Gordian Nought

5e D&D - Mines of Phandelver

Spelunking into the subterranean depths appeared initially to the goliath as martyrological, especially since the rogue had just recuperated, barely healed, in time, of her lethal wounds, by the wondrous, malleable bard. The ambush intentionally predicated upon Kiki and Bar’s prior anonymous but calamitous assembly. What were they doing? And why? Considerations of stone and clay torrentially riddled his gaze as the sorcerer’s pair of eyes vantaged the faint creek along the edge of the green canopy. He subconsciously traced the narrow stream that ebbed away from the maw of a potential cenote. It was naturally shielded by the coppices and groves that the forest provided in camouflaged concealment.

Was this their trek’s apparent terminus, the barbarian had premeditated for their journey?

Alongside the brook, their feet bubbled upon a parched trail leading to the mouth of a Platonic cave. With gallantry, diabetic thoughts plagued the giantkin’s superstitious concentration as he allowed others to slowly venture before him. Perhaps, inside, the company would possibly discover seven more goblins, all unconscious, snoozing and oblivious to the previous harrowing encounter their recently departed brethren paid with blood, now buried beneath the earth of Phandelver. Would these proverbial sleepers of Ephesus meet the impending persecution the troupe prefigured, by the mesmerizing shadows cast by the heroes’ ambling bodies? Puppeteered by the clashed strings of fate and destiny? Or escape, emerging into another eon, proclaimed as an Edessan homily as a warning? Sirens urging unsuspectingly these landlocked sailors of purpose and fortune to seal their ears with wax, deafening their minds to the screams of innocent enemies?

Brim hoisted his sternum, as the rearguard, in anticipation of the swelling danger, like an Odysseus chained to a ship’s mast, brushing upon the waves of grass and thicket. He only hoped this organized formation would lend itself to stealth and strategic investigation as they pressed further onward, into the belly of the Faerunian fissure.

= Mechanics

Brim rolls a Stealth of 18, on Discord. Time be sneaky.

@JBRam2002

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

@Irredeemable, Bienvenue!

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

Silence was a renowned virtue of the old man.

His furry hide crouched further, low to the ground, as a symbol of understanding and as a humble mount for the half-blood, who now bore the weapons of the imprisoned Brannor. The shouldered raven, crowed smugly, a two worded accommodation to Orchid, suggesting the relevance of such a gesture.

"Ride well."

The juxtaposition of green atop brown not only provided a further semblance of camouflage, but the image of a Ranger with its animal companion, providing visible audacity and veracity to the hunt of the Ferine paladin. The beast of burden, as he was, lugging still the hamartia and catharsis of the crazed Xaron and her vile deeds, hummed gratitude between his clenched jaws. She would have usurped such an enterprise with hubris and unpredictability. Alas, the demon that possessed a portion of his unforgivable soul had vanished into the whispers of his hibernating mind. His peripeteia, at the hands of Kyra's master, was a gracious serendipity bestowed by Chauntea. The anagnorisis was phenomenally vivid as the bear lay prostate, worshipping the ground in which free-will and imposed obedience had warred and survived.

Standing and hoisting the barbarian aloft, the druid allowed the verdant warrior to command his trek, to cement the guise of this elaborate ruse.

@Ryonara@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Lucius Cypher

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

The cleric’s mind beckoned her white avian to tour, once more, the overcast heavens, ringing a Nietzschian spiral, in order to copiously appropriate all what the town’s labyrinthine rues and alleys had to offer. Eagles benefited from a keen sight, abundantly flattered by nature to survey a horizon to procure the positions of easy prey and wandering predators. Gliding on the circular pockets of zephyrs, the diviner’s bird soon dived into disappearance, into the safety of a pocket dimension, protected from the pangs and tribulations of which this unknown world continued to harass its new guests.

All straddled, now plump with the spoils of victory in a sanctuary which encompassed an apparent crypt, dedicated to the fallen saviors of Ysgard. Would this shrine bear an Angurvadel, of the famed Frithjof, the sword that historically blazed in war but gleamed dimly in peace? Or Sigmund’s Gram? Or even Lug’s Fragarach?

