Deathworld is a response to the many seemingly fine persons who enter a PbP and then ghost the group.
In Deathworld, PCs whose players can’t keep up die. When that happens, the first person on the waitlist, “previously present but unnoticed,” will take their place. The surviving PCs will suspend disbelief and accept this mechanism without question. Play continues without pause.
This will be a light-hearted, RP-heavy game in which little or no respect is paid to the recently deceased. Because let’s face it...
...this is Deathworld, where an untimely death is your own fault. :)
COMMITMENT
Posting will be every day or two
If you lag a full day behind the other players, I will bot you.
If I have to bot you three times in a row, your character will die a vivid and horrible death. That’s Deathworld for you.
YOUR POSTS
Your posts should follow the three-sentence format. Sentence 1, acknowledge what just happened. Sentence 2, RP. Sentence 3, post your action.
Your post may be longer than three sentences, and indeed, your creativity and interesting writing are what make PbP enjoyable.
One-sentence posts should be reserved for asking clarifying questions or when specifically requested by me (EXAMPLE: “Please make a STR save at advantage.”).
If you post a one-sentence post three times in a row, your character will die a vivid and horrible death. That’s Deathworld for you.
Courtesy is expected. I will not elaborate. But guess what happens to your character if you are discourteous? Yes. A vivid and horrible death awaits.
CAVEAT
PM'ing the DM when you’re going to miss a couple of days which will excuse you from AVAHD.
It is early in the month of Eleint, The Fading, the ninth month of the Calendar of Haptos, here on the Sword Coast, in northwest Faerûn. The weather is fair until it isn’t. Warm, even hot, until a chill wind blows down from the Spine of the World and thunderheads build and burst overhead. Indeed, this very phenomenon occurred on the very day you set out.
And now, you have suffered through two days of travel from the great port city of Neverwinter, along the gravel-paved High Road, escorting the oxen-pulled wagon of stacked provisions you agreed to chaperone to the unfamiliar town of Phandalin. This you consented to do after having been offered the job by a dwarf named Gundren Rockseeker, for 10GP wage apiece, to be collected from one of Gundren’s confederates at Barthen’s Provisions, in Phandalin. Times are tough in Neverwinter, and that 10GP means a lot to you.
But that’s not the whole story by any means, behind the reason for your current journey. Because Gundren…Gundren is one of the good guys. He did you a solid favor, recently. Then, he treated you to an ale and stories both entertaining and classy. He’s a businessman, invests in explorations, somehow turns a profit and is generous. So, yes the 10GP is important, but so is he. It’s hard not to think of him as a friend, even though – you’ve seen him in action – he gets on well with dozens of persons of all types, maybe even scores of them – all of whom seem to think the world of him, so your relationship with Gundren may not be, for lack of a better term, balanced. To be blunt, you may not matter as much to him as he matters to you, actually. But it’s hard to hold this against him. “Some people are just more likable than others,” and similar justifications might come to mind.
When he hired you for this task, Gundren was clearly excited and more than a little secretive about his reasons for the trip, saying only that he and his brothers had found “something big.” He then set out ahead of you on horse, with his guard, Sildar Hallwinter, claiming he needed to arrive to Phandalin early to “take care of business.”
(OOC: Please take a moment to describe your character’s appearance on the rainy morning they set off from Neverwinter, and tell us their motive for being in Neverwinter, and for agreeing to undertake the journey. You will have limitless opportunities to converse once we get rolling, but not yet, beyond a brief hello.)
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DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters
Sir Kiselina of family Greyscale strides along the wagon, using his halberd (more like a walking staff) to steady himself through the slips and stumbles of the muddy road. His heavy, double buttoned, fur lined long coat does well to keep him warm, but the rain still rolls off his bare scaly head. While many other knights of Bahamut might think escort duty beneath their station, Kiselina welcomed such an opportunity when presented such by his father. “Gundren has offered this position, and we owe him much for the support he has provided to the family…and the temple. Serve him well.” Kiselina’s father had said. Those words etched into his memory. “Cheerful service to those in need builds a proper regard for position” the Dragonborn repeats his temple tenant as he trudged along through the muck and deluge. Repaying this small favor wouldn’t even the debt to the Rockseeker brothers, but it does afford Kiselina the opportunity to set off away from Neverwinter, the temple there, and establish his own name…and honor for family Greyscale.
Berry had just arrived a bit over a week ago in Neverwinter and already got himself in trouble. Who would have thought that they take little pranks so serious in the material plane. What do they do to have fun here? Probably just sitting hidden behind their windows and looking out for anyone not following their rules. They must be snickering in their closets when they call the guards on anyone they see that does a little bit of harmless mischief. Surely, just calling you out would lessen their fun!
