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    1. Gordian Nought 12 yrs ago
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Sanity is not statistical.

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“Agreed, Cesar.”

The dance between the wardens of the light and Birbin, the Absent, eddied into tango of equivocating on whether to salvage the vicious wildlife entombed within stones, evolving into a window flung wide open and gnomish demands of discarding the entities as debris outwards to reunite once more with its midnight.

“Sleep is, unfortunately, in order; a natural edict suffered in this new corpus.”

We slumber, to only arise anew. Death seemed likewise as an outdated concept to the forgetful wizard, despite his claim of imminent rebirth at dawn, with only a ghost town as ironic evidence. A demise led to Wick’s new life, yet not in a recurrent tessellation, stripped of frenzy and mourning, nor captivity with gravel.

“In regards to our fowl, I trust my Beloved.”

She uttered plainly so that everyone including the frantic mage would heed Katia’s future plan. The Warlock nonetheless ceremoniously persisted unabatedly with her conjuration; the circular cordon was only minutes away.

“My vote funds her decision.”

Yes. After the first post, many will realize the folly of such an investment.
Anything else I'm missing before we start this shindig, @JBRam2002?
Any ?s or further requests on anyone's character sheet? Fire away.

Also here are two SRD price lists for potions and scrolls. These are blatantly stolen from 3.5 but for the most part should be equivalent; only spells that share 5E counterparts are allowed.

dandwiki.com/wiki/SRD:Potions

dandwiki.com/wiki/SRD:scrolls

I'm a broken record. Just to be clear; please no backstory via META unless actually revealed in the IC.
Recent Events:

Each of you savored a happenstance with a very old man within the last week. Some met him in a bar and shared a few drinks together; others encountered him while traveling to Waterdeep. You all nursed a similar conversation discussing primarily your adventures, and he seemed genuinely interested. He appeared very unassuming and rather harmless but tactfully steered the conversation away from himself, if questioned.
The campaign is starting in Waterdeep, as you all well know. It doesn't have to remain there; that's entirely up to you. There is a lot of writing about this setting and I thought it might be helpful for you all if I clarified where in the history of the Sword Coast we will be.

* The year is 1370 DR.
* Mystra is the goddess of magic, and she is very much alive.
* Piergeiron the Paladinson is the Open Lord of Waterdeep.

If anyone wants anything else clarified, let me know.
@The Large Dumbo

You have been a deep sleeper, as of late, betraying your Fey ancestry. Except when your beauty rest coughs up a mountain of clots.

Your eyelids haphazardly retract revealing an avalanche of cloth draped over your body.

The sounds of a quenched laboratory, the whizzing narcotic blades of a fan, and the mechanical pacemaker’s induced lub-dub of a tell-tale heart nearby remind you that this is not the spirited remnants of a seaming afterlife or another elemental plane.

As you move, your contracted grimace aches. You quickly discard the shroud, only to reveal your corpus in a blanche gown, with labyrinthine tubes scuttling from both your upper extremities to eight other covered slabs. After spitting and wiping off your soporific chin with the leathery white sleeve, an uncut crimson gem roars, from within your forearm, to your arousing sight, as if attempting to uproot the bole of a gnarled willow within your mind. The shimmer and reflection intimate the visage of your face, weathered by unaccustomed long hair, a seeming crow’s nest overflowing with thinning thatch and twig. Your disposition grows dark as you relish a constant buzz from an adjacent table, eventually pocketing an ebony omen soon to come.

Did I pay the tab? Your brain wonders, devoid of your volition.

Your comatosed hippocampi rumbles the risks, permutating the rationale of this Kolmogorov-like prison.

No windows.
No doors.
Just echoes, flickering radiance and stale air.

Whispered, uncouth voices in the distance force your hand, a now left-sided grip on the bench stabilizing your fragile body, simultaneously providing heat as you glean the mention of this hated city,

Waterdeep.

Home of the Wards, a historic bastardization of ghost-bred conquistadors and a myriad of proud merchants.

Your joints creak as you sit up. The ceremonial gavel in your throat waits to strike to regain order and balance, as you attempt to mouth in silence. Your plastered stupor is interrupted by a couple more gory gags, beelining to the cobbled floor.

Your neighbors are beginning to stir.

Swinging your veil ajar, no weapons, no armor, not even shoes can be discerned. Only a centerpiece elevated with a black mantle draping, consuming all the conduits, filled with sparkling red ether. Each wall hosts a bench, filled with lit candles, beakers, liquids, and dying orchids. Papers are scattered atop, inked with blood, white dust, and darkness. The stench of iron, sulfur, and phosphorus remind your nares of a cauldron, aged and riddled with nightmares.

Why?


@JBRam2002, could you be so kind as to generate a Discord channel?
After much discussion, we will also use DiceCloud as an alternate CS.

@Daemanis@rush99999
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