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3 mos ago
Current New fantasy DND 3.5e founded RP plot posted in General Interest forum - A Path to Immortality
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Just an academic looking for some RP experiences. I miss writing and creating stories and characters. I don't get to enjoy video games nearly as much due to the complexities of real life, so I am seeking an alternative outlet.

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By the way Im assuming that because of the nature of the enemy they're probably immune to poisons?
Cause Neph is Circle of the Spore and there are certain traits he can use because of that.


Correct. Undead are immune to poisons.
The busy roads of the small village surrounding the manor estate bustle continuously with passing servants and keepers of the grounds. SOme entering the displayed shops distantly placed from one another. Multiple rail tracks run through the grounds bearing the heavy metal carts filled to the brim with rock and silver ore. The carts are pushed along by dark-skinned, stout Duergar accompanied by at least one well-armed guard. The Duergar pay little heed to those around them, maintaining their anti-social natures for the world to see quite clearly.

What passes for an Inn for travelers upon these grounds is kept up for only a few, though most seem to be passing through without hesitation or pause. None within the populace seem phased by the presence of the rotting damned in their near-human forms. Most of such creatures are clothed as living beings with minds and personalities as though nothing of their existence had changed, save for the drive to serve this manor estate. The Inn is quite obvious for those searching; a symbol of a bed is etched upon a wooden sign hanging overhead its doorway. Few pass in and out of the structure save for those who are likely employed within the establishment. Not far off from this building is another with a sign bearing a symbol of a dagger with some hint of fumes rising from the blade. Across the road from this building stands a structure with a pot and sack of grain upon the sign.

The man in the graveyard continues gently stroking the slightly curved edge of his spear while puffing softly upon the tobacco in his pipe. His feet hang a few inches from the tallest blade of grass emitting upward from the soft earth of the dead to whom the headstone belongs. He is quite, making little noise other than the sharpening of his blade. He glances up, noticing the large muscular female heading more in his direction. Whether she seeks to speak with him, he is unable to currently ascertain. Thus, he continues with his quieted efforts upon the headstone.
About how many undead do we see?


There are easily a few dozen onboard already; a total of around 300 probably down to about 200 now. A large galleon crews up to 400. Ours was about the same, down to around 170ish.

Good job Neph, yah done did it now XD!
Neph: 1V1 me bitch!


You asked for it! :P Dun dun dunnnnn
The battering winds continue slamming into both ships which come together upon the crashing waves, slamming sideways against each other. Ropes fly through the air, wrapping around the masts and sides wherever they can attach. The crew of the damned swarm over onto the galleon, crashing against the crew of the living with unrelenting carnage. The eerie lack of warcries from the dead adds to the reality of the monsters streaming aboard. Lightning crackles overhead, crackling across the dark and stormy skies offering limited moments of light. The ships themselves creak and groan as if in pain from the battle.

The creature grasping the helm of the opposing ship stands silent and unmoving, saving for commanding the motions of the vessel. Guards of skeletal construct stand around the helm in case anyone happens to make it there, but their mindless perceptions are blinded to the efforts of a simple yet clever girl using magic upon iron cannonballs. The objects near their target and successfully smash against the pilots head which is immediately crushed into shards of bone. The creature falls to the ground, no longer awakened. The guards, having no one to protect now, abandon their positions and charge across the edges of the ships to join the slaughter of the living.

As the bottle sails from the hand of the tiefling toward the mast of the enemy vessel, a large iron shield sweeps across and blocks the bottle. It shatters across the surface of the shield, drenching it in fire adding immediate illumination to all around its presence. From behind the shield, a large skeletal creature rises with a greatsword already coated thickly in blood. Its massive skull, irregular and elongated, turns immediately to the tiefling. Its hollowed eye sockets arise with blue and violet energies as its large bone jaw opens emitting an echoing scream cowering many of the living crew around its presence. It raises its massive blade with one arm, unhindered by the limitations of living muscle, and charges toward the tiefling intent on slamming him with its shield and following with a quick slash of its massive blade.