Berry hadn’t even wanted to steal anything. He just wanted to mix up a few goods on two carts next to each other, you know. He only wanted to observe the surprised faces of the owners when they find that today is the day that they can finally break their boring routine and sell something different at the market! Surely they would have had appreciated that afterwards. After Berry’s prank would have played out.
But of course it hadn’t, because someone called the guards and they caught him red-handed in the middle of his 'heist'. As if he would have had any use for the ten stacks of linen cloth that he was really just about to load onto the leatherworker’s cart. But who would believe a barely clad and skinny fairy with dragonfly wings that shine with a mesmerizing iridescence in bright sunlight? You would, wouldn’t you? Well, what does it matter? Because the guards didn’t.
But someone else did, someone who mattered. A dwarf that goes by Gundren Rockseeker passed by just when they were about to apprehend Berry for something he didn’t do, didn’t plan to do, really never even thought of doing. Gundren, well respected by the guards and quite possibly by everyone in the city of Neverwinter as far as Berry can tell, saw something in him. He had walked up to the guards and simply told them that he would take him in his care after they’d explained Berry’s crime to him. When they’ve told him Berry’s explanation of it, Gundren had just chuckled. So perhaps, humor does exist on the material plane after all, Berry mused as he recovered his good spirits and went with his saviour.
It was shortly after that Gundren hired Berry for this important job on which he is now. It’s even paid in gold, so that afterwards he could buy something of real value, like, perhaps, a flute worked from a hardwood tree branch that had been split from the mother tree by a lighting bolt and then found by chance by a talented woodcarver on vacation in a distant land.
Gundren specifically asked him to not play pranks on the other members of the caravan... so much for his understanding of humor, lamented Berry when he learned. Gundren must have warned everyone or so Berry thinks from the looks that he feels he is getting. Still, Berry was happy that an opportunity had opened up for him to see more of this world.
While they passed the city gates Berry perched on his pack on top of the highest part of the wagon and despite the brisk air and cold rain he barely wore anything other than short pants on which a sturdy leather belt holds a scimitar and shortsword in place. His gaze is directed forward, outwards towards the horizon. He wonders what the place will look like where they are going. Which colors will have the soil there? How will the air feel on his skin in these new lands? What tastes the water and food will bring to his tongue? And, most of all, the new amusements that he can discover there!
Hot, wet, and uncomfortable, Nosam pondered his decisions over the years. Family relations with his father, Mirah, were all but severed; yet he couldn't help but think back to what could have been had he not been so selfish. Life was made in the shade for the younger dwarf and living off of Mirah and the Lightfound name would sure beat this conundrum. The slow and steady plodding along with this bunch brought his jumbled thoughts to the forefront.
Not too long ago Nosam signed up for this journey…on purpose. The tavern, drinks, Gundren Rockseeker, it all made more sense than staying put. The pivotal scene replayed in his head again like a scene from a movie. (After another deep swig he couldn't help but to succumb to the intrusive thoughts. Drinks like these started the current downhill trajectory and it had been about six months since he had partaken. Unfortunately, the drink did little to numb the pain. “Hit me again!”)
In the here and now he was still hot and still wet. Frustrated was an understatement, some may call it entitled or even spoiled. 10g, enduring all this for 10g. Father paid, even handed out, more than this. Thoughts continued swirling around in his fuzzy daydream, “finding a quick hustle doesn't sound half bad, well I'm already here, I need a drink, how bad can it be, Gundren put together quite the motley crew, you're going to die when they find out what you did, what's his catch, it was an accident, I'm sorry, is this really all life is now?”
Vidruth was tired of the taverns here, when people saw his large tusks and hastily adjusted clothes they either looked down on him, saw him as a threat, or saw him as a target.
when Gundren Rockseeker, a man vidruth trusts to a level he finds untrustworthy asked him to help, well he jumped at the chance, with his blood nagging at him to fight, and his mind tired of the city, even his empty pockets told him to set out so he did.
Gundren didnt warn him about the company, if he had he probably would have refused but gundren had already left and so he had to make the best of it.
at least the dwarf didnt seem interested in picking fights. and the fae seemed right interesting.
vidruth decided to start it properly with introductions.
