The shadowy swarm splashed amongst the warriors, flooding Haemar and Thea, on multiple tides, the wizard slightly inundated more than the paladin. Yet, this surge was stronger. It varied from the ilk of the fickle remnant that plagued Turyn; each rippling eclipse bore armor and blades, with an accompanying shield to accentuate their defenses, different from the naked shades that metastasized throughout the Kingdom of Lyranth. They were obviously well-equipped and trained, to hunt and destroy, similar to an ordered battalion sifting out opposing nemeses. These soldiers, though, beckoned rank and systematic organization.
Was this legion of darkness being orchestrated and commanded with a purpose? Why were they rigorously composing an active invasion throughout the many realms? Were multiple fiends underscoring this elaborate symphony? Or did one sole soul choreograph this bedlam behind the curtains?
So many questions. One little gnome.
These thoughts raced alongside the diviner sprinting backward to the original Gates, dreading that reinforcements would gallop inward to flank them within the town. While tearing upon the cobblestone rue, her thyrsus hastily measured an impotent injection into the dusky ambiance, misfiring upon the murky adversaries surrounding the veiled elf, further sailing inadvertently through a broken windowpane.
Focus, Wick.
However, she did not fret for the now distant abjurer, who rarely required assistance, already observing hints of an illuminating shroud beginning to cloak the mage, prepared destruction for the looming trio, if they dared to test the mettle of his arcane ward.
She cried out encouragement to the others. “Once we supply the squall, all will attest of the smoke these heralds slake.”
Wick will employ Expeditious Retreat as a Bonus Action to run straight back to the Gates (60 feet). When she arrives at the Gates, she rolls a 2 for Perception to discern if there are any terrors beyond or within the city.
As a main action, she will cast Eldritch Blast with a spell attack of 9, likely missing. If it hits, it causes 2 damage.
Spell Slots: Warlock (Level 1): 1/1 First Level used Full Spell Caster (Level 2): 1/3 First Level used (recharged previously from Arcane Recovery) Globe of Light Limit: 1/1 (used)
Lesser Restoration: 1/Day after finishing a long rest (unused) Arcane Recovery: 1/Day after finishing a short rest (used) Fey Presence: 1/short rest (recharged; unused)
"I fear that she might have been the most reasonable of our enemies to come. If she was but only a lowly acolyte, the rest might be beyond any offer of redemption."
The blade and fabric exchanged roles in bearing the coagulated blood from the woman. One made clean again through polished refinement and resolve. The other drenched in the irrational debauchery it clothed. A garb, sewn for a wicked, illustrious purpose, lay in silence, as rags, worthy only to sponge the turpitude of their evil.
“The smallest seed of depravity can, at times, bloom against the gravity of righteousness. Just one persistent dewdrop of a dragon’s ambition eventually blemishes a soul even as stalwart as a saint’s, into a full storm of iniquity. However, the mightiest oak, when infested with rot, will always fall. Her spirit is now in another realm, though disowned from our history, remains hailing alongside a thunderous cloud of witnesses against our world’s fate.”
A lungful of scorn released from the decrepit pirate, as the elder’s lips divorced wide, teethed inlet agape.
“Come, Judgment!”
Recognizing its appellation once more, the raven bolted into elder’s mouth, disappearing in wisps of smoke and ember. The tongue ring spindled, issuing sparks of ash into the druid’s beard. Combing through his silver whiskers, flakes of charcoal dander snowed, peeling and collecting as patches in the sanguine pool beneath the cultist’s cadaver.
“Tiamat’s promised presence has seemingly transformed an unruly mob into a disciplined army. An armored ascension is emerging, lads. Aye! I fear that the shadow of their queen may descend upon the battlefield, at any moment.”
About facing and looking over his left shoulder, the man’s birdless aperture sutured words of encouragement, before pursuing additional counsel.
“Hope must rise to meet her. We must plant others with courage, to rally again against these fallow foes, before they take further root. Dawn is breaking; let us seek Nighthill before the day’s sun harvests another shadow on Greenest.”
Torus leaves the bloodied cell, looking for the Governor, hoping to establish another collective plan before the next calamity.
I feel this is as much as we can garner from this encounter. We will likely not be able to trust the location of the base of operations, for traps are commonly rehearsed and laid by enemies when one of theirs is compromised.
Even if she frantically confesses, she still must pay for her zealotry.
