Oraculum

Beginner's DnD 5e Game - Group 2

"Ah, you." Leaning heavily on his staff to avoid slipping on the fragmented, but still fresh ice, Ulor advanced across the street towards the man who had spoken in reply to his inquiry. On better examination, there was indeed amid the wares laid out on the stall near him something which seemed close enough to what he had been seeking. Incense... Truly, it was odd enough that there should have been any for sale so far from any temple, but then, that was probably how it worked in those large, intolerable cities. Some might even have private shrines, something only nobles could afford back in the moorlands. But then, the people who willingly chose to live in such tremendously aggravating - not to mention dangerous, he silently added as an instinctive spasm of his left arm, which had swung upwards to preserve balance over an insidious spot, stirred the wound in his shoulder into making itself known with an abrupt surge of renewed pain - place had savage customs as was only too obvious.

Upon reaching the stall, Ulor distinctly saw that his suspicions about the merchant's very possibly inflated price for the holocaustic offering were not baseless at all. This sort of incense was not worth anything resembling that in any state; now that the indiscriminate freezing enchantment had left its mark upon it, its value had only plummeted further down. At the monastery, he recalled, novices were made to pay penance for procuring damp wares from the bog-treading traders at full price. Had he brought the superior anything like this in his youth, it would have been more than a week of forced vigils for prudence. But this was what he would probably have to rely upon to perform the ritual, and it was only well that the denizens of the beyond were not as concerned with such things as other deities. However the matter might have stood, an excessive price was not something he was eager to yield.

"Twenty-five?" he made little effort to conceal the irritated and disdainful tones in his voice, "I will have you know I was trained in the priestly ways, and this..." he gestured at the incense, "...would barely be fit for immolation on an anchoretic gravel altar. Now, I need it for something important, so..."

Here, he was momentarily distracted by the sounds of an altercation behind him. Apparently, what passed for some sort of authority had arrived on scene, and was berating - them, probably. Or maybe not. Either way, that did not interest him, and he reverted to the merchant.

"I will be generous. Twelve, nay, ten gold I will give you for this."

Whispering lost words of power, Ulor passed his right hand over the wound in an intricate, swirling series of gestures. From the cut there began to pour a sanguine red mist, which coalesced in mid-air into the pulsing, writhing shape of a fleshly tendril whose end opened in an almost implausibly wide, thickly-toothed mouth in which was nested a spherical, inhuman black eye with a hollowly staring white pupil.

"No more. Time is short, I am not patient, and other things are even less so. Should they fail to be appeased, they will be discerning enough to know who is to blame. You would be fortunate if they were to accept such prey at all."

Once more, a sound recalled his attention to the street. This time, it seemed to be the voice of the primal invoker remarking something about not having killed their attackers. Disregarding the greetings exchanged by the others, Ulor, slightly concerned about his prospective findings, cast a glance backwards, and was not reassured to see her kneeling near one of the figures with a dagger in her hand. It fortunately was not the parch-skinned creature, but nonetheless it would have been well to ward it from unwonted recklessness. Swiftly reaching out with a mental appendage through the air and into her own well of consciousness, he soundlessly whispered "The withered one must live. The secrets he holds are surely valuable."

As indeed they ought to have been. Never had he learned of an incantation that could work upon anyone what had happened to him. It had been, he now understood, the conjuring of an anomaly in the folds of time. The inexorable advance of the grey wall of ages had somehow been slowed about him, and him alone, for a blink in its unyielding surface. What power could bring about such wonders was curious indeed; and he surely would not waste the opportunity which now materialised before him.

But, first, there remained this other matter, perhaps even more relevant. Turning back to the merchant after what had been a mere instant, Ulor finished, the tentacle extruding from his wound swaying from side to side, but always keeping its gaze fixed on the man:

"Ten gold for your goods, or brave the hunger of that which lies in wait. Be swift. What shall it be?"

Mechanics

Ulor casts an unsettling Silent Image to intimidate the merchant into lowering his price to 10 gold.

Intimidation roll: 11

He also speaks to Arthera via Awakened Mind, mentioning that the Drifter is more useful alive than dead.