"sun on you and your family and blizzards on your foes, my friends" he greeted "my name is vidruth and i will be providing utility, and" he sighed "ranged support. my skills have gotten rusty over the past four years im afraid" "and who are you all"
vidruth is a hunched man, standing only 5'10 normally but much taller when he straightens up. black hair, brown eyes, and skin nearly as white as snow look odd on someone who could otherwise pass for a full blooded orc, with tusks unusually long, but not shockingly so. leaning on an intricately carved staff his eyes seem to pierce straight into you when he gives you his full attention. he is clad in what was once warm winter furs but has been cut to shreds, then shoddily patched together but with much of the material removed to adjust for a warm climate
This Mug immediately shared with me a transcendental tale of an Infinite Mug that anchors the Universe and keeps it from folding in on itself. I filed this report under "illogical nonsense" and asked why its sign is in Times New Roman font, when it is basic knowledge that Arial Black is a far superior font. I wondered: How did this mug even get past the assembly line with its theistic beliefs and poor font choices?
quote from Romantically Apocalyptic byVitaly S Alexius
Gundren Rockseeker called, so Marten came. But why did it have to be in Neverwinter? Marten didn't arrive in Neverwinter until the day before his appointed meeting, and one day was longer than he liked to stay in the city. There were just so many people, and so much noise. He didn't know how people could live here.
But Gundren had helped Marten with another merchant who was trying to deny him payment after a job. Marten knew that he was being cheated, but he doesn't really know how to confront someone face-to-face. Gundren took care of it. Since then, Marten had escorted a few of Gundren's shipments. Marten liked that Gundren was reliable and always paid as promised. Gundren liked that Marten was skilled and quiet and never drove a hard bargain for his skills.
Marten spoke little while Gundren regaled him with his stories and his business plans. That was typical for the dwarf. Gundren was happy to talk, and Marten was happy that the dwarf didn't require him to say much in return other than the occasional,"You don't say?", or, "How shrewd!" Especially since Gundren was buying. Once the dwarf talked himself out, he always got to the point eventually. As Marten expected, Gundren had a job for him. Marten was happy for a job that paid in gold. He wanted to pass on his father's old bow to his nephew and purchase a crossbow for himself. 10 GP wouldn't be enough to do that, not after his own expenses, but it would get him closer. Marten could tell that there was something that Gundren wasn't saying, but he agreed to the job without any questions.
When Marten met at the wagon to leave Neverwinter, he was surprised at the group that Gundren had gathered. Not just a couple of the usual men with clubs and shortswords. The dragonborn was dressed like some sort of knight, and there was a dwarven fighter, too. Even more unusual were the winged fairy, rabbit-person, and what looked like a half-orc. Marten introduced himself briefly, barely making eye contact. He said little, mostly answering questions with a "Yep" or a "Nope" or perhaps "Thank'ee." As the group talks, he looks away, his gaze always roving. But you get the sense that he's listening.
When Marten first came up to the wagon, you didn't even realize at first that he was one of the guards. He is short for a human and not very imposing. His cloak is plain and drab with a couple crude patches. At first, he looked like a vagabond who was going to beg for some food. Under his wide-brimmed hat, you see an unkempt beard and a face that looks tanned and weathered. His brown hair hangs loosely to his shoulders. The rest of his clothes also look poor and worn: a simple tunic over leather armor, an old belt, and old breeches. His boots are soft-soled and look newer than most of his clothes, and his rapier and daggers look well cared-for, as does his bow and arrows.
The weather and rain don't seem to bother Marten much. He often scouts up ahead of the wagon or off to the sides of the road. Over the next couple of days, Marten doesn't say that much more. He's not unfriendly and stays near the group while the others talk, but his participation in the conversation mostly involves short replies. He seems competent and quietly helps set and break camp and care for the oxen. You gather that he grew up in a small village and used to herd sheep and goats as a child, but it seems like he has done a variety of "jobs" in the years since then. When it's dry, he sits and works a piece of wood with a whittling knife.
Daphyra trudges on, staring alternately at the hem of her white robe getting muddier, or the horse's bottom five paces in front of her. When she'd agreed to help the dwarf accompany a wagon to Phandalin, she hadn't thought she'd be walking the whole way. Sitting on an uncomfortable wagon, possibly, but walking? Surely a priestess of Bastet deserved better than that. She thought back to three days ago when she'd agreed to help.
Help. It always came down to that. Daphyra liked to be needed, loved to be indispensable, so when the dwarf had come to the Temple of Bastet in Neverwinter, asking for a healer to journey with the wagon to Phandalin, she was delighted. Her superiors had been planning for Daph to spend some time at the temple in Phandalin to teach the clerics there some of her medical skills and gain some knowledge in return, so it was the perfect timing. The offer of ten gold for the Temple's coffers in return for her services on the trip sealed the deal and she was off to Phandalin a tenday earlier than originally planned.