The prison’s gate beamed broad, baring a bold blue-haired bard, bellowing out further into the basement. Her hair dangled past the druid, appealing a loftier confidence to those around. Glancing through the portal’s frame, the pirate gleaned a recognizable blade, unsheathed, belonging to the green knight. Its shimmering steel shrilled for blood or scabbard. The paladin bore its mighty weight before the cultist, as the interrogation exhausted its welcome.
The Tethyrian fang approached, in dull stride, rapping on the hefty door with its briny wood. Ignoring the contemplative Governor looming next to the chained captive, the senior coughed, clearing his throat as a courteous mockery to interrupt and grasp further notice.
“Enough! That which was taken demands reprisal, las. As long as you sow war, you will reap its chorus. Vengeance croons upon angry wings.”
A black beak soon jutted from within the old man’s beard, materializing dark feathers and silver claws. The bird quickly escaped the white labyrinthine twigs beneath the chin of its master, spiraling the breadth of the room. The rhythm of flapping ended as the charcoal avian nestled upon the head of the crazed detainee, tunneling its talons and harvesting meager exsanguination.
Torus burrowed and plowed once more.
“Judgment is now upon you. The throne of insanity that seats your bones will never know your title. The gavel will soon fall.”
The elder bequeathed a nod, first to the familiar, and then to Brannor, as the avian held the screaming head still.
“And, in your final thought, never forget."
A pause was allowed for reverent silence. Then more crowing ensued.
"When justice descends, the servant shall burn with its master.”
The familiar was summoned and is resting on the head of the prisoner. If no words of import are gathered, the weed wizard relinquishes swift execution to Brannor's capable hands.
Abhorrence of the oozing ink, that seemingly aggravated all lands it stained, began to well into a furious spring of righteous rage within the warlock. Her wrinkled wrath, evident even before the Tabaxi glided over the surrounding edifice, accrued further spiritual solidarity against these smoky foes, as her boots rapidly waded between her fellow sunshine soldiers, dashing to procure a better angle of the enemy at hand. Her fingers crackled and sizzled, offering a muffled incense into the ambiance whilst she scampered along the walls to the right. A sputtered smoke trailed the diviner, like a fragrant prayer attempting to supplicate a farfetched deity. Her left palm soon birthed a revolving world of radiance, exhibiting a pitter-patter of murky silhouettes stranding behind any constitutions the light chanced upon.
Once in range, the cleric shrieked, desiring all optical orbits on her.
“Over here!”
With that exclamation, the miniature planet illumined a launched path into the fray of shadows. Three, in particular became outlined in the frenetic luminary, consuming the feverish wisps. Once the violent brightness dissolved, the shadows endured, durable against the beaming strike, hinting no harm nor destruction. Her annoyance crowded out the notion of the gnome’s health and well-being, let alone coordination with the rest of her troupe.
She whispered a petition, to herself, in doubtful irritation.
“Can any remit this recalcitrant pestilence?”
After yelling, "Over here!", Wick will move 5 feet (down/right), then another 55 feet via Expeditious Retreat, for a total of 60 feet of movement.
She rolls for Perception at a 17 to discern if other Shadows can flank the party and how many possibly are attacking the gnome.
She will then cast Globe of Light at the center of the giant black circle of Shadows with a spell attack of 10. If it hits the targeted shadow, then it deals 2 damage.
Those within 5 feet, take an additional 2d6 radiant damage at 7, 3 if any passes a WISDOM save against a DC of 14.
Spell Slots: Warlock (Level 1): 1/1 First Level used Full Spell Caster (Level 2): 1/3 First Level used (recharged previously from Arcane Recovery) Globe of Light Limit: 1/1 (used)
”Gain control of yourself or else I will control you, myself!”
The green aura soon faded from his draconic lips, as the scent of sulfur and mercury fringed the caboose's space, flavoring an imaginary ringside with hints of aged glory and corrosive perspiration. With no fans to witness or ventilation for that matter, the warrior permitted the mage to arise from the briny floor. He fatefully and faithfully stated the rules of engagement, an ultimatum that the buffon could not simply ignore. Mingling stares commonly emitted from the barbarian, partnering rigor with the fool’s insanity.
Round 1.
