#dnd verse

[the-storm-chaser]

//Wonder what would have happened to her if she remained a rune knight...

*shakes head*

Shame that.

Thanks @royleteas for implicating she was an old flame :WHEEZE

[capes-compendium]

Lore : Absolem Trystel

Co-written with @reliving-elegy!

Voiced by him and myself // Audio mix by me

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Born to a poor family in the ruins of Old Gheldaneth, Absolem spent his youth amongst slum-bound peasants, disgraced magicians and desperate opportunists. Driven by childish avarice and envy of those even slightly more fortunate than himself, Absolem’s ambitions grew far beyond what could be found from his family’s middling Apothecary. While he was dissuaded from such lofty aspirations by his immediate relatives, Absolem found support from his oft-travelling uncle Elias- a charlatan bard suspected of criminal enchantment and general skulduggery by the Artisan’s Guild of Gheldaneth.

Though forced to work in his father’s shop to make ends meet, Absolem was afforded many opportunities to join his uncle on various, questionably legal escapades during his early teens. Absolem would marvel as Elias played to crowds of fascinated onlookers, enthralled by his flowered words and fascinating tales. Content to ask for a pittance of wealth, Elias would receive generous donations from his captive audience. 

One day, after their return from what would be their final outing, Absolem would question what drew them to his performance specifically. Elias played songs that anyone would know, told tales that defied what Absolem knew of his uncle’s history from the stories his ever-honest father recounted. Elias would smile, gifting his nephew the instrument he played- an old painted flute- and the following answer:

“It’s not the story that causes them such wonder, but how it is told. Music is a marvellous tool.”

Through the following years, to the age of fourteen, Absolem had begun routine journeys to the slum’s markets, tasked to sell their limited wares for fair market price. Discontent to settle for anything less than a tidy profit for his efforts, Absolem added a measure of well-rehearsed theatrics to his bartering; supporting his chicanery through natural guile and lesser magics. While this provided some improvement, the results were too paltry to sate Absolem’s want. 

Taking his uncle’s words to heart, Absolem would make a brief foray into bardic escapades, taking several months to learn the flute. Surprisingly, in spite of his family’s general distaste for Elias, they supported Absolem’s effort regardless. A rarity.

Returning to routine, Absolem provided musical accompaniment to his mercantile exploits. The results were instantaneous- dozens flocked to purchase his wares, engaging in rapidly escalating bidding wars for even the slightest chance of acquiring what the bard offered. 

This proceeded for two weeks, earning great profit without fail. His parents were astounded and deeply proud that he was putting food on the table, even through his unconventional methods. As Absolem’s coffers grew fat, so too would his greed swell beyond sense. The following week, he would exercise his talents within the honest bazaars of Gheldaneth, presenting his routine to the upper-class- a mistake that would cost him dearly.

The general consensus of Rakin was well-established in Gheldaneth: they are thieves, charlatans and tricksters by nature. Absolem’s richly rose-coloured fur drew the eyes of those already suspicious, and his flowered words gave credit to their prejudice. Despite this- despite all their preconceived notions of ill intent- Absolem would introduce himself, his wares and his music to an eager crowd of hundreds.

By the end of day, having earned his greatest haul, Absolem would seek to return home, eager to leave the city for wealthier estates yet to be rid of their coin. As he mutters and chuckles to himself about his fantastical delusions of grandeur, Absolem would be approached by enforcers belonging to the Artisan’s Guild. Confused, but feeling effervescent after the day’s events, Absolem offered the goons a mild share of the wealth in exchange for swift passage. 

He was then struck with a large, blunt object.

----

When he awoke, Absolem was gagged, blindfolded and tied to a firm wooden chair before a council of shadowed individuals. Interrogated as to the nature of his venture, Absolem spoke honestly of his efforts in great detail- not eager to be tortured for misunderstood business. Having explicitly described his routine, the guild would question his origins and any potential cohorts. Confused, Absolem concluded that this was not inherently a kidnapping, but perhaps some sort of recruiting practice. Thus, he gladly shared the details of his upbringing- noting the shared performance of his dear uncle Elias.

