Seeds of Destruction (Part 1)

JubalBreakbottle · May 5

Celsior Loriniscil, Prince of Alfheim

Inspiration Yes | HP 35/35 | HD 5/5d6
StrSave -1

Athletics, proficient +2 8 | Dex 16 | ConSave +2 14 | Int 18 | Wis 10 | Cha 10
Step 2/2 | Shield 1/1 | Bladesong 2/2 | Recovery 4/4
Spells +8 DC 16 | Cantrips | 1st 4/4 | 2nd 3/3 | 3rd 2/2

Celsior sat there casually drinking his passable wine observing his crew take care of business. The prince nods at Sartell's reply and follows up with, "and is your ship ready to depart when we have finished our recruiting drive?" He looks into the eyes of the captain over the rim of his cup while taking another sip.

He watches Yahs with his peripheral vision, content to finally find a suitable recruit in the Thri-kreen. 'At least one is better than none,' he concludes to himself.

Then, the odd ones arrive. But before the prince could digest whatever their fashion is, Yahs replies like an artist. He feels so fortunate to have the plasmoid tackling so many ugly messes with verve.

Mechanics

Active spells:

Action: -

Harding · May 5

Raaol

Raol Whiskerdust Mew Warlock 5

Raaol's attention snapped toward the Plasmoid as she interjected into his space cowboy scene, interrupting his moment of ''Jonwayne Ironheart'' bravado. Initially annoyed by the intrusion, Raaol found himself oddly captivated by her bold demeanor and sharp wit as she skillfully navigated the situation with irony and humor, exposing the flaws in the newcomers' recruitment tactics with hard-hitting yet factual observations.

When she made a jab at the absurdity of the newcomers' uniforms, Raaol couldn't help but chuckle, his feline features breaking into a grin.

"Quite the wordsmith, that one," he murmured to himself, his gaze shifting between Yahs and the bewildered newcomers. Despite the chaos unfolding around them, Raaol felt a strange sense of solidarity with the Plasmoid, appreciating her no-nonsense approach and shared disdain for the platonic attempts at recruitment by the newcomers. It was clear to him now that their tactics were likely as effective as trying to herd spacefaring cats.

As the tension began to ease, Raaol couldn't resist adding his own quip to the mix, his voice tinged with amusement. "Looks like the cat's got your tongue, Pudgetackle, eh?" he teased, unable to resist the opportunity to contribute to the banter. "Perhaps it's time to reconsider your career choices. Your uniforms might be better suited for a birthday prestidigitation act. Though, I'd be wary of letting you near any youngsters... there's something distinctly odd about you, might you have something to do with clowns or not..."

Mechanics

Main Hand: +1 Pistol
Off Hand: Shield

Action: Your action goes here.
Bonus Action: Your bonus action goes here.
Move: Your movement goes here.
Manipulate: Your one free object interaction goes here.

Edited May 5 by Harding (see edit history)

Semety · May 6

Minnifred "Fred" Stormcandle Mark of Hospitality Halfling Bard (Creation) 5

"'Twasn't me that floated those over to ya, ducky," Fred piped up making her way over to the blue stranger's table. She tutted when she watched him shovel the pitiful olives into his mouth. "Poor dear, you must be starving. No wonder with these fly-speck portions they call food here. My husband, bless his soul, could've eaten an entire tray of these 'pastries' and still had room for an actual meal. Worse than cocktail shrimp they are."

Of course, the fact that the blue man was barely half the size of her late husband completely escaped her notice. Olives just weren't proper fare in Fred's book – barely a decent snack. She eyed him and the other skinny figure who'd spoken up, a concerned frown creasing her brow. "If only I had some decent fish on me," she muttered, already rummaging through her seemingly bottomless pack.

Suddenly, the air filled with the booming voices of two flamboyantly dressed men interrupting Fred's search. "Look at these youngsters today," Fred remarked drily, her keen eyes taking in their bizarrely colorful attire. Her grandmother senses tingled, feeling a potential brawl brewing.

Then, a handsome tiefling chimed in with his theory about "roving maulers." Fred's face broke into a wide grin. "Now that's a story I'd love to hear!" she declared, tossing 99 copper into the tiefling's cup. "In fact," she continued, her high voice, used to the noise of a rowdy pirate ship, carrying over the cafe din, "why don't I buy a round of drinks for everyone? We can all settle in and hear your tale about these maulers. Then, these fine gentlemen with the… interesting fashion sense," she said with a raised eyebrow, glancing at the librarians, "can share their pamphlets. That sounds like a lot more fun than peddling papers, wouldn't you say?"

