Statistics:Posted by Slimcreeper — Thu Mar 31, 2022 9:02 pm
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The Undying wrote: ↑
Previous post: http://www.fasagames.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=199
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Minuial nodded to her companions and set off into the wood and the rain. Shale settled himself against a tree, waiting in silence, while Eristed glanced about in a futile attempt to regain his bearings. With no way to contribute, their unfortunate travelling companion simply did his best to his bide his time and stay dry.
The wait was long. As if untouched by any sense of urgency, Shale had immediately set about filling the time. His backpack sat beside him, oil and cloth and other weapon care items placed upon his generous lap, he set about the oft-done practice of maintaining his weapon. Any spec of rust was filed or polished away, and a generous polish of protective greases were applied.
It took longer before Eristed settled, finally accepting his failure. Unlike his companions, who did their best to take shelter against a sturdy trunk, Eristed instinctively found a nearby clearing in the canopy overhead. He sat upon the bed of leaves and twigs, the rain coming down unhindered at a shallow angle. He cleared away a small patch of detritus before him, revealing the moisture-laden fertile soil, and ran his fingers through it. The presence of near all five Elements so plentifully was soothing and a rare experience.
The wait was finally broken when a signal whistle cut through the downpour. Eristed and Shale gathered their gear and made a brief attempt to locate the direction. However, they abandoned the effort quickly - tracking and orienteering were not their forte. Minutes passed before the image of a somewhat perturbed Minuial appeared barely visible in the haze. With a clear direction, her companions made their way towards her.
Reunited once more, Minuial led them purposefully forward. She'd located the fresh trail of a Namegiver as well as traces from countless other woodland creatures. Now, her focus on the Namegiver, the path shown before her as an unmistakable trail of shimmering light. The energy floated just above the ground, a slight meandering tenor to it. Brilliant lingering bursts of light appeared where the Namegiver's feet had touched the ground or its body had brushed vegetation.
Minuial was confident that the tracks were from the Beastmaster. Where normal Namegivers forge their way through terrain, bending it to their will and pressing it aside, these tracks were different. This Namegiver moved much like an animal might, snaking through and around the plants, following natural valleys and ridges, and avoiding obstacles rather than simply climbing over them.
Eventually, they came upon the edge of a small clearing. A lone tree stood near the clearing's center, a small but well-made wooden structure built into the boughs. No doubt, this was the Beastmaster's home, and the four strode forward, glad to have reached their destination.
Through the grey veil of rain, they could see a lone figure standing near the tree. A Windling, no doubt, with its incredibly short stature. Eristed smiled warmly and strode forward ahead of his companions to make introductions.
The Windling turned to meet Eristed's gaze almost lazily, its head cocked at a slight angle. Oozing sores of various sizes and purple shades covered his exposed flesh. Large black feathers, each near in length to the Windling's forearm, had been thrust into his skin, sometimes in rough clusters, often through its filthy travelling garb. From his shoulders, the Windling's own wings hung limp and shredded.
Eristed slowly backed away from the twisted Namegiver. He only barely rejoined the ranks of his companions when the Windling let loose a raspy cry and hurled himself upon them.
Shale took the initial assault upon his massive shield while freeing his war hammer from its clasp. Meanwhile, Eristed and Minuial backed further away, allowing their Warrior companion to engage freely. Minuial drew her bow and readied an arrow for an opportune shot. Eristed began weaving a spell to help harry the Beastmaster and aid his friend.
After the initial blows, a raucous cacophony of caws rose up from the tree behind the Beastmaster. A half dozen large black crows took to the sky and circled just overhead in the clearing, filling the air with the sound of beating wings and throaty cries. Below, Shale traded blows with the Beastmaster alongside the occasional punctuation of arrow and ice from the others.
The murder of crows descended upon the battlefield with arcing dives from all angles. They split their numbers, doing their best to aid the Beastmaster by engaging all his foes. The birds tore at their prey with razor-edged talons that seem to burst with crackling blue electricity in their frenzied attack.
Minuial shifted her strategy and traded bow for sword. The blade shone with a faint luminescence as it was pulled free form its scabbard, and Minuial hefted it aloft before her in a fighter's stance. She met the onslaught of talons with crystal shield and glimmering edge, a firework display of blue energy arcs and brilliant white star bursts. On the other side of the clearing, Eristed continued throwing spells upon his attackers, translucent chains of ice entangling crows and dropping them momentarily to the ground.
The melee stretched on, but the adventurers emerged victorious. The crows fell motionless from the sky one after the other, overcome by sword and spell. Shortly after, the Beastmaster succumbed to the pounding blows of the war hammer. Finally, the sounds of battle gave way to only wind and rain.
It was a mixed blessing that the Beastmaster had been fatally wounded in the fight. No doubt, he suffered grievously under some Horror's influence. However, with his death, the adventurers were once again rudderless.
Eristed carefully examined the Windling corpse while Minuial climbed up into the tree-held abode. The Windling itself was a miserable thing to behold - unhealing and infected wounds seeping black-red blood and sickly white cream beside sucking puncture holes where the feather shafts cut deep into the flesh. No possessions of note were held upon him, only the occasional coin and gear one would expect of a well-traveled Namegiver.
The sounds of rough search marked Minuial's time in the home. She emptied drawers and overturned furnishings, hoping for something they might use. Eventually, she leapt down from the wooden structure, landing gracefully upon the ground with a bundle of loose items in her arms. She walked forwards and dumped the goods unceremoniously before the others.
"Nothing" was all she said as Eristed and Shale knelt down over the odd assortment. A crumbled heap of papers and scrolls lay in no discernible order, their off-white fibers steadily darkening brown with soaking rain upon them. Eristed lifted up one parchment and attempted to examine the scrawling text. If there was any wisdom to be had, it had died with the Windling, for no sense could be made of the not-words that seemed scribbled upon the pages. you can order these shoes by contacting us on gbwhatsapp
Eristed sighed and let the parchment fall away form his open hand. "Such a shame." detailed youtube video will be published on youtube vanced mod apk soon
Minuial made a final glance down at the heap and then marched purposefully towards the woods again. "We'll follow the tracks." Shale nodded silently, and the group followed behind. With luck, the various comings and goings of the twisted Namegiver would lead them to the source of the corruption that plagued the village.
