The Harbinger of Ferocity

D&D 5e -- The Lost Children

I am not so sure the bandits are rational at this point, I suspect they are a bit more concerned for other reasons. That said, I am sure we will find out the moment combat is over, at least in the sense that we have quite a bit of direction building though we need first get to that point.

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A new biome you say? I would much prefer a previous one, that which was part of the "mammoth steppe", which had thrived for well over some one-hundred thousand years and ended only relatively recently some ten-thousand years ago. It should be obvious why I welcome a reintroduction of this period, essentially reverting back to the Pleistocene epoch and its pronounced glaciation. More or less the objective would be a "reset" of sorts, predominantly to reintroduce the megafauna of the past and have somewhere to preserve them in an appropriate habitat. Not that the change of the environment was a mistake, the Earth has had countless cold and warm periods, with many, many more subsections within them, but primarily to return to how things were prior to man's ascension.

That said, what is your preferred drink? Tea? Coffee? Soft or hard liquor? Other?

Tales of a Roadtraveller

Greetings @Iskander, welcome to the Roleplayer Guild. Based upon your interests you should find no shortage of content to invest yourself into, though I would note that it would do well to note your availability level to other players whose topics you speak up in, if only so they know. Short of that minor piece of advice, I have a fair feeling you will do just fine here. If you do have any questions, ask away with them and do be aware there is a large community, beyond even the staff, who are willing to answer them.

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

North of Best 8 Motel

Regularly, even at this hour, it would not be unreasonable for Song to see, rather hear the college, still alive with some activity. They were youthful, reckless, wild, but the rain had extinguished any flames they had and called it an early night on their activities. This made travelling its block easier, the outsider not wanting to develop a reputation. Why even bother going down a route that gave an increased odds of detection, a pattern? Simple really, it was the most direct route to the coffee shops of the area.

What proved more amusing? That tonight of all nights, had he gone the route around and away from the college, one of several he varied on and chose, he would have stumbled into the brawl of man, machine, and women. It had become a free for all and as if some greater divine, if not absolutely cosmic comedy was at hand, those responsible for it all were the same two he had met. What punctuated it most was a great clap of thunder and lightning that came, seemingly erratically from the storm and struck several blocks over. The wanderer ceased his advance for a moment, water slicking off of his coat, shooting a speculative glance down the road. That was odd, the storm reached out not to the highest or most prominent point, any number of metal fixtures or even lightning rods that lined the rooftops.

The "Golden Tiger" was no master of the storm, let alone all that knowing of it, but whatever had just transpired was strange. So strange it seemed either a once in a lifetime incident to behold or far more unusual matters were afoot. What had brought things out as they had on this night? Song could only wonder, be he listened and waited, stepping back under the overhang of a shop's front...

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

You have always been a wonderful planner alongside @Ryonara, @Gordian Nought, do you have any wisdom for this ruse in particular? Any say on the dilemma surrounding the prisoners? I know we again have our bow-wielding cleric, so it is up to you three more than most to decide just what you wish to do in the greater scheme. I certainly have no real say for obvious reasons at the moment.

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

Best 8 Motel

Stepping in from the downpour outside that had gripped the city, the soaking man shook out his coat whilst closing the door behind him. The fabric, drenched as it were, at least kept him dry for the most part and had done its task of obscuring him on the streets; Song wished to go where he desired unaccosted and subtlety was a great factor in that. The familiarity of his orderly, neatly kept, albeit humble room pleased him, even as he latched the bolt upon the handle, the deadbolt, and the chain across the door. There was no denying this side of town was dangerous, even the motel had such basic, rudimentary security upon their door, but the man was pleased all the same.

Removing the handgun from under the second sweatshirt, did he examine it for a moment in the faint light. Depressing the magazine release, the small metal rectangle fell into his palm and he laid it to the bed; fourteen out of fifteen for the moment. With a flick of his thumb, cocking the weapon slightly to a side, he racked the slide to the rear and sent the round withing the chamber spinning wild through the air and with all the grace of a magician performing sleight of hand, he caught it without second thought. The metal frame of the pistol, from its grip on, felt so foreign, so dead to him; there was little life or art to this thing. It had its uses, it was a tool, but it was impersonal, indifferent... mechanical.

The magazine was reloaded and Song soon joined the weapon among a black bag from under the bed among others; various handguns, a few modified shotguns, a set of cutdown rifles. The "Golden Tiger" had freed them from the hands of bad men, at least objectively worse men than him at least, and kept them here. At times he thought to begin pawning them off but what suspicion would arise? It was better to just keep them in disuse here, safer at that. There might have not been a use to the martial artist in them regularly, but who would make a better steward? Few, at least here.