The wizard, Card, raises his hands high above himself channeling arcane energies as some crew work to defend him in hopes that his spells will turn the tide. The energies form together between his hands quickly before turning into a large flaming ball. He hurls the ball of fire forward into a group of the undead, shattering their ranks and igniting their forms. The crew around him cheer and take to decimating the flailing remnants of the fired damned. Arrows dart through the air toward Card, one smacking him in the shoulder immediately after the spell is cast.

The man in dark leathers swings his blade through the enemy around himself as if bearing the dexterity of an elf. His motions are fluid and clean, slicing through the damned as though knowing where to strike to bring them to a quick and untimely final demise. His eyes catch the wizard under fire from arrows and the large skeletal creature charging toward the tiefling. He pauses for a moment in thought, then turns and runs across the deck toward the wizard. Grabbing a bow from the ground and a quill, he knocks the first arrow and fires striking one of the undead archers. The creature falls over the side and into the raging black sea.
I will get a post up for ya'll tomorrow. Just drove for ten hours and my brain's a tad fried. XD


No problem! I spent the last three days remodeling another room, so I've been really beat. I'll get a post in asap.
The heavy waves the dark storm crash ever-persistent against the side of the great galleon while the opposing ship draws closer and closer. The winds whip as though at the hands of some unseen master, slashing against both vessels and the storming sea. Canon fire continues to rip across the waves as each ship maintains its turns to mow the other down. That there shall reside a victor remains ever a dwindling possibility. As the others attend to the tasks set upon them by the dark leathered man, the crew of the vessel prepares themselves for the coming combat. They ready themselves with the weapons they are provided. The extra canons salvaged in such a dire storm as this are manned and ready. The opposing vessel continues to fire at will.

The wizard, Card, sought to complete the task set to him as he dives below deck while the others complete their own tasks. Holes riddled with splinters and charred edges pour water through the hull with every slosh in the sea. Some crew below deck use buckets attempting to toss the water out as quickly as possible, but on almost every deck the water level meets their knees. Card applies his methods of the arcane on the smallest of the wounds in the hull first. Using his simple cantrips to mend the wood and slow the wafting waters. With the crew attending to the larger holes, this appears the most effective tactic for the time being.

"We are nearly there, lads! Hold the canons!" The Captain cries out. Now is the time for a final tactic. Up close and personal, the Captain would set the opposing ship to a blaze with as much canon fire as possible with no lack for aim. The crew readies themselves, holding steady as the enemy ship draws nearer. Each wave seems to spend the pause in eternity, but the great sails and the dark wood of the opposition draw ever nearer.

"Steady yourselves!" The Captain cries out once more. The man in dark leathers looks to those he had commanded to lend aid, seeking to know their final location before the storm of battle is unleashed fully. There the red-headed girl sits with optimal striking for one of her caliber. The Tiefling man is set with the crew, ready to rend flesh with metal. The wizard, now finished with what mending he could accomplish with his spells, finds his way back to the surface ready to engage with the others.

"Hold!" The Captain cries out as the enemy vessel nears more and more. They turn, moving to come alongside in preparation to exchange crews for combat. "HOLD!" He carries out again, with one hand tight upon the wheel and the other firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The ship crosses the threshold of the bow with a slosh in a large wave. As it comes crashing down, storming the galleon with a handful of canon fire blowing out parts of the deck and sending some crew to their immediate end, it slams down into the water to land just alongside with the galleon.

Moments pass in this single introduction. Mere moments one could attest to an endless sense of fear. The wind whipping and the water of the sea and rain slapping against the skin of every man and woman aboard. Such a moment at the peak where battle comes to join are few and savored by fewer, save for this crew of the black ship. Lightning streaks across the sky offering light upon both ships. In such a moment, the opposing force is revealed with dreaded garb and blades raised high. Through the tattered garb and the shredded cloth rest only bone and sinew with eyes hollow and void. White teeth part exposing gullets of darkness accompanied by the shrilled cries of the damned. Who could be more possessed to slaughter ships in a tomentous storm such as this than those who have no need to fear death?