She'd imagined she would be a respected, maybe even revered member of the party, given a comfortable seat and shaded from the sun. She'd pictured herself bandaging a guard's arm, her soft furry paws soothing a fevered brow, her large liquid eyes cast to the heavens to beg the goddess for mercy, the guard thanking her and saying, "I wouldn't have survived without your help, Daphyra. Praise the Goddess Bastet!"
She preens a little, smoothing down her whiskers at the memory of this image. Her long velvety ears perk up at the vision, before wilting a little at the incessant rain as she comes back to herself. So far the most her skills have been needed for are blisters from walking, many of them on her own large feet.
Daphyra forces herself to stand straighter, pulling her head up more proudly, before calling to her companions. "What we need to while away the journey is a good hymn. Who's with me?"
"blood of his enemies is always a good one" vidruth laughs, taking a drink from his waterskin "not that anyone else here'd know it. If you've got a non-religious song you'd like im game to try and learn it, but I doubt that between the lot of us we could agree on a hymn none of us hate"
as he does every hour, he carries his pack for ten minutes while resummoning the thin floating stone disk he uses to carry it the rest of the time.
This Mug immediately shared with me a transcendental tale of an Infinite Mug that anchors the Universe and keeps it from folding in on itself. I filed this report under "illogical nonsense" and asked why its sign is in Times New Roman font, when it is basic knowledge that Arial Black is a far superior font. I wondered: How did this mug even get past the assembly line with its theistic beliefs and poor font choices?
quote from Romantically Apocalyptic byVitaly S Alexius
With a wing-powered jump Berry lands in front of the oxen and starts to sing loudly with light hearted steps, “We all go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah!” and begins to play his flute to the tune. While playing he looks around to see who’s joining in. He continues walking and playing with a spring in his step, “We all go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah!” Then he follows up with his flute playing the melody and jumping around those in the party who still haven’t joined in for encouragement. “We all go marching one by one, The little one stops to suck his thumb,” which he does with a popping sound and a smirk on his face. “And we all go marching down on the ground, To get out of the rain.”
Nosam tried his best to not let his thoughts show so clearly across his face, but to no avail. He wasn't disgusted with all the merriment, rather it was hard for him to let his guard down to participate, especially with these new strangers. He remained on guard, closed off, and only gave a reserved nod here and there.
Deep down he was envious of the carefree resolve, the fun, the frivolity; it had been so long. Even when the drink and smoke dulled the pain, it never truly left. He hoped this current escapade would provide some relief from his self-made mental torture, but all too often they proved to be far too short to provide any real respite.
Chuckling a bit, he thought to himself, "I'll be damned, he's got me humming along to the flute."
Two days of southward travel have come and gone, as have 30-odd miles, and now we leave the past, and Neverwinter, behind, and join our heroes in the present, on The High Road.
The sun is high, if one can use such a measure on a gray and cloudy day whose mirthless skies have whipped you with spattering rain since your journey began. Let’s put it this way. You broke camp early this morning, and you walked for four or five hours. If you could see the sun, it would be high.
Yes, it is cold and wet, uncomfortable travel weather, and as a result, no one has been talking very much on this journey, which has made the miles pass slowly. Also, the oxen — the ones pulling the wagon — have stubbornly resisted direction, and worse, seem to plop huge, steaming droppings on the road only when it is your turn on rearguard duty.
They, the oxen, are named Sun and Moon. Obviously whoever saw to their birth was an optimist, giving such heavenly names to such obstinate creatures. All to say, the gig has been kind of a drag so far, and you still don’t know very much about your fellow wagoneers.
However, this morning you turned east onto the Triboar Trail, a flat path with dependable wheel ruts, and, according to your map, good news! You can expect to reach Phandalin (and your payment) by sundown. Moreover, the clouds begin to break, and the sun now bathes you in intermittent warmth. A light mist hovers in the wood bordering the trail, due to the earlier rain evaporating from the moistened earth, and this boosts your spirits – the sunlight part, not the mist part – and the chattier members of the group may feel inclined to converse.
