Celsior Loriniscil, Prince of Alfheim Inspiration Yes | HP 35/35 | HD 5/5 StrSave -1 Athletics, proficient +2 8 | DexSave +3 Initiative +3 Acrobatics +3 Sleight of Hand +3 Stealth +3 14 | ConSave +2 14 | IntSave, proficient +7 Arcana, proficient +7 History, proficient +7 Investigation, proficient +7 Nature +4 Religion +4 18 | WisSave, proficient +3 Animal Handling +0 Medicine +0 Insight +0 Perception, proficient +3 Survival +0 10 | ChaSave +0 Deception +0 Intimidation +0 Persuasion, proficient +3 Performance, proficient +3 10 StepStarlight Step As a bonus action, you can magically teleport up to 30 feet to an unoccupied space you can see. You can use this trait a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest. 2/2 | Shield 1/1 | BladesongStarting at 2nd level, you can invoke a secret elven magic called the Bladesong, provided you aren't wearing medium or heavy armor or using a shield. It graces you with supernatural speed, agility, and focus. You can use a bonus action to start the Bladesong, which lasts for 1 minute. It ends early if you are incapacitated, if you don medium or heavy armor or a shield, or if you use two hands to make an attack with a weapon. You can also dismiss Bladesong at any time you choose (no action required). You can use this feature a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses of it when you finish a long rest. While your bladesong is active, you gain the following benefits: * You gain a bonus to your AC equal to your Intelligence modifier (minimum of +1). * Your walking speed increases by 10 feet. * You have advantage on Dexterity (Acrobatics) checks. * You gain a bonus to any Constitution saving throws you make to maintain concentration on a spell. The bonus equals your Intelligence modifier (minimum of +1). 2/2 | RecoveryArcane Recovery. You have learned to regain some of your magical energy by studying your spellbook. Once per day when you finish a short rest, you can choose expended spell slots to recover. The spell slots can have a combined level that is equal to or less than half your wizard level (rounded up), and none of the slots can be 6th level or higher. For example, if you're a 4th-level wizard, you can recover up to two levels worth of spell slots. You can recover either a 2nd-level spell slot or two 1st-level spell slots. 3/3 Spellcasting +7 DC 15 | CantripsAE: Light VM MI1: Mage Hand VS MI2: Minor Illusion SM 1 Prestidigiation VS 2 Sword Burst V 3 Toll the Dead VS 4 Booming Blade VM | 1st1. Magic Missile VS 2. Shield VS Reaction 3. Sleep VSM 4. Burning Hands VS 3d6 Dex 5. Absorb Elements S Reaction Rituals Detect Magic VS Ritual Concen Find Familiar VSM Ritual Alarm VSM Ritual 4/4 | 2nd6. Suggestion VM Conc, 8 hr 7. Invisibility VSM Conc, 1 hr 8. See Invisibility VSM, 1 hr 3/3 | 3rd9. Fireball, VSM Rituals Tiny Hut, VSM Ritual 2/2 27 [+6 +2 Con = +8 hit points] = 35 Fireball, Tiny Hut Mechanics Active spells: Familiar, Light, Mage Armor Action: -

Celsior Loriniscil, Prince of Alfheim Inspiration Yes | HP 27/27 | HD 4/4 | Step 2/2 | Shield 1/1 Bladesong 2/2 | Recovery 2/2 | 1st-level 4/4 | 2nd-level 3/3 Celsior stuck with his crew through it all, cleaning the destruction caused by the assault and preparing for the final exam. He had left his privilege at home and committed to the full academy experience. The prince knew his mother, Queen Aelsa Featherwine, was invited to graduation, but she did not attend. She sent an ambassador who delivered an arcane grimoire as a graduation gift and her regrets. She had an emergency that grounded her in Ljosalfgard, the capital of Alfhiem. Although quite disappointed, he tried not to show it. Before the ceremony, he secreted himself to pen a stilted letter to his mother, explaining his adventures without enough details in case the missive was intercepted. He wished her well and promised to return when he could. That night afterwards sharing celebratory drinks with his crew, his stomach starts turning. Bewildered, because he's been drinking alcohol for almost hundred years, he says to himself, "I don't feel so good," before finding a corner to vomit. Mechanics

Rolling HP for 5th level over here.... HP Gain: Extra Attack, Stunning Strike Adj: STR - 1 = 10 / CHA +1 = 10 Proposed Uncommon Magic Item: Winged Boots OR Slippers of Spider Climbing OR +1 Magic Mop