@The Harbinger of Ferocity

Beginner's DnD 5e Game - Group 2

The masked figure had collapsed amid pathetic rasping, and with it all of the varyingly intact assailants now lay motionless. In a way, Ulor was disappointed. The enchanter who had appeared so terrifying to him was, after all, seemingly no more than a feeble ancient, at least in body. No tremendous force had intervened to shield him from the ghostly blast, and, along with an arrow which, he supposed, must have originated from the elf, that had been sufficient to strike him down. The fear had faded from his mind with a strange abruptness which led him to suspect it might have been another of the parched creature's unnatural spells. Or, perhaps, it was another effect of that mysterious banishment. Thinking of which, could it truly be he had never heard or read of anything of that sort before? He turned some inward eyes towards the fluid tree-trunk of memory, seeking among the secret lore of arcane spellcrafts he had accumulated throughout the years.

Without ceasing to devote a fraction of his attention to peer inward, Ulor replaced the crystal into his backpack with a single dexterous motion. Behind him, the tiefling was saying something to the nearby commoners - some sort of apology, apparently. Why she thought the group owed anything to these people was beyond him, but it was also none of his business. What interested him most was to discover what it was this being carried to lend him such powers, or what knowledge he could draw upon. But then, something else occurred to him, and - ah, it was fortuitous that the paladin should have hauled the body off to disarm it. Turning his head towards him, Ulor spoke briefly. Well, as briefly as it went with him.

"As the cosmic potencies will it, I am. We should take this one-" he prodded the fallen enemy with the end of his staff, "-question him, see if he carries anything uncommon. There may be something of value for us to learn."

Moving aside, he turned his gaze to the merchants' stalls which so happened to stand on that street. Not only would conjuring the octopus back into being require a fairly long incantation, but a ritual offering would have to be made in order to coax the spirit back into the material realm. And it so happened he did not have the necessary materials, nor an adequate fire into which to cast the sacrifice. Before he began to rifle through the creature's belongings, he would do well to see if he could find at least some of them around here.

Advancing towards the nearest stall, without ceasing to examine it he queried the nearby townsfolk, oblivious to whether or nor the struggle they had just seen had left them shaken or otherwise unfit for business: "Do any of you have priestly implements to sell? Incense and dry herbs to burn, braziers or censers? If you do-" he whispered a curious, unintelligible word, and a gust of chilling wind seemed to blow from behind him towards the nearest commoners, "-be careful not to conceal them. Not from me."

Mechanics

Still puzzled by what the Drifter did to him, Ulor tries to remember if he has heard about anything like this.

Arcana roll: 16

He then surveys the merchants' stalls for anything he might find useful in casting Find Familiar...

Investigation roll: 2

...and needlessly threatens the townsfolk not to hide anything from him, using Prestidigitation to summon a breath of cold wind.

Intimidation roll: 23

Network Citizenship Center - Open for business and harmonious discourse!

Excellent. I shall have a character-entity ready sometime soon, then.

Beginner's DnD 5e Game - Group 2

All of a sudden, there had been a stifling, all-pervading terror. A swirling, inchoate vagueness had surrounded him, engulfing the world and barring him from it. It was similar to the realm of slumber, yet also unlike it. This was not something of the Outside he knew; it was a paralysis, a clutching hand formed to blind and strangle existence so as to leave him at the mercy of its still, silent winds. Dull, ultraterrene pain breathed over him like a waft from timeless crypts suddenly burst open without a sound. Unlike the sting of the dagger, which he still perceived, if somewhat dimly, this new torment did not wash over him in the flesh. It lay in the very nature of this unshaped, yet not empty space, if space it was, fearsome in its very uncertainty. He was intrigued by its strangeness, yet at the same time the shadow of a fear the likes of which he had not felt since that day in the monastery subtly gnawed at him.

And then it was gone. Just as abruptly, Ulor found himself standing just where he had been, no part of his body having moved in the slightest. It struck him momentously, as though the realisation had already begun to accrue in the dim limbo, that the octopus was gone. There was a glaring, needling void where its mental presence could usually reached, piercing his thoughts with cold talons if they strayed too close. It was well they knew better than that - while he presently did not have the strength to do so, he knew the void could be filled, and his companion conjured back into being. Just as the wound in his shoulder, deep though it was, would eventually heal, so would that gnashing absence be gone.

As he observed the street before him, Ulor realised that time had been flowing as ever, at least for the others. Two of the assailants had been struck down, and now lay motionless, though not visibly mangled. The same could not be said of the leader, whose skull had been crushed through by something heavy, which he could only presume had been Talionis' hammer. His own party was apparently still standing in its entirety, which he supposed was just as well. His opponent or his projection, however, were nowhere to be seen...