(OOC: Here is a map showing your travel so far and your current location)
(OOC: You have heard each other's names following brief introductions at the outset of your journey. Please introduce yourselves to one another in earnest, and/or engage in/continue conversation between yourselves if your character is so inclined.)
when berry was singing vidruth listened through once then joined in with his voice and using minor illusion to add drums, the drums weren't perfect, but he strove to adapt the wardrums he was familiar with to a lighter tune.
but that was days ago, since then he has been determinedly striding along after the wagon, his disk and pack following him for most of the time, when he rests he draws acircle around his bedroll.
enjoying the sun he walks closer to berry "i've got another song if yer interested" he suggests "dont have much for a flute though, shields and spears taught me the first music i knew, then drums taught me my second, then i learnt a little of the harp from my times in riversmeet"
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This Mug immediately shared with me a transcendental tale of an Infinite Mug that anchors the Universe and keeps it from folding in on itself. I filed this report under "illogical nonsense" and asked why its sign is in Times New Roman font, when it is basic knowledge that Arial Black is a far superior font. I wondered: How did this mug even get past the assembly line with its theistic beliefs and poor font choices?
quote from Romantically Apocalyptic byVitaly S Alexius
Kiselina will walk next to Daphyra during a lull in the talking/singing/banter.
“Lady Daphyra, a proper introduction if you please. I am Kiselina of the Greyscale family. I couldn’t help but notice you wear the trappings of a cleric. Though I’m not sure I’m overly familiar with your religion. I have studied a bit myself”
A slight chuckle escapes, just enough to break any tension.
“Perhaps after we arrive in Phandalin, you’ll indulge me in a lesson or two about what you believe, over a meal. It’s important to me to expand my knowledge of religions and history.”
A little while later, while Berry is riding in the wagon and no longer singing and dancing around, Kiselina will attempt a light conversation.
“You certainly are a lively fellow Master Berry! Please allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Kiselina of the Greyscale family, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If I may be so bold to inquire, do you bring mirth to every occasion, even the most dreary ones or especially the dreary ones? I would be very interested in learning this song, or perhaps another if you please. Perhaps after we arrive in Phandalin over a drink?What say you, first one is on me!”
Daphyra looks at Kiselina wryly, amused by the "what you believe."
"No 'Lady', just 'Mistress ', milord. I follow the teachings of the Goddess Bastet, in the Twilight domain. My usual duties include healing the sick, offering succour to the needy, occasionally spending time in study of sacred texts. And of course, prayer and worship of the holy one. I see you are another follower of the divine. What is your path?"
when berry was singing vidruth listened through once then joined in with his voice and using minor illusion to add drums, the drums weren't perfect, but he strove to adapt the wardrums he was familiar with to a lighter tune.
but that was days ago, since then he has been determinedly striding along after the wagon, his disk and pack following him for most of the time, when he rests he draws acircle around his bedroll.
enjoying the sun he walks closer to berry "i've got another song if yer interested" he suggests "dont have much for a flute though, shields and spears taught me the first music i knew, then drums taught me my second, then i learnt a little of the harp from my times in riversmeet"
Berry perked up when the half-orc drummer spoke to him. It’s been two gruesome days on the road and the rain had washed off most of his initial positivity. He had appreciated the wizard’s efforts and the war drums had added a forceful touch to the march. Vidruth seems to know his music and there’s certainly something that can be learned from him, and anyway any excuse to bring more music to the world is a good one. “Interested and looking forward to it,” replies Berry with a wide smile that come out easier now with the sun. Odd that the sun has that power but he knew it to be true, just as the moon reigns over melancholy. Berry musters the curious being that this half-orc represents.
A little while later, while Berry is riding in the wagon and no longer singing and dancing around, Kiselina will attempt a light conversation.
“You certainly are a lively fellow Master Berry! Please allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Kiselina of the Greyscale family, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If I may be so bold to inquire, do you bring mirth to every occasion, even the most dreary ones or especially the dreary ones? I would be very interested in learning this song, or perhaps another if you please. Perhaps after we arrive in Phandalin over a drink? What say you, first one is on me!”
Berry face up into the sky, was trying to catch with his tongue some of the fewer getting raindrops as Kiselina walked up. They say that rain are the tears of a god or goddess but while the rain always tastes sweet not all deities are sweet aren’t they? He’ll keep sampling rain for sure until he finds a salty or bitter one, but by now he’s quite convinced that only the good gods cry, laugh, or at any rate shed their tears. But this rain is sweet, no need to keep trying it, so he jumps down to walk besides Kiselina during their conversation. With a courtly bow, he thanks her and introduces himself, “Berry, herald of pleasure and mirth, at your service, my lady of Greyscale. Making your acquaintance is most appreciated.” He continues walking next to her, “I couldn’t say, someone said we should sing and I thought it was a splendid idea. I’m unsure what the occasion was, dreary or otherwise. But does a good song really need an occasion?” He asks with a smile. “You’re welcome to learn each and every song at any time you’d like!” He tells her cheerfully.
