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2 yrs ago
Current I just force Bork or Shiva to RP when I need a GM.
1 like
2 yrs ago
I think the main thing with any IC is a good pitch, I've joined plenty of RPs because the pitch was good (but rarely do I care about how pretty the thread is).
3 likes
2 yrs ago
Some questions are just curve balls though. Traditionally the answer to "Do you support white supremacy?" is an easy no, unless you're either an idiot or racist or probably both.
10 likes

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Naivara Gray
Wood Elf, Druid (Circle of the Moon), Level 3
HP: 24 / 24 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: The Infamous Pear
Action: N/A
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A

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Following the example of her new comrades in arms, Naivara had returned to lodgings of the previous evening, and retrieved her traveling pack. Beneath her robe was now the familiar, well-worn and well-shaped leather armor that she favored when adventuring. As she sat once more at the table, the young elf withdrew several fold pieces of waxed paper and began to stuff her traveling pack with those morsels she figured would last the longest without further preservation. Wasting food was the last thing she wanted to do. And few things were as wonderful in life as free food.

Even with all her belongings, the druid was traveling lightly. She knew how to live off the land and she had few things by the way of worldly possessions. Nature would provide, and if it did not, well, then she knew how to gently coax it into providing for her. She would save what remained of her coin for cinnamon buns when the quest at hand was completed.

"I would enjoy investigating a farm!" Naivara exclaimed in answer to Kathryn's planning question, clapping her hands together as her eyes seemed to sparkle with fresh excitement. "Goblins...are after all known to prey on farms at the furthest edges of any settlement. I could perhaps make sense of any tracks or other traces that could be found."
Anna Kerensky




"This is some bougie shit," Anna added with a roll of her eyes, childishly kicking a rock that lay in front of her. The drugs were fading and she felt suddenly annoyed. Angry even. Why was she out of her bed? Why was she staring at a murder scene? Why hadn't they bought more donuts? That was the real question. The really important question.

Grabbing a nearby stick, she poked idly at the ink-stained gravel. It was ink she reasoned with an annoyed frown. There wasn't much she could tell from just looking at it. She doubted there was anything more to learn. Other than that it was ink. Gross ink.

"Nothing interesting about this, it's the same gross stuff from before, comrades," she added with a bored shrug as she looked or perhaps glared at Eleanor.

"Looks like the trail leads towards the waterfront, maybe our killer wanted to buy some cool books after their little painting session? I wonder if we are dealing with some jilted artist type? Maybe the magical killer got a bad review and decided to take it out on the dead dude?"

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Naivara Gray
Wood Elf, Druid (Circle of the Moon), Level 3
HP: 24 / 24 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: The Infamous Pear
Action: N/A
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A

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"Although I lack any traditional training directed towards the vocation of animal husbandry, I have some talent when it comes to speaking with animals," Naivara cheerfully added in between another bite of particular piece of bread that she had drowned in honey. It was her firm belief that the more honey employed the better when it came to most foods.

"In a manner of speaking," the young druid added with a thoughtful frown. Gesturing broadly with a fork that she held for an uncertain reason, she continued, "Animals have their own particular ways of communicating...it is not quite the same as speaking. Unless we are speaking of certain birds. Birds that are overly fond of speaking, that is. However, I do not think we are? Unless that is perhaps relevant to our current...goblin problem?"

Naivara could not help but smile broadly at her last statement. She was doing it. She was being sneaky. She was being guileful as Brown Fur would have said. Maybe this subterfuge thing was easier than Hugh had made it out to be? Preparing another piece of bread with a thick layer of jam rather than honey, Naivara turned towards the guardswoman, awaiting her answers to Kathryn's deeply thoughtful questions. As she eagerly waited, Naivara tried her best not to giggle with glee as she considered her own marked improvements in the realm of intrigue.
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Naivara Gray
Wood Elf, Druid (Circle of the Moon), Level 3
HP: 24 / 24 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: The Infamous Pear
Action: N/A
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A

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"A fine morning to you all, esteemed colleagues," Naivara said cheerfully as she joined the others at the table. Her moonlight jaunt had been restorative. She felt recentered. She felt ready to deal with the complexities of conversation once again. The acres of woodlands scattered across Avonshire was hardly the untouched forest she had longed for, but Naivara had relished her time among what remained of the wilderness. She liked people. She really did. She enjoyed conversations, confusing as they could be. People were fascinating in their own multitude of diverse ways. However, people and talking in high amounts tired the druid. She needed the forest. And she needed the quiet of the wilderness to find balance once more.