Lazuli Lazali Lulura, AKA Squishy AC 17 | HP 24/33 (THP 0) | HD 3/3 | Inspiration Yes | P.Perception 21 | P.Investigation 15 Saves: Str -1 | Dex +3 | Con +1 | Int +2 | Wis +6 | Cha +0 Resistances: Acid and Poison As for Lazuli, well, they continued collecting bones and, well, growing. Eventually, they split in two, and continued working as a pair. Then, they ate enough to split again. Rumors swirl about where they stashed the 'mother' fungal bloom, Squishy's hive mind, as it were, but at least they seemed to be loyal, hard working, cannibalistic Fleet officer with silver pins on every one. Even if nobody is quite sure where they got that many pins.

Plasmoid Monk (Way of Mercy) 4 CG AC: 16 | HP: 32/32 | HD: 3/3 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: No | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60 Str 11 (0) Dex 18 (4) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 9 (-1) Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+6;1d6+4 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+6;1d4+4 | Sling(B)1d20+6;1d4+4 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+6;1d6+4 Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 1/4 The excitement of graduation quickly turned to disgruntled mumblings of consternation. It seems that hosting a large scale event attended by numerous bigwigs with all the required pomp and circumstance right after a deadly and destructive incursion of giff and gith commandos required an extraordinary amount of clean up work. Since the excrement always flows downhill and Yahs and her fellow cadets apparently lived in the deepest valley located next to that proverbial hill, they ended up spending much of the time prior to the ceremony scrubbing blood stains from the walls, picking bits of brain from the banisters, attempting to match lost limbs with their counterpart bodies, etc. It was a grizzly and grim task perfectly suited to the plasmoid. She did find the prominent display of rotting gith head upon her belt created the proper amount of unease and respect amongst the younger cadet classes and thus at times she found herself able to take on a more supervisory roll as others actually obeyed her orders. In fact, there was a great deal of respect for all the members of her crew following the incidents that could have resulted in a lot more dead cadets if the three hadn't have intervened. One group of highly impressionable, rather misguided youths even formed something of special squad among themselves. Small mop patches were added to their uniforms and soon their off hours were spent practicing a variety of methods for turning regular cleaning implements into deadly weapons. "Sponge Bomb Day" was one outcome of this effort that was quickly denounced by the academy staff too little avail. This same group also started a rather darker tradition of attaching paper mache heads on their belts after scoring particularly noteworthy kills during a simulation. Yahs was pretty certain another group had taken to collecting rat bones and experimenting with various fungi gathered from the biology instructor's not-so-secret stash. And of course there was the Young Prince's Club. When asked about their doings, the plasmoid's skin just ripples in unease as she waves away the question. Her nervous eyes trying to watch every direction at once before she quickly notices a stain or some bit of tarnished silver that needed tending. So her graduation came and went. Sitting there on the balcony after the final ceremony and watching the falling stars illuminate the sky, she ponders what will come next. What grand adventures she'll have. What wonders of the multiverse she'll witness. What mighty beings she'll encounter. Her thoughts are interrupted by Celsior wretching in the corner. It seemed there were long term effects to eating so many fungal spores at once. The medics assured him the alcohol allergy would wear off eventually, but they couldn't say when. The plasmoid burbles a sigh and grabs her mop. "Don't worry Captain, I'll clean that up."

Please join when you have a chance and I will add you, mateos.