A celestial hand gently caressed her patron’s scythe, stroking and petting its hilt in efforts to quell its thirst for a grim harvest. The grip tightened as the blade unsheathed from Wick’s flank scabbard demonstrating its illustrious curved metal vane. Radiance glistened, as the warlock, mouthed words of silence and respect, waving the weapon in a simple flourish, finally skewering its brilliant shiny pointed pinnacle through the loaf’s remnant dissecting its bready corpus and piercing the center wooden table, an altar dedicated to brimming mead and crumbling food. The light, flashing from the sickle, shimmered brightly, attempting to aid any further derision as the helmeted holder of Hela turned his attention onward.

A song of Roland was morbidly absent as the heroes witnessed Valmjr wade further into the Hall, in pursuit of catacombs below. It seemed a fool’s errand without the proverbial sabres, Gramimond, Hauteclaire, Marmoire, Murgley, and Sautuerdu, gilded by his side. Her twinkled gaze no longer chased after the mighty ax wielder, knowing that numbers and rest held strength at its helm, despite the monster slayer issuing a charge as some scurried forth.

She yearned for such a respite, now, since dawn’s pandemonium of frays and skirmishes. Her attention turned to their new refuge, hoping to glean any useful strands of succor. Any additional bolstering threads that could be gathered and sewn into the tapestry of their arsenal would encourage the plight of their almost endless riots against the darkness.

The ancient librarian audibly sighed. Not with disdain but with slight apprehension for those who rushed ahead.

A deep breath was necessitated before the plunge below, lest each drowned in brooding pools of blood, given freely due to lack of preparation.

Mechanics

Wick’s Eagle circles above the Hall one last time to discern if anyone or anything is approaching the Hall, with its Passive Perception of 14 and Keen Sight.

Wick casts Light on her sickle and stick it onto the table to enlighten the area.

Allusions of historical and fantastical weapons were utilized in the formation of the above post. If you desire references, please PM me as I intend to mix this flavor more often into Wick’s scholarly musings.

Wick will Investigate for a total of 17, specifically looking for any books and/or magical items.

If the short rest is allowed, all her warlock slots are replenished.

She will also employ Arcane Recovery (Wizard Level 1) during her short rest and restore 1 of her 2 contributing Wizard Slots to her total 3 Full Spell Caster Slots.

Wick

HP: 22/22
Temp HP: 6
AC: 17 (Breast Plate (14) + DEX Mod (1) + Shield (2))
Weapon: quarterstaff in dominant hand, others (sheathed)

Arcane Focus: Fleece Necklace
Concentration: Nothing

Spell Slots:
Warlock (Level 2): 0/2 First Level
Full Spell Caster (Level 2): 0/3 First Level
Globe of Light Limit: 1/1 (used)

Spell Attack/DC:
Cleric: 3/11
Warlock: 6/14
Wizard: 4/12

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 (unused)

@Hekazu@Rig@The Harbinger of Ferocity

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

@Lucius Cypher, how much would Orchid enjoy riding the bear to seem even more intimidating?

@Hekazu, is it adequate to assume that the trek of an 1 hour is equivalent to a short rest? Reason I inquire is that Torus can use up another one of his Wildshapes before replenishing both before entering the likely encounter ahead.

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

Ysgard.

The peculiarity of the inviolability of the residence of Valmjr struck the cleric, as the shadows were ineffective at breaching its inner sanctum. The adorned shields incorporated mandalas, unrecognizable at first, but suggestive of the blessed purity of steel and faith. Was this a shrine impenetrable where an oracle would return? Or was this the site where the altar of championed sacrifices would be mounted on the wall? The nave issued a remembrance of Candlekeep, with its hallowed vestibules and consecrated books, ordered neatly like a tabernacle, dedicated to knowledge. An iconostasis of a myriad of visions rife with tomes that the former elf curdled in the back of her cerebrum.

The gloomy tendrils that provided additional false life became fainter around Wick’s armor, once fully submerged beneath the roof of the Hall. Strange. The bucolic sheepishness afforded a taint of wonderment of such a refuge. An annex dedicated to maimed couriers to the cause, hosting a bearer of an axe, a friend of their minuscule guide, begged more questions. If such a fortified rampart dwelled among them, where were the other diviners, sentinels, and defendants? The walled juggernaut was too good to be true. Or rather too polar for the necrotic minions of Darkness to envelop?