However, as the colors of each iris melted into emerald garlands around new slivered pupils, the axe monger beheld a mirrored dragonborn, but of the fairer variety. The female’s natural scales bore a mild faintness, as the acid breathing pirate could discern this was all but foreplay. An illusion filled with slithering locks, batlike wings for ears and interspersed jutting canines from an elongated jaw.
She panted, standing more erect, eager to exact a frisky retribution, once the masquerade was complete.
“I love games! My turn!”
Like a Jack in a Box, the feminine lizard quickly sprung into action. Imaginary clawed fingers soon clutched the nape of her combatant. Then, a breathy kiss closed the gap between each serpentine skull. The lurid smooch on the cheek caught Garnesh off guard.
“Mwah! This is fun!”
The barbarian was more than a little flustered at the sudden peck, so much so that he almost tripped, taking a step backwards. His eyes mechanically wandered up and down the novel habitation of the jester, surveying the outlined curvatures of her body as his mind raced to grasp the situation that had transpired within an instant. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't interested in this new form.
“Aren’t you gonna go?” Koan inquired the big, strong ruffian.
“I, ugh, ho- what?,” questioned the barbarian as he gestured to the fresh reptilian figure.
Round 2!
“Shoot yourself!”
An idiom she plagiarized from Reemes, when he was more than a tad drunk. Ironically, the ghost’s vernacular mastered a particular elegance, when his tongue inebriated itself with several glugs of ale. The finer the alcohol, the sharper the annunciation. The harlequin never deciphered its true meaning, but Calico would always systematically wave his gun and offered this expression when no one else could finish off their drinks.
Straining against the fond flash of memories, faux talons embedded into the musculature surrounding the dragonborn’s cervical spine. Using the vertebrae as a fulcrum and the wager that Garnesh could easily bear her wombless weight, the joker pivoted and swung each of her legs around a neighboring jugular. Hastily, the dangling extremities began to squeeze into a burly scissor, forcing subsequent venous congestion and her rival’s arms to reflexively scratch at the makeshift vise.
“What! Drow’s got your…” Before the half-elf could complete her bitter banter…
Round 3?
The brawny arms of the barbarian locked around the legs of Koan; suddenly, the barbarian bent his knees backwards, proceeding to drop the jester on her head. The action was purely instinctual; no thought entertained the half-elf’s intentions.
With a loud thud, the jester was slammed into the planks of the floor. A sudden suplex, one could even call it that. Garnesh continued to push her off of his neck, with a loud grunt as he brought himself back up, while rubbing his throat with a large palm. Needless to say, the less than intelligent barbarian was confused on the whole situation, its puzzling mark riddling upon his face. Though he could take a guess since he encountered a similar situation before, just without the face hopping.
“If you wanted to do those types of things, warn me first!,” gasped the muscular dragonborn, now turning to the jester.
Round 4…
“Nice one,” the clown muttered to the Bloodthirsty, while caressing her temple. “But you started it!”
Boots took flight as the tumbler bowled behind her fellow wrestler. Jumping up with each elbow hooked under an armpit, forearms snaked around to consign the hissing lizard to a Full-Nelson. Due to the breadth and height of her opponent, gravity lost its jurisdiction as the barbarian writhed and wiggled, attempting to liberate himself of this pesky, irksome woman.
Round 5!!!
Garnesh grew weary of the half-wit attempting to tax him, anger taking control of his actions as he clenched the arms of Koan. Pulling her extremities away, the barbarian drew the jester in front of him and nippily slammed her face first into the ground, again, pinning her. He snarled and growled, as he took control of Koan just as he promised, grasping one of her thighs and the back of her neck. He bent her, challenging the laxity of her joints.
“Are you done?,” the enraged barbarian questioned with a snarl, wishing this activity to be over.
The prankster squeaked a sweaty tirade, “Pishah! That’s all you got!”
Round 6
With another growl, Garnesh would test Koan’s flexibility further as he arranged her body into a triple fold. He felt that he had ensured that she would not get out of the position, so he released her. The spar, however, made him feel invigorated. A sadistic smile appeared on his face as he felt victory; thus, he returned to his feet and let out a hearty laugh.
“I believe I won,” the barbarian mocked.
The freaky finale.
Whispers from his defeated adversary filled the room, beckoning the barbarian back closer, as the jester’s fingers eventually clutched a pull string within her sutured scar. The umbilicus slowly disentangled, dehiscing the abdomen and revealing a brilliant rainbow of colors that permeated the lower deck’s room as her six-pack unraveled. Curious, the dragonborn could hear feeble sounds of music, normally gleaned above a crib or within a nursery.