The plants had spoken of a coming frost. The insects had vanished, no doubt, burrowing into tree stumps and the earth to shelter from the approaching cold. The animals she had encountered during her walk across the darkened landscape were much as she had expected. Skittish but not overly so. Winter might come early to Avonshire it seemed, but Naivara could not detect anything unnatural about the changing season. The exact pace of the seasons was unpredictable and remained a mystery even to the most studied of druids. There were hints and whispers, of course, signs to perceive, and follow, but always, always there was a bit of mystery.

Naivara had returned to the Infamous Pear at a late hour, only some time before dawn. She hoped her footsteps had been silent enough not to awaken her new companions. Her rest, her nightly trance, had been strange and full of unfamiliar dreams. Her dreams had brought her back to the strange matter of the letters. She had recalled the ballad of the storied Elven knight-errant Ser Peren Meliamne, Oakenheel in the common tongue. It was a singularly unhappy tale, a great tragedy, concerning the legendary servant of the god Silvanus, the Oak Father. However, Naivara preferred to think of it as a story of great dedication, rather than one of tragedy. An oak leaf had seemed to dance before her and there might have been a unicorn or two in the distance. Unicorns were the favored creatures of the goddess Mielikki, goddess of forests and Daughter of Silvanus, she recalled upon awakening. Naivara had no gift for prophecy. She did not subscribe to beliefs regarding the value of visions.

She was no cleric steeped in rituals and holy passages. Perhaps it was a warning, a message from what lay beneath her conscious mind. Perhaps it was a suggestion. Any deeper meaning eluded her but did little to trouble her. She had learned from the forest and the wild creatures that inhabited the Great Eastern Forest. Wisdom was to rely on her own instincts. She had no tongue for prayer and did not overly concern herself with thoughts about any gods. Any messages, whatever they might be, would reveal themselves in due time she reasoned, and she turned her thoughts instead to the impressive selection of breakfast foods arrayed in front of her.

"Our host is most free with his generosity, is he not? What a kind fellow," Naivara added, as she sampled liberally from the assorted food. Her plate was soon full of food. A mountain of bread covered with honey and jam, a hill of scrambled eggs, a desert of cheese, and a sandy beach of baked apples. Unconvinced by the sausage at such early an hour, Naivara chose to leave it untouched.
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Naivara Gray
Wood Elf, Druid (Circle of the Moon), Level 3
HP: 24 / 24 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: The Infamous Pear
Action: N/A
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A

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Fervently overwhelmed by the bandied words and excess socialization, Naivara chose the most druidic option and simply observed as barbs were traded and tempers flared, if momentarily. Nursing a third flagon of ale that she had somehow acquired with an accidental wave of a hand, Naivara watched the musical performance that Victoria put as if spellbound. Despite her rustic surroundings, Naivara loved all things cultural and artistic. It was her great sorrow that bears and badgers had not yet embraced the finer aspects of musical theater. One day perhaps, one day. She listened with eyes closed, head bobbing slowly as she followed the sweet, sometimes haunting strings the bard so eloquently and expertly pulled. She felt a swelling in her heart, a warmth, a revelation, the sort of wonderful merriment that was so rare to find when she was enshrouded in the bustle of civilization.

While it was impossible for her to miss some performance anxiety on the part of the resident tiefling, Kosara, Naivara still found her dancing wonderful. The young druid practically jumped with glee as the performance unfolded and she struggled once more to not clap earlier than was appropriate. Downing what remained of her ale as a number of her new colleagues left with polite words of partings, Naivara offered a nod and kind smile towards Hugh before rising and approaching the stage.

She approached Kosara and Victoria with a broad smile on her face, cheerfully holding out two cupped hands. Opening her palms, she spoked sweetly as she handed each of them a gold coin, A gift! A gift for a wonderful performance! Truly you both possess gifts worthy of the reputation of the many storied and occasionally infamous bards of the ancient tales."

Money meant little to her. She had begun the evening with five gold coins and was now reduced to three, but Naivara felt no poorer. She would have offered Kosara and Victoria something from the forest had she known to forage beforehand. Alas, base currency would have to do. She hoped deeply that she did not offend with her simple reward.

"I require some fresh air," Naivara said with a slow wave of her hand, smiling meekly and with a slight flush on her cheeks. "But do not trouble yourselves, I will sleep in whatever space remains unclaimed when I return. I am not a picky sleeper. A bed is as good as the forest floor."

And so, the druid strode out into the night, drunk more on music and dance, than on any beverage.
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Naivara Gray
Wood Elf, Druid (Circle of the Moon), Level 3
HP: 24 / 24 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: The Infamous Pear
Action: N/A
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A

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Naivara watched the unfolding conflict with some concern. She had little to hide. She had nothing to hide. Unless overly long, potentially revolutionary summations about the nature, the true nature, of acorns were a dark secret. The young druid could not say that she was familiar with Zones of Truth, but she knew well enough that among some peoples and cultures it would be considered impolite to cast such spells without warning. Searching her own thoughts, Naivara could not find that she felt any great offense though. To be sure, it was better to ask before casting, but Marita seemed to possess a good heart, she seemed kind to Naivara. The cleric seemed eager to do something, anything, as soon as possible even, and often that was more than enough.