Her voice held a cheerful lilt, but a single piercing glance shot towards the librarians held a clear warning. Polly squawked in agreement, perhaps because Fred had finally stopped stuffing her beak with crackers.

OOC

PureChance · May 6

Rush

Air Genasi Valkuryte Racer

AC: 19 (Splint, Shield) | HP: 43/43 () | HD: 5/5 | Speed: 35 ft. | Initiative: +0
Senses: Passive Perception 17, Insight 17, Investigation 10. Darkvision 60ft.
Str: 16 (+3) | Dex: 10 (+0) | ConSave: +2: 14 (+2) | Int: 10 (+0) | Wis: 18 (+4) | Cha: 8 (-1)
Languages: Common, Auran
Spell Slots: L1 4/4 | L2 3/3 | L3 2/2

Rush was somewhat taken aback by the odd-eyed man's compliment - tattoos, obsidian jewellery, rather dashing marine blue and white captain's jacket or even the geometric thundercloud symbol of Valour strung around his neck were all things he would have expected comments on. His otherwise fairly mundane skin tone - for a genasi - not so much. Still he pivoted as best able, snapping back an 'eloquent' "Uh, thanks. Name's Rush." Scrambling for a conversational life raft, he spotted the nasally-blessed turtle leaflet in the man's hand. "You're not thinking about signing up with that right? Can't imagine any ship shaped like a turtle will go very fast."

Used to recognising a lost cause as the flighty young Genasi gets pulled further into the surrounding distractions, Thordal finished off his drink and slapped the table as he rose, edging out of the cafe before anarchy managed to fully descend. "Listen lad, I've got to get back to the forge. Let me know when you've finished those new 'flying ship' designs and I'll be happy to tell you all the ways it won't work with proper steel." Rush's head swivelled round from where he had been about to chime with some helpful advice for the two fashion disasters, and shot a quick goodbye "You're wrong Thordal, it's the future of fast! Catch you later!" Spinning back to the beleaguered Pudgetackle pair (who were not quite under as much fire as the poor doomsayer tiefling), he offered off the back of the goop "Actually, if you are looking for a fitness club I can recommend this martial arts place just off Bindle Street. I've had a look in a few times - those instructor's'll have your legs flying fast as lightning, which might make you seem a little more frightening."

He moved round to make space for the far more familiarly shaped halfling bustling over to the table - actually now that he thought about it Baldur's Gate had always been cosmopolitan, but he wasn't sure he remembered it being quite this diverse. Bugs weren't common, but he'd heard of similar down in Calisham. Cats less so, but maybe some tabaxi had grown a little closer to its roots, or some wizard's familiar got a little uppity. Goop? That was a new one. He eyed his ever diminishing drink in face of the halfling woman's - Fred's - offer. "I'll have another Thunderball if you're paying. I'll Persuade Tender Henk it's a popular drink yet. If not, maybe an Electric Lightning to match my beautiful skin." He flashed a smile back to Thom.

OOC

Action: -

Bonus Action: -

Movement: -

Reaction: -

Object Interaction: -

Actions & Resources

Actions:

Warhammer. Melee Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 1d8 + 3 bludgeoning damage.

Club. Melee Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 1d4 + 3 bludgeoning damage.

Javelin. Melee/Thrown Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., ranged 30/120 ft., one target. Hit: 1d6 + 3 piercing damage.

Shocking Grasp . Melee Spell Attack (V,S): +7 to hit, Touch, one target. Hit: 2d8 Lightning damage.

Sacred Flame . Cantrip (V,S): Creature you can see, range 60 ft., one target, no cover. DEX Save: 2d8 radiant damage.

Toll the Dead . Cantrip (V,S): Creature you can see, range 60 ft., one target. WIS Save: 2d8/2d12 necrotic damage.

Bonus Actions:

-

Reactions:

-

Class/Race Features:

FeatherFall (1/1 Long Rest) .

Levitate (1/1 Long Rest) .