A church dedicated to the thereafter.

The warlock waddled towards the deranged wizard, leaning over slightly so that the gnome could easily eavesdrop.

“Holy places are no longer a sanctuary for death.” She paused making sure her vibrato was clear and her diction easy to follow.

“And death seems no longer a sanctuary from anything. But this place is different. Tell us, Birbin and Valmjr, what is this temple?”

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

The ursine companion flapped softly onto the fur of its master's haughty shoulder. The meek wings folding inward, the evolutionary involution of a species removed and above the physical restraints of this earth.

Seven. At least.

This confidential knowledge would likely be no surprise to the divine aspirant of golden eyes. Additionally, the half-orc provided insight to this traveler’s dilemma, by suggesting a circumventing route. His talons again etched the soil, now writing in Common.

Traps ahead. No time for rest. We must go. They are waiting.

The chinless monstrosity soon obeyed the information distributed by the dark avian. His large grizzly cheeks were quivering in a meticulous fashion, masticating the risks and staving off the hunger such a corpus demanded. The path between Kyra and Parum opened, away from the treacherous snare ahead, lurking and lingering behind the ridges of strewn rocks. Reflecting upon his tainted pirate past, the bear ambled past the Hin, towering with enormous arms and legs. The tide of deception was mounting and the time was to swim to a shore of safety.

Torus posited a stance as he glanced over his back past Judgment, waiting for the others to follow suit. The force of his awkward posture seemed fetched, as the druid could not saunter such a pose for long.

He released the glance, bequeathing his hope some would take the offer of a ride without a saddle.

Alas, the inky bird remained by his ear, whispering the pangs of glory and sin.

DnD 5e - Beginner's Game

Only dunces dash into dragon’s dens.

Unless said hoarder was away on other matters of business or vacation. The reassurance that most of his troupe had tasted the ambiance past the entrance and breathed words, tipped the scales in favor of a greater reward over a meager risk. The foretold couple already hazarded the mentioned bubbling lochs and meres within the large cavity that jutted just beneath reality’s surface. Lairs assumed masters, and its breadth suggested a menacing immensity from the safe vantage of the hugging fog. Peril was taunting Bah’im, chancing danger and jeopardy before the flock his very eyes had kidnapped, as one by one, his fellow travelers were herded into that burping warren.

Curiosity maimed more and killed less.

Such prying led to Faustian pacts to sate the thirst of the unknown, where old seasoned men are willing to shed an eye and drink from the poisoned well of Mímisbrunnr. Discretion rationed the sanity of the trickster’s psyche from the nagging inquisitiveness of novelty’s cupid, uncovering murderous intent which oft married to the loving embrace of a Fatima. Becoming a pillar of salt or even opening a box of Pandoran plagues cemented the legendary folly of these endeavors, warning others of the pitfalls. Yet, prompted by an Evanesstra and Band, the dragonborn and its Angela desired to unleash the Anselmos and Vatheks of this unnecessarily fretful world, with little resources to compensate the maze hosting curios which required further investigation.

Soon, his outstretched arm became riddled with a verdant and inky mass, with fangs and a rattle opposed as the reptilian coil writhed the extremity of the marching wood elf.

“Stand back, everyone.” He mentioned mostly to the agricultural knights of childhood nightmares, as he waved his hissing familiar back and forth, approaching the entrance to the earthen fissure. “This snake can possess your soul… Ack!”

With that, the serpent locked gazes with the bladesinger, issuing a stiff march into the cave. Once inside, Marcus’ former star-crossed lover would scout the effervescing premises through the blindsight of his slithering companion, Mammon.

But first, he wanted to send a boisterous message.

So…

The one-eyed bandit stared. At all of the farmers. And whispered.

“Go home, before it’s too late.”

Mechanics

Bah’im will summon his Familiar and wrapped around his arm. With Performance of 8 (Passive Performance of 14) and Deception of 22 (Expertise), he will act as If he is being possessed, attempting to simultaneously surprise them from the fog.