"Fire!!!" The Captain cries out as loud as a warcry one could hope to must in such terror as this. Hesitation means death and damnation, and the Captain shall have neither. The crew, stricken and shaken, are brought from their moments of terror back into a state where survival is all that matters. They ignite and fire off every canon they have to muster, sending a rain of metal and fire into the enemy vessel. Explosions cry out from the enemy with members of the damned crew flying through the air. Within moments of the ignition of the canon, the sounds of clashing metal clamber through the air as some of the wretches had already begun to swing across to the galleon.

"Send these wretches to the abyss!" The man in dark leathers cries out, lunging himself forward toward a deranged creature as it swings straight toward him upon a rope. He slashes the strand overhead of the creature, dodging its own blade swing, sending it crashing to the deck.
<Snipped quote by KarthaRRinari>

Hey Guys! Lots of stuff has been picking up lately and I'm working hard to finish out my internship this summer. Hate to bow out cause this is honestly fascinating, but I don't want to keep slowing things down. I'll keep watching the story unfold, and feel free to use Card temporarily as an NPC as you wish. Interested to see what story is in store.


Totally understand! Thank you for letting us know. I will keep Card around as an NPC to the best of my ability and feel free to jump in when you are able!
The day had been long with no orders or word from the one known as Lord Shade. The small encampment among the mountains north of Torlynn, a small village with much to say for its farmland but little in any other regard. Vashin Manor stands as a great bump upon the side of the peak with its access to caves and caverns which wind deep through the mountains. Only rock and silver come out by the hands of heavyset Duergar miners. Overseen by Count Vashin himself, a human-looking man with a pale complexion and thinned features, along with his moderators and guards to ensure security and keep the work flowing, the Manor offers much in the way of funding for the efforts of Lord Shade.

Some new arrivals come to the Manor over the course of a few days. Each with their own orders, goals, and purposes either for Lord Shade or their own fruits. Though diversity does not span the cosmic list of sentients, many are present in various forms of commonality; elves, dwarves, orcs...and some mixtures of the undead. None at the Manor question such vile creatures as the walking corpses, and they offer services and act accordingly to the will of Lord Shade. While intelligent and self-driven, some suspect their underlying will is tied to some other force either within or beyond the Manor itself.

Across the landscape of the Manor rests a graveyard, a smithy, and a few houses. One house seems as a store of some kind with general goods such as arrows, simple equipment, sacks of grain and general food. Another seems a storehouse meant for holding goods, perhaps for those about the Manor. Another appears as a more specified intended structure with shields, blades, and armor. Yet another appears as some sort of library with many books, scrolls, and equipment associated with such industries.

Sitting upon a tombstone near a small graveyard riddled with ancestors of Count Vashin rests a palish figure in fine-scale armor grinding stone against the tip of a spear blade. His legs dangle from atop the stone with worn words and dates barely readable upon its surface. His head is hooded and partly covered with strands of black hair dangling from the sides of the inside of the hood. A pipe sticks out from his lips with soft smoke wafting into the air. A satchel of gear rests at the base of the tombstone, nestled close for safekeeping.
Sorry that took a tad longer than I needed it to


No problem! I was on the road for the last couple of days. Also waiting for our third member to post. I'll give another day then go ahead and make my next reply.
"The name is Taliman Lothloerian, but you can address me as Taliman. While personally disturbing, I supposed the facade is necessary for certain company so 'Sire' will do to appease the commonwealth." Taliman had started leading them down the road and through the slave markets to depart from the unsavory sorts. He turns northward at a sign leading toward the crafter's sector of the city. Noting the Inn as Vergu was talking, and as the little halfling directed them, he nods in agreement as he gestures for them to follow along.

"You are welcome, Vergu. Let me obtain some food and drink for both of you and we can make our plans in some semblance of privacy." Taliman looks back a moment as a passing gaze to see who it is following after them but does so as he walks inside of the Inn. The establishment is well furnished and bears furnishings made of living plants. The tables and chairs appear as grown bushes carefully cared for into such shapes. The counter is a thick and dense hedge as sturdy looking as any stone or wood structure. Behind the counter stands a barkeep with branches in his hair and a long brown beard full of leaves handing out drinks and food.
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