At least, until Ulor turned to survey the other side of the street. There was the draped figure, attempting to make its way past some of the others. As his gaze came to rest upon it, the same fear that had been growing within him in the unformed place of stasis rose forth, strong in its vast and bloated form. That creature, whatever it was, was clearly not entirely of the worlds he knew. It had withstood the horror from the stars, and wielded such potent spells as the one that had banished him with apparent ease. It was more than merely a force to be reckoned with - who knew what transmundane connection it could have forged to obtain these abilities?

Yet, however terrible it might have been, this foe had to be struck down as well as the others. Painfully tightening his left hand around the crystal to still the nervous twitching of his fingers, Ulor began once again to recite outlandish words of power. His gestures were somewhat uncertain, and he almost dreaded striking the being with eldritch energies lest it retaliate with unfathomable potency. But no, Ulor thought, grinding his teeth to keep the encroaching trepidation at bay as spectral flames once again danced from his hand, not even such alien thaumaturgy as this could save an obstacle barring his way from destruction... Once the murky depths of its knowledge had been fully exposed to the inquisitive glare of his own.

Mechanics

Having reappeared from his banishment, Ulor, despite being shaken and strangely afraid of the Drifter, hurls an Eldritch Blast at the enemy (disadvantage on attack; any damage is intended to be non-lethal).

Attack roll: 21 (first one was 24)

Damage: 5

@JBRam2002 The Drifter is targeted with an attack.

@Ermine is (presumably) up next.

Network Citizenship Center - Open for business and harmonious discourse!

I suppose it would be well to ask character-related questions here, seeing as they could be generally useful.

Are there any standard administrative or military ranks within the Domain, or do they vary locally?

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

@Commodore

The downside of being a large, fast-moving millipede is that there are all the more things you can trip over. Be sure to keep at least half an ocular field on the ground at all times, unless such forms of motion as stumbling and falling happen to be in need of attention at the moment.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Osveril

Osveril

The Hollow Absolute, the Void That Is

Gender: Absent. Referred to as "it".

Domain and Portfolio: Purity (Void).

Description of Domain:

Though often viewed as a trait in its own right, purity is, at its core, a negation. Indeed, one would struggle to even describe it in terms of assertion. Purity is freedom from taint and corruption, or, more broadly, anything extraneous to a being. It is the absence of alteration. One who achieves its ideal is, strictly speaking, not so much pure as devoid of impurity, a condition paradoxically (purity must, after all, normally be attributed to something, as it cannot exist independently) more difficult to define than the concept itself. It is often unclear where purity ends and mutilation begins. Transformations and modifications can affect something to such an extent that they cease to be external influences and become part of it, and a victim of extensive corruption or mutation may, at some point, become an altogether different being, for whom they are not as abnormal. Furthermore, the question presents itself whether change and new creation, perhaps the greatest aberration of all, are to be considered impure; and therefore of whether purity is something barren and sterile, born only of suppression and destruction.

These and other uncertainties plague something which appears at first glance unsoiled by ambiguity and confusion. The duty of the Hollow Absolute includes finding answers to them, just as it does enforcing purity upon the world. Within itself, Osveril carries an archetype of the concept, which constantly shifts and evolves as the demigod observes the universe and reaches new conclusions about how it should be. The Absolute has the power to measure all that it perceives against this internal value, determining how close it is to the ideal of purity, and transforming objects, living beings and even environments to reflect it. Changes affecting especially vast or enduring subjects may manifest as a gradual twisting and withering rather than an instantaneous transfiguration.

The greatest tool at the Hollow Absolute's disposal, as well as the most stable and basic constant it can rely upon, is complete emptiness. Nothing is as pure as the void, which is an absence not only of change and corruption, but of potential for them as well, and, indeed, nothing other than the void is absolutely pure. Interestingly, in its lack of everything, the void embodies that very barrenness that seems to shackle the concept of purity, binding the quest for the true ideal in place. However, Osveril sees in it not a forced stasis, but a path to be followed to achieve flawlessness in all its possible and impossible forms.

Alignment: Lawful Evil. Though not actively malicious or ill-intentioned, Osveril's incapability to compromise and disregard of anything beyond its goals place it at odds with all that does not conform to its ever-changing standards or, worse yet, disagrees with its vision.