As the ride trudged on, Nosam couldn't help but overhear all of the chit chat and couldn't recall the last time he enjoyed some simple conversation. These days it all seemed so bleak and heavy. The party was not too large for his liking, and it provided enough space for his precious quiet time, although others may view it as sulking, or even plotting. Constantly being on top of each other is the worst. He hoped to get a read on these folks since it appeared they would be in proximity for at least the foreseeable future.
A couple of the crew were not in the wagon currently, but to the ones that were, he chimed in as bold as he could at the first chance, "hello Berry, Kiselina. My name is Nosam Lightfound and it is a pleasure to meet you both. First, I was treated to a pleasant earworm of a melody on your flute, and hopefully I could join you both for a round of drink later. Of course I am not inviting myself along for a handout, only to continue the company."
However, this morning you turned east onto the Triboar Trail, a flat path with dependable wheel ruts, and, according to your map, good news! You can expect to reach Phandalin (and your payment) by sundown. Moreover, the clouds begin to break, and the sun now bathes you in intermittent warmth. A light mist hovers in the wood bordering the trail, due to the earlier rain evaporating from the moistened earth, and this boosts your spirits – the sunlight part, not the mist part – and the chattier members of the group may feel inclined to converse.
Marten appreciates the drier weather and the warm sun after a couple of cold days. He takes his first opportunity to wring out his cloak and even his hat. He'll be happier when it's been dry long enough for his feet to dry out, too. He remarks to no one in particular, "I reckon we'll have fine weather all the rest of the way to Phandalin."
As the sun heats up, Marten starts to eye the mists among the trees that border the trail with suspicion. A misty copse is pretty, especially in moonlight, but up close, it poses a threat. You could hide a whole squadron in these dense mists. Now that it's dry, Marten strings his shortbow and walks with it in his hand. He wouldn't want to "stumble at the finish line" with this job.
As they walk, Marten asks Nosam, "How do you like that there crossbow? I may want to buy one when I gift this bow," indicating his shortbow, "to my nephew."
However, this morning you turned east onto the Triboar Trail, a flat path with dependable wheel ruts, and, according to your map, good news! You can expect to reach Phandalin (and your payment) by sundown. Moreover, the clouds begin to break, and the sun now bathes you in intermittent warmth. A light mist hovers in the wood bordering the trail, due to the earlier rain evaporating from the moistened earth, and this boosts your spirits – the sunlight part, not the mist part – and the chattier members of the group may feel inclined to converse.
Marten appreciates the drier weather and the warm sun after a couple of cold days. He takes his first opportunity to wring out his cloak and even his hat. He'll be happier when it's been dry long enough for his feet to dry out, too. He remarks to no one in particular, "I reckon we'll have fine weather all the rest of the way to Phandalin."
As the sun heats up, Marten starts to eye the mists among the trees that border the trail with suspicion. A misty copse is pretty, especially in moonlight, but up close, it poses a threat. You could hide a whole squadron in these dense mists. Now that it's dry, Marten strings his shortbow and walks with it in his hand. He wouldn't want to "stumble at the finish line" with this job.
As they walk, Marten asks Nosam, "How do you like that there crossbow? I may want to buy one when I gift this bow," indicating his shortbow, "to my nephew."
Nosam turned towards Marten, "it's not to shabby, gets the job done if you know how to use it. I prefer the up close and personal myself. Something about feeling the crack of a skull, takes me to my happy place." He was energetic with the response, but tried to not come across too nutty. "How old is the nephew, that bow going to be his first?"
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The Saga Begins…
Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver!
Deathworld is a response to the many seemingly fine persons who enter a PbP and then ghost the group.
In Deathworld, PCs whose players can’t keep up die. When that happens, the first person on the waitlist, “previously present but unnoticed,” will take their place. The surviving PCs will suspend disbelief and accept this mechanism without question. Play continues without pause.
This will be a light-hearted, RP-heavy game in which little or no respect is paid to the recently deceased. Because let’s face it...
...this is Deathworld, where an untimely death is your own fault. :)
COMMITMENT
Posting will be every day or two
If you lag a full day behind the other players, I will bot you.
If I have to bot you three times in a row, your character will die a vivid and horrible death. That’s Deathworld for you.
YOUR POSTS
Your posts should follow the three-sentence format. Sentence 1, acknowledge what just happened. Sentence 2, RP. Sentence 3, post your action.
Your post may be longer than three sentences, and indeed, your creativity and interesting writing are what make PbP enjoyable.