Feeling very suddenly upside-down and several stories above the ground, he expelled yet more details- the dance, the potions, the flute. The council, possessing some measure of magical expertise and pre-existing allegations towards the nomadic ‘bard’, proposed a deal to the relatively innocent Absolem:

In exchange for his flute and the whereabouts of his uncle, Absolem would be granted an apprenticeship within the guild and leniency regarding any potential trespass found during their investigations. Absolem, not content to lose the total value of his work, argued an additional clause: in exchange for his aid and a position within the guild, he would be granted an equivalently valued scholarship to the resident University ‘to make something of his brilliance’.

Impressed by his bravado and ultimately favouring the arrest of Elias, the guild accepted his proposal. Offered a private domicile within the university, Absolem would be content never to return to the slums, becoming absorbed in his studies. Though studious and honest in his labour, Absolem would struggle to earn the respect of his peers based solely on his appearance. Distraught that his dreams would be denied by so petty a thing as the color of his fur and the length of his ears, he broke down to tears in the quiet of his room.

Seeking resolution that he might strive for greatness unimpeded, Absolem would find assistance in a wizened scholar of the university, Tyrion Jakhar. Through a number of favours and trades, Tyrion would have a Monocle of Disguise Self crafted for Absolem. When asked what this effort would cost, Tyrion requested only to be repaid once Absolem found his fortune through honest means and hard study; surpassing the bias against the Rakin. Finding this slightly counterintuitive to his immediate actions, Absolem would agree to the terms. 

----

Adopting the guise of a Rock Gnome, Absolem was free to continue his education. Spending the better part of 8 years learning of magic, history, mathematics, economics and business; Absolem would depart the city as a full-fledged, well-learned member of the Artisan’s Guild. Specialising in magical items, Absolem would travel along the coastal cities searching for hidden wealth in old trinkets and baubles.

Within a few months of starting his new position, he would realise the fault of his plan: Absolem was back to merely breaking even, keeping himself moving from town to town to make ends meet. Frustrated that his great efforts changed nothing, Absolem would persist in his duties, both disgusted by his inadequacy and enraged by the unfairness of the world.

For three years, this pattern continued, the hardship grating against his will and better judgement. This was, until, he happened upon a rumour from some drunken adventurers in Maerlar, speaking of a ring that had the power to grant the Wish of any who bore it somewhere in the arid desert adjacent to the Road of the Dawn. Desperate for change, Absolem would take his caravan into the sandy wastes.

The rigors of the desert proved a challenge for Absolem- despite his disguise, his fur still warmed under the merciless sun. Within days, he’d run dry of food. Within a week, his supply of water had vanished. His sense of direction had left him, yet Absolem pressed on, determined to find escape from his fruitless routine or perish in the attempt. 

His exhaustion proved great- Absolem had succumbed to delusions of oases within the desert. Bound to the little hope he’d yet possessed, he approached one such pool in the throes of misery and madness. He leant in toward the water, feeling coolness upon his skin. It took a moment to register that no reflection was present in the pool. Before Absolem could react, the frail sandstone beneath him gave way, causing him to tumble into a deep, dimly lit cavern. As Absolem struck the ground, too weak to stand, his monocle would fall from his eye, rolling off and toward a strange, marked stone pillar.

His guise vanishing in a puff of pink smoke, Absolem instinctively reached for the monocle. He paused in his motion, however, as another glint would catch his eye: the golden flecks of foreign magic. Absolem stood to find that the marked pillar was, in fact, an altar- one that held a single amethyst ring upon its face. Tormented by the fear of yet another illusion, yet still confident this was reality, Absolem would reach toward the ring to claim it for himself…

Absolem inspected the trinket closely: A compartmentalised ring formed by a gold band with a hollow, hinged amethyst. Finding it strange to be so loosely put-together, Absolem would finagle the jewel into its proper place, opening the gem to find nothing inside. Confused for a moment, a swirl of golden sand enveloped the salesman, sensing some form of movement before he would find himself somewhere new, with traces of the magicks fading into the aether around him.