Despite the stomach churning unease that the last few weeks has left with the cadets, Mirt's new strategies prove at least temporarily efficacious. Graduation day finally rolls around with a grand total of 0 explosions, 0 beheadings, and 0 personalized stationery letters sent back to your mom's house, begging her to extract you from the hell that was Spelljammer Academy. Instead, breakthroughs in your training pierce a new level of muscle memory. A wacky variety of space scenarios are analyzed, your personal encyclopedia of exotic creatures and civilizations expands, and historical understanding of inter-wildspace politics is refined. But what started as 6 promising cadets is noticeably whittled down to 3, a definite sore mark on the accounting of personnel for the budding Fleet. Popsicle is held back a month for cheating on the final exam (he was found to have written tiny notes on a space cucumber he medically administered to himself during the test). Zibbles sadly relapsed after a certain ear-on-a-stick gag backfired horribly, the space clown going permanently deaf on one side. Veena left for the suborbital Sun Soul monastery a few days before graduation in another stunning loss, putting spiritual development above protection of the realms... But the show must go on, and Realmspace is fated to earn its sworn protectors in a trickle instead of a avalanche. Uniforms are ironed, tassels are untangled, speeches are rehearsed. At the end of the day, the Fleet has an experienced Spelljammer, a trusted leader, and a fierce Corps cadet ready to tackle the next goldfish bowls that roll out the nearest black hole. Proudly the copper insignia of the cadets is replaced with the silver pins of the Fleet. To a crowd that has to some extent become family, your ascension is the new gossip, your exploits a research topic for the libraries stacks, your appreciation of service becoming a permanent respect. ~~~ That night, taking drinks on the balcony that used to be Ryeback's busy breakfast bar, the utter peacefulness of the night is punctuated by an enchanting shower of golden shooting stars (which curiously resemble coffins to the morbid, or shells to the nature lovers). It is as if the heavens themselves are falling to greet the latest graduates of Spelljammer Academy... Congrats to us for getting a notch in the 'game complete' column. I will open the main campaign thread recruitment tonight. Please take a look, I am adding a few house rules/variants we didn't use this time. You also get your choice of an uncommon magic item, and your cut of the adamantine booty. I would appreciate a final RP post. Welcome to level 5.

Plasmoid Monk (Way of Mercy) 4 CG AC: 16 | HP: 32/32 | HD: 3/3 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: No | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60 Str 11 (0) Dex 18 (4) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 9 (-1) Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+6;1d6+4 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+6;1d4+4 | Sling(B)1d20+6;1d4+4 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+6;1d6+4 Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 1/4 Yahs listens quietly to the debriefing and follow up theories as to who or what is actually threatening Fleet's continued existence. Without more information, she doubted they could really answer that burning question in this moment. With the tendrils of her cigar smoke drifting like soggy clouds through her fluids, the plasmoid is barely able to stifle a snort at Tarto's concern over the mysterious Flapjack. Looking around at those currently filling the chairs in the room, she couldn't help wondering if a hat wearing flumph wasn't the closest thing to normal that actually existed within Fleet. Considering the one laying out the criticism was a crusty, cigar smoking space hippo, it crossed the line into 'pot calling the kettle' territory in her book. When desperate, you don't turn away help just because of poor fashion choice. And besides, the more she thinks about it, the more she believes a tricorn hat could be rather dashing.

Same from me. I don't think I've got anything else either.

I don’t have anything to add just now.

Not a lot of resolution here, I get it. If you want to try asking them OOC I can answer what I can. Main point is there is a hidden threat. These modules don't really resolve the threat, the main campaign does (fairly quickly).

I cannot think of anything. Just a lot of open questions.

Anything else here before moving on?

From a certain perspective, and one not known or shared by the conference here (or DM), its the PCs fault for the latest security incident. ;P As the module was written, it could have gone a few ways: 1. The gith is captured and interrogated aboard the tyrant, learning Vocath's intent to get Miken at all costs. The PCs rush home to give everyone a heads up and protect Miken (and are too late). 2. The gith is captured but not interrogated, PCs don't really care about Miken. The attack is a surprise, despite the Fleet making contact with the assailants in wildspace. Even if 1 would have been how it played out here, the point would still stand that they are relying too much on cadets. Its just too young of an organization with not enough people and resources.

"Yes, it seems a strange possession for a radish farmer. We would have to conclude the cyclops was simply in the right place at the right time, its fall from the sky a complete fluke." Bonzo noted. Tarto shifted in her seat as the matter of Flapjack is pressed "Well...how do I put this...Flapjack is an intelligent creature called a 'flumph' who insists on wearing a tricorne hat at all times. Fashion choices aside, he's a bit much." Mirt shifts some papers "Hmm...privateer under Andru's commission these days." Saerthe added "Imagine a 7 year old with 100 actual voices in their head, and who wears their flip-of-a-switch emotions on their sleeve. Hyperactive, social skills M.I.A... And then there's the smell...its one that stays with you for a lifetime. Great jammer though. Trustworthy. And like we said, the best guide for Bral's underrealms." As the conference goes on, new security strategies are floated. The construction of new observatories seems to be a popular conclusion, with more efficient watch rotations and better scopes. The sky-interceptor team which had been water thin recently is something Mirt promises to bolster, having called back a good portion of the Fleet. Exploratory missions as well as distant patrols are cancelled in favor of sticking closer to ground. More ships in the docks means more personnel present in the halls. More ships in the sky means a better first alert. If the Old Wolf can pull off some kind of accounting miracle, was the unspoken condition on everyone's mind. "...of course we could really use more cadets like you three." he adds. "Walk into any major city on the Sword Coast and say 'Spelljamming' if you want to hear 'Jam this' before a kick in the arse. We've tried to keep the Academy hidden since its birth a few years back but maybe we hid it too well. Not enough on Toril know a tick about it." "Baldur's Gate has seen an increase in recruits, what with that ..." Tarto was quick to point out. Mirt sighed "...and the githyanki got there before any of us was the wiser. We'd need ships in every city to really counter something like that. Recruiting stations as common as Zhentarim offices. We're a long ways from that...but we can at least see to it the ones we got get graduated." It seems like another life when the graduation date was an unsure thing lingering in the distance, but now it was only a few weeks away.