One-sentence posts should be reserved for asking clarifying questions or when specifically requested by me (EXAMPLE: “Please make a STR save at advantage.”).
If you post a one-sentence post three times in a row, your character will die a vivid and horrible death. That’s Deathworld for you.
Courtesy is expected. I will not elaborate. But guess what happens to your character if you are discourteous? Yes. A vivid and horrible death awaits.
CAVEAT
PM'ing the DM when you’re going to miss a couple of days which will excuse you from AVAHD.
RECRUITING
The Waitlist is always open, here.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters
Prelude: Gundren Rockseeker
It is early in the month of Eleint, The Fading, the ninth month of the Calendar of Haptos, here on the Sword Coast, in northwest Faerûn. The weather is fair until it isn’t. Warm, even hot, until a chill wind blows down from the Spine of the World and thunderheads build and burst overhead. Indeed, this very phenomenon occurred on the very day you set out.
And now, you have suffered through two days of travel from the great port city of Neverwinter, along the gravel-paved High Road, escorting the oxen-pulled wagon of stacked provisions you agreed to chaperone to the unfamiliar town of Phandalin. This you consented to do after having been offered the job by a dwarf named Gundren Rockseeker, for 10GP wage apiece, to be collected from one of Gundren’s confederates at Barthen’s Provisions, in Phandalin. Times are tough in Neverwinter, and that 10GP means a lot to you.
But that’s not the whole story by any means, behind the reason for your current journey. Because Gundren…Gundren is one of the good guys. He did you a solid favor, recently. Then, he treated you to an ale and stories both entertaining and classy. He’s a businessman, invests in explorations, somehow turns a profit and is generous. So, yes the 10GP is important, but so is he. It’s hard not to think of him as a friend, even though – you’ve seen him in action – he gets on well with dozens of persons of all types, maybe even scores of them – all of whom seem to think the world of him, so your relationship with Gundren may not be, for lack of a better term, balanced. To be blunt, you may not matter as much to him as he matters to you, actually. But it’s hard to hold this against him. “Some people are just more likable than others,” and similar justifications might come to mind.
When he hired you for this task, Gundren was clearly excited and more than a little secretive about his reasons for the trip, saying only that he and his brothers had found “something big.” He then set out ahead of you on horse, with his guard, Sildar Hallwinter, claiming he needed to arrive to Phandalin early to “take care of business.”
(OOC: Please take a moment to describe your character’s appearance on the rainy morning they set off from Neverwinter, and tell us their motive for being in Neverwinter, and for agreeing to undertake the journey. You will have limitless opportunities to converse once we get rolling, but not yet, beyond a brief hello.)
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters
Sir Kiselina of family Greyscale strides along the wagon, using his halberd (more like a walking staff) to steady himself through the slips and stumbles of the muddy road. His heavy, double buttoned, fur lined long coat does well to keep him warm, but the rain still rolls off his bare scaly head. While many other knights of Bahamut might think escort duty beneath their station, Kiselina welcomed such an opportunity when presented such by his father. “Gundren has offered this position, and we owe him much for the support he has provided to the family…and the temple. Serve him well.” Kiselina’s father had said. Those words etched into his memory. “Cheerful service to those in need builds a proper regard for position” the Dragonborn repeats his temple tenant as he trudged along through the muck and deluge. Repaying this small favor wouldn’t even the debt to the Rockseeker brothers, but it does afford Kiselina the opportunity to set off away from Neverwinter, the temple there, and establish his own name…and honor for family Greyscale.
Berry had just arrived a bit over a week ago in Neverwinter and already got himself in trouble. Who would have thought that they take little pranks so serious in the material plane. What do they do to have fun here? Probably just sitting hidden behind their windows and looking out for anyone not following their rules. They must be snickering in their closets when they call the guards on anyone they see that does a little bit of harmless mischief. Surely, just calling you out would lessen their fun!
Berry hadn’t even wanted to steal anything. He just wanted to mix up a few goods on two carts next to each other, you know. He only wanted to observe the surprised faces of the owners when they find that today is the day that they can finally break their boring routine and sell something different at the market! Surely they would have had appreciated that afterwards. After Berry’s prank would have played out.
But of course it hadn’t, because someone called the guards and they caught him red-handed in the middle of his 'heist'. As if he would have had any use for the ten stacks of linen cloth that he was really just about to load onto the leatherworker’s cart. But who would believe a barely clad and skinny fairy with dragonfly wings that shine with a mesmerizing iridescence in bright sunlight? You would, wouldn’t you? Well, what does it matter? Because the guards didn’t.