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Next: http://www.fasagames.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=209
Wouldn't this be a great time for a piece of rhubarb pie?Sat Mar 11, 2017 1:23 am
Original post: http://www.fasagames.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=197Previous post: http://www.fasagames.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=199
--------------------------------------------------
Minuial nodded to her companions and set off into the wood and the rain. Shale settled himself against a tree, waiting in silence, while Eristed glanced about in a futile attempt to regain his bearings. With no way to contribute, their unfortunate travelling companion simply did his best to his bide his time and stay dry.
The wait was long. As if untouched by any sense of urgency, Shale had immediately set about filling the time. His backpack sat beside him, oil and cloth and other weapon care items placed upon his generous lap, he set about the oft-done practice of maintaining his weapon. Any spec of rust was filed or polished away, and a generous polish of protective greases were applied.
It took longer before Eristed settled, finally accepting his failure. Unlike his companions, who did their best to take shelter against a sturdy trunk, Eristed instinctively found a nearby clearing in the canopy overhead. He sat upon the bed of leaves and twigs, the rain coming down unhindered at a shallow angle. He cleared away a small patch of detritus before him, revealing the moisture-laden fertile soil, and ran his fingers through it. The presence of near all five Elements so plentifully was soothing and a rare experience.
The wait was finally broken when a signal whistle cut through the downpour. Eristed and Shale gathered their gear and made a brief attempt to locate the direction. However, they abandoned the effort quickly - tracking and orienteering were not their forte. Minutes passed before the image of a somewhat perturbed Minuial appeared barely visible in the haze. With a clear direction, her companions made their way towards her.
Reunited once more, Minuial led them purposefully forward. She'd located the fresh trail of a Namegiver as well as traces from countless other woodland creatures. Now, her focus on the Namegiver, the path shown before her as an unmistakable trail of shimmering light. The energy floated just above the ground, a slight meandering tenor to it. Brilliant lingering bursts of light appeared where the Namegiver's feet had touched the ground or its body had brushed vegetation.
Minuial was confident that the tracks were from the Beastmaster. Where normal Namegivers forge their way through terrain, bending it to their will and pressing it aside, these tracks were different. This Namegiver moved much like an animal might, snaking through and around the plants, following natural valleys and ridges, and avoiding obstacles rather than simply climbing over them.
Eventually, they came upon the edge of a small clearing. A lone tree stood near the clearing's center, a small but well-made wooden structure built into the boughs. No doubt, this was the Beastmaster's home, and the four strode forward, glad to have reached their destination.
Through the grey veil of rain, they could see a lone figure standing near the tree. A Windling, no doubt, with its incredibly short stature. Eristed smiled warmly and strode forward ahead of his companions to make introductions.
The Windling turned to meet Eristed's gaze almost lazily, its head cocked at a slight angle. Oozing sores of various sizes and purple shades covered his exposed flesh. Large black feathers, each near in length to the Windling's forearm, had been thrust into his skin, sometimes in rough clusters, often through its filthy travelling garb. From his shoulders, the Windling's own wings hung limp and shredded.
Eristed slowly backed away from the twisted Namegiver. He only barely rejoined the ranks of his companions when the Windling let loose a raspy cry and hurled himself upon them.
Shale took the initial assault upon his massive shield while freeing his war hammer from its clasp. Meanwhile, Eristed and Minuial backed further away, allowing their Warrior companion to engage freely. Minuial drew her bow and readied an arrow for an opportune shot. Eristed began weaving a spell to help harry the Beastmaster and aid his friend.
After the initial blows, a raucous cacophony of caws rose up from the tree behind the Beastmaster. A half dozen large black crows took to the sky and circled just overhead in the clearing, filling the air with the sound of beating wings and throaty cries. Below, Shale traded blows with the Beastmaster alongside the occasional punctuation of arrow and ice from the others.
The murder of crows descended upon the battlefield with arcing dives from all angles. They split their numbers, doing their best to aid the Beastmaster by engaging all his foes. The birds tore at their prey with razor-edged talons that seem to burst with crackling blue electricity in their frenzied attack.
Minuial shifted her strategy and traded bow for sword. The blade shone with a faint luminescence as it was pulled free form its scabbard, and Minuial hefted it aloft before her in a fighter's stance. She met the onslaught of talons with crystal shield and glimmering edge, a firework display of blue energy arcs and brilliant white star bursts. On the other side of the clearing, Eristed continued throwing spells upon his attackers, translucent chains of ice entangling crows and dropping them momentarily to the ground.
The melee stretched on, but the adventurers emerged victorious. The crows fell motionless from the sky one after the other, overcome by sword and spell. Shortly after, the Beastmaster succumbed to the pounding blows of the war hammer. Finally, the sounds of battle gave way to only wind and rain.
It was a mixed blessing that the Beastmaster had been fatally wounded in the fight. No doubt, he suffered grievously under some Horror's influence. However, with his death, the adventurers were once again rudderless.
Eristed carefully examined the Windling corpse while Minuial climbed up into the tree-held abode. The Windling itself was a miserable thing to behold - unhealing and infected wounds seeping black-red blood and sickly white cream beside sucking puncture holes where the feather shafts cut deep into the flesh. No possessions of note were held upon him, only the occasional coin and gear one would expect of a well-traveled Namegiver.
The sounds of rough search marked Minuial's time in the home. She emptied drawers and overturned furnishings, hoping for something they might use. Eventually, she leapt down from the wooden structure, landing gracefully upon the ground with a bundle of loose items in her arms. She walked forwards and dumped the goods unceremoniously before the others.
"Nothing" was all she said as Eristed and Shale knelt down over the odd assortment. A crumbled heap of papers and scrolls lay in no discernible order, their off-white fibers steadily darkening brown with soaking rain upon them. Eristed lifted up one parchment and attempted to examine the scrawling text. If there was any wisdom to be had, it had died with the Windling, for no sense could be made of the not-words that seemed scribbled upon the pages. you can order these shoes by contacting us on gbwhatsapp
Eristed sighed and let the parchment fall away form his open hand. "Such a shame." detailed youtube video will be published on youtube vanced mod apk soon
Minuial made a final glance down at the heap and then marched purposefully towards the woods again. "We'll follow the tracks." Shale nodded silently, and the group followed behind. With luck, the various comings and goings of the twisted Namegiver would lead them to the source of the corruption that plagued the village.
------------------------------
Next: http://www.fasagames.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=209
Statistics:Posted by yousef — Thu Mar 31, 2022 10:15 am
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4 Riag 1517
Oh My Stars and Gardens, Onanelle! I was expecting the city life to be a bit more mundane and pedestrian than rooftop battles with icky spirits and Semi-Biggie Cultists on parade! But Nope, There was nothing pedestrian about this most recent job (other than all the walking we did)!