Personality:

As incongruous as its domain, Osveril is mainly defined by its unwavering, dogmatic devotion to a fickle and inconstant principle. Thorough and systematic in all things, the Absolute balances correcting and guiding the transformations of its internal standards and mercilessly judging everything it encounters. It does not think of itself as an individual, but as a force existing with the sole aim of bringing about a cosmic restoration of sorts. Osveril is almost physically incapable of considering the universe and its inhabitants as anything else than a chaos of impurities and imperfections which must be purged and healed, and devotes itself with utmost zeal to what it is convinced is its sacred duty before its own existence. Purity is both its own authority and its own reward; and any obstacle in its way is, by definition, corrupt.

As it could be expected, such a mindset tends to bring about frequent conflicts with those who would rather not submit to Osveril's cleansing. The Absolute does not even regard their opposition as misguided or malicious, as it does not consider the thoughts and actions of other entities to be on a level comparable to its own. Rather, those are mere flaws of the mind, which can and must be removed as expeditely as those of the body. Nonetheless, when dealing with beings capable of rational thought, Osveril prefers not to resort to violence unless it is inevitable. It attempts instead to persuade them of the mistaken nature of their views, as it finds the notion of an intelligence, however inferior, accepting purity by its own choice supremely intriguing. In such interactions, the Absolute's ineptitude in reasoning in conventional terms becomes clear. It appears obtuse and arrogant, refusing to consider even for a moment that its position might not be the only acceptable one in spite of any argument against it. Should these attempts fail, as they are wont to do, it has no qualms about forcefully distorting unwilling subjects into its own image of perfection.

For all its blind adherence to its self-imposed calling, Osveril is remarkably creative as concerns purity itself. Fully conscious that any image it has of it as yet is incomplete and flawed, it delights in experimenting with physical and abstract objects and entities, warping or contaminating them with partial non-existence. While it rationalises this as progress towards discovering the true ideal, it secretly relishes in satisfying its creative urges - perhaps an unconscious reaction to the stigma of sterility, perhaps the only aspect of its being not subordinate to all-assimilating obligation.

Appearance:

Osveril's physical form is reminiscent of those of most humanoid beings, having two arms, an equal number of legs and a head protruding from a central body, but that is where similarities with many of them end. Standing taller than most humans and perfectly symmetrical in all of its parts, it appears as though formed out of angular, three-dimensional geometric forms. Its torso and abdomen are many-faceted polyhedrons, one larger than the other; its limbs rectangular cuboids joined by segmented articulations; its feet truncates pyramids; its hands prisms in the shape of long, sharp claws. The Absolute's head takes the form of a trapezoidal prism, on whose front, despite its featurelessness, there seems to be a triangular mask flanked by two rows of small, circular holes on its two sides.

The whole is fashioned out of a dull grey material, which, despite visually resembling metal, seems strangely organic and skin-like to the touch. All its surfaces are smooth and flawless, and even adhesive substances cannot cling to it. It is unclear whether this is Osveril's true body or a suit of armour, but the Absolute is never seen in any other guise, lending credence to the former.

Description:

Osveril is a strange being, seeking to bring purity to the world despite being fully aware of it own imperfect nature. For all its internal contradictions, however, it is a rather substantial danger to most things it sets its eyeless sight upon. Its cleansing quest is for most the brutal imposition of an alien will upon their reality; despite its sincere desire for improvement, or perhaps because of it, only desolation and sinister anomalies remain in its wake. While it is not entirely impossible to reason with it, inducing the Absolute to reconsider anything is incredibly difficult. All things considered, it is not vicious or cruel. It is not hostile towards beings mortal or divine, even when they interfere with its work - after all, any mind can be tainted, and its task is to heal, not to destroy. And yet, it remains oblivious to the pain and horror it may cause, reasoning that any who find issue with its doing must be imperfect. The Void That Is is a perilous presence, for, like its namesake, it has no regard or respect for anything, and threatens to consume all in is unthinking progress.

Musical Theme:

West One Music - Approaching Danger

Concealment and Detection:

Concealment Level: 1

Detection Level: 1

Creations

Dust Crawlers

Dust Crawlers: Species (animal, vegetal, semi-sentient).

Lifespan: 7-10 years on average.

Description: As the first of Osveril’s major creations, the Dust Crawlers perfectly embody the principle of utility driving its every action. Everything in them, from the minutest part of their bodies to the unnatural energies that give them life, is directed towards a clear and simple purpose, and no variety or deviation is allowed to interfere with that mandate.