Wrath of the Storm (4/4 Long Rest) . You can thunderously rebuke attackers. When a creature within 5 feet of you that you can see hits you with an attack, you can use your reaction to cause the creature to make a Dexterity saving throw. The creature takes 2d8 lightning or thunder damage (your choice) on a failed saving throw, and half as much damage on a successful one.

Channel Divinity (1/1)

Turn Undead
Destructive Wrath

rauhric · May 6

Thom
NG Human Sorcerer "Aberrant Mind" [4] | Warlock "Hexblade" [1]
AC 12/18 | HP 28 | Initiative +2 | Passive Perception 13

Thom is catching some chatter (both verbally and telepathically) about Spelljamming and goes to insert himself into that conversation. "Do you mean your odd spaceships? The ships you use off-world? I arrived here on one. I'm an astronaut, ... well ... I was. I am not sure what I really am now, but I do have some experience with off-world vessels. Not "technically" the same, but similar enough to understand the mechanics or principals."

He ended his contribution there and focuses on the insect-man, "You are ... Interesting. I like your instrument. I have a guitar. Its in my room at the inn. It is a string instrument not that different from yours. May I try it?" He is curious what sounds it would make with old earth songs he knows.

OoC

If allowed to play Steve's instrument he will try playing THIS.

Granted a different instrument will take time to learn.

Edited May 7 by rauhric (see edit history)

KingGoblin · May 6

Klaktuk Cha-Pok but most people call me Steve

Inspiration Yes | HP 43/43 | HD 5/5d8 | AC 15 | Passive Perception 16
StrSave +0

Athletics +0 10 | Dex 14 | ConSave +2 14 | Int 10 | Wis 10 | Cha 18
Bardic Inspiration 4/4 | Chameleon Carapice | Thri-kreen Telepathy
Spells +7 DC 15 | Cantrips | Spells Known Slots: 1st 4/4 | 2nd 3/3 | 3rd 2/2

Steve turns his head to look at Thom thoughtfully. <<No>> he projects, <<You cannot. I am not attempting to be rude. My instrument is magical, and would harm you if you attempted to play it. I do not mind if you want to hold it, or examine it, but anyone but me attempting to play it would be harmed. This is not something I can prevent or suppress.>> With a last thrum of music, he holds it out to let Thom examine it. It is an exquisite example of a cittern, superior to an ordinary instrument in every way. <<It is the Mac-Fuirmidh cittern, named after the legendary bardic college. Wonderful, isn't it?>>

Mechanics

Active spells: Going to pretty much always have Comprehend Languages active, as a ritual.

Action: -

Cointhief · May 6

The crisp, blue afternoon was soon punctuated by the slashmarks of falling stars...the sharp strokes the penmanship of uncanny roving maulers, as the tiefling would have you believe for a small fee. At times impacts could be heard and even seen, striking distant hills in plumes of smoke, or crashing the rocky shale cliffsides in splintering avalanches. The thunderous cracks were more exciting than scary, and some lingered on benches with opera glasses to spy the event with interest.

Geometrically speaking Baldur's Gate was a small dot on the map, and its residents an even smaller target. Surely someone would see the coffin-sized objects coming and be able to juke at the last moment. Sure, you could be struck by lightning, but who ever heard of being struck dead from outer space pebbles? And so the strange rain continued to be seen as a novelty.

The drunks down on the shores below had scrounged up a flotsam chalkboard fragment, using basic sounding techniques to guess at the distances to the latest impacts...and predict the next. Their harsh organ brews corrupted their long division but nonetheless bets were made and small fortunes of river shells changed hands with a steady chorus of hardy-har-hars.

When Raaol approached the entrepreneurial mad-ramblings specialist, the tiefling's first response was thunderstruck adoration. "*gasp* Aww! Look at the little meow meow, who's the mommy that dressed you up for your big day in town, eh little guy? You've got your widdle hat and widdle belt..."

The adoration made a rapid change into confusion when the cat in the hat plunked 3 gold coins into his cup. "Er..I..didn't know cats could handle standard currency like that..." offering up a few stickers as promised. The confusion morphed into pure fear when the cat with the loaded sidearm started spewing impatient vitriol, curious demands and irrational paranoia.

Obviously terrified, the man's knees clack together uncontrollably in a bony staccato "Woah, easy! Oh my god even when you are terrifying you are soooo cute! Listen, I dated a girl from the Circus of the Last Days once, that's it! I'm not a clown I promise! Look, my nose is regularly shaped, neither red nor spherical! Behold, for a man my height, my shoe size is a mere 9 1/2!" he pleads.