Celsior Loriniscil, Prince of Alfheim Inspiration Yes | HP 27/27 | HD 4/4 | Step 2/2 | Shield 1/1 Bladesong 2/2 | Recovery 2/2 | 1st-level 4/4 | 2nd-level 3/3 Celsior wonders how the academy has survived this long with this dearth of intelligence. So fragile this institution is, it was essentially saved by recruits a month into training. Should something this weak survive the politics of Wildspace? Squishy's answer about the adamantine rock was to the point and as illuminating as what the academy authorities knew about their current threats. To hopefully learn something, he asks, "Who is Flapjack? And why are you so reticent to deal with them again?" Mechanics

Lazuli Lazali Lulura, AKA Squishy AC 17 | HP 24/33 (THP 0) | HD 3/3 | Inspiration Yes | P.Perception 21 | P.Investigation 15 Saves: Str -1 | Dex +3 | Con +1 | Int +2 | Wis +6 | Cha +0 Resistances: Acid and Poison "Being dragged around by an ogre, mostly," Lazuli commented, distractedly.

After an awkward silence, Mirt added "Of course the financial situation has been somewhat offset by our star cadets here. The adamantine...coffin? Shell? Your last training report mentioned a disruption of some kind of cyclops radish farm? A gith trade hub on H'catha? The report said, I quote, 'an Astral Elven origin' for the containment device our arcanoastronomers picked up. With some kind of rotten yellow crystal within? That's the same engineering structures they use to grow Moth-class vessels, right? Along with larger architecture? What the hell was that doing in Realmspace, I wonder? ...and H'catha of all places?"

Awesome, thanks for sticking with it. If you guys have any suggestions or critiques of my DMing I'm all ears. I'd like to get better. Or if there's just something you'd like to see more of next time.

"Anyone that wanted to see Realmspace security take a step back to the wild days. The pirates of Garden could maybe scrape together the cash, but they are far too unorganized." Tarto guessed out loud, referring to the dangerous 7th planet. "If it were the mind flayers of Glyth we'd have seen a tadpole roll out one of those heads by now." thinking of the 6th planet. "I mean who knows, lots of enemies and lots of space...maybe some more distant, outside threat is evading our notice." Mirt nods "After the neogi attack I called most of the Fleet back. It's obvious we've been weakened here, relying on cadets to defend us is no kind of strategy. We should be in a much better defensive posture in a week or two." "Mercane to find a mercane." Saerthe sounded intrigued. "It is thought they have some advanced form of intercommunication, even across wildspaces. They don't often come to Toril, though." Bonzo mentioned "There's the Mercane Agency up on the Rock of Bral...its not much more than a storefront for helms and magic items, but at least its open to the public." Tarto gruffed "We've known the underbarons of Bral to deal with them from time to time. Yeah, the Rock has an underdark. But our last man on the inside, I mean you'd have to contact..." Saerthe interrupted "Don't say it..." "...Flapjack." Tarto mumbled through her cigar. As if everyone at the table just bit into a bad piece of chicken, grumbles and recollections of bad experiences soured everyone's morning. Mirt shook his head, opting to change the subject "Ol' Prince Andru would be the more direct, he is still our main financier. His court handles the purchases of most of our off-world equipment. Heh. He's pretty sour with me right now though, getting an audience would be tricky. Maybe there's a way to smooth it over." "As for his enemies, well lots of snobs up in their star palaces would love to see Andru replaced with a council...you know, something they can more easily buy. None would have the audacity to outright admit it, though."