----

Now surrounded by luxurious fabrics, furniture and the smell of fermented grapes, Absolem would observe his surroundings in awe. Another’s voice would call his attention.

“Share your dream with me and be sated. Keep your ambition and take what shall be ours.”

“And be enthralled? I’m dying, not a fool.”

“You are mortal, little Rakin. You are both.”

“I make it a habit of mine to know my clientele well before a bargain is struck. With whom do I address?”

“A friend. You are willing, then?”

“With some elaboration as to your nature- and sustenance!- I could be persuaded.”

As he finishes his offer, Absolem is made present to two things: A platter of various meats and fruits, and an Efreeti.

Cinder skinned, long flame orange hair, adorned in silk and precious things, with a pair of great violet jewels upon her, strikingly similar to the ring the Rakin held. The Efreeti would make herself corporeal upon a fine velvet armchair. With a snap of her fingers, a contract was set upon the desk before her.

“I am Teeanah.”

“A rich and youthful title for one as esteemed as yourself.”

Absolem collects himself a plate of food as he speaks, trying not to show off his eagerness

“I must thank you for your timely assistance.”

“You are welcome to it- and more, should we continue. Speak of yourself, little Rakin.”

Absolem takes a seat and bows his head briefly.

“Absolem. Pleased to make your acquaintance-”

Seeing the fur upon his hands, Absolem instinctively reaches for his monocle, setting it to his eye… to no effect.

“I- p-pardon me a moment, it seems my- my visage is unbecoming of-”

She offers the merchant a soft smile, warming yet firm. 

“Your form is unblemished. Recognized. I accept no false pretence within my domain- least of all from potential business partners.” Her fingers circled the air, a golden chalice adorned with gems forming from seemingly nothing already filled with a liquor of some kind.

“I offer a toast to our newfound pact, and it shall be made in full. You will earn, and I will support your efforts to do so.”

“A… pact?... And what, exactly, will I receive in exchange for my services?”

“I will become your Patron, little Rakin. You will become wealthy beyond imagining. All you must do in turn is remain true to your nature.”

Absolem pauses for a moment, considering the implication of his next act. Affixing his monocle as a wide grin crosses his features, he toasts.

“To our mutual prosperity, then.”

“To prosperity.”

With a clink of their glasses, the bargain was struck.

----

Several weeks later, Absolem returned to the university; having found abundant reward under his patron’s tutelage. Coin in hand, the Warlock tossed a bag of gold into the study of Tyrion Jakhar. Having expected some measure of pride, he was instead met with scorn-

“A pact?! With an EFREETI?! Had you learned NOTHING?!”

“It was a matter of necessity, Tyrion! Besides, the results are tangible! Profits are up! Business is marvellous!-”

“Your efforts are fraudulent, Absolem. You have earned nothing, and you will have earned nothing. Whether you live long enough to realise the consequences of your misdeeds is no longer within your control.”

“Tyrion, I have repaid you- my debt to you- it worked! I learned! Must I remind you how to show gratitude-!”

“LEAVE. KEEP YOUR WEALTH. It is the only company you will deserve here onward, Rakin.”

His race weaponized against him by the one who showed but the lightest ounce of faith. Absolem would leave in a fury, snatching his offer from the table and retreating to his chambers. Though the common fool might not understand what boon he has received, Absolem did. 

And he would make use of it.

…

Forward to the present day; Absolem’s shared wealth has amplified beyond recognition, his reputation of avarice and intuition known across the guilds of Faerun. Having succumbed to his consumptive greed, Absolem serves his patron through honeyed words and the accumulation of remarkable magicks, kept safely locked away in the mystic confines of his ring. 

