Basil_Bottletop

I wanted my post to be better, but my workday is about over and I know I'm out of pocket until at least tomorrow...so it's a post dump on a Friday afternoon!

Wyckmere Mirth The gnome's admission of ignorance garnered some response from Wyck, but only unspoken ones. He nodded and tilted his head, his eyes dancing to distance points as he tried to think while also listen. Her confusion was his confusion even if he didn't mirror the same sentiments about what it might mean for her existence here. The soldier's theory held some water, but it also felt silly to admit it. Wyck had known what true loneliness felt like and he didn't care to linger on it. It was easier to dismiss the whole notion as being something else than it was to try and compare his feelings today to how he felt back then. He wasn't sure he remembered it all correctly. He nodded along as Roland finished and was grateful when Yopine carried the conversation elsewhere, as it gave him a chance to empty his bowl. Her confession held weight, but only in that Wyck knew she needed to say it aloud. If he was meant to condemn her for her actions, he didn't know how to tell her that he didn't have it in him. For a second he thought to feign rebuttal and offer her a poignant social sentencing, simply because apathy felt far harsher. But he couldn't. It wasn't his place to condemn. It wasn't his place to give her reprieve. In the end he simply offered her the best shrug he could build and something that resembled an engaging smile. "I haven't pieced together what it is that is important about you guys yet either. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're all wonderfully interesting and should each feel some powerful urge to be better versions of you but whatever has brought D'Artegenon and I here, it rarely has anything to do with an individual or even a group of individuals, that I can promise you." His hand swept across the camp at the others, a peaceful inclusion to everyone around in his long-winded run-on sentence. "I just usually have a good guess on what it is by now. It's usually easier to see. Feel. Sometimes it's already happened and we're there to catch some small part of it's ending." Something in his composure settled and he blinked away the cloudiness of his unintended mystique. "Sorry. It's just that we're here to witness something. And no, me telling you doesn't change the cosmos and keep it from happening. It doesn't work that way. But we don't really bother telling most people because usually there are no people, or it's such a short visit that we don't meet anyone worth telling." He paused for a moment, but something in his body language suggested he wasn't looking for anyone to interrupt. "But we've with been with you all for soooo long, and nothing! It's weird. I think D'Artegenon can feel it too. Now we've got them with us, and I don't know if it's because of the something or because we're trying to hurry it up." He didn't need a gesture to tell them whom he referred to, "More people doesn't make it better or faster or easier to read. And if you're a part of it, you can't just leave either. If you can leave, you weren't a part of it anyways." He paused again and gave them both direct looks that meant to suggest he was being serious, "Now you know why we don't bother telling people."

Re: Sleep I've always been very selfish about my sleep. Selfish but not greedy, mind you, since I wasn't one of those kids that slept all day or anything. I just always wanted 6+ hours and so I'd opt to go to bed instead of 'just one more turn' or 'one more episode', etc. I knew going into parenthood that my selfishness would get broken, but I've been lucky enough to have a wife that's a night owl (while I'm very much a morning person). It also helped that she left her corporate (can you say that about a non-profit??) job when the first kid showed up and took on a consulting gig that let's her set her own hours... which are all really late at night. Three kids later and post-pandemic, we got kicked back to the office a few days a week by the governor even though we'd been gearing up for WFH-style schedules way back in 2018. Unfortunately for me, we moved just before the pandemic and now my office is 75 minutes away. So on Mondays and Fridays, it's been said that I can be a little bit groggy. Re: Posting I intend to respond to our little trio's scene today. But yeah, Drizzt killed your conversation like he did all those orcs back in the day.

Wyckmere Mirth With his jest landing, Wyck allowed another smile. It helped that the broth soothed his throat and filled his stomach, and Roland's talking gave him the freedom to dive back into his food full force. The man's further explanation and self-realization seem both unneeded and perhaps exactly what Wyck had intended. He balanced a chunk of meat on the end of his spoon and studied it all the way to his mouth. Once caged behind closed lips, Wyck showed his enjoyment of the bite through a dramatically heavy sigh. Once swallowed, he repositioned his seat so as to invite Yopine to the conversation through his body language. His chest now facing a neutrally split invisible line between them both in the small social triangle. The repeated accusation bounces off him this time though, like a dull arrow on a steel shield. "I'm just being impatient." He admits quickly before waving all of the negative auras away with his spoon. "It's no one's fault." "This is good, right?" He asks the group while pointing at his almost empty bowl before glancing at the campfire as if needing reminded where it came from. It's a rhetorical question at best and he doesn't really wait for an answer before bringing the conversation to the feet of Yopine. "So you two were sent out to that crossroad by someone that knew D'Artegenon, yeah?" His question feels as much for himself as it is for Yopine. "What were you meant to do after that?"