Speaking of We, I should spend a second on my compatriots for this job. We were each hired and teamed up by Madame Delicio (who turned out to be Glitzy but not Ritzy, and not that Important, so I guess it makes sense we didn't get that fat bonus I was hoping for...), and I know what you are about to say, but don't worry! It turned out a lot better than the last time that happened!
Anywhosal, there were 3 other adepts, so I'll cover them in descending order of Cuteness. Dyani is an Elven Elementalist, and seems like a serious, if inexperienced, soul, but a definite asset! Balshiva is a Troll Gauntlet (a Discipline I'd only heard of before, never seen in action), and she's pretty Tuff, Fearless, and Cool! Lastly, we have Xanner, who makes up for his lack of cuteness with a good head and a good heart!
So anywhosal, We all find out we are working with strangers right as we are also finding out we are trying to find out why a dead guy who worked at the Tub of Rouge (the Madame's entertainment establishment) went all crazy and murderizing and so had to be Stopped. We were looking around the scene of the crime when a Nasty Astral Something scared Ylena so bad she's barely said a word since!
Then, When we went and tried to see if his apartment yielded any clues, we found the local astral side of things was downright icky, and there was evidence some nasty sort of ritual had been completed the night before, right above his bed. We went and told her about this and then Another Citizen went crazy, but this poor blacksmith wasn't actually in or working for the Madame's business, (which killed several of our theories on why this was happening!) so we weren't directly involved... but my compatriots being the good souls they were, they didn't let that stop them, and so they rushed down the street and each did their part in incapacitating the Mad Blacksmith. Afterwards a few of the local constabulary-gang came around, and they started trying to make trouble where there was none, so I had to Explain Things To The Gentleman Who Thought He Was In-Charge, and he left with his tail between his legs (at which point Ylena broke her post-scare silence to warn me that men like that react badly to the loss of power, and I may now be in danger... I love my sister, but she worries too much sometimes!)
We then interviewed the Mad fellow's wife, and she did a good job of further deflating a theory or two of ours, and then the fellow woke up and made clear that he was fine~ish, and groggy, but had no idea what happened. The roof of their building also had evidence of a nasty ritual performed above their bed, so things sure seemed all connectedy!
At a loss for what else to do, we ended up deciding to use the 'penthouse suite' of the Tub of Rouge to keep an eye on the skyline, and so we did, And sure enough, hours into the night, we saw odd lights on the roof of a building a few blocks away. Since my compatriots had to travel via the street and I could go straight there, I was able to arrive first. I spied four of the semi-biggies all hooded and cloaked and dancing in a circle around a glowing light and I knew a spirit summoning ritual when I saw one! I tried to disrupt the proceedings by skulking in the shadows and sending little spirit bolts at them, and I did get the dance broken up, and even sent one over the edge!... but that didn't seem to be sufficient, and right around the time Dyani burst onto the roof, the spell was complete.
I found out later that she'd actually been the straggler, and Balshiva and Xanner had been in the house below for several minutes, with Xanner focused on getting the dad and kid out (see, I told you he had a good heart!), while Balshiva focused on trying to stop the ritual from below, and sure enough, she managed to punch through the ceiling and cause the roof to cave-in (see I told you she was Tuff!), and pull a cultist down, etc... but again, it was too late and the spirit appeared right after that... So me and Dyani zapped the spirit (see I told you she was an asset!) and Balshiva bashed the spirit and Xanner came back in and helped with the cultists, and it was an all-in-all pretty successful outing!
But Also Exhausting! Sorry again about the delayed tea-time earlier, but This Girl still needs actual sleep, unlike you three! So yeah, I slept in! And I think I still need a nap, so I'll close this here, and get on with that...
Statistics:Posted by Ynza Morganstar — Sun Jul 05, 2020 8:52 pm
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23 Sollus, 1517
Hey again Oanelle! I enjoyed our Tea yesterday, especially after that harrowing experience on the River! I'm sorry we lost your previous memory book, (and that cute dress I'd gotten in Urupa!), but at least we'd made it (almost) to the point we'd be getting off the river and going overland to Bartertown anyway... and I'm So Glad I always carry you two in my pack and didn't leave you back in my cabin with the stuff we lost! I'm also very glad I still had this little book with me! I know I'd planned to use to fill with interesting customs and recipes, but this is more important! Well, I guess I'll put this down and get back on the road to Bartertown. Hopefully, we'll be there by this time next week!
24 Sollus, 1517
Well, Oanelle, since this morning's tea, we've traveled a good distance (mostly with the aid of that nice couple who let us ride on Grell's pack! If none of the biggies had been going this way, we'd STILL be on the road!), and so we've finally gotten to this little 3-dock town that would have been our docking point, had our boat not run afoul of that river behemoth! <Feh>*
And to Make Matters Worse (Ok, Ylena, Fine! NOT Worse than losing Oanelle's old memory book and that cute gown! I can't believe that we made it ALMOST all the way to Throal to donate a copy of it to the Great Library, only to lose it on the last day on the river! <Feh>*), when we got to town, the Caravan had come and gone, and another wouldn't be through for 3 days or so! Again I say, <FEH!>*
[* the character that Ylinia draws here, represented on this forum with a <Feh>, is a non-Throalic character most commonly used in Windling communities to represent a semi-non-verbal expression of utter frustration and disgust 'from your wings to your fingers, from your nose to your toes' (often at forces beyond your control, and uses a combination of sound and motion to convey the level and flavor of frustration).]
26 Sollus, 1517
Ok, Oanelle, We're on the way to Bartertown! The next caravan arrived a whole day earlier than expected! Ylena couldn't shut up about our bad luck at tea this morning, and then almost as soon as I finished cleaning up, the out-riders arrived! We should be there by the 1st of Riag! Too bad Grell and Thegg decided not to wait and left, back downriver, sure that the job they were racing to get in Throal would be taken by the time they could arrive. They were good travel and drinking buddies (Well, Thegg was a good drinking buddy, but Grell, like most obsidimen I've met, wasn't so much...), and I'll miss them.
29 Sollus 1517
Hey again, Oanelle! I am sorry I had to cut our tea time a bit short today, I got a late start and didn't want to delay the caravan or risk them leaving us... I'll make it up to you in Bartertown, and get you some new outfits... Once we get a job and get paid, that is.