Having completed his most recent transaction, he now heads for Baldur’s Gate, seeking refreshment and respite… but the gods hold another fate for this travelling merchant.

[eyeless-smiles]

THECREATIVEFORGE | CLOSED RP

To be perfectly honest, the Corinthian doesn't care what this party is about. Just some sentimental celebration by some air headded rich folks wanting to flaunt their wealth amongst their peers. And quite frankly, the Corinthian doesn't give a fuck.

The whole reason he frequents these events, is because they are ripe with eligible young, wealthy bachelors.

Just the Corinthian's type.

He'd manage to weasel his way into this event on the arm of some stinkingly rich old baronness as her latest piece of arm candy. It was simple enough to swoon the old crone with some delightful smooth talking and some utterly repulsive sex. But the Nightmare is not above doing whatever it takes to get him in.

And now that he's brushing past the elbows of some of the citys elite, the blond glides through the crowd with an effortless ease of a hunter seeking out its prey. Having abandoned his date somewhere in the sea of fine silks and expensive alcohol. The Corinthian finds itself drawn to one particularly handsome looking young thing loitering by some obscenely expensive ancient pottery.

The Corinthian slips up by his side almost silently. His drink held to his lips as the monster takes a moment to regard the ugly lump of pottery displayed on its pedestal.

"Not much to look at, is it?"

@thecreativeforge

[rehabilitating-sparrow]

@songshieldandselfcare Wanted some angst

---

It was a long showcase. Daria had the role of Black Swan, something deceitful and powerful in the narrative that the dance told. But this also came with a Physical demand. Thirty two Consecutive turns, only power that kept her going from pushing off the ground and whipping their right leg around. But the crowd... the audiences cheers kept them from going mad.

Their part comes to a close, they bow with the director, the woman that took them off the street and into the academy, took all these poor souls around them in as well.

"You did so good mein Knallkörper!" The director squishes their cheeks as she imparts praise onto them in zemnian. Looking to their side they see a couple in the crowd, giving them a small smile as they're still in their recognizable black costume.

[stcrmborne]

High volts through these veins Trouble is our gain Keepin' aces up every sleeve Ready set, ready set l e t ' s g o

Rules 🗲 About 🗲 Nav

Indie, 18+, based in D&D and Pathfinder. Written by Veerah

[pippitworld]

Viktor Skipjack again, now that our campaign has started!

[justassorted]

(Continued from here!)

@archerwhiterp :

The storm had done some damage all along the river's banks. The town built around the bridge struggled with fallen trees and debris piling up on their banks. Some thought they had seen a person being swept away down stream. Archer and a few townsfolk had run down to help, but after bearing down the storm for so long the rest had fled. Leaving only the Alchemist trudging through lightning and heavy rain for a person who may just as well be a corpse at this point.

He pulled his coat closer to his face and shuffled water off his shoulders. His eyes glued to the rocky and tumultuous waves for anything that could be a person. 

He saw it! A shimmer of something! A hand outstretched! In the dark it was hard to see but he definitely saw a hand waving. Maybe he even heard someone calling out. Or he was being hopeful. If a person could scream they were alive.

"I'M COMING!" He called as if they could hear him that far in the water. Running carefully down the bank he slipped in the mud and tumbled the rest of the way down until he hit the shore. He groaned and flicked it off him as he stood again. Watching the waves for the person he thought he saw but they were gone. 

He cursed softly and began to follow the water more closely. Eyes darting at every dark corner and fallen log. Down the bank it seemed the water slowed just a bit. Enough to purse around a rather large fallen tree. Near it he saw a moving figure, shivering in the darkness. It was them!

He ran towards him, ripping his pack off his shoulders and slinging his coat off along with it. Careful to keep his arms still covered by his shirt sleeves and gloves. "It's alright friend. You're safe now." He spoke loudly, clearly, not sure what kind of trauma his new patient had suffered. 

