Basil_Bottletop

Wyckmere Mirth Wyck looked up from his writing at the sound of the crashing underbrush some distance off. He'd not seen what caused it, but the bugbear was apologizing for something and the lack of anyone else's hackles being raised meant they likely knew it wasn't a camp intruder coming into distance. Once again, the camp was clustered. Wyck could see it in both a physical sense and in their body language. There were those that matched the stone-façade of D'Artegenon and those that maybe needed more than a good night's sleep. He wasn't sure which group he fell into at the moment, but there was something alluring about slumber washing away the stagnant waters of raw emotions. He made a shorthand note in the margin of his paper before taking another glance around the camp. The sweep of his gaze sitting just a moment longer on Rillik than anyone else. He hadn't seen Myst in hours and the curiosity brought a strange levity to his swirl of thoughts in his mind. Soon he was writing again.

Oh sure, when the bugbear is peppered with questions things are different... 🤪

Belfyr - Half-Elf Ranger AC: 15 | HP: 20/20 | HD: 3/3d10 | Initiative: +3 | Gathered Swarm | Favored Foe | Spell Slots: 1st 3/3 2nd -/- | DM Inspiration: 1/1 It had been petulantly easy to follow the footsteps of Iymbryl toward the caravan of guards. More than Belfyr cared to admit even. For once, in what felt like a lifetime, he knew he was in the right and that this would all be straightened out by the beaucracy that seemed to infect all of Gate's Pass these days. Even the hint of a smug smile crept beneath his beard. He didn't catch it at first; the slight turn, the deaf ear, the quickened pace. Even being in Iymbryl's presence this long didn't suddenly give a man the instincts to understand what official standing should give a man of stature. These things the caravan guards did was what they would have done had he led the charge toward them, and thus it felt natural that they would do it to them in his presence. So it was with a mighty surprise when the guilty party of guards was cut down beside him. He was busy watching the others and hadn't seen anyone approach. Hadn't seen any blade until it was bloodied. Without argument though, Belfyr joined the others down an alleyway. He heard Bronn and nodded, "Gate's Pass has become a murderer's row." Mechanics Main Hand: Quarterstaff Off Hand: Empty Action: Bonus Action: Your bonus action goes here. Move: Not moving Manipulate: Your one free object interaction goes here. Bookkeeping Full Statblock Half-Elf Ranger (Swarmkeeper) 3 NG AC 15 HP 20 Speed 30 ftft Str 14 (2) Dex 16 (3) Con 10 (0) Wis 14 (2) Int 10 (0) Cha 12 (1) Attacks Longbow Quarterstaff Half-Elf Features: Darkvision Fey Ancestry: Adv on saving throws vs charmed, Magic can’t put you to sleep. Skill Versatility: Persuasion, Survival Ranger Features Favored Foe: Tasha's pg 57 Natural Explorer: Fighting Style: Defense +1 to AC when worn Spellcasting Ranger Archetype: Swarmkeeper Gathered Swarm Swarmkeeper Magic: bonus Mage Hand, Faerie Fire Primeval Awareness: PHB Equipment Assets: 84 gp Carried/Worn Total for Pack o Longbow o Quiver w/20 arrows o Common Clothes o Studded Leather o Quarterstaff o Herbalism Kit o Mess Kit o Cooking Utensils Spell Casting Spell Save DC: 10 Spell Attack Mod: +2 Spells Known: Spell Slots: 1st 3/3 2nd 0/0 Cantrips Mage Hand 1st Level Faerie Fire Cure Wounds Goodberry Hunter's Mark 2nd Level