I know that I'm a reactionary player by nature and it takes quite a bit to get me to impose the will of my PC onto a game knowing that suddenly the entire group is stuck doing what I want them to do or what I initially suggested. This comes from a history of being in large group games at the table and then years of being here no the Weave where collaborative story-telling requires the 'co' part to be strong and active. I've also found myself gravitating towards making characters that just won't have those opinions more often now, which probably isn't the best method to avoiding it. This thread is probably going to go through at least one conversation where someone needs to define what a sandbox game means in terms of 'floor' and 'ceiling' freedoms, but if we're talking at face value... give me a carrot on a stick and watch me struggle to get to it while also moving further down the road.

Oh yeah, and it goes without saying, but those folks looking at the mold are more than welcomed to keep talking strategy about how to solve that conundrum while we Riffraff inspects the other hallway.

Better call ServiceMaster. Yeah, Armando is team Riffraff here. Let's see what's going on with the other hallway.

Armando Railwalker Gnomish Warlock AC: 13 (leathers) | HP: 9/9 | Initiative: +2 | Passive Perception: 11 Spell Slots: 1st 1/1 | Spell Attack: +4 | Spell DC: 12 DM Inspiration: 0/1 The brutality of the ratfolk's dressing of the fleshy creature somehow pressed beyond the grotesque and into an opaque world of unreality. The gnome stood and watched, without flinching, at each pass of the knife's blade into the meat and ichor. He watched with amusement as the lantern was drawn out of cavity and even reached for it in weak sense of helpfulness, albeit not enough to be noticed. It didn't take the overlooking personally though, and simply went back to looking over Riffraff's shoulder as he continued to bury his blade deeper. When it was over, Armando didn't notice the blood that had crept along the floor and soiled the tips of his boots. Only when he took a step away and the sticky, drying blood screamed at him did he even realize how close he'd come to stand by the corpse. The tiny screams at his feet begged him to stay a bit longer, but the rest of the group had pressed forward and Armando did not want to be left behind in this Gods-forsaken place. He found himself shirking his duties as Sunny's shadow and instead followed a similar path as Riffraff. The others were pre-occupied with a hallway that they could not go down, but hadn't even considered the path that they could. The gnome silently chuckled at his and Riffraff's ingenuity. Mechanics Main Hand: Empty Off Hand: Empty Action: Bonus Action: Move: Moving to the hallway entryway of the eastern branch Manipulate:

So the Myth-Weaver site works in a pretty structured way: 1. Go to the Game Advertisement page and check out the offered games. This can mean going into multiple games sometimes to check to see that the vibe is right for what you want to accomplish as a player. Posting rates and game focus are really important. You don't want to apply to a game that's going to post far more frequently (or less frequently) than you can allot in your own hobby time. You also don't want to apply to a game focused on dungeon crawling if all you really want to do is a slice of life sci-fi game. **A note for new players: There are a few advertisements currently in the list that aren't really ads. The powers-that-be are trying to come up with a way to clean these up long-term, but there's some growing pains that came with the new site setup. If you click an ad and get to the campaign forum and there's nothing posted there, it's a safe assumption that it's not really advertising. We -as a community at large- are sorry for the confusion.** 2. So you've found an ad you like? Cool! Now go look to see what that particular GM is requesting in the way of applications. The site works in much the same way a job posting would be. You see an ad, you apply for the game with your idea, the GM has a cutoff date, at the cutoff date they will choose those players that best fit their table. 3. Feel free to interact with folks in the OOC Threads (*Out of Character) and check out some of the non-gaming forums too. We also have a Discord that can offer some quick(er) responses if you need assistance or just want to talk about a ton of other topics.

Although there was nothing at his back, Quim felt pressed now. The skum raked its claw across the flank of the worg and would likely do so again if they weren't able to stop it. He saw no other option now, he had to continue until one side had been removed from the battlefield. Rolls and Such Attacking N8. Worg The worg snarled its painful displeasure in being cut by the claws of the skum. He twisted his body to try and keep that wound from being available to the enemy again, but he did not pause his own attacks.

How widespread is the brown mold? It kind of looks like it's at the 'doorway' of the map, but that could also be a fun lighting effect.

I think I've finished my post, Harding.

Ah, I think I was just copying another PC's comments about the 'gone to ground'. I'll remove it.

Work day is over and I wasn't done. But the Lazarus/Reminder function of new MW doesn't cross to other devices, so I had to post what I had with the hopes of finishing it later.