Flipping furiously through his little research notebook "...here, here! Look...the maulers are coming to teach us, not destroy us. Although their methods seem radical to our fragile, eggshell minds...they come riding the streaks of the night. They will be revered as masters of both the natural and the moral philosophies, logic, and of course medicine. The mauling prophet is indeed the last prophet, you see, for the enlightenment of society as a whole soon follows. ...please can I just put this little ribbon on your tail?" pulling out a surreptitiously prepared itty-bitty pink bow.

The whole scene made Steve realize Raaol would make an excellent dentist.

"Somewhat free does not equate to turning our beloved turtles into a mockery, does it? I oughta sue your asses for animal rights infringements." Pudgetackle's companion countered in a non-point, struggling to keep the upper hand. "And perhaps our uniform is beyond the comprehension of one who has never heard the elegant whispers of Scribbles the Demon! The midriff comes and goes with the sands of the hourglass, so guided by the whims of our dark lord." Pointing to Yahs' well-clothed stomach-like vacuole, the neutral greys of the Fleet uniform a stark contrast. "So last season." He makes a weird gesture in front of his pale, hairy exposed stomach "Now is a time of flowing, not ebbing." he states with absolute authority. "...as for the thighs, well, you need to try it before you knock it."

"Sir, she has a point about the dentists actually." Pudgetackle wisely realized.

When Raaol jumped into the fray, landing on its feet, Pudgetackle was visibly hurt. "...I...I'm not 'odd'..." the bald man starting to cry. Minnifred was struck by the display and began to appeal to everyone's good nature, buying a round for all and compounding the interest in the tieflings paper cup. The tiefling had actually not stopped talking since Raaol abandoned him, its just no one had noticed or cared. He was now holding up a strange symbol, remarking its similarity to the cluster of constellations the celestial bodies appeared to be coming from.

"Sure, let me just go get all the booze...and please be thinking up the most complicated cocktails I can prepare for you." Tender Henk sarcastically remarked while rolling out a little keg marked 'Tips'.

Back in the cafe's more civil conversation, Celsior plodded Sartell for more information, which she was happy to give. "Yeah, sure. Stay grounded too long and you get addicted to the fresh air. You know, it's easier to get wood down here compared to on the Rock. Ah...no I'm not talking about the Sharess' Caress girls. The boys loaded up what we needed to repair our mangonel early last night and were able to get some R&R. They've probably slept it off by now. Of course Flapjack's still dancing in the crow's nest for all I know..."

Rush's comments brought hope back to the cultists "Really? I've always wanted to learn a martial art...you don't think I'm too old for it?"

Thom explained how he was past one hundred thousand miles, but the unpolished exoskeleton of the space bug clattered in recoil as strong warnings flashed in his mental circuitry.

Edited May 7 by Cointhief (see edit history)

DM-Tareth · May 7

"If by sands through the hourglass you really mean eel fritters sliding down your gullet, then maybe your Dribbles is on to something. But if you two are the cream of his priestly crop, then my guess is old Dimples spends most of his time getting the brimstone piss beat out of him by his demonic brethren." Yahs replies to the two cultists. She snatches a pamphlet from her own satchel and taps the elongated nose of the turtle ship. "As for that disfigurement, well, the Tortoise Class Hauler is the work turtle of the Astral Sea. Carrying all manner of cargo to every port in the known realms. Unfortunately, it's like he said." Her hat tips along with her pod-like head toward the genasi. "They aren't built for speed or maneuverability. By extending the bow a bit more to accommodate a battering ram she could smash her way through a blockade or ram a pirate galleon foolish enough to try and cut her off. It just offers a bit more options for a Fleet captain and a bit more protection from all the dangers lurking out there in the Astral Sea. Things that would make your Snapple soil his demonic diapers if his mommy ever let him out of his dumpy little pit." She taps the pamphlet with her pointy pod. "So sure, its not entirely accurate compared to the poor little creature you probably turned into soup last night, but if it helps the next load of Karpri shrimp or Chadosian fizzy drink arrive on time, then I'm all for it."