1 Riag 1517
Well, Oanelle, It looks like we've arrived in the big city! Or at least the apron city to 'Civilization Proper' (according to those semi-biggies, that is'!), and thus, we hope, to some paying work that can help replenish the coffers after most of our savings got washed downriver... (not to mention the future payday of selling a copy of Oanelle's old Memory Book! Ok, OK! Ylena keeps telling me to let go of the past, but I'm finding it difficult...)
-
Oh! I wanted to tell you guys the good news! I've lined up a job for tomorrow! And it sounds like it might be high-paying! The Lady I'm supposed to meet is a Madame! That sounds so important and ritzy!!
Statistics:Posted by Ynza Morganstar — Sun Jul 05, 2020 6:25 pm
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How she came to be Strange:
Ylinia (ill-LEN-e-ah) is a Windling Nethermancer, which some think an odd combination. Normally Windlings are way too bright and airy to be fiddling about with Spirits and the dead... but when Ylinia was but a young twig, her twin sister Ylena (ill-LANE-ah) was slowly tempted into doing the bidding of a Horror, and was moments from something Terrible Happening To Her, when that Horror was killed by some Adepts. While they spared Ylena a fate worse than death, the fate exactly as bad as death caught up with her regardless, and Ylinia only had a few moments with her sister before she passed... But she didn't seem to go too far, because Ylinia began seeing her, faintly, at the edge of her vision, almost immediately afterwards. She recalled Kyziria, the Elven Nethermancer Adept who had helped to take down the Horror that killed her sister, and hoped that she would help her. So, when she was (barely) old enough, she left her home in search of Kyziria, and while she never found the Nethermancer she sought, she still found an able teacher in Lexington, a Dwarven Nethermancer she met after a year and a half of amazing and harrowing adventures that cemented her love of Exploration and Mystery. With some training, she found she was able to make contact with her sister's spirit, and draw upon her newly-gained other-worldly wisdom. Now, she's never alone, and intent on pursuing her studies in Nethermancy.
Ylinia and her sister grew up in a small, secluded village in the Liaj jungle called Uktarinah. The first (and only) non-Windling visitors there in Ages were those same Adepts who killed the Horror that was stalking their village. The desire to find Kyziria and ask her to teach Ylinia how to talk to her sister's ghost was enough for Ylinia to get the wanderlust, and leave when she was still, comparatively speaking, in her mid-teens (actually, 27, since Windlings age slower). She has yet to return, and I figure it has been so least 3~5 years since she left.
Karma Ritual:
Ylinia's karma ritual involves having a tea party with her sister (as well as Orangello and Limongello, the two nutling dolls they had pretend-tea with as children). She prefers a nice mushroom tea, since her sister loved mushrooms so much, but she makes do when she can't get mushroom tea. She keeps O-n-L (the nutling dolls, pronounced 'Oanelle') wrapped in soft leaves in her pack between the rituals.
Artisan skill:
She practices the art of wood-carving, and likes to make little wooden dolls, (often using nuts with faces carved in them for heads), which she usually leaves somewhere strangers can find and wonder at/appreciate them.
How her outlook/personality is shaped by her Discipline:
Much like the concept of a Windling Nethermancer, Ylinia is kinda a mass of flying contradictions. At times she can be morose and withdrawn, other times quite outgoing and gregarious. At times she'll be very cautious and slow to act, at others she'll burst into a flurry of activity and make rash decisions with the best of them. Verily, at times she acts like a girl possessed! She constantly has one foot in the past (on the day her sister died), and one foot in the future, over that next Horizon, where she's eager to explore! Her long conversations with her sister during her karma ritual over the years have solidified her viewpoint that death might as well be postponed but isn't something to be feared, just respected for the insight it can give you. She does her best to look on the bright side of terrible things (like her sister's death, or an Orkish traveling companion who thinks they can sing), and often seems to cheer herself up by muttering 'What Would Ylena Do?', and then going and doing something brave, stupid and fun.
Physical Appearance:
Ylinia stands at about 14 inches, weighs about eight pounds, and has dark grey/green skin and purple and black wings. Her outfits are almost always some version of 'Rainbow Black', with a variety of colors contrasted with ~40-60% of her outfit being jet black at any given time. She has a number of Nethermancy and wood carving-related tools hanging on her belts and sashes and a finely (self-)carved wand made of alder wood and amethyst shards is attached by wrist-leash to a bracelet she always wears. Much of her exposed skin, and practically all of her face, are covered in an ever-changing array of spirally lines and sigils (she reapplies the paste that makes these marks every week or so, and for several days after a fresh set is applied, you can see the fading shadows of the old designs beneath, a faded version of the last color applied, when is often purple, but tends to alternate with a variety of other colors).
Statistics:Posted by Ynza Morganstar — Sun May 10, 2020 9:17 pm
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1) What does your character look like?
2) Your Discipline (Nethermancer, Elementalist, Thief, etc) is more than your job, it is the way you look at life. That's in part why it gives you magical abilities. How does your discipline affect how your character approaches life?
3) On a related note, each day your character spends 30 minutes on their Karma Ritual. It is a way to connect to the deeper magic of your discipline and lets you completely refill your karma pool each day. Everyone's is different, but related to your discipline. The example for the Thief in the book is that they meditate on self-reliance, then uses one of their talents, such as Stealthy Stride or Picking Pockets. What is your karma ritual like?
4) What part of Barsaive are you from? What is your family situation like? You can message me directly if you want help with this, but it doesn't have to be a massive essay.
You can answer these questions in your character's voice, or in generalities.
...as a bit of a guide to introducing ourselves. That last line really struck me. Like, how do you answer those questions in-voice? Especially the first one? So after writing it all up like a normal, sane person would, last night just before I went to sleep the... well, the fourth paragraph of this, really, the one where she starts off about being "attractive for a Troll", put itself together in my head and then I couldn't sleep until I wrote out her half. So apologies if it's just incoherent drowsy delusions, but here goes!2) Your Discipline (Nethermancer, Elementalist, Thief, etc) is more than your job, it is the way you look at life. That's in part why it gives you magical abilities. How does your discipline affect how your character approaches life?
3) On a related note, each day your character spends 30 minutes on their Karma Ritual. It is a way to connect to the deeper magic of your discipline and lets you completely refill your karma pool each day. Everyone's is different, but related to your discipline. The example for the Thief in the book is that they meditate on self-reliance, then uses one of their talents, such as Stealthy Stride or Picking Pockets. What is your karma ritual like?
4) What part of Barsaive are you from? What is your family situation like? You can message me directly if you want help with this, but it doesn't have to be a massive essay.
You can answer these questions in your character's voice, or in generalities.