Wyckmere Mirth If there was pride in his successful prodding of the question avalanche that now hit Torben, Wyckmere showed no outward signs of it. He stood with his metaphorical drum at his side and listened. He listened to all of them. From Torben's responses, to the newly spinning wheels of Roland's mind. He watched as Rillik and Aly broke from their smaller discussion to join in. He even saw D'Artegenon's tell that told him the half-orc was listening while working. Roland was right. Of all the things that had been attached to this group's circumstances, the trip to the glacier felt the most odd. Wyck had meant what he said earlier that everything he'd seen and heard so far about this group was far too noisy for it to be the thing he was there to witness, but this trip -be it a coming of age tradition or not- felt like it might collapse the whole finnicky tower. Aly had survived an attack on a caravan, but they'd met them long afterwards. Rillik and Yopine's past was far enough behind them that they didn't even mention recent events, but again, Wyck and D'Artegenon had not been there to witness it anyways. The dragon, the dog, and the kobold all combined for a curiosity worthy of a ballad, but not a witnessing. He wasn't sure if the bugbear's task somehow bore the weight of the entire group, but it was currently the lead D'Artegenon had pressed upon them. Wyck slowly realized that D'Artegenon must have come to the same conclusion, just faster than he had. They moved toward this glacier because right now nothing better seemed to present itself. Wyck hoped that it was the journey that would become the answer and not the literal -or perhaps metaphorical- drawing of this tentacle that put them back on their divine task. A task that had so far taken them far longer to accomplish than their last two combined and showed no signs of finishing soon. Further details would be nice, but they weren't something Wyck really needed right now. His own conclusions were good enough. Wyck moved away from the small tribunal that had formed between himself, Roland, and Yopine a few minutes ago. A conversation that had launched them into the state they were all in now. His path took him back toward his possessions and specifically his satchel. He needed to get a few things written down before the light of the fire was too low to see by.

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 Armando silently moved back into the alleged bedroom and looked crookedly at the bed. The idea of being down here in this tomb long enough that someone thought to build a bed left him puzzled. Then he thought about all the times he'd slept somewhere and he'd wished to have such a defense at hand. Deadly, debilitating traps between them and his unconscious body sounded like such a wonderful idea. As the others discussed when or how they might take a break, the gnome rummaged through what remained of the bedroom's wall-in furniture. Mechanics Main Hand: Empty Off Hand: Empty Action: Casting Eldritch Blast Bonus Action: Move: Moving to the spot E of Allera Manipulate: drop weapon

Yup. I'm aware. The short -yet somehow still boring- version is that I was babysitting a $15 mil contract for a legislation-led project through the various hands for signature and approvals two Fridays ago and have spent the better part of the last 10 days losing faith in every higher up in my state. I guess it really is voting season. Due to OT limitations, I cut my Monday short and we have today off. Which means that my time is stolen away by three goblins who sometimes call me Daddy (but only when they want something). I'm really hoping to be back to my regularly scheduled boring work life tomorrow. Or so help me I will go full Ron Swanson on this whole operation.

Belfyr - Half-Elf Ranger AC: 15 | HP: 20/20 | HD: 3/3d10 | Initiative: +3 | Gathered Swarm | Favored Foe | Spell Slots: 1st 3/3 2nd -/- | DM Inspiration: 1/1 So deep into his disguise was he, that Belfyr didn't immediately realize that he'd been fingered as the elf. Especially given the derogatory nature of the accusation and what might be entailed in the captivity of such a label. He tugged at his beard and a flash of the last decade of his life swept over him as he questioned every encounter he'd ever had in regards to the nature of his lineage and his person at-large. The seriousness of it could not puncture the armor of his sudden revelation that perhaps he'd never been hidden well enough and all those people that had passed through his life simply hadn't been rude enough to mention it. As the gravity of their present circumstance caught hold of his feet again, he flustered through a series of rapidly succeeded blinks. By then, Iymbryl had done what town guards do, and for once in his life the half-elf was pleased at the development. Too often, he was on the other side when a posse was being rounded up. Too often, he was the one counting his side on one hand as a counter. He tapped his staff to indicate he agreed with the move by the Shahalesti, but also to remind the others that the portly half-elf was already moderately armed in the off chance that things turned against them. It was a scenario that had happened before and no doubt it would happen again. Mechanics Main Hand: Quarterstaff Off Hand: Empty Action: Bonus Action: Your bonus action goes here. Move: Not moving Manipulate: Your one free object interaction goes here. Bookkeeping Full Statblock Half-Elf Ranger (Swarmkeeper) 3 NG AC 15 HP 20 Speed 30 ftft Str 14 (2) Dex 16 (3) Con 10 (0) Wis 14 (2) Int 10 (0) Cha 12 (1) Attacks Longbow Quarterstaff Half-Elf Features: Darkvision Fey Ancestry: Adv on saving throws vs charmed, Magic can’t put you to sleep. Skill Versatility: Persuasion, Survival Ranger Features Favored Foe: Tasha's pg 57 Natural Explorer: Fighting Style: Defense +1 to AC when worn Spellcasting Ranger Archetype: Swarmkeeper Gathered Swarm Swarmkeeper Magic: bonus Mage Hand, Faerie Fire Primeval Awareness: PHB Equipment Assets: 84 gp Carried/Worn Total for Pack o Longbow o Quiver w/20 arrows o Common Clothes o Studded Leather o Quarterstaff o Herbalism Kit o Mess Kit o Cooking Utensils Spell Casting Spell Save DC: 10 Spell Attack Mod: +2 Spells Known: Spell Slots: 1st 3/3 2nd 0/0 Cantrips Mage Hand 1st Level Faerie Fire Cure Wounds Goodberry Hunter's Mark 2nd Level

I know I wrote up something yesterday for Armando, but I apparently didn't post it. I'll check my other laptop when I get home tonight to see if it's just sitting there waiting for me to hit the correct button.