As soon as he came upon him he carefully draped his coat over his form. His hands hovered, wanting to grasp him but knowing better. "Are you injured? Can you move? Can you-" 

He paused and blinked a few times in surprise. This face. He knew this face. "You're... You're Oliver's friend aren't you? Skipper?" Crap he was terrible at names. That didn't feel right but it was close enough. "Let me have a look at you.”

Despite his supposed resignation Skitter flinched at the loud voice, barely able to process the words. He flinched again at the first touch of something against his back, arms curling around his chest in meager protection, clumsy with the cold. He wanted to stand, to scramble away or fight, but he didn’t have the strength. 

The last thing he’d expected was for the touch to bring warmth. He curled into it without thinking, ducking his head and drawing his legs up under the fabric that had been draped over him as best he could.

The voice was still talking. Now that he’d had time to listen properly, it didn’t sound like the tones he’d come to associate with captivity. It was more like how the little red-haired man tended to talk. And Skitter wasn’t being attacked or even restrained. Yet.

He managed to turn his head, squinting up at the person hovering over him. That was… oh. It was someone safe; the man that the… that Oscar had insisted on saving. 

Skitter didn’t exactly relax, but the dread in his chest eased by just a notch. He frowned and made a more concerted effort to parse what the man was saying. It was normally easier, but he felt like he was on the edge of sleep, like his thoughts were swimming through sludge.

“…friend,” he echoed, because Oscar used that word a lot so he probably should too, with people who treated Oscar well. Maybe it would transfer. His voice scraped in his throat. “Yes.” Skitter wished he hadn’t taken so long to start listening properly; the man talked so quickly. “…what?”

[lostwithspace]

//So, it’s been one year since I started play Rio in a DnD campaign, and while I’ve been quiet here, it’s been quite a blast and at least kept my love for him. He keeps his relative back story, although his race isn’t the majority of the Empire he was born into, he used to be very loyal and worked for them until he discovered a massive experiment on magical beings (including their own members), he joins a resistance group. The game takes place a bit after when his cell was discovered, and he had to escape out of the country. Now working as a mercenary, he still tries to do what he can, even so far from home.

(Art by hchanooo on Twitter)

Some fun facts: - As an artificer, all his ‘spells’ are small trinkets, drones, devices or patches which he has created and use, or special ammunition he uses out of his upgraded heavy crossbow (which shoots pew-pew lasers with). Some of his favourites are Grease, Vortex Warp, Guidance and Detect spells (which he uses a PKE meter for) - He created a personal giant protector drone, which he named Hiraeth, designed based on his home forest which is no more - Has kept files on almost all his companions, in case he ever needs it. He as already opened one of them, revealing one of the player characters to be a demon in disguise, and a child of one of the most powerful people in the Empire he left behind. - There is one character he hasn’t been able to get any dirt on, and is one of the only ones he actually trusts. As such, he customized their throwing axe with gravity controls to recall it after being thrown. - He may also has a crush on them, but has no way of acting upon it - Has back talked and called out an archfey in his own court - Hiraeth has been destoryed in almost every single combat that he has been in - Has helped a deranged, other inventor create a non-magical flying machine (powered by a fire elemental he helped kill) - Has geeked hard over an interplanar telescope that they came across and worked to open, to prevent an island being warped with a magical field. It was a piece of artwork for him - Wants to invent a set of wings to glide, but hasn’t found the time to do so. - A party member that joined a bit into the game he discovered to have been a slave and one of the people that had been experimented on in the Empire. He has became Very Protective of them, even if they don’t want him to be - Has multiple times try to act as a navigator on a boat, and each time has almost crashed the ship - He really wants to punch the demon player, but has settled on having to call him out several times

I do really love playing him, and should make him a main verse available on my about page. If anyone would be interested at least