rauhric · May 7

Thom
NG Human Sorcerer "Aberrant Mind" [4] | Warlock "Hexblade" [1]
AC 12/18 | HP 28 | Initiative +2 | Passive Perception 13

Thom looked a bit surprised and confused when hearing the insect-man talking to him in his head. In a weird way it was comforting. While a stranger in a strange land he was finding that the difference that separate him from these aliens is not so far apart; they shared too many similarities to be really different in the truest sense of the word. Thinking to reply, <I have no words for the beauty this instrument possesses. Thank you.>

Returning the instrument after a thoughtful inspection he thinks to the insect-man, <You are telepathic. Just you or all your ... species? I am too. I could not tell you if I always was or if this is new. I also can not tell you if I'm dreaming or not.> He is forever surprised by the wonders this world (dream or delusion) continues to show him.

OoC

Just "thinking" with my new telepathic friend Steve.

Edited May 8 by rauhric (see edit history)

PureChance · May 8

Rush

Air Genasi Valkuryte Racer

AC: 19 (Splint, Shield) | HP: 43/43 () | HD: 5/5 | Speed: 35 ft. | Initiative: +0
Senses: Passive Perception 17, Insight 17, Investigation 10. Darkvision 60ft.
Str: 16 (+3) | Dex: 10 (+0) | ConSave: +2: 14 (+2) | Int: 10 (+0) | Wis: 18 (+4) | Cha: 8 (-1)
Languages: Common, Auran
Spell Slots: L1 4/4 | L2 3/3 | L3 2/2

"Don't know why you'd become a bartender if you didn't like cocktails," Rush muttered to himself at Henk's grumbling "I'll see how good it is before I tip too." The chatter of apocalyptic doom mongers - twenty to the dozen in alders Gate - is tuned out without even trying. Instead, he listened to the rather acidic retort of the goop as his brain tried to parse the almost familiar words between. It was odd - like he had been served a seafood broth but instead of the usual clams, fish and shrimp it was stuffed with the candy equivalent. He'd sailed a far bit around Toril, but never heard of the Astral Sea, and whilst the concept of pirate galleons, extended bows and the upshots of manoeuvrability over defence (the former being his preference always) was intimately known, he'd never seen nor heard of Tortoise Class Haulers, or their apparently unique cargo. "Only one way to find out," he replied to the cultist distractedly, "fortune favours the bold!" Turning his head to encompass the ooze more fully he continued in the same breath "Sorry, I'm not sure if I misheard you there. I'm a sailor, but I'm not sure I've ever heard of the Astral Sea, Tortoise Class Haulers, Karpri or Chados... I'm not so interested in those slow ships you mention, but presumably if they're the slow workhorses there's something faster too, and that catches my interest. I'm working on a new design for the fastest ship see, last one still didn't quite cut it."

OOC

Action: -

Bonus Action: -

Movement: -

Reaction: -

Object Interaction: -

Actions & Resources

Actions:

Warhammer. Melee Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 1d8 + 3 bludgeoning damage.

Club. Melee Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 1d4 + 3 bludgeoning damage.

Javelin. Melee/Thrown Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., ranged 30/120 ft., one target. Hit: 1d6 + 3 piercing damage.

Shocking Grasp . Melee Spell Attack (V,S): +7 to hit, Touch, one target. Hit: 2d8 Lightning damage.

Sacred Flame . Cantrip (V,S): Creature you can see, range 60 ft., one target, no cover. DEX Save: 2d8 radiant damage.

Toll the Dead . Cantrip (V,S): Creature you can see, range 60 ft., one target. WIS Save: 2d8/2d12 necrotic damage.

Bonus Actions:

-

Reactions:

-

Class/Race Features:

FeatherFall (1/1 Long Rest) .

Levitate (1/1 Long Rest) .

Wrath of the Storm (4/4 Long Rest) . You can thunderously rebuke attackers. When a creature within 5 feet of you that you can see hits you with an attack, you can use your reaction to cause the creature to make a Dexterity saving throw. The creature takes 2d8 lightning or thunder damage (your choice) on a failed saving throw, and half as much damage on a successful one.