An Evening With An Outcast
Series I: Balshiva
Greetings. My Name is Sindarian Feliana, Troubadour in the Verstalian style. If you are not familiar with this vein, we are scholars more than tale-tellers, but our research is conducted in the field - not through books, but by exploring, interviewing, experiencing, and recording. I would like to submit for the record this interview conducted in a series documenting the unique nature of those who have been dismissed from Troll society, a matter that bears considerably more weight in their culture than any other. Just as the no'a'g'ral (I recommend the writings of Neirona Blackhand) are so deeply adopted into their clan that they are considered to be Trolls, the Outcasts are so thoroughly rejected that they are considered to be not.
To interview such a one is not an easy thing. They are difficult to find, and when one does... it is not a simple conversation. This one was recommended to me as "comparably easygoing", though that is not, quite frankly, the word I would use for her. The following transcript is verbatim, taken down with a Recording Quill. Alas, they are intended for dictation, not interviewing, and can only transcribe the last person to touch them. I have conducted interviews with subjects taking turns tapping the quill, but when conversing with a Troll I find it best not to ask for much more than their indulgence.
---------------------------------------------
Me? First off, who wants to know? No good reason anybody should be asking about me. But I suppose I've no good reason not to answer, so sure, have a seat. My Name's Balshiva. Yeah, just Balshiva. Balshiva Kava'astol if you must, and of course I know what that means(1). No, I didn't expect you would and no, I'm not going to explain it to you. You asked your question; shut up and listen to the answer.
I've been told I'm "attractive for a Troll," by a stupid human boy. That was about three seconds before he went through the window. What he meant was that my trolthelia isn't very pronounced and softer folk like softer skin. If he could've said that, his nose wouldn't be so crooked now. Anyhow, my eyes are green, and I've always rather liked how dark they are. My hair's black and pretty thick, and hey! Pay attention here. Be sure to tell whoever you're taking your notes for how I keep the left half shaved down. Know why I do that? Yeah, you better. It's to show off this - where my horn used to be. Too easy to think they're just lost in my hair if I let it grow out, and I'm having none of that. They're shorn off, polished down, and cored, and they're never coming back.(2)
What kind of question is that? Of course there's a story. There's a story to everything. Aren't you supposed to be some kind of Troubadour? Nobody ever taught you that? Where was I? Oh, right, I do have these rather glorious tusks. Sure, some people have bigger, but mine are pretty perfect for my face. I'm a bit short, barely eight foot, but I'd say the best word for my build is "toned," and I've got legs for... look, if I were telling you that story, I'd be telling it, wouldn't I? Pestering me about it isn't going to change that. You asked me to describe myself and I am. You going to interrupt again?
OK then. Yes, this is what I wear. I know it's not much. This armor I wear, that's six different skins right now, and of course I killed them all myself. When pieces wear off, I replace them, and I remember what gave it to me. Creature, animal, pesky Namegiver who asks too many questions -- a life's a life, and when I take one, I respect that. No, not Horrors! Obviously. But I can't say I've killed one of those yet. Did I mention too many questions? Great. Just making sure we're on the same page, so to speak, so if you suddenly decide to go flying through any windows there's no confusion as to why. Yes, windows are my preferred route. There's just no stopping you, is there? I can respect that. To a point.
Apart from that, though, I'm not too much for clothes. I wear 'em, of course, out of respect, but frankly, I've got nothing to be ashamed of, and I don't need fancy fabrics to dress this up.(3) Might be nice to try some someday, just for fun, but it's not something I've thought much about. I do wear these bones in my ears - these or one of three other pairs. My favorites are actually some espagra teeth, but I didn't kill that one myself. They're a gift.
So there you go. That's me. Don't know why you had to ask me to describe myself when you're sitting right there with eyes still in your head, but it's your silver. Something a little deeper? Ah, yeah, I see what you mean. I don't know, it's getting pretty... another round? I suppose I could stay a bit longer.(4)
OK, I can see you looking. Ask. It's alright, you can say it. No, I don't carry a sword. Or a bow, axe, spear, mace... look, I'm not going to sit here listing everything I don't carry. I actually do keep a couple bolas, but I don't use them much. You want to guess? Go for it. Mm, no. Closer, but no. Look, I don't cast spells. Seriously? You see any animals around here? The only way I know how to master a beast is to pound it into submission. I'm not entirely proud of that fact, actually, so maybe don't push too hard there. I'm a Gauntlet. No, not like the glove. OK, kind of like the glove? That's probably part of where the Name comes from. I never noticed that before. But no, it's more like the test. Not too surprised you haven't met one before. There aren't many of us.(5)
Here, it's a little like this. Try to imagine that Elementalist you were asking about, right? Now imagine she really sits down and just... lets it all in. Stops trying to shape it into things to suit her, and lets it shape her into... no, that's not right. Well, it's not wrong, but you're not going to get it right. OK, you've heard of Jaspree, right? Of course you have. But there's something older than her - the land itself, the water that flows across it, the wood that holds it together, the fire that turns it all over for the next cycle. All that... that's not a part of me. I'm a part of that. A really small part, like a speck of a speck in a blink, but at the same time, it IS a part of me.
OK, OK, try it this way. You know where the Name Troll comes from? What I call myself?(6) Trua'a'ul, or in Throalic, The Dual People. To be Trua'a'ul is to experience calm in violence, passion in contemplation, ecstasy in fury. It's not the same, but it's kind of a start. To be a Gauntlet is to accept that all of that, everything that makes up our short little lives, is all the same thing, and in the big picture none of it matters, and yet it's also all that matters, and still to live that alongside... alongside...
You know what? Nevermind. You can't afford enough mead to keep me here long enough to explain this in any way you're going to understand. That's not just your failing. I'm not the best with people and words and I know it. And it's... you kind of have to feel it to really get it. Just, put down I'm a Gauntlet. If whoever sent you wants to know what that means, tell 'em I hit things. Hard. You don't need to understand why. Just know that hitting me first is a mistake. I don't fall down.
My Karma Ritual? That's getting a little personal, don't you think? No, I really don't believe it'll help get you any closer to what it means to be a Gauntlet. A bottle of... listen, if you think I'm just fishing for free drinks this conversation is over. Yeah, they make for pleasant company, but I can't help notice you're not partaking much. You want to get personal, we drink together. Yes, your treat. I'm not the one who wants to have this conversation, now am I? All right, then. I'm pouring. Keep up.