In all things, Naivara preferred to be direct and honest. She made no effort to hide her concern at the barbed words that were thrown about and the far more subtle comments, the true meaning of which she only faintly perceived, but in the end, to her great happiness, it seemed that posturing aside, there would be no great violence.

The matter of the additional letters was surprising, worrisome, and confusing in equal parts. Deferring to Hugh's clearly learned perspective, Naivara was left only more uncertain of what exactly was going on. It seemed deeply unlikely, even to one as unschooled in the ways of subterfuge as the elf that anyone would have sent out additional letters with good intentions...and yet it was as unclear why as this was unlikely what exactly a dastardly villain or villains would hope to accomplish by assembling an even greater number of adventurers.

Listening to the rapid-fire commentary and answers of Kosara, Naivara was glad that it appeared that a great number of her new companions were swift of thought and words. She had no such gifts when it came to talking and left on her own, Naivara feared that she might never manage half as much of a conversation. Uncertain of what to say about the many things the others said, Naivara simply nodded, and did her best to appear busy. When she spoke, she gestured towards the pile of letters that Hugh had collected, "I was given the letter by an old friend. A retired ranger of many years, Ral Redon. He said it was important, he said that people of Avonshire needed help. It did not seem important at the time to ask how he had acquired this letter. After all, Ral Redon is an honorable man, I have and would trust him with my life."

Stopping for a moment to sip at her fresh tankard of ale, a thoughtful frown danced across Naivara's brow as she pondered how to continue. Conversations were harder than she remembered. Hints of formal Elvish colored her words when she spoke again and it was clear to all that the druid was unhappy with the fresh uncertainty of their situation, "As I said earlier, receiving the letter was something of a surprise to me. I make no judgment of surprises, but it is rare for me to receive letters. I can write, but speaking plainly, I do not write overly much, and I spend little time corresponding with wise wizards or storied regional rulers. Furthermore, I keep no permanent home, I maintain no post box, and there was little reason for the Sheriff or anyone else to have expected me to encounter Ral Redon during this particular season. A number of people, mostly my friends, know that I would always help those in need, but I cannot say that my reputation extends far beyond the edges of the forest. Certainly, I had never met Gregory Arbalest before, and it has been some time since I last passed through these lands."


The Sanguine Symphony 1.4







The mop slapped onto the ground with a pathetic splat. Whistler grumbled, giving Eric the stink eye, as she began the arduous task of scrounging vampire goo off her basement walls and ceiling. The dhampir was still processing what Dale had just said before his untimely demise. He’d expected a standard feeding, cut and dry. Not something like a clan-wide conspiracy. Eric wished for simpler times, where he didn’t have to do night-long patrols without sleep and with Jamal at his side. Being in operation for more than 48 hours was hell on the human body. What normally would be a crash out combined with the worst case of the shits for humans was giving Eric a minor case of migraines. He leaned over and closed his mouth to stifle a yawn.

Whistler chose to smugly comment.

"Thought all you blood-suckers were insomniacs."

"Must be the half-human in me." Blade bit back. "Surprised you haven’t keeled over yet in your old age, Whistler."

"So, what’s next?" Whistler’s voice returned back to steel. All business. No games. Especially whatever just had occurred.

"Right." Eric scratched his chin and walked over to the chair where Dale’s steaming skeleton was still laid. It would take an awful lot of magical know-how to blow somebody up from a mile away. The fact that they were still standing here and not Dale indicated to Eric that it was a blood ritual most likely. Vampires didn’t really practice magic, being the stickler for tradition that they were, but the few arts they did practice mostly were of the ritualistic variety. And nothing was more powerful than a blood ritual which vampires had the reagents to do in spades.

"He mentioned Anchorite." Eric murmured, rubbing strands of muscle in between his fingers. "Whistle, Anchorites are still holed up at the Quarter, right?"

"Please don’t tell me you’re going to go to each head of every vampire clan and try to use this as an excuse to murder them all." Whistler groaned, leaning on the mop handle and looking at Eric exasperatedly.

"It’s called interrogation." Eric replied sheepishly while crossing his arms. "I’ll only do a little bit of staking……"

"We haven’t even asked whether or not our guest is alright with all this. Especially after the blood sucker you dragged in gave my basement a redecoration." Whistler then looked back at Ragwoman with a look that hid worry and searched for intent. "Are you sure you’re still in the game, dear? You still have the chance to get out of this business. It’s a thing to become involved with vampires but becoming involved with the clans is another thing, especially if you get…."