Soon, like the rest of his attire, Song attended to everything from the small collection of throwing knives he kept to the money he had plucked; looking over it neither approvingly or with any sense of disappointment. It simply disappeared into his meager safe and the rest, what little he kept on his person, into a pocket. It was not long that he delayed or dallied, reequipping himself in preparation to travel further north and procure his few luxuries; it started with the duffel bag and ended with it, the zipper sliding shut as his hands pat the bulky, metal filled bag down. Returning it to its place, he nodded.

It was time to leave, albeit this time a long coat would join him to slick the rain.

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

North Cyprus

The walk back toward "home" was a quiet one for Song, having found no further opposition for the evening that drew more and more toward the wee hours of the morning. For his troubles tonight he had earned more than enough to pay for a few days of his stay and had another gun to add to his collection; it wasn't that he needed them all, but he was pleased to remove them from criminals, even if he knew well they would soon find another through some unscrupulous means. It was a never ending cycle, crime and corruption feeding into itself, though if this were not true where would he be now? The man had much to atone for, to attempt to right his wrongs in his new understanding of life and the world he lived in, no matter how impossible they seemed. Not every wrong man makes could be corrected, yet for Song, he needed to at least put in the sincere effort - to have good kung fu in all he did.

Now was just to take the weapon and the other rewards back, divvy them up among his storage, and then set off to find himself a purveyor of the tea he so desired. It was rare, an actual import of China and there were few oriental markets that carried it; more often than not he found it in small coffee or tea houses, but such a game was time consuming. It required wandering all of Centerville at times, no small feat during the day when the bustle took root. For all the crime of night one was safer there, at least those familiar with the underworld - the everyman hadn't an answer for the modern day bandits and thugs that dominated the place.

Placing his hands back in the welcoming pockets of his black jacket, Song wound up in North Cyprus, a slightly better side of town not too far from the Best 8 he called come.

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

There is too much organization involved in freeing them all and all it takes is one of them, or one of our group, to be detected and the alarm sounded. The odds of going covertly with what seems to be a really disorganized camp, attempting to steal or use the horses in the process, is safer. While we might want to save them, we fail and die then no one saves them. We can kill bands of them or hunting parties, but the entire army as it comes to stand to? A few too many.

D&D 5e -- The Lost Children

The bandit perceiving her as hiding is amusing, though he now probably realizes why she did what she did with the panther upon him. All the same, if he moves out from being flanked or otherwise somehow provokes an opportunity attack, Shaedra will take her attack against him, @Guardian Angel Haruki.

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You certainly did not disappoint in selling your argument for dogs being your favorite animal, @Mariana Collie. That said, thank you for providing such an in-depth and comprehensive answer to it, as the passion is evident. Thus far this thread has had a good amount of it despite its location, so kudos to you and others who have taken similar time and effort. Though on a related note to your answer, a mirror of it, my eccentric interest centers on the other side of the coin, so to speak. The one that gets me the most attention and judgment?

My feline obsession, which is made up of a lifelong pursuit and emulation. There is no moment of waking, even dreaming life, that I can draw from memory that did not include some sort of feline influence or mythology for myself, as far back as my recall extends. I admit, the love of all things cat, primarily the great cats but the lesser cats are certainly an interest of mine, is at least as old as my "first" memories. Granted there is a great amount of memory I have lost, damaged as it were, but what bits I do know range from my first "character" to roleplay was a big cat and that many formational periods of my life in youth were punctuated by them. These range from the odd, that wherever I went cats would flock to me if they were in the area, to the coincidental as with the first two reports in youth I ever wrote were randomly drawn from a hat and both were on sabertooth cats, done by two separate teachers in two separate classes, to the remarkable where I came across a sterling silver ring with a snarling sabertooth stuck in the crack of a sidewalk, to the amusing where I was "abducted" by a white and orange Bengal tiger who were at a show - not allowing me to leave despite it being closing time - to being able to attract felines to my side at a menagerie, zoo, or compound, among many others.

This eccentric quality has unusual notes, in that I can recite and recall the information on whim easier than a phone number or even my own name; I can explain to one the mechanics and forces applied by the one-hundred-twenty-eight degree gape of Smilodon fatalis' jaws and that it was the leverage of the cat's neck muscles and shoulders that gave it such a deadly bite or that the only way a white tiger is produced is by having some amount of Bengal genetics introduced and that they can create other color morphs as the golden tiger or snow white tiger, but ask of me the names of any home I lived in I cannot tell you the address or the names of the people I knew there. Among a smattering of other things, few really, there is nothing else that has held my attention or interest consistently, let alone acted as a means for self improvement. The great cats have always been my source of inspiration and not just creatively either. They have been reliably the only thing there in interest even in periods of desolation.

So here I am today, surrounded by relics, fossils, furs, skulls, paintings and the like of cats, all part of an ever expanding private collection and increasingly official personal study. At this rate before my time is done I should have enough for a very modest museum. That said, I suppose it is time for the next question, isn't it?

What is your "best worst experience" as it were? What situation was terrible but brought you and or others out for the better in the end?