I try to catch it at the break of dawn, but that's just nice if I can do it. I like that first touch of warmth. Whenever I get to it, I mix up some dirt and water and I smear it over myself, everywhere I can - arms, chest, belly, legs, if I can really just cover myself that's fantastic. But just my face is fine, and sometimes more than that would be stupid. I don't fear much, but I'm not stupid. If you're trying to understand what being a Gauntlet means, though, you should probably know that's just me. My path to being started with my Era'ka, so I always start with mud. No, I won't. I'm sure you can find someone else to explain that to you. Ask someone with horns. They'll enjoy it.(7)
Anyway, then I sit. No, contemplate isn't the right word at all. I'm not contemplating anything. I feel it. I let it flow through me, everything around. I sink into it. I embrace how much More it is, and my place within it. I accept that that doesn't mean I don't matter. I let my inner fire build, and while it does, the mud dries out. By the end of the ritual, it's brittle, flakes, the water already given back, the earth ready to return to the wood. I give one good flex-and-spin and it all poofs off like dust. Honestly, if you could, I'd say you should try it sometimes - leaves me cleaner than a bath. Actually, I think it's part of why my skin stays so soft. I mean, it's nothing to do with the trolthelia, clearly, but just the general softness. Hands to yourself there, boy; I know how I feel. I don't need you to tell me.
And that's it. Then I'm done. Told you it wouldn't help. I don't think it's even much like most Gauntlets, except for the important part, which probably isn't even what you'll remember. That's the same for all of us. But you're starting to list a bit to the side there. You should be getting to bed.
One last question? Sure, I'm in a pretty good mood. Go ahead.
Ah. No. No, "Where are you from" is not a question you ask an er'ka'a'kul.(8) There is no answer that doesn't end with you in a pile of broken glass and shattered dreams. Whatever dreams involved keeping your nose intact, I suppose, I don't pretend to know what your dreams are. I told you you could ask, so I'll let it go, but... ahh, there we go, and not a moment too soon. Here, I'll just finish this paragraph up for you. You got through your whole cup before passing out. I'm impressed. Thanks for the bottle.
(1) I confess I did not, and in asking about it later I nearly died. Twice. It bears a dangerous similarity to kera'astol, which turned out to mean "berserker". Approaching the matter more carefully and seeking after its parts, kava means "mud", and astol relates to the fundamental truth of a thing. Roughly speaking, then, I believe it translates to The Truth Of Mud. Is the play on kera'astol intentional? It would be a dangerous game, but yes, I strongly suspect that it is.
(2) Though she is my first interview, I have observed other Outcasts, and I must note that her horns are indeed the most thoroughly removed that I have seen. Usually they are shorn off an inch or two from the skull. Balshiva's have been ground down to be flush with her skin.
(3) Something about this struck me, though I did not immediately realize why. Nudity is taboo in most cultures, after all, but later I recalled being warned against even asking about it among the Ustrecht clans - even the friendlier ones. Evidently a colleague was researching such matters across races, in alphabetical order, and I am told he disappeared soon after submitting his paper on "Orgies Among Orks." Lowland Trolls have since confirmed that it is an especially touchy topic, not to be discussed or even acknowledged, as it is almost inherently a violation of an individual's honor. Therefor not only her seeming lack of concern for it, but the very casualness with which she throws it out, is remarkable, particularly given my doubtless flawed understanding that individual honor is all that an Outcast retains. But it was remarkable in a way that I was not, this particular evening, prepared to give my life for. It may have some bearing on my topic, but I am not here for prurient satisfaction.
(4) Much as I might care to pretend I "lured her back" with the offer of more alcohol, it was fairly clear to me that her entire interpretation of my initial request that she describe herself, focusing so fully on her physical appearance that, indeed, I could quite see for myself, was to ensure at least two rounds before she had to answer any real questions. But I had come to meet a Troll in a tavern. I was prepared with an open tab.
(5) The question of her Discipline had indeed been bothering me all evening, I confess. I had been assured she was an Adept, but could find none of the usual trappings. I have never heard of a Gauntlet before or since, and I have added it to my list of possible future topics to research. Perhaps if I can follow Balshiva's story a little further, I may be able to learn a bit more about both.
(6) It was at the time too great a tangent, but this oddity I recognized immediately. Outcasts, as I noted in my preamble, are, by tradition, not Trolls. At all. Prior to embarking upon my formal study I did speak to a few, and they universally referred to Trolls as "other", referring to what "they" do, never "we". The singular pronoun here most assuredly calls for follow up. I only hope I can find a way to traverse it free of defenestration.
(7) She was right about this. It is, of course, the Kava/Outcast/Mud slang, and it was following up on this thread that finally led me to the meaning underlying her Name. When the Troll I was talking to learned that I was asking in regards to an Outcast who incorporated it into their Karma Ritual, he laughed so hard he fell out of his chair, and allowed that technically, I had won the drinking contest.
(8) I knew this. I knew this and it came out anyway. I can blame the alcohol, I suppose, but it was a foolish question and quite honestly, I'm grateful she forgave it. It was the beginning of a prepared list of common end-of-interview getting-to-know-you kinds of questions; where are you from? How is your family life? Are they supportive of your adventuring career? That kind of thing. Stupid irrelevant questions here. Could it be said she is from Ustrecht? Debatably. Her body was certainly born there, somewhere, but is "she" the same self now? I'm sure I can't say, though I do hope to learn more in future talks. And of course an Outcast has no family. I'm relieved I passed out before that foolishness was able to slip through my drunken lips. Regardless, I am going to have to work on my tolerance if I'm going to continue this line of inquiry. I wonder if there's a blood charm that can help process alcohol?
Statistics:Posted by utsukushi — Sun May 10, 2020 9:03 pm
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Just sit right back
And you'll hear a tale
A tale of a frightful trip
That started with a golden chance
and ends on an accursed ship.
The mate and captain had a fight
That ended with both dead.
The sleep they'd had before that night
Had filled the ship with dread, had filled the ship with dread
The cavern had a orichalcum vein
The crew was pleased to find
If not for the whispers of the darkest soul
that echoed in their mind, that echoed in their mind
First the rats came in swarms,
tails and claws and rage
to Nethermancer
Air Sailor too
Three dwarves, and two were thieves
A horrific foe
Blood and fights and sleepless nights
in this wooden cage.
END THEME
So this is the tale of our fated few
They're marked for a long long time
They've come away with treasure impure
And silence of their crime.
One dwarf thief, and air sailor too
may have survived the cave
but despite the efforts of the one
all others embraced the grave.