Wyckmere Mirth There were multiple conversations going again, each with varied levels of inclusion or rebuttal being tossed like boulders across the campfire. Some involved were even moving about the camp, which made those conversations tributaries of the greater river that Wyckmere had purposefully created. As the creator, Wyck had only the eyes and ears for one conversation and so his attention did not waver. He watched, quietly, as the bugbear squirmed in the targeted forefront he'd placed him. He did not take joy in it nor did he seem apologetic, instead his silent body language fell into the attentive and objectively neutral demeanor he'd had a few days earlier when a similar line of questioning had been proposed to Aly and Oslan, now Roland. Wyck offered the bugbear a smile as he toiled on his prophetically-charged, but inevitable choice to harm this unnamed creature. He'd all but spoken it into existence now, and yet Wyck felt that he too could be convinced rather easily in the idea that such a thing as tentacles could be molten off or sheered away like sheep's wool. The world was full of such oddities and why not could this be added to the list. "You get this tentacle and then return it to someone, yes?" He asked, leading to what he hoped would be the conclusion of the his new companion's task.

The fight waged onward. Muscles were beginning to fatigue, doubts began to grow, and Quim felt no closer to an end to this conflict was near than when it had started. He swallowed, hard, and did his best to push forward. Rolls and Such Attacking N8. Worg Instincts had not yet waned for the beast. Claws, teeth, and spittle came in unrelenting waves.

Wyckmere Mirth The timely appearance of D'Artegenon was no more a surprise to Wyck than the long blonde hairs on his head when they shaded his view. It was the inevitable part of the man's entire being, nothing else could hold that mantle so strongly. Wyck tried to smile, tried to soak in what was to come next from D'Artegenon's mouth. He would speak the same truths as Wyck had just done, but he would do it with the clout and awesomeness that befit a mountain. It had been a long time since he'd heard such words come from D'Artegenon not in quiet whispers just outside a room or sleepy late night chats between towns. So prepared for the words was Wyck, that he almost didn't hear the ones that actually came out of his mouth. There was something else unfamiliar in his voice that Wyck didn't quite understand because he'd never heard the man have them. Doubts. There had been times before when they had been blind to what was to come -both of them had admitted as much just a moment ago- but it always just something to be resolved in the next foot step, or around the next corner, or in the morning. This time, he didn't get the sense that they were that close to figuring it out. The way D'Artegenon talked was somehow like the way those first few Witnessings had gone when Wyck had been still too new to pick up on anything and D'Artegenon had had been hesitant to share lessons learned for fear that Wyck would never learn if he never experienced it for himself. Wyck stared at D'Artegenon long after he stopped talking. Roland's confession acted as a brilliant shield for unspoken stones and arrows lobbed in Wyck's direction from the heavens. When the soldier was done speaking, Wyck's empathy settled into the silence that lingered there with Roland. His knack for hospitality bubbled to the surface and he prepared himself to launch into action, only to find that the kobold beat him to it. The kobold used a different tact, but the sentiments were similar and Wyck simply nodded at Roland's response to it. Wyck looked around at the others as the information settled in. He'd seen a myriad of responses in the past to these truths and deep down he thought that none of them would surprise him now. To their credit, it seemed as though most of them were handling it quite well. Acceptance was the hardest part and did not always come quickly. Some times, it didn't even come until afterwards. Then, like a creeping vine wrapping around an oak, the words slithered around Wyck's mind until they held enough torque that it could twist the roots from the ground. He could feel his heartbeat. It sent a quake through his chest with each rolling thump as it tried to shake loose from his ribcage. It wasn't dread, but it felt like dread. He'd felt it before -once- and he hadn't liked it then either. He'd chosen to ignore it then too. By coincidence, Wyck stood up and brushed himself off only to notice that D'Artegenon and Aly were doing similarly. They went about cleaning camp but he looked to his personal belongings for an activity to occupy his time and mind. He found his journal exactly where he stashed it and drew out his quill, but nothing came to him that needed written down in that exact moment and he felt foolish for grabbing it in the first place. "Torben." He spoke the word before he even thought to say it. He also realized after it had left his lips that it was the first time he'd said the bugbear's name out loud. "Tell us what is at this mountain that's so important." His voice carried across the campsite and was as loud as he'd been in days. It mattered little that Wyck had heard snippets of this exact conversation once or maybe twice before, the problem was he'd not heard it directly or in whole. He grasped at that fact like the vine grasped at the trunk.