“That’s better. At least I can breathe now. Okay. You got me! I want to show you something special, mate. Consider it a consolation,” joked the spider to the fly.
As the awestruck reptile approached the mangled mime, mesmerized by the spinning, dazzling innards, within the belly of the contortionist, a tiny mobile, for a child that never existed, dangled and rotated faster and faster, above the omentum. Its hypnotizing patterns drew the barbarian closer, captivating the warrior into a gradual crouch, with an ear fascinated to distinctly grasp the melody riveting the room.
Abruptly, an immense vacuum triggered, sucking and imbibing his head within the corpus of the fool. Before, he could react, blindness and light surrounded the senses of Garnesh, as flesh mended around his throat, trapping eyes, ears and mouth inside the capacitant abdomen of the gymnast.
His muted gasps gradually broke the suffocating haze.
“What the…”
Standing and hopefully stepping in the direction of the crow’s nest, the draconic soldier flailed about his surroundings until the caboose’s exit was established. Flinging the door wide open, the form of the barbarian with a half-elf for a head ran onto the deck, muffled screams and all.
The elvish comic squirmed in pain, pregnant with the skull filled with acidic salivary glands. Noting the Beholder witness their parade on stage, Koan, for a brief moment, suffered from butterflies of fear. Though her larks, renowned for being unpredictable, easily stirred Dyn to an inferno of anger, his furious tentacles of ire possessed minds of their own, constantly threatening invasive danger. Mumbling arcane semantics, the physique of the observed monstrosity birthed the dragonborn with an audible poof, liberating the couple from their ecstatic union all thanks to the wild magic engulfing the hideous jester, as she magically vanished and reappeared upon the Crow's Nest.
There remained no doubt that nothing remotely erotic would ever happen between the two in the future.
Time to get touchy and feely! Above is a super collab between @Lauder and @Gordian Nought.
Who will win? Garnesh’s Passive Athletics of 19 or Koan’s Passive Acrobatics of 22. Best of 7.
Koan uses a Sorcery Point to Quicken her at-will Disguise Self. This forces a Wild Mage Surge roll against a DC of 2. She rolls a 15.This increases the DC + 1 for the next Wild Magic Roll.
Koan grabs Garnesh’s head and forces a large kiss on the cheek due to the following...
While gripping the back of Garnesh’s neck, Koan whips both her lower extremities around his neck, completes a scissor leg lock around his neck, due to the following…
Koan barely passes with a 19, against Garnesh’s 18.
To Garnesh!
Watch out, watch out, watch out! RKO OUTTA NOWHERE! Garnesh suplexes the shit of Koan like the absolute boss that he is.
Koan supremely loses with a 12 against Garnesh’s 27.
Point to the crazy lady!
Koan recovers and employs Tumbing Fool (Bonus Action: Dash and Disengage) behind Garnesh while each are standing and attempts a Full-Nelson.
Koan barely pulls it off with a 25 while Garnesh resists with 23.
Garnesh activates RAGE and crushes the competition.
Garnesh, barely getting a grip on the jester, manages to bring Koan in front of himself and proceeds to contort her backward.
Koan activates Tides of Chaos before the following rolls:
Koan loses with a 9 against Garnesh’s (obviously should've won here - signed Lauder) 23.
BUT WAIT!!!
By pure luck, Koan rolls a horrific 27 against Garnesh’s mighty 26.
Koan pursues the following.
Free Interact Object: Undoes sutures on abdomen, by pulling a camouflaged pull string.
Action: Grapples head of Garnesh, which is lying on her abdomen to pin her, and puts it inside her abdomen above the pubic symphysis but below the xyphoid process.
Bonus Action: Using a Sorcery Point, Koan Quickens the cantrip Mending to close the flayed abdomen around the barbarian’s neck.
Garnesh runs them both above deck for all to see. Koan, fearing Dyn, casts Reduce on Garnesh, but it fails as he makes his CON save with a 24.
Wild Magic Surge roll, succeeds with a natural 20.
The DM triggers Wild Magic anyway and the 1d100 roll ends at 29, which frees the duo, as she teleports to the Crow's Nest.
Garnesh is still under rage. Koan is prone in the Crow's Nest.