Whistler paused, wiping the side of her neck, whilst Eric finished her response bluntly.

"Don’t worry, Whistle. If she starts getting a taste for the red, I’ll put her in the ground. No offense."

"None taken," Ragwoman replied, her head bobbing beneath the paper bag that she wore over her head. "I don’t plan to become evil incarnate any time soon. There’s still too much grime to wash off the streets of the Big Easy for that to be an option. My suit doesn't take kindly to draining civilians of their blood."

"The rags don’t shy away from fighting evil and neither do I," she added with a nod towards the suit of souls which hung ignominiously, still drying, on a hanger in a corner of the room.

Whistler snorted at the vigilante’s reply, looking at Ragwoman wistfully.

"You remind me of when I was younger."

"And less arthritic," Eric piped up before ducking underneath a stake that Whistler had thrown from her person. It lodged an inch deep into the concrete, the end still reverberating from the impact.

"Well….." Eric coughed awkwardly, trying to avoid Whistler’s murderous glare as he regarded Ragwoman. "We oughta get equipped. My stash’s on the other side of the Bayou and I don’t want to go on another walk again. Is the armory still here, Whistle?"

"Sure thing." Whistler walked towards a cupboard and raised herself, tip-toeing to grab something that twinkled in the dimly lit basement. She grabbed it and lifted it towards Eric, a set of ten brass corroded keys that bore the insignia ‘J.A’. His heart skipped a beat momentarily when he saw those damned letters, swallowing the momentary doubt before accepting it.

"It’s one of these keys. Haven’t been down there in six months. Only go down there once a year to clean it out." Whistler pressed the ring of keys and side-eyed Ragwoman. "I hope you know what you’re doing. Getting her into all this mess."

"Doubt it’ll be more of a mess if she’s involved." Eric then turned around and began to walk up the stairs. "C’mon, follow me, Rags. We need to get you some bloodsucker insurance if you don’t want to be dead by twilight."

"There are worse things than being dead, you know," Ragwoman said, trying her best not to roll her eyes as she followed the vampire hunter.
Best wishes, hope he has a speedy recovery!




I'm working on a collab with @Bork Lazer and I think we'll have that up pretty soon.
Almost done with my CS. :D

One mysterious mushroom bounty hunter otw.
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Naivara Gray
Wood Elf, Druid (Circle of the Moon), Level 3
HP: 24 / 24 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: The Infamous Pear
Action: N/A
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A

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"Good fortune, indeed," Naivara replied to the bard, summoning what she hoped would come across as a cheerful smile. The friendliness of the bard pleased her. She hoped there would be more pleasant conversations and perhaps even music. "Assuredly the Moon smiles on this endeavor, otherwise the unmarked paths would not have lead me here with such haste."

The words of the Sheriff had startled Naivara. His words were ominous. His features weighted with worry. He seemed an honest man. He seemed too serious of a man to be spouting idle nightmares born from fever or a bottle. Naivara felt uncertainty ripple over her as unwelcome waves on a mirrored pond. She was unused to the ways of civilized folk. Subterfuge usually had little place in the wilderness. The questions of her new companions had been wise. They had been clever. Her mind strayed to her early lessons. To stories Brown Fur had told her, had whispered over campfires in the cold nights. Warnings. Old stories. Stories passed from one druid to another about unnatural shapeshifters that stalked the forests and sought out victims from among the unwary. Dopplegangers, she recalled. She had been warned about such devious creatures, but she could not recall any stories of groups or any great number of dopplegangers operating together in unison. Certainly not in a township. All the same, there was much she did not know, Naivara reasoned. Her experience was limited. And she had precious little experience with such shapeshifting monstrosities. Unconvinced, but tinged with caution, she chose to keep her thoughts to herself.

Gold coins, shiny as they were, held little interest to the young druid. She was no corvid lusting for a shiny trinket and she was no greedy mercenary trying to strike it rich off the misfortune of others. She knew how to live off the land. She did not need much. However, with twenty gold coins she could do much good and perhaps even buy some cinnamon buns. She would not refuse the payment the good Sheriff offered. Gold, distastefully used and coveted as it often was, perhaps inevitably was, could still be used for worthy endeavors. She had old friends to help. She had strangers to aid. There was always much work to be done.

Turning her thoughtful gaze towards the Sheriff, Naivara spoke plainly, "I do not seek any great rewards. However, if you should have any items in your possession that belong to the forest, then I shall be grateful to take possession of any such items. I would see them returned to the wilderness, where they belong."
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