Oh yeah, it could also be mentioned that Wyck was looking at each of these scenes differently too. Even the meeting of groups itself could have been 'the thing' that happened, and thus getting to know every Dick, John, and Harry wasn't as important as seeing what it all meant. That bleeds into his personality too, if I ever actually comes up.

Yeah, I typically do ask the whole 'how do you want us to react to your race?" question when shown that there's going to be an exotic one in the group. I'm actually surprised I didn't do that here, or maybe I did and I just forgot. In either case, your scene of joining the group was mired by the rapid-fire posting event and thus even if I wanted to play up that particular aspect of your concept, I didn't get the chance. Frankly, that might be one reason Wyck hasn't even connected with him at all yet. I'm not sure exactly what to do with his experience around your kind.

In most monster races, the penalty of being who-they-are is meant to be in the options available to them as a character in the story/plot. The drow does not have the option to go unnoticed in the Temple of Pelor. The Maug cannot go the second story of a poorly built building (read: I may have learned this the hard way). To a more precise degree in terms of Yopine, I think you have the daunting task of trying to skirt the two realms between quirky and tone-killing. It's a very difficult task and sometimes you'll get it right and then in the next scene you might completely cut yourself off at the knees and lose whatever authenticity you may have been building. Dust yourself off, and starting over is the only move. Personally, the Smurf references are what get me most of the time. Her nickname is the equivalent of Dwarf-ette, if she was a dwarf. It's...odd. I get the comedy in the allure of said choice, but I think if the quirkiness of the character came out in-character more often then the 4th-wall breakage wouldn't have to do the heavy lifting. EDIT: I should have more clear about the 4th Wall stuff. It's that it's stuff that can't be really reaction based for the other players, so it just lingers out there for us to read. We can't use it in any way, so in essence, it's not part of the character. I'm in a similar boat with a character in a Ravenloft game, elsewhere on the Weave. As is often with Ravenloft, people want to be genre-savvy and they bring with them the exact thing that needs to go up against vampires, werewolves, and mummies. But Ravenloft is meant to be scary. What's scary about being the perfect person for the job at hand? So I proposed a dwarf from a crappy apocalyptic world that's been a slave-jester for a scary unnmentioned warlord in that world. A different kind of scary that allows me to also have respect for the scary bumps in the night of Ravenloft. It also allows me to be vulnerable to the horror side of things, but to be able to pick some things that 'just aren't as scary as back home'. The result is that my character prances about and does silly things when he thinks people are looking. He's meant to be on display, in a way, and always assumes a warlord is just around the corner ready to reprimand him for not being his jester. But the moment he thinks he's alone, the charade comes off and he's just a downtrodden and cynical dwarf. I have to be very careful to not undermine the tone of the scene though with his act because there's already a few bonafide badasses (tm) in the group that aren't going to be scared about anything. And if the group's median ever tilts too far into that category, Ravenloft becomes a lot more silly.

The inclusion of the so-called, and beloved, monster races in a party is the age old blind eye scenario. Whenever it comes up -and it comes up a lot- the party typically does default to simple acceptance over having the race-talk...again. In my time playing the hobby, the bigger thing that has always bothered me (or as Wizard said, broke the authenticity) of the monster race inclusion is when it's supposed to be a penalty and the penalty gets handwaved. I've seen dozens of GMs, both in live games and pbp, that will give the ol 'You can play one, but you'll have to deal with the consequences' only to realize that the consequences aren't terribly fun and thus forgotten almost instantly. So the Half-Tarrasque, Half-Yuan ti somehow never faces the consequences that were mechanically baked into that choice. The penalty is assumed to be an IC one because mechanically a Half-Tarrasque/Half Yuan ti is incredibly powerful mechanically. But if it's handwaved, the allure of such builds/concepts becomes greater. In this game, we have three-ish monster races. Honestly, I'd have to ask 15 year-old Me if Kobolds are considered monster races in Faerun and he may not even know given the shift in the world lore over the years. But it seemed pretty early on that we handwaved one and then tried to hurry past the other two (as they were a crew of two) That's fine if the table accepts those terms. But if you as the writer of that concept were banking on a more cautious front and did not get resistance, it can mess up your projected narrative. It doesn't take a monster race for that either. I have a character on MW that I love to play but don't bring out for most advertised games because there's buy-in required by my fellow players and I don't ever seem to get it in a game with random players. He's human. He's a basic fighter. But he's based on some of the old horror movie monsters. He's not exactly likeable but he's meant to be the blunt object the good characters in the group use to fight evil. I could never play him at a live table because all the nuance would be absolutely lost.