Plasmoid Monk (Way of Mercy) 4 CG AC: 16 | HP: 32/32 | HD: 3/3 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: No | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60 Str 11 (0) Dex 18 (4) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 9 (-1) Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+6;1d6+4 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+6;1d4+4 | Sling(B)1d20+6;1d4+4 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+6;1d6+4 Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 1/4 Yahs strikes a match off the top of the gith helm dangling from her belt. The flame flares to life and burns bright until she puts it to the end of the thick cigar where it disappears into a cloud of smoke and smoldering tobacco. It's the same brand that Tarto uses. The only brand carried by the Academy quartermaster since no one else besides Tarto actually touched the stinking things. Savoring the harsh flavor and robust burst of machismo, she ponders the seemingly unstoppable threat that continues to plague the academy and Fleet itself. "If Vocath is not behind the actual sabotage, then who else benefits? Are there others among the mercane who would benefit from Fleet's embarrassment?" A pause as she takes a long draw on the cigar. The tendrils of smoke are quite visible as the swirl and drift throughout her inner system. "Aren't the mercane purely merchants? Dealers of goods for profit. Intermediaries. Middle men. Not the kind to offer charity or to back a particular cause. Even this planned mercenary fleet would only fight if there was profit involved. So who is paying them? Who benefits as our resources are dedicated to first finding Miken, then dealing with Vocath. Who benefits from Andru's loss of face. Surely the Prince suffers in this since he was the one who awarded the contract. Who gains if Mirt dies? And gains enough that makes paying the high price the Mercane would charge worth it? For that matter who benefits from having folk think Vocath is involved?" She shakes her head causing the smoke both inside and outside to swirl and spiral. "This isn't some small time operation. There's money behind it. Lots of money. And it's flowing from somewhere. So who paid the Mercane to pay Miken? Instead of trying to kill each other, maybe we should try talking to Vocath. Use a mercane to find a mercane."

I'm good to keep going. Yahs is just starting to find herself. :)

"Someone was making it appear that Vocath was bribing Miken. Vocath claims he merely wanted to extract and interrogate Miken. I doubt how his hired goons handled it is exactly the way he wanted it to go..." Tarto begins. "I wouldn't put it past him. Cold, smug, prideful, wealthy. Rumor has it Vocath runs an illegal death arena somewhere out in some unlinked wildspace system. He's got more allies than we do, thats for sure..." Mirt remarks. "I hate to admit it, but Vocath could have just wiped us out if he really wanted to. His plans to raise a mercenary fleet in Realmspace...well, it ain't the first system he's made that pitch. Probably just couldn't stand it some punk was putting his brand on everything." Sarthe nods "You are quite right though, Celsior. The mercane are an enigmatic lineage. They can be as alien and aberrant as the Neogi, but are typically much less combative. Ah, with your learning you will understand this: their origins are planar, not material. Guessing at their motives requires a psychology that hasn't been invented yet." "They definitely hold a grudge though. You get one chance with them, one offense and you're through. I hope you never have to deal with them directly." Tarto adds.

Celsior Loriniscil, Prince of Alfheim Inspiration Yes | HP 27/27 | HD 4/4 | Step 2/2 | Shield 1/1 Bladesong 2/2 | Recovery 2/2 | 1st-level 4/4 | 2nd-level 3/3 Celsior watches the plasmoid end the gith and files it away in his memory. Too bad. Might have learned what's really going on here. ~~~ At the big meeting, Celsior listens having expected to participate earlier. He had participated or at least observed many of these meetings in the closed council of Alfheim. When the open question dangles, he finally clears his throat and offers, "You said that Miken was getting bribed by Vocath to make mischief at the academy for whatever reason. Maybe Ryebeck's death was an accident in that mischief. But what is clear, is that those gith executed Miken. They first tried during our return to Toril and then returned with reinforcements when we reached the academy. Miken probably knew more about what was going on." After a pause, he continues, "I do not know the Mercane well, but that was quite a bit of resources spent and an open declaration of war, in my culture. Does your conflict with Vocath warrant such a retaliation? Do the Mercane normally act in this manner? And yes, who else wants the academy severely damaged?" Mechanics

Lazuli Lazali Lulura, AKA Squishy AC 17 | HP 24/33 (THP 0) | HD 3/3 | Inspiration Yes | P.Perception 21 | P.Investigation 15 Saves: Str -1 | Dex +3 | Con +1 | Int +2 | Wis +6 | Cha +0 Resistances: Acid and Poison At the end of the battle, Lazuli stored Miken's head inside their body, somewhere. One more skull for the bone swarm. At the big meeting, though, they don't really have much to add. They considered saying something anyway, but it wouldn't be helpful, and might get them kicked out of these cushy meetings.