He will end by whispering aloud via Minor Illusion in a demonic voice, originating between all of them, the last statement.

Afterwards, he plans to send his snake ahead, 100 feet, before peering through its senses.

D&D 5e - High Seas and Tall Tales

Instant jealousy rent the clown from the aquatic congo line, as Adrevz embraced the tentacled abomination. An adder’s tongue soon flowered behind the pearly gates of her clenched maw, ready to bloom a green-eyed monster from a yellow rosebud in hopes of smothering this new Desdemona. Envy graced the geisha’s mind as the merfolk druid inquired of her mentor’s happenings. Why? For attention? Should she don another coat of many colors, gifted by the very crown she inherited, only to be sold again into slavery by her newly adopted brethren? No. Her insane covetousness breached the ranks of Medea, Kitelys, and Dieanira, dripping with murderous hemlock. Though, the constant shenanigans likely was the rationale behind Nemiea’s departure. To which, the fool was concomitantly forlorn.

Her façade’s mask kept such an emotional pandemonium from poisoning the surrounding waters. No ripples creased her still face.

If only there existed a proverbial cliff, the prankster could launch her body from. Away from this troupe of satyrs. Yet, she needed them, and, oddly, specifically him. The Beholder always remained peculiarly a paradoxical object of desire and source of disdain. The many eyed pirate thwarted many progressions of her chaotic machinations, but righteously so. The expected and exceptional opposition provoked the jester, in turn, to be bolder and even more extravagant. Just to be noticed. Over and over.

And now there were two of ‘em. Hooray!

The silvery buffoon reeled closer to the duo, as her eyes twinkled in the deep ocean.

“Name’s Koan. Please to meet ya. Do tag along. It will be a blast! I guarantee it.”

5e D&D - Mines of Phandelver

Brim Gehenna

The battle ended on softer notes, as the eyes of a Gehenna broached through the foliage, a devilish transformation.

His lack of thrill, of prurience, of astonishment, of any sort of distinct interest, began to arouse a more severe distrust of Hymn, as the shapeshifter’s felicitous pretense of maculate origins spawned Ardiane. A Potemkin bard bred of crocodile tears, standing as an Archimago, full of mawworms and newspeak over the panting rogue. Was she both a Goneril and Regan, falsely professing love in efforts to inherit a king’s trust, leering over an eventual inheritance? Or, better yet, a vicar of Bray, hiding as a sanctimonious hypocrite? A pharisaical step-son disguising animosity as philanthropy, in order to seduce her, or was it, his next victim. The sorcerer felt utterly incapable of playing the part of ignorance properly, any longer.

He was afraid to try.

Certainty accompanied ready-made suspicions now, viewing her previous politeness as a deviant and aberrant phenomenon. And yet how else could he now receive him? Or was it her? Not heartily! Impossible due to the psychological betrayal. His only objective, to stave his mind from further inquiries, was to watch a little longer.

Brim knew Hymn. Didn’t he?

Another provoked, point-blank question. From its novelty and its surreptitious nature, punctilious courtesy prompted the manner best calculated to restrain the lanky, smelly man. There stood the apathetic taciturnity of a beautiful Cleopatra, now empathic to a mortal betwixt her. The danger of his confidence in the Tiefling, now turned half-elf, infringed through his facial defenses, fetching a flattering reality, bluntly. His frown, audible to only pregnant nerves, alarmed to contract unnaturally, to such a writhing avidya.

A direct lie. For moral reasons.

The struggle of identity savored a similar occupation with the composer of stone’s history. The burly, wet mage hurriedly brushed past the safety of the leaves, conjuring slowly, meticulous graves for the goblins, crypts of gravels suitable to bury those without names, and now, futures. After sealing the earth once more over their collective corpus, strangely enough, the giantkin no longer was disconcerted by the mysterious similitude of the young musician’s oblique approach.

She evidently cared for Kiki. And that was enough for the goliath.

"I leckon we thould move befo’ mo angly gobwinth thow up.”

Mechanics

Brim uses Mold Earth to dig graves for gobbos.