The Crawlers’ function is both straightforward and monumental at once. They must rid the surface of Galbar of all material irregularities, including but not limited to geological formations, bodies of liquid and redundant inhabitants, so that their maker may build its vision of an ideal world over the resulting desolation. While the execution of this task could, in principle, be construed as simple enough not to require overly complex instruments, the amount of sheer force necessary is immense, and all the greater in proportion with the tools’ simplicity. Osveril saw life as the best way to achieving its end, being a relatively familiar, primitive element with the potential to increase in strength exponentially, and this vision it embodied in its servants: crude, unrefined beings of raw power that grow as they unmake in a flawless cycle.

Though it drew upon already existing creatures in creating them, the Hollow One only selected the traits it found useful to its purpose from among them, leading to entities that only distantly resemble Galbaric life. While most of their genetic code is derived from invertebrate animals of various sorts, which in itself leads to such oddities as vaguely mollusk-like beings having an exoskeleton and motory limbs, the addition of some vegetal traits improving features such as structural integrity and growth potential renders Crawlers impossible to define in terms of either realm of life. At the same time, this hybridization, while caused by a Jvanic artifact, is itself not strictly magical in nature, and the Crawlers’ organisms are perfectly functional in their own right.

However, Osveril did not consider this sufficient, and further empowered the creatures with its ruinous boons. Thanks to its touch, all Dust Crawlers are born and live in strange mutilation. While the interior of their bodies is otherwise complete with all necessary organs, they lack a digestive tract beyond their mouths and an internally armoured channel leading to where their stomach would be. In its stead, they have a void, made unstable by being defined in size, mobility and, to a certain extent, shape. Thus, while they are able to ingest physical objects, they cannot process them by means other than exposing them to the peripheral zone of the emptiness. This process does not fully annihilate matter, but distorts it to the extent that, whichever shape it might have had, it is reduced to a thin, almost fluid grey dust, whose aberrant atomic structure appears, if examined, to bear traces of Gap-like binding energies. The dust is then expelled by the means of an excretory system joined to the Crawlers’ breathing apparatus, which directs exhaled air and waste into “vent” openings on their backs.

Since a construct incapable of sustaining itself like this one would not have been optimal for its intended function, Osveril imbued its creations with the more dynamic force of Hunger. Besides giving them a monstrous, insatiable appetite for anything they can perceive that does not bear the Hollow’s mark, this infusion altered their metabolic capabilities to a surreal extent. The mere act of eating something causes Crawler bodies to spontaneously generate energy, propagating from what seem to be specialised neural clusters. It is unclear what exactly are the conditions for this process to occur, but it appears that perception of the object being ingested is necessary, though the ingestion itself may not be directly caused by the Crawler’s actions. The energy obtained can be readily converted into matter, allowing the Crawler body to sustain itself and directing any excess into proliferation.

Dust Crawlers reproduce asexually, writing their own genetic code, which thus remains identical in all individuals, onto cells of flexible design in a curious form of self-impregnation. Once these ovules develop into eggs, they are carried externally, typically on the parent’s hind legs, though they still rely on their host for nutrition. The eggs hatch after slightly over a week, at which point the larval Crawlers that emerge from them begin to feed their developing voids on the easily processed dust that is exhaled by their host. The final stage of their growth, following between two and three weeks after the larval one, is more similar to the development of crustacean zoea, with the growing creatures shedding their membranous skin to reveal the shell underneath. There are no further occurrences of molting in a Crawler’s life cycle, with their carapaces stratifying as they grow and the lower layers being consumed by the expanding void until they reach their adult size. At that point, they will not undergo further transformations until their vital systems give way at the end of their lifespan. Both this and critically damaging the fleshy membranes underneath a Crawler’s exoskeleton will cause its void to briefly pulse outwards and collapse, killing it if it was still alive.

While Crawlers possess a rudimentary form of partial sentience, insofar as they are capable of perceiving external stimuli and adjusting their behaviour in response, they have no true consciousness to speak of, and operate on a crude, though fairly complex, system of physiological feedback. They are capable of limited communication among themselves, using the motions of their tentacles and pheromone signals to alert each other of threats and obstacles. This allows for a surprising degree of coordination in their actions, allowing vast swarms to converge on dangerous prey or adapt their movement speed and paths as the terrain requires; however, the fact remains that Dust Crawlers are no more than mindless biological machines of destruction that cannot be stopped by anything short of their death.