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 soft shuffle of Armando's footsteps joined the others in the opening. He peered at the supposed bedchamber with a queer eye and a tilt of his head. He'd seen some rough times in life and there wasn't always a bed to call his own, but he could not imagine choosing to sleep down here regularly. The invitation of such a night's rest sounded profoundly uncomfortable. But there was more to it, he pondered as Thodin further voiced similar observations. This room had been the first one derelict of traps of creatures -at least so far- and thus perhaps it was meant to be near such things. A man with enemies may require such things. Armando thought about what kind of enemies would push him to live in the depths of a tomb and the idea made him mentally shiver. Too curious for his own good, the gnome peeked around the next corner to see what lie just south of the grate-in alcove. Mechanics Main Hand: Empty Off Hand: Empty Action: Casting Eldritch Blast Bonus Action: Move: Moving to the spot E of Allera Manipulate: drop weapon

Oh, wait. They heard the whole thing!???! So much for our little talk, Harding.

I would like to double post from the perspective of the dragon, but I have a dentist appointment.

Wyckmere Mirth Yopine's continued misunderstanding of what he was trying to say beat down the young man like a sledgehammer. When he looked to Roland for help and he too was confused, Wyck's resolve was completely barren. He felt exposed in a way he'd not before. The explanation had never gone this upside-down before. Or if it had, D'Artegenon had been able to right the ship without it completely capsizing. "You don't get it." He said, demoralized. "You aren't the witnesses. If you're anything, you're the one we're here to see. We, D'Artegenon and me, are always wrapped up in it a little but only because otherwise we can't witness what we need to. But if there was a painting about whatever is about to happen -which would completely defeat the purpose of us needing to be there- we would not be drawn." Without thinking, he picked up a clump of grass and threw it out of reach. Like it was insulting him for being in his presence. "I'm not explaining it right and I don't know how to explain it any other way." His eyes fell on the shadowy forest around them, seeking out assistance but deep down he knew he wasn't going to get any, which only made him sad. "D'Artegenon doesn't bother to tell people anymore about what we do because he doesn't see the use in it. I still do, so I do, and he doesn't stop me when I want to do it. But maybe I see now why he stopped. Why he doesn't bother." His voice lowered, a child admonished for an unspoken lesson learned. "It's alright to be worried about what's about to happen. I would be too if I was in your boots. I'd scratch and crawl and fight to know my next move. No one is telling you not to. I'm just telling you that what you think D'Artegenon is hiding from you isn't important to your puzzle; to your lives. He's just trying to figure out when the two of us need to be ready. Then, when it's over, we'll leave you to your lives and be on our way. We've just never been with folks this long and I hope we didn't miss it."

I finished The Cabin at the End of the World and I'm seriously confused by who the intended audience was for it. I did not enjoy it, but it wasn't offensively bad enough for me to put it down. When that happens I have to evaluate what the intentions were for a fiction novel. I've been told he has other better books and I might even give them a chance down the road. I picked up David Sedaris's Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls. I don't read a lot of non-fictional books and I think this sits firmly on the fence between fiction and non-fiction. It's already been a delightfully light read and I'm only an hour into it.

I voted for RISUS because Eric and RISUS are like PB&J. But Ironsworn is an interesting option too. I ran a very short-lived game with Vladim recently, but I was admittedly a bit out of sorts enough that I wasn't able to give a new system the full explorative requirement. Maybe learning something in a team setting would be a better way to do it. I left THAC0 in your mother's basement where it belongs.

I'm going to abstain from posting again until Harding either has a chance to post or gives the green light that Roland isn't getting wrapped up in our vaguebooking and conspiratorial talk.