Channel Divinity (1/1)

Turn Undead
Destructive Wrath

KingGoblin · May 8

Klaktuk Cha-Pok but most people call me Steve

Inspiration Yes | HP 43/43 | HD 5/5d8 | AC 15 | Passive Perception 16
StrSave +0

Athletics +0 10 | Dex 14 | ConSave +2 14 | Int 10 | Wis 10 | Cha 18
Bardic Inspiration 4/4 | Chameleon Carapice | Thri-kreen Telepathy
Spells +7 DC 15 | Cantrips | Spells Known Slots: 1st 4/4 | 2nd 3/3 | 3rd 2/2

Tilting his head to the other side, and accepting his instrument back, Steve replies to Thom. <<Yes. All of us are telepathic. And no, you are not dreaming. I do not dream, so if this were a dream, I would not be here>> With impeccable logic like that, the bug man seems certain of his words. <<My people do speak, but we cannot pronounce your language, and you could not pronounce ours. So this is... Easier. More convenient>> He begins strumming and playing his cittern again, apparently content to continue talking and playing as long as everyone is here. The lights falling from the sky flash in his expressionless insect eyes.

Mechanics

Active spells: Going to pretty much always have Comprehend Languages active, as a ritual.

Action: -

rauhric · May 8

Thom
NG Human Sorcerer "Aberrant Mind" [4] | Warlock "Hexblade" [1]
AC 12/18 | HP 28 | Initiative +2 | Passive Perception 13

Thom nods his head in confirmation to the statement of not dreaming. It is hard to tell considering this is all so real but completely unbelievable; to him at least. <So I am not dream ... Well ... this is the strangest reality I have ever experienced. I am called Thom, a human from earth, and what is your name and species?>

Very interested in the insect-man he asks, <So what about that creature there.> He motions with his head and nods at the plasmoid creature. <That has to be an alien, right?>

OoC

Just "thinking" with my new telepathic friend Steve.

Edited May 9 by rauhric (see edit history)

Cointhief · May 8

*BLAM*

It started with just one. Most dismissed it as a fluke.

In fact, Tender Henk was quite relieved when the explosion rang out from the blacksmith's shop up the street...the incessant apprentice was finally silenced. The ensuing rain of coconut-scented horseshoes was a bit more worrisome, with one of the doomed inventions clonking the half-orc right on the skull plate. It would have outright slayed a pure breed.

It must've been that strange scent powder they were mixing with the iron, anything is combustible when ground to such a small size. Of course, those nearer to the blast would recognize the large adamantine seed pod fallen from the sky as the real culprit. Soon they would be too dead to spread the word, unfortunately. At least on this plane of existence.

*BoOM*

It was the second one that got the opera ladies singing their high notes, and the street children scattering like flocks of birds. It did however have the side effect of finally waking up Old Man Willie, who had been sleeping for 16 hours straight much to the dismay of the overtaxed Housewife Tillie. The recently reconstructed belltower they tended was hit next, casualty of another falling adamantine seed (or coffin depending on your level of goth-ness). Deep down the mortar was still wet, so when the bricks started to crumble and fall there was no blinding powder ball...a crisp view of the 5-story destruction could be had by all.

*BLAM bLam boOm BanG rrrruuummmmbbbbbblleee....*

After that, it was too many to count. Umberlee's temple across the bay cracked and was swallowed by a tide born of some underwater earthquake. Someone shouted "Sundries got smacked!" before they themselves were directly hit with falling pod, splattering into a unique sight of expanding gore. People were diving for cover under shrubs that went ablaze from the frictional contact. People were running full blast into each other, their terrified eyes locked on the celestial slashmarks.

A hundred more impacts. Strategic fire. An intelligent attack. Such were the insights of those who could keep their cool, as the sky fell and the earth below trembled.

Half of the cafe sheered off in a tremor, plopping onto the drunks down below in the shallows and their beloved hooch organ in a salty splash. The Blushing Mermaid across the street was directly hit, killing every single dentist instantly and voiding thousands of insurance policies. Hairline cracks in the cobblestone started to widen and hiss, turning into gaping hazards that swallowed roadside roast lizard vendors, mimes, and trained flying snakes in their cute little cages.

The world was coming apart.

But it was not a fiery hell that spewed forth, nor Scribbles the Demon come to extract his revenge on the pamphleteers. Not a mystical gravity inverse to puzzle the sages, nor wild magic hands-into-chickens breed of tomfoolery. Not drow nor duergar in a spiderling assault, not giants or dragons carrying some ancient grudge. Beautiful yellow crystals erupted from the gaps, reaching towards the light of Sol...their unit cells multiplying and assembling in perfect order. The sinuous, crystalline vines rose high above the tallest buildings still standing. It was a pure, godly creation, right in front of your eyes.