Howls and sails and dark, dark holds
Sabotaged with evil glee
A few pounds of precious ore
for the Verified Company.
So be warned if you should find
an expedition for good wage
be set and say no to the charms
of the wooden cage.
Statistics:Posted by utsukushi — Sat Apr 25, 2020 5:10 am
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Anyway, here it goes! A Beautiful Tale of Finding Friendship!
Once Upon A Time, there was a very lonely dwarf Named Callista. Like many of the lost, she didn't realize how lonely she was, yet her entire life revolved around the search for friends.
When she was a child, she thought perhaps the other children would like her - some, perhaps, she even thought did. But they didn't. Not really. They thought she was creepy, and weird, and they played games without her whenever they could. They didn't tell her so, because she frightened them, but she knew it. She knew it in her bones. And they were insignificant anyway.
And so she kept looking, not even knowing that's what she was doing. She practiced Alchemy, and the science of healing, hoping that by helping others, perhaps someone would like her. But these only set her apart. She began to study the arts of Nethermancy, because everyone thought she was creepy already. Perhaps the other Nethermancers would like her? Perhaps the one who taught her? ...But no. Nethermancers are not friends, and they all thought Callista wasn't good enough. They didn't say so, because they didn't care enough, but she knew it. She felt it in her blood. And they had failed her anyway.
She had hoped, deep in her heart where even she did not look, that perhaps the spirits would be her friends, but spirits to a Nethermancer are only tools, and they hated her for using them. They didn't say so, because the bindings wouldn't let them, but she knew it. Their hatred shivered across her skin. And they were useless anyway.
And so she was lonely, never loved, never loving. She had no one who would miss her if she were gone, no one who would help her if she were hurt, and no one she would give her eyes for. No one. Poor, lonely Callista.
One day, she joined a company! The Verified Firm, a grand merchant enterprise! They had airships, with crews of sailors who worked together all day long and are famed for their camaraderie. And the thought echoed in her head - maybe someone there would like her? Maybe she would finally make a friend? But of course, it was not to be. She was not an Air Sailor. She was a creepy, spooky, icky Nethermancer, and she did not fit in. She could find no one who craved her.
She worked for the company for many days and many jobs, until finally, they sent her to the cavern. A great deep dark and beautiful cavern where no one had walked in so very long. A cold hungry aching cavern. And the darkness, too, was lonely. But now came a ship with six possible friends, and the darkness smiled.
They told her to look for rocks, the shiniest rocks she could find, but the real treasure is always friendship. The Captain and the First Mate struggled against it and then fought for it, but they were not good friends, and they died broken and bleeding. Callista gave their bodies to the darkness, a gift. Perhaps the darkness would like her?
Now there were four, and they went deeper into the dark. They told themselves they craved money, riches, the glorified trappings of success. But in their secret hearts, they each hoped here, in the depths, in the dark, maybe they would finally not feel so alone. Perhaps they could find love.
And the darkness had so much to give. First it gifted them rats in the hold, and they fought them together. Callista killed many rats, pulling them off the Thief, wracking their souls with pain until they twisted and died. But he did not thank her.
And they sailed deeper, still lying to themselves, trying to believe that gold would fill the holes in their lives. But their lies rang hollow in their hearts.
So the darkness gave them another gift, with razor wings and sharp claws and a screech like a rusted blade across slate. One of the creatures flew to Callista and tore its nails across her face. And Callista felt the first touch of friendship, a hand in the night, an offer to help. True friendship, when she needed it the most! With just a little help from the darkness, she threw the creature off and gave it to the Ungrateful Thief. He was once again able to shine and show his grace, but still he did not thank her.
The creatures were chased away, and they turned their ship away from the depths, though they had taken themselves many days from the burning light. But the Ungrateful Thief was glaring at Callista, watching her, and she recognized that look. She remembered it from the children. He thought she was weird, and creepy, and he wanted to play his games without her.
He convinced the Foolish Sailor, and they told her. They said it, right out loud: We do not trust you. The words that had whispered unspoken, behind everyone's eyes through her whole life, and now they were free. It was terrible and painful and glorious, and they echoed in her mind. She let them tie her to the mast. It made them feel safe, to think she could not hurt them. They were wrong, of course, there was still so much she could do, but she could pretend, for a while. Maybe then they would like her?
But she knew they would not. No one ever had. But maybe... in her heart, she reached out to the darkness. If it would be her friend, she could slow the boat. Her will was stronger than the Foolish Sailor. She could keep them here longer, to better explore their friendship.
And the darkness agreed, because the darkness liked her. It understood her. The darkness did not think she was creepy. The darkness did not think she was weird. The darkness thought she was delicious.
After a day they let her go, and she cooked a meal for them. And they thought the meal was delicious, so they left her alone. But she smiled, for she knew she was no longer alone. Not here, in the dark. She had finally found a friend. And when her friend asked her to leave the axe by the Ungrateful Thief's bed, she was glad, because friendship is a two edged sword, and friends help each other and cut each other and bleed together.
And when the water barrel broke and only the Ungrateful Thief was there to blame, she understood, and she cast doubt, but not blame. It would be better the blame come from another. The Ungrateful Thief ran away, and hid, because the Ungrateful Thief was a coward at heart, which is why no one loved him. Only the darkness would even give him a chance, and he would be too afraid to love it back, and would always be alone.
Callista knew this in her heart, though she could not yet say it in her head. She knew this when the Foolish Sailor found him clinging to the back of the ship, and she felt she had to help him. Perhaps if she gave him to the darkness, left him with no choice, he would stay? Perhaps he, too, could find friendship? He was so close! She grabbed the sail and exerted her will and the ship jumped and shook, and the Ungrateful Thief fell. And as he fell, he did not scream thank you. But that was OK. She did not expect him to anymore.
But now the Foolish Sailor looked at her with distrust, for she did not yet truly understand friendship. And Callista let herself be bound again, but inside the ship, where the darkness could hold her. And the Foolish Sailor stopped, and called out to the Ungrateful Thief, and waited.
Of COURSE she did not hear a thank you. She should have known better. The Ungrateful Thief snuck aboard and hid and skulked until he felt himself safe, and even then, seeing Callista bound and helpless, he was too much a coward to come close. He threw his knife from the shadows and struck her in the shoulder, and smiling at the pain, she screamed. And she smiled. And she looked into his eyes and she saw his fear and she pushed. And his fear grew and grew and he ran.