Appearance: With their replicated genetic code and overall small possible variation in development, Dust Crawlers are virtually identical to one another in even the most minute details. Like all things touched by Osveril, they share a uniform grey hue and an entirely angular form, with only the most elastic parts of their anatomy having anything resembling a smooth, recurve shape.

Fully grown Crawlers have swollen, ponderous-looking bodies about twice as large as a violet slug, shaped like truncated octagonal prisms. They are covered by a segmented chitinous exoskeleton formed by interlocking grey plates. Their shapes are such that ridges and lines of a faceted, symmetrical geometric design appear to run smoothly from one to the other, though, on closer inspection, there are visible gaps for dust ejection between their edges. Unless an adult Crawler has been injured, there will never be either more or less than twelve segments in their carapace, not counting the head. Their shells are tough and rigid, and their consistency is more similar to that of tree bark hardened with chitin than normal insect or crustacean exoskeletons. The underside is smooth and more thinly armoured. While it protects the drooping, fluid mass inside the carapace from sharp objects, it is flexible enough to sag down and drag along the ground under its weight.

In their overall body structure, Crawlers are highly abnormal among arthropod-like beings, as they lack a recognisable thorax and most of their body appears to be formed by an oversized abdomen. They move on six thick, evenly spaced segmented legs, which, like their bodies, have angular prismoid shapes, and taper to sharp, yet balanced tips. An eighth, bulkier pair of limbs, located directly under the head plate, ends instead in powerful angled pincers, capable of crushing rock and bone alike.

What passes for a Crawler’s head is little more than a flat surface. Two bulging black eyes are partly lodged in small cavities in it, flanking an ample mouth-cavity surrounded by two circles of inwards-facing mandibles, the inner one smaller than the outer. While they each resemble those of an ant, they are much larger, being proportionate to the Crawlers’ size, and are used as much for propelling prey into their mouth as for crushing it. Near the four corners of the plate, the exoskeleton is interrupted by an equal number of short, but stocky tentacular limbs, one in each point, emerging from under it. These tentacles, having oddly rectangular sides despite their flexibility, end in long barbed stingers, lined with small horizontal slits near their base.

Often, a Crawler’s hindmost limbs will be covered in the small prisms of eggs clutching to it, or its shell will be covered in slug-like larvae clustered around the dust vents.

Beginner's DnD 5e Game - Group 2

Surprisingly, the danger following his failed magical assault had not come from the enemies charging him within reach of their weapons, thus rendering the octopus' precaution useless, but from their own steadier hands - or paws? - in striking from afar. As the ratfolk's dagger bit into his left shoulder, steel gnawing at the cycle of the red ichor in which were stored his forces, a hollow gurgling sound escaped Ulor's throat, and his fingers painfully clutched the crystal in an agonising vice. His will was surrounded by the fiery tide of taloned crimson pain, the tips of its flames rising in claws to break the mystical grip of his enchantments. But the strength issuing from the dark, unsoundable well which the eyeless gaze of that which was beyond had carved within him was not to be overwhelmed. A pillar of spiral-woven resolve arose towering from it, shattering the flaming torrent and reaffirming his shadowy grip on the goliath's vigour. With something resembling a snarl, Ulor tore the dagger out of his flesh, bloody force dripping from the wound it left behind, and stretched the hand holding it out towards the octopus. The latter, forewarned by a mental nudge, briefly looked down with surprise, but, evidently not thinking it worth to argue over something of this sort at the moment, grasped up the weapon in a pair of tentacles.

All of this had not occupied more than a few instants. The tormentous grip of metal still pulsed in his shoulder, which was growing warm with spilled strength, but this was no longer the most pressing threat. The masked foe had drawn forth an incantation of his own, and conjured an eidolon directly before Ulor, though, oddly, apparently not with the intent of clashing with him directly. Over the blows being traded by the warriors further down the street, he heard the primalist call out to the rest of the group to focus their efforts on the mage rather than his creation, an exhortation which seemed perfectly reasonable. After all, the withered creature was likely directing the eikon and fueling its unnatural existence with its spells, and, if that was indeed the case, disrupting the evocation would shatter them.