Wyckmere Mirth A call for camp was a welcomed relief. Wyck's neck ached from the constant glances skyward that accompanied every new bend in their path. He knew the appearance of a dragon again would not come without some warning, but subconsciously he couldn't help it. Height was a funny thing and he wasn't entire sure how high a dragon could keep their flight while keeping a watchful eye on the ground. He tried to create scenarios where-in the dragon flew to the other side of the world, dove deep into the ocean, or other outlandish reasons why it might have gone completely off path in search of what it sought, but they felt like platitudes one might hear when trying to get a child to sleep when they feared monsters biting at their toes. There had been a few minutes when he completely forgot about watching the skies. It had come after they passed a patch of honey-dip flowers peaking out from behind the bramble bush plant that typically covered the plant's feet. A wild flash of oranges and yellows mixed into an insect-attracting mirage and Wyck had plucked half a dozen of them before jogging back up with his place in the march. For the rest of the hour, he spent each passing step pulling the petals from the flower and chewing on their sickly sweet flesh. The flower carried very little in the way of weight, but the after-effects created a buzz in his ears that flowed down to his feet and helped keep his pep. He pressed one into D'Artegenon's hands too before tucking the remainder of them into a breast pocket. The half-orc tried to ignore the gesture, but Wyck was silently persistent and clearly wouldn't take the man's refusal seriously. ~*~*~ Camp offered a new set of activities and Wyck's priorities seemed to be in personal comforts. As D'Artegenon disappeared into the woods, Wyck was already in his routine. He tossed his own sack to the side and got to unpacking the essentials. Two thin wool blankets marked the bedding for both men a few feet apart. A pair of metal cups were tossed at the foot of the rustic beds, as were a few other amenities of the road that made such trips just a bit more bearable. They'd lay there until they were needed. The campsite was a collection of clustered activities and when Wyck looked up from his finished tasks he saw that some of the others had broken off into a variety of tasks. Since his demotion as camp cook, he'd found the freedom to be a tad annoying. Now he was expected to invent tasks so as to be busy while the others worked on the essential things. The burden came with some minor perks, but so far Wyck had been hard pressed to revel in them. ~*~*~ The smell of dinner hit his nostrils like a smith's hammer finds the anvil. He was well trained to ignore the hunger pangs of travel, but to be faced with such novelties as a cooked meal washed away those veils. He was starving. He made sure not to be the first to the fire with a bowl, but he wasn't more than a few steps behind them with his own. He politely accepted whatever was offered with a wide-eyed thankfulness and briskly got out of the way of the next person. He found a place a few yards away from his own bedding where the ground looked soft enough and he wasn't in the pathway of the campfire's smoke. He embraced his bowl with both hands and inhaled deeply while he tried to guess what might be hidden just beneath the surface. It was true, a meal made by another always held with it a certain level of excitement because you'd not been hovering over the cooking fire staring at it the whole time. He was two spoons in before he looked up and truly took stock of the bustling campfire. Allegiances had set in -it seemed- and there was comfort in that, even for an outsider. The rote bickering of strangers meeting strangers was dreadful and there had been more of it here than any of his last few stops. But this had also been the strangest of cases of the last half dozen as well. Roland approached, but Wyck thought he meant to sit behind him somewhere, out of the way or at least behind the social wall of Wyck and what would eventually be D'Artegenon when he returned. When the soldier sat down beside him, Wyck foolishly quickened his latest spoonful and it made a wild slurping sound before his mouth was singed from the heat of it. It took him a full moment to recover. The physical reaction helps hide the mental one, as he tries to recall the inn, Roland's revelations, and anything else pre-dragon appearance. His brain tried desperately to link the two, but only fragments emerged. Instead, he offered tokens of a different color. "Your name is your name, your story is your story, but it was your loyalty to it that was strange. We were there because we were meant to be there, proven to you by our gestures, and yet you kept your secret. What was it? Three days, four? But then to drop it so suddenly, so easily, was downright dangerous." His words and his tone conflict. He's chastising Roland like he's a child, but his tone is soft and understanding as if he knows it's a lesson he'll have to repeat again for a youthful ear. The words came, but so too did his hunger. He chanced another spoon of the broth before continuing. "But my mood is not because of you. It is because of something else," Wyck nods toward the camp, "I don't know what to make of it yet. It usually doesn't take this long." He stops hard, looks down at his spoon in regret and then laughs, "Maybe it is the dog." He shifted in his seat so that he could finally look at the man directly, politely. "So you're some kind of reformed criminal, then?" A return to the blunt repoire from Wyck is accompanied by a wry smile.

Cool Beans. I'll try and get something up. Lots of meetings today so far but luckily only half as much homework coming out of those meetings.

I think that my conversation with Roland can happen regardless of most retcons, so I'll try and get something up today. If someone thinks that the timeline fixin' should be resolved first -because something else might be coming up before we sit down to eat- then post it here and I'll check the OOC before I hit the POST button.

Worg Nothing or no one had pulled the beast back from the frontline, and so he continued his onslaught of biting and snarling. Blood -not his own- and spittle dripped from fangs and muzzle.