Whenever the diviner abused the senses of the majestic hawk overhead, she was deaf and blind to the world, cruising through cumulus and nimbostratus, observing the curious township below, while soaring from the transcending safety of the setting heavens. With adopted eyesight able to pierce distance and piece clarity, the reincarnated librarian massaged rationales for the mores of this newly discovered civilization but with…
No movement. No sound. No people. Nothing.
The conclusion remained a dubious one.
“A void. I heed a scent of purpose and commitment amongst the architecture, yet I feel an abyss. Empty graves beckoning unlucky souls to fill their coffins. It is as if they intentionally share nothing with us, save a burning effigy, with flickers of smoke and fire.”
Introducing again her fiery pupils into the conversation, she barely caught the murmurs of the Tabaxi’s ending suggestion.
”I think we should march in proudly, our weapons sheathed but ready. Perhaps they will offer respite or a place to purchase supplies. If the Hall is empty, it may serve as shelter for an evening.”
Or our tombs.
“Yes, Katia. Let’s meet the men of these mansions.”
Action was demanded before the apparent witching hour.
No longer standing, the band of misfits quickly assembled their ensembles, pompously bearing arms in their scabbards. Their orientation mirrored a militaristic model with Thea, the paladin heading the mishaped pack, with negotiation or steel readied at a moment's notice. Directly behind, the monster slayer remained close but slightly afar to not hint crude engagement of friend or enemy. To his immediate right, and the dead center of their crew, shuffled Katia, with Haemar flanking as her first mate, with prepped perception scouring the town. Consolidating the rear, the Bard recited ballads of trojans and marids, while the diviner sluggishly accepted the fate brandished upon their clan of Celestials, Elves and her Beloved, meditating upon scholars of old and the Seeker of Knowledge.
Dusk approached.
Soft words soon coordinated its harsh rhythm into the unconcealed stride of the party.
“Sway like giants, deliberately fetching attention on our forward tour. Soon, the moon will ripple its white flag in surrender to this night. The asylum, before us, fosters ever more so as a necessity now as this town prefers to be caged, while daylight escapes us.”
Haemar, Katia, and Wick's familiar are actively scouting as we march ahead.
The formation is thus as we walk into town:
Hall
Thea Theodore/Katia/Haemar Cesar/Wick
Theodore is behind Thea. Katia is in the middle. Sorta. Haemar is to the rightmost flank. Cesar is behind Katia, and Wick behind Haemar.
Torus would be IC outside the door, discerning that he has obtained enough information. He would likely not hear the mention of "dragon eggs." But I can post within the next 24-36 hours.
My vote is we should kill her, regardless. Publicly or Privately.
The half-elf’s delightful, jiggling orbs of joy dissolved, as the outstretched appendage of the Lore master became an icicle despite their captain’s loud admonition during the cheerleader’s psalm. After a scream, Dyn’yer’zhead and Calico followed suit, demanding answers and an apology.
But.
All the drow could focus on was to provide relief to her vertically challenged amiga. Pondering a solution to the wizard’s frozen dilemma, she instinctively generated a mischievous sneer while slender hands buffed against each other briskly. Comic relief was almost always the answer when someone was suffering from a rough wind in their sails.
Gently pulling Jill away from her target, the fool proclaimed. “Eureka! Excuse me, boss, but I believe I’ve got an idea.” Waving her limbs in a synchronized, but opposing counter-current fashion, over her wrist, similar to the motion involved in beating upon bongo drums, Abbercroft’s right upper extremity soon riddled itself with Matryoshka hearts, circumscribed coeurs of vivid colors. The wild sorcerer ended with a hand waxing rapidly up and down, in the air, as if skywriting an invisible telegram. As the airbrushing ceased, the clown’s name, portrayed in rainbow stripes, engraved into a question-mark spiral over the makeshift orthopedic cast.
A glaring stare from about four feet high flashed disapproval.
“Ooh. Ooh. Can I try again? Please?”
Quickly, gaudy irezumi waded around the elbow, shoulder and wrist of the pediatric-sized magician, until the fervent tattoos aborted their swimming currents and settled into their wavy molds.
“Fishies better, right?”