Raising his right hand, fingers twisted as gnarled, knobbly vines, Ulor began to whisper in hideously disjoined and discordant tones. "N’gai, n’gha’ghaa, vahr-shoggog, y’hah..." The dread words from alien infinities streamed out, jagged and malformed, from a mouth not made to utter their kin; like the flight of a silent winding brook through an impossible horizontal precipice, inaudible to all but their target. Once they reached the veiled brigand, his mind would be wracked with a terror issuing from the cold stars of a distant void, a fear few, in Ulor's experience, could withstand unshaken.

Meanwhile, the octopus, which, along with the dagger, had received a fairly vague hint as to how it could further its master's latest plan, moved forth. Propelling itself with its swimming motions all while holding the dagger, it floated over his head, then deftly passed around the doppelganger and continued its airborne advance. Having finished his spell, Ulor returned his attention to the familiar, and once more his inward mouth spoke to its web of thought. What the octopus heard left even it, accustomed as it was to the summoner's oddities, baffled for a moment; but then, once again, it could think of no objection to offer to this new scheme.

Onwards it flew, weaving over the soil in a manner which would no doubt astonish its aquatic kin. Over the dirt and the ice, and near that Tal-ionis, was it, fellow who, Ulor knew from past experience, could at least be relied upon to crush miscreants with his hammer. Once it was sufficiently close to both the paladin and his savage adversary, it began to even further defy the nature of the form it had coalesced into, weaving, sweeping and wildly swinging the dagger in the goliath's general direction. While it was unlikely to land even the most meagre of strikes on a capable fighter, the sight of a dagger-wielding octopus in itself was as fine a distraction as anyone could hope for, and even the nuisance of a blindly slashing blade was not to be so lightly dismissed.

Mechanics

Ulor succeeds in maintaining concentration on his Hex after being wounded, and, removing the dagger from his shoulder, hands it to the Octopus.

Saving throw for concentration: 17

He then casts Dissonant Whispers on the Drifter (2 Level 2 spell slots spent, 0 remaining).

Dissonant Whispers damage roll: 11

The Octopus flies over Ulor, diagonally around the Drifter's copy, then 15 feet forward, stopping once adjacent to both Lex and the goliath. It then begins to distractingly feint at the latter, helping Lex in his next attack against the thug leader.

@JBRam2002 The human is up next.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

And, with various nuisances out of the way, I should now hopefully be able to do more than haunt the thread.

In other news, after some sparse edits Osveril (who remained back here, for ease of access) should be ready to withstand the praise or censure of @Kho, @Rtron or @Cyclone, as I understand it goes.

Beginner's DnD 5e Game - Group 2

Oblivious as ever to his bodily surroundings, Ulor trudged alongside the rest of the party through the populous streets. The octopus on his shoulder, seemingly more engaged by its surroundings than its master, cast about vitreous gazes that nonetheless were laden with uncanny purpose, to the extent that unsettled passers-by took wide and deliberate detours to avoid brushing by the bizarre pair. As they advanced, the city appeared to progressively decay around them, orderly stone structures giving way to ill-shaped clay and grime in a putrescent transformation, filth seeping up through the cracks in the cobbling of the road and submerging the pavement in a layer of viscous uncleanliness. The motions of its denizens grew more furtive, and snarls and grunts fluidly - as far as either Ulor or the octopus could tell - replaced cheerful greetings in their mouths. As his mind was briefly prodded by viscid tentacles in warning against a possible stumble in an especially treacherous point of the path, the enchanter idly noticed the fleeting scrap of thought telling him they were being led by someone and laced with doubt as to whether this guide, whoever it was again, was reliable, but he unconcernedly swept it away, gladly replunging into his ponderings.

Or, at least, he would have, had a surge of cacophony from on ahead, combined with a second, more vigorous mental prod from the octopus recalled his attention from its deep lair and, much to his irritation, forced it back into the flow of events. A group of miscreants was rushing down the foul alleyway, bellowing what were presumably incoherent taunts at each other and displaying a general lack of concern about those that even contingently found themselves near their path. Now, the latter Ulor could not truly find fault with in and of itself; what displeased him in this situation, however, was that he and the octopus were apparently among the number of those unfortunates. Concerned as he was with this fact, he was barely aware of the first scoundrel coming to a halt upon reaching the group and pleading something with the tiresomely loose-mouthed green tiefling. Had he even paid greater attention to this fact, it would soon have been forgotten, superseded by the sight of a large rodent-creature rapidly drawing closer to his person, its shrouded accomplice close at its heels, provided rats had any.

