said.  Having been raised by goblins, Jakko knew explosives far more intimately than most trolls.  “Surprised these are just regular bombs though - ain’t we using blight?”

The engineer scoffed.  “Damn apothecaries are being stingy with the stuff.  Says they need it for one of their ‘contingency plans.’  So you’ll be bombing the Alliance the old fashioned way.”

“Works for me.” Jakko said.  He trusted good old seaforium more than the green stuff any day of the week.

“Alright - once we’re all geared up, we’re gonna make a bombing run over Brill!” Cullen called out.  “The Alliance have been spotted building siege towers, so aim for those!”

Spritzie’s cloud serpent was now laden with bombs, along with Jakko’s hippogryph.  “Okay, everybody ready?  One, two, three, for the Horde!”

“FOR THE HORDE!”

With that, the riders poured out of the tower like a nightmare, making a beeline for Brill.

#Jakko #Marbelma #Spritzie #Roniaar #Soozee #Tendalel #World of Warcraft #Wyrmrest Accord

[dailycharacteroption]

Magic Warrior (Magus Archetype)

Another archetype associated with Magaambya and Oldmage Jatembe, today we’re looking at an archetype that taps into a recurring theme in magic associated with the Mwangi Expanse: Masks.

Many mystics in that region wear masks and conceal their identity, not only to protect their identity, but also because though onlookers may know that a living being lies behind the mask, the caster is also considered to be a vessel of the spirits, representing them while they wear the mask. This mirrors certain religious practices in Africa, but thankfully Paizo seems to have done a good job being respectful, not directly stealing designs from those cultures.

In any case, today’s entry specifically seeks to emulate the 10 Magic Warriors, various spellcasters and warriors whom were the disciples of Oldmage Jatembe. Some of these warriors may actually hold the title as one of the actual magical warriors in question, while others may simply be those who are inspired by them.

Regardless, in a setting-neutral environment, these may have any sort of setting-based reason for existing, but still draw upon that masked avatar aesthetic.

 The animal mask that these warriors wear provides a measure of protection against scrying magic. However, it only maintains its power as long as there is a clear separation between their true identity and the masked one. If anyone not considered a close friend sees them put on or take off the mask, the power is lost until they create a new one.

Additionally, by drawing upon the animal aspect depicted on the mask, these warriors can draw on a little bit of its power, gaining a single ability associated with that animal. Its worth noting that in the original printing of this archetype in Inner Sea Intrigue, this ability could be used infinitely. However, in the Adventurer’s Guide reprint, it was revealed that this ability is meant to draw upon the arcane reserve associated with magi, spending it to unlock that animal ability.

Over time, the protections of the mask grow, making the magic warrior a blank to all but the most skilled diviners when they try casting such spells to detect their presence.

As a result of developing these powers, however, these warriors are slightly less adept at casting spells and fighting at the same time.

True to students of Oldmage Jatembe’s teachings, these warriors also devote time to learning some druidic magic, though their focus on combat slows their progress. Near the zenith of their power, they unlock the secrets of a small selection of druidic spells to add to their arsenal.

The arcana associated with this archetype include those that increase the accuracy of their weaponry, hide their form, increase the exsanguinatory nature of the wounds they dole out, enchant their weapon to be deadly against certain foes by type or morality, imbue their magic with metamagic qualities, and learning wizard spells.

Interested in a magus with an imposing masked identity that protects them, grants them a little bit of extra power with animal aspects, and later on can even pick up a few druid spells? This may be what you’re looking for. I recommend a build that can prepare ahead of time with buffs, then unleash powerful blows that are seemingly inescapable. As such, a large arcane pool is a must. Don’t forget that they also have an aspect of being associated with intrigue, especially with their numerous protections against divination.

 Like a vigilante, there is often a disconnect in the behavior of the masked and unmasked personas of the masked warrior. However, unlike a true vigilante, there is often less danger in exposing their true identity. After all, among their own people, regardless of what culture you use the archetype with, it may be common knowledge who the magic warrior really is, but they willingly disassociate the two.

  The merfolk of Absham Bay have long held the tradition of masked warriors who can call upon the creatures of the sea for power, and even the water itself. However, the true reason they wear those magical masks is a much more grim decision. For the bay opens up into a deep trench. There, a particularly powerful Caller in Darkness dwells, able to gain power over those whose identity it learns.

 With axe in hand, Kasha dons the mask of the Grinning Serpent, covering his body in scaly armor from head to toe. A casual observer might assume he is some sort of kobold or lizardfolk, but in truth he is a humble ratfolk, a spiritual performer of sorts who, in their sacred plays, represents the great dragon who was exiled from reality, and continues to gnaw its edges from the outside. Of course, he also channels his talents into defending his people, when necessary.

 Recently, the Imperial forces have been vexed by a guerilla warrior, a masked individual with steel and spell by his side. Efforts to find this individual have failed, however, for they defy divination magic, and none among the natives seem to know who he is, only referring to him as The Tiger.

#pathfinder #archetype #magus #magic warrior #merfolk #caller in darkness #ratfolk #kobold #lizardfolk #dragon #Inner Sea Intrigue #Adventurer's Guide