Celsior recognized the crystals immediately as Astral Elven. Not dead and stinky like the lost mess on H'catha, but alive and active...carrying the scent of cedar and honeysuckle. These were the same specialized engineering crystals that grew mighty Starmoths, but twisted and encouraged to some much greater application. The encapsulation and annihilation of planet Toril.

"Well, that's one way to sour a perfectly good afternoon." Captain Sartell remarked. "You all are welcome to join me. I would propose sooner rather than later..." she added as she fled down the stairs at maximum velocity, not waiting even a second for any response.

Smaller offshoots of the massive organic structures shattered free, dropping into even more complex shapes. Uprooted and with autonomous liberty, these smaller crystal bodies sourced of the heavens struck an equally beautiful yet horrific pose. One of these beings of prismatic light snuck up behind Pudgetackle, shearing each of his limbs from his body yet leaving the dashing wardrobe intact. A dog with a big brown bone in his mouth shot out of nowhere like a bat out of hell, nearly upside down with all 4 legs flapping trying to avoid another fast moving crystal being. Murderous scenes were numerous and everywhere at once.

But it was so beautiful. From all around the crystal sung a single resonant note. The larger vines continued to grow and multiply, racing over the red shingled rooftops and crashing into each other in wonderful geometric patterns. Embracing each other with some unknown moral design, a step-by-step embrace that was following instructions. Rapidly the net was closing off the sky...and soon there would be no way out.

The tiefling mumbled "No refunds..." before threading a needle through the chaos, leaving a sticker trail of roving maulers behind.

Elsewhere...

In the Imperial Citadel of Xaryxis, Emperor Xavan shooed away his herb-broth as the impatient nurse insisted. Of course, to a fly on the wall, the discourse sounded like music. Every syllable and intonation of the alien language was truly a gift to all living things with any real passion in their hearts, and would cause weaker willed brutes to break down and weep at the chorus of sound.

"Dogshit. I don't care if only a handful of the Fëa were lost, its still dogshit." the Emperor sang.

"I beg your forgiveness. I assure you the planet's incubation is still on track to complete before our joint coronation." a sniveling yes-man assured the old elf, synthesizing a number of department summaries and daily reports. Each scroll was a priceless work of art that would strike blind anyone under the age of 150 that looked upon them directly...not from any magical effect, but the sheer artistic skill that went into crafting them.

The solar dragon luckily did not have that problem as it turned to the yes-man, and consumed him. The symphony continued in utter ecstasy, with a splatter of percussion.

ooc: As hectic and/or railroady as it seems, you are free to do whatever you like here, as always. You could hunker down somewhere, or try to flee deeper in the city, or something else. The scene in BG unfolds quickly, but not in an instant. Feel free to craft a narrative of around 5 minutes or so if you are up for it.

There are 6 Astral Blights (crystal offshoots) within a move of everyone, randomly attacking people, plants, animals, and inanimate objects.

Edited May 8 by Cointhief (see edit history)

DM-Tareth · May 9

She was on a roll, laying into the cultists like a Chultan jungle cat hopped up on go-go juice. She had a thing about demons. About hell and the cultists who thought it would be a nice place to live. It wasn't. In fact, it is those two little words ringing in her mind when the first true blast hits with it destructive *BOOM*. Like everyone else she turns away from Pudgetackle and his equally out of shape companion and slither-walks closer to the balcony for a better look. Icy spiders crawl through her ectoplasmic core as she orbital bombardment picked up speed and fury. As the temple of Umberlee cracked open releasing a thousand years of unanswered prayers and a pale cloud of burning incense something else cracked open in Yahs' mind. Memories, or at least that is all she could assume the horrible images of another broken and blasted city could be. Another set of streets filled with rubble and bodies and shattered dreams. As the ashes of vaporized demonic dentist blood mushroom into the smoke filled sickly reddening sky, her mind witnesses another red sky where bolts of death from above plucked death from life with casual whimsy.