As the grotesque being approached, Ulor swung his left hand backwards, elbow and wrist oddly twisted, to reach into his backpack for the magical orb stored therein. At this abrupt motion, the octopus detached itself from his shoulder and remained hovering near his head, its eyes never leaving the assailants. But, before he had retrieved the conduit necessary to channel much of his void-gifted knowledge into enchantments, the ferine invoker called upon her own arcane might, conjuring a treacherous frozen surface under the thugs' feet. As it happened, this made things worse from Ulor's perspective, since the foremost brute slid sideways, coming to a halt directly before him and readying his weapon. The elven archer seemingly attempted to wound him, but her shot, if it was aimed at all, went wide, leaving the burly figure unharmed.

Fortunately, all of this had given Ulor time to prepare his own response. In his left hand there now was a large, opaque black crystal, almost spherical in its curious many-faceted shape; the right, having left the staff leaning against the shoulder and supported by the forearm, was slowly weaving its fingers through the air, tracing invisible sorcerous symbols. As his arm twitched in a series of darting gestures, a gnarled index pointed towards the warrior, he intoned a string of half-whispered, ululating formulae, resounding eerily between the rows of malodorous walls: "Ygnaiih . . . ygnaiih . . . thflthkh’ngha . . ."

All of a sudden, there appeared in the space around the tattooed brute what could only be described as a swirling, translucent angular cloud of grey shadow unnaturally stretched in such a manner as to appear similar to a solid object. The apparition writhed in place for a few moments, then shrank inwardly, flattening itself against the warrior's skin and fading from sight. What was not so apparent was that the abnormal darkness, in a distorted semblance of parasitic life, hungrily clutched at its victim's strength, seeking to sap and consume it.

Yet that was not all. While the shadow was still twisting around the warrior, Ulor abruptly stopped his gesturing in a final lunge of his right hand, and brought his incantation to a close with a loud "Iä!". As the limb darted forward, it became wreathed in pale, colourless spectral flames, which sprang into being with startling abruptness and without any apparent premonition, accompanied by a crackling sound as of thunder. The unnatural fire then fluidly stretched into a stream of fluid power, which flew through the air akin to the trail of a ghostly comet towards the thug.

Unfortunately, it seemed that something particularly stunning had come to Ulor's mind just when he was completing the spell. His teeth reflexively clenched, and his hand twitched aside in the very moment the wraith-flames were magically propelled from it. The result was, if not disastrous, a rather sad sight: the flow of mystic energy wildly spiralled aside, narrowly avoiding a terrified bystander, and soundlessly crashed into a puddle, raising a splash of rank, foul water.

The octopus, which had until then remained suspended in place almost motionlessly, presently twisted its tentacles in alarm, and began to hover-swim upwards in mounting circles. Realising that, now that his incantation had failed, he would likely be at the mercy of any adversary who managed to reach him, Ulor, now ever so slightly more concerned, cast his thoughts into the familiar's mind as a grasping hand seeking something onto which to hold in a storm, and found its clammy, somewhat hesitating tentacle. In the blink of seven inward eyes, he conjured before the two of them the image of a plan of action. It was crude, roughly outlined and, in all honesty, quite improbable, but it was the best he could think of, and the octopus convened it did not just then have any better ideas.

The airborne cephalopod stopped its ascent, and, drifting aloft, brought itself a mere two or three steps forward from Ulor's position. There, in an extraordinary display of acrobatics, it turned its head to the sky, and its beak and gills, exposed between the radially splayed tentacles, pointing towards the ground. However, it was not the beak or the gills that warranted such a position. No, it was something less conspicuous; a defensive mechanism which would now be made to serve a double purpose, shielding octopus and master alike from harm with an inky blackness should a foe draw near. Or, at least, this was the plan, which, to Ulor's credit, was one of the least deranged he had devised in his adventuring life.

Not that this was saying much.

Mechanics

As a bonus action, Ulor casts a Hex on the goliath, imposing disadvantage on his Strength checks while the spell persists (1 Level 2 spell slot spent, 1 remaining). He then follows through with an Eldritch Blast, which cleanly misses its bulky target.

Eldritch Blast attack roll: 6

Ulor then telepathically convinces the Octopus to ready itself to intervene should an enemy approach into melee range, squirting ink onto the attacker's head from above.