The marine sling soon disappeared only to reveal a bright, orange pigmentation pervading the iced skin's undertone. “No?” Frustrated with the series of haphazard events, the short prodigy sidestepped out of the 15 foot cube, delineating the insane illusions, all the while, the wintry wolf gawked with jaded attention, stifled with glimpses of curiosity. However, her little friend’s boots did not remain close, but marched off, with an inadvertent heil boom arm, carving a swastika of sadness into the clown’s crowded soul. The mage’s stink eye, whilst she paraded away, only egged the one-woman circus act to retaliate and continue, endeavoring to amuse her tiny compadré, before any possible depression could curdle.
More finger waving produced the harlequin with a cigarette in a fluffy fur coat. She took a drag and belched nothing, but cold breath. Aiming for under the stiff auburn body part, the scarred comic then flicked her cancer stick, which subsequently crackled into a miniature inferno under the hinged stalactite, thawing rapidly some of the pronated ice.
Yelping, the maimed tinkerer steamed a beeline towards Koan. Reflexively, the wombless woman countered, furnishing a halt with both gloves.
“Stop! In the name of fun!”
Shocking to the whacky warlock, she did. Magically. Taking full advantage of her paralysis, the crazed bard concentrated and blew a kiss, rearranging the stationary gnomish silhouette into that of a snowman, with her carrot arm for a nose, a matching scarf, a stovepipe hat, and two wooden branches projecting from the flanks of its buttoned midline, hoisting marshmallows.
“Now, we’re in the mood. We'll get you back to clapping in no time but this may hurt a little.”
Before another bonfire could manifest, three flashes of spotlight and their thunderous applause finally concluded the mayhem, as lightning bolts rained upon Garnesh, Shiki and the Theullai.
"Oops."
FYI, the above crimson labels are clickable urls.
The following post was collaboratively approved by Eliza and the DM.
1. Koan rolls a 4 for her Arcana. She honestly believes that a magical fire will absolutely thaw Eliza’s arm.
2. Koan casts an at-will Silent Image over Eliza’s arm to display it as a cast with all sorts of hearts, then later with a Koan’s signature spiraled all over the top of it. Then, she changes her mind again and makes it into a tattoo sleeve, full of aquatic life. This triggers two WM surge rolls of 8 and 14 against a DC of 2 and a DC of 3 respectively. The DC rises by +1 above spell level, if the WM surge is not triggered.
3. Eliza quickly notices Koan’s illusions overlapping her frigid limb and attempts to move way from their vicinity. This forces Koan to utilize Shape Water to turn the frozenr arm carrot-orange, lasting up to one hour.
4. Koan moves in closer and casts an at-will Disguise Self to wear accidentally a bikini but then appropriately chooses more appropriately a fur coat while smoking a cigarette, both triggering 2 more WM surge roll of 5 and 15with a DC of 4 and 5 respectively.
5. Koan states that she's only trying to help and casts Create Bonfire via the cig under Eliza’s arm, which seems to be melting the ice, albeit slowly. Eliza yipes and jumps back from the 16 (2d6) damage, after dropping the last 2 dice and doubling for vulnerability.
6. Before Eliza begins to give chase to Koan, Koan reactively casts Hold Person on Eliza. This triggers another WM surge roll of 12 against a DC of 7 (second level spell). Eliza rolls an opposing Wisdom Save at advantage against a DC of 16, with a 10 and a 15. She is now paralyzed.
7. To make the moment even more special, the carrot-orange arm is juxtaposed as a carrot stick nose within another at-will Minor Illusion, and turns the stationary Eliza into a snowman, with a Lincoln top hat and stick hands holding marshmallows, potentially future smores.
8. Due to the ridiculousness of this event, the DM activates the saved WM surge roll (1d100) from the previous activated Tides of Chaos. The DM rolls a 65.
9. A 3d9 is rolled by the DM to determine who is hit by the 4d10 lightning. Garnesh, Shiki, and the Theullai are our lucky winners, taking 22 damage.
HP: 43/43 AC (20): Mage Armor (13) + Cloak of Protection (+1) + DEX Mod (+4) + Shield (+2) Weapon: None Arcane Focus: Diamond Tongue Stud Concentrating: No longer on Dancing Lights and now on Hold Person Bardic Inspiration (1/3 used)
Sorcerer Points (1/4 used)
Slots: Warlock First Level (2/2 used) To convert to Sorcery Points previously
Spell Caster Level = Sorcerer (4) + Bard (3) + Rogue (0) = Seventh Level First Level (0/4 used) Second Level (1/3 used) on Hold Person Third Level (0/3 used) Fourth Level (1/1 used) on Heroism
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