"S%^t! Not again." She grumbles to no one in particular. But experience matters and thanks to the triggering effects of yet another world ending post traumatic inducing event she knew exactly what to do. Even before Sartell hoofs it for her ship and panic sends the crowd scrambling for where their poor overwhelmed and deluded mind think would be safe, Yahs oozes to the bar and snatches three bottles of Henk's finest top shelf whiskey, the big jar of pickled eggs the bartender kept near the register, and as many Scramsax Selects Smokin' Hot Pepperoni Slims Jim's as she can stuff in her pack.

Biting off a piece of the spicy aged 'meat,' she glances back toward the rapidly growing hellscape being created by the ongoing bombardment and, she now sees, the release of some devilish crystalline plague clearly determined to clear all organic life from its newly adopted home. At least it isn't a giant undead dragon. Is the rather dubious thought that crawls across her mind as a crystal entity puts the pitiful Pudgetackle through a seriously overzealous weight loss program. It is at this moment that the memories bursting through the broken damn of her mind screech at her like an overwrought banshee to save herself and get the hell out. But she was Fleet now. And being Fleet meant something. It meant you did what you could to help others, while keeping costs under budget. It meant fighting with honor, unless nastiness and trickery could get the job done quicker and cheaper. It meant you didn't turn tail and run when there was a nasty mess to be dealt with. And so instead of following Sartell's cowardly retreat, she draws forth her trusty, R&D improved Mop of Cleansing and Disinfecting.

Her eye stalks spot the fleeing canine. Is impressed by its understanding that food meant survival and thus kept the bone locked securely in its jaws even as it spins into a nearly perfect execution of the Whirling Crane Slips Free. An impressive display of martial talent that brings immediate respect to the plasmoid. She also remembers another tenacious canine, clever, loyal, and unrelenting. Its three eyes gleaming in the red haze of apocalyptic doom. Perhaps this time the two could be allies.

She unleashes a high pitched whistle and barks a command at the dog. "COME! HEEL!" Her voice snaps through the growing screams and chaos. If the dog caught on, then perhaps they would travel this new path together. If not, well, there were always the damned cats.

Before the crystal demon, beast, construct or whatever manner of foe could de-limb someone else, she races over and begins to test the things structural integrity with the business end of her mop and fist.

"Captain!" She yells to Celsior. "Best, start getting people out of here. I'll do what I can to hold this oversized piece of cheap jewelry off."

Mop Attack

Damage

Martial Attack

Damage

Edited May 9 by DM-Tareth (see edit history)

rauhric · May 9

Thom
NG Human Sorcerer "Aberrant Mind" [4] | Warlock "Hexblade" [1]
AC 12/18 | HP 28 | Initiative +2 | Passive Perception 13

Thom can feel his "dream" quickly turn into a nightmare. Panic begins to grip him as he has never felt anything so violent. Even the the thrust of the rockets that took him into space was far more tamed than this bombardment. "Who is attacking!?!"

His instincts is to duck and cover, but his reason is telling him to go!go!go! Running away from the chaos unfolding he is trying to remember the layout of this city. He hasn't been here long enough to know where the exit is. Logic tells him to move away from the ocean and find higher ground, so that is what he will do.

This world is a dangerous place so he learned to keep his weapons and armor on at all times when out in the city. He leaves most of his gear back in his room back at the inn since there is no reason to carry that around everywhere he goes. With his shield in hand he is trying to block any debris that is flying about to striking him down. If he needs to he will always eldritch force blast any rubble in his way to clear his path.

Running away from the ocean he dodges all sorts of chaos as he is trying to escape the city. Keeping his head low and runs he frequently bumps into panicked people. Picking up the fallen he tries to get them on their feet so they can run away. He is not sure in what direction to run only that he knows standing still is a bad idea. As his mind fights to make sense of the destruction raining about him he tries to keep his wits about him and not devolve into panic.

OoC

It really doesn't matter where he runs he will just pick a direction and run. He will go full Dodge on his actions as he is trying to get to a safe area to assess the situation. He needs a plan, but right now his plan is to just run.

Edited May 12 by rauhric (see edit history)

Text_1	Text_2	Text_3	Bold_1	Accent_1	Mood_1
Warm_1	Warm_2	Warm_3	Bold_2	Accent_2	Mood_2
Cool_1	Cool_2	Cool_3	Bold_3	Accent_3	Mood_3
Bright_1	Bright_2	Bright_3	Bold_4	Accent_4	Mood_4

Seeds of Destruction (Part 1)

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