The Foolish Sailor finally came and released Callista, and they followed him up the stairs. Callista was hurt and bleeding, but she bled for friendship. She tried to show them, but they would not listen. The Ungrateful Thief stayed as far from her as he could, and the Foolish Sailor tried to keep them apart, but though they were not friends, they were inseparable.
As the blade sunk into her throat, she fell, and her loneliness finally began to fade. And her friend, her only true friend ever, called back to her. Are you sure? It asked. Do you truly wish to die? Will you leave me here, to be alone again?
And she was not, and did not, and would not. And though she had no strength to move her arms, she reached out, with her heart, and her blood, and her longing and her need, and the darkness lifted her up and held her.
And so, while the poor blind Foolish Sailor and the poor frightened Ungrateful Thief floated back to the burning sun, Callista stayed with the darkness, and together they smiled. Soon there would be more -- sailors and builders, miners and guards, all greedy for treasure, none knowing what they truly needed. And Callista and the darkness would be waiting for them. They could already think of so many games they wanted to play. They could show them the power of friendship.
And she drifts, bleeding and longing, in the darkness that will love her, Happily Ever After.
...
...
...
Statistics:Posted by utsukushi — Fri Apr 24, 2020 6:20 pm
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This is a campaign involving a common dragon Caeroe (supposed child of Mountainshadow and Thermail (the poor dragon who impaled herself on the Wyrmspire peak after 7 of her eggs were stolen to create the Hydra abomenation... Caeroe is the supposed 11th egg... *coughs*). Caeroe is a Trobadour / Nethermancer and has the powerful ability to see the future (Caeroe - version of Kairos - cease the opportunity / future). Since the demise of Thermail and the disgrace following the Hydra abomenation Caeroe was raised by Vasdenja and has followed in his footsteps of being curious about namegivers and very social. Since the death of Vasdenja, Caeroe has taken it upon herself to make sure to prevent this kind of wars again.
This is a campaign involving many of the great dragons as they respect Caeroe's ability to see the future, though only really Caeroe interacts with the group. The dragons take turns playing puppet-master with the group, while Caeroe takes the stance that she can see the fate of many namegivers, but with these people (the group) she can not and therefore they have an important role to play to shape the future. She is therefore extremely supportive of whatever shenanigans the group is up to, and will even use her trubadour powers on their behalf to spread their fame/fortune/stories or even false reputation to bolster things. She has kind of a weird humour to and like to "troll" the group by bolstering some of their lesser prideful moments or even build one of the members up to become a prophet of whatever cause they are passionate about... Caeroe likes to have fun, more or less, and find namegivers fascinating to study.
Throughout the campaign the Vasdenja's network may offer support and have tasks to the group. Caeroe gives individuals in the group a paper on which they can write to her, and she can respond, at great distances. To the really dumb character in the group she gave kind of a comic-book which basically captures the events the group go through, but from the player character's perspective in which he is the mighty superhero... Caeroe uses this book to spy on what the group do and go through, and may sometimes add comic-strips in the future blank pages as future events that will happen (not frequent, but can be useful every now and then to give hints when the group is way off track).
In this campaign the Therans wanting to incite war are more corrupt than ever. They have even captured a horror that is incredibly infectious (Bahmet - the puppetmaster). It has a kind of flesh-eating worms that can multiply inside its host and that can attach itself to the brain to stimulate pain/pleasure centras or even prolong life. It can cause its victims to attack other namegivers and flesheating wors will attempt to burrow themselves into the new host and spread like this. The Therans used this horror to infect people in Throal, and it wiped out 90% of the Throalic population, upon which Earthroot sealed the gates and Throal is now closed and empty of life except for the pale-ones and Earthroot. The group just happened to bring an infected head in a freezer box to Bloodwood and Alamaise (the Elfbane dragon) found out about this, stole the head, and used it to wipe out a majority of the bloodelves too...
So, uhm, yah... The Therans are being very successful terrorists at the moment. The Throalic king is kept hidden by Earthroot, the Throalic princess (now named Queen thinking the king is dead) has been replaced by an impostor, the group has a leader who wants to destroy all magic in the world (saying it's the source of horrors and all corruption) and has gotten quite a following. Another great-dragon, "Manon", has appeared. As old as Mountainshadow he has been long forgotten (just like Parlainth was) as he was the dragon who agreed to watch the world tree that was planted to guard the portal that had allowed Horrors to enter the mundane world. Thousands upon thousands of years have passed, and when the group just happened to blow up a Theran dig in the Delaris mountains they just happened to blow up some 2000 slaves that were working there too... the blood spilled was enough to break the seal that had been placed on the old, OLD, elven kingdom (Second age elves, the age during which Earthdawn is played is the 4th I believe) in which Manon and the worldtree is located. Manon can not escape, but no longer wishes to guard the tree... He kind of wishes to limit the magic in the world too (exposure to pressure from horrors and the worldtree can do that to a dragon I reckon), and can reach out to namegivers through dreams and has made the leader of the group the champion of this cause (to help free Manon, destroy much of the magic, etc.).
Aaaanyways... if this epic campaign in which the group is part of some truly epic things (without being high circle) as events far beyond their control take place around them (and they have some important roles to play in), is of further interest I guess I could try and flesh things out a bit more... Let me know if enough people would be interested and I might write some more about the story.
Statistics:Posted by Qwazi — Mon Oct 07, 2019 9:46 am
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Sharkforce wrote: ↑
talk about tempting fate. haven't they ever heard the "rocks fall, everyone dies" meme?
They, in fact, are well aware of that. And the one who hadn't played TTRPGs before? I repeatedly use the phrase around him.Wed Sep 18, 2019 4:44 am
wait, they chose falling rocks as their symbol?talk about tempting fate. haven't they ever heard the "rocks fall, everyone dies" meme?
Statistics:Posted by Tattered Rags — Thu Sep 19, 2019 9:35 pm
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talk about tempting fate. haven't they ever heard the "rocks fall, everyone dies" meme?
Statistics:Posted by Sharkforce — Wed Sep 18, 2019 4:44 am
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The Rolling Stones head out to continue their trip to Urupa. Nothing bad could ever happen when they get to an unfinished amphitheater.
Rolling Stones Rock Out
Healing, making camp, and spotting a spy: pretty typical for these adventurers.
The Caravan Almost Ambushed
Having finally arrived at Urupa, things still don't quite go as planned.
Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives: Urupa Edition
Plus, Sean Shamshara's latest journal entry!
Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives: Urupa Edition journal entry
I'll likely get a post mortem up...eventually.
Statistics:Posted by Tattered Rags — Wed Sep 18, 2019 3:09 am
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