But someone else did, someone who mattered. A dwarf that goes by Gundren Rockseeker passed by just when they were about to apprehend Berry for something he didn’t do, didn’t plan to do, really never even thought of doing. Gundren, well respected by the guards and quite possibly by everyone in the city of Neverwinter as far as Berry can tell, saw something in him. He had walked up to the guards and simply told them that he would take him in his care after they’d explained Berry’s crime to him. When they’ve told him Berry’s explanation of it, Gundren had just chuckled. So perhaps, humor does exist on the material plane after all, Berry mused as he recovered his good spirits and went with his saviour.
It was shortly after that Gundren hired Berry for this important job on which he is now. It’s even paid in gold, so that afterwards he could buy something of real value, like, perhaps, a flute worked from a hardwood tree branch that had been split from the mother tree by a lighting bolt and then found by chance by a talented woodcarver on vacation in a distant land.
Gundren specifically asked him to not play pranks on the other members of the caravan... so much for his understanding of humor, lamented Berry when he learned. Gundren must have warned everyone or so Berry thinks from the looks that he feels he is getting. Still, Berry was happy that an opportunity had opened up for him to see more of this world.
While they passed the city gates Berry perched on his pack on top of the highest part of the wagon and despite the brisk air and cold rain he barely wore anything other than short pants on which a sturdy leather belt holds a scimitar and shortsword in place. His gaze is directed forward, outwards towards the horizon. He wonders what the place will look like where they are going. Which colors will have the soil there? How will the air feel on his skin in these new lands? What tastes the water and food will bring to his tongue? And, most of all, the new amusements that he can discover there!
Berry's appearance:
|| Myrla - Wood Elf Rogue - After the Fall || Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Trystane - Trollblood Lycanthrope - Vecna || Taiga - Genasi Fighter - Looking for Group || Riyphou - Loxodon Druid - Secrets || Tez - Half Elf Artificer - Looking for Group || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || Zelaerys - Halfling/Celestial Divine Soul - NWN || Kesili - Human/Dhampir Monk - Witchwood || Trystane (main/gestalt) - Gestalt Trollblood - DOOM ||
Vidruth was tired of the taverns here, when people saw his large tusks and hastily adjusted clothes they either looked down on him, saw him as a threat, or saw him as a target.
when Gundren Rockseeker, a man vidruth trusts to a level he finds untrustworthy asked him to help, well he jumped at the chance, with his blood nagging at him to fight, and his mind tired of the city, even his empty pockets told him to set out so he did.
Gundren didnt warn him about the company, if he had he probably would have refused but gundren had already left and so he had to make the best of it.
at least the dwarf didnt seem interested in picking fights. and the fae seemed right interesting.
vidruth decided to start it properly with introductions.
"sun on you and your family and blizzards on your foes, my friends" he greeted "my name is vidruth and i will be providing utility, and" he sighed "ranged support. my skills have gotten rusty over the past four years im afraid" "and who are you all"
vidruth is a hunched man, standing only 5'10 normally but much taller when he straightens up. black hair, brown eyes, and skin nearly as white as snow look odd on someone who could otherwise pass for a full blooded orc, with tusks unusually long, but not shockingly so. leaning on an intricately carved staff his eyes seem to pierce straight into you when he gives you his full attention. he is clad in what was once warm winter furs but has been cut to shreds, then shoddily patched together but with much of the material removed to adjust for a warm climate
This Mug immediately shared with me a transcendental tale of an Infinite Mug that anchors the Universe and keeps it from folding in on itself. I filed this report under "illogical nonsense" and asked why its sign is in Times New Roman font, when it is basic knowledge that Arial Black is a far superior font. I wondered: How did this mug even get past the assembly line with its theistic beliefs and poor font choices?
quote from Romantically Apocalyptic by Vitaly S Alexius
Gundren Rockseeker called, so Marten came. But why did it have to be in Neverwinter? Marten didn't arrive in Neverwinter until the day before his appointed meeting, and one day was longer than he liked to stay in the city. There were just so many people, and so much noise. He didn't know how people could live here.
But Gundren had helped Marten with another merchant who was trying to deny him payment after a job. Marten knew that he was being cheated, but he doesn't really know how to confront someone face-to-face. Gundren took care of it. Since then, Marten had escorted a few of Gundren's shipments. Marten liked that Gundren was reliable and always paid as promised. Gundren liked that Marten was skilled and quiet and never drove a hard bargain for his skills.
Marten spoke little while Gundren regaled him with his stories and his business plans. That was typical for the dwarf. Gundren was happy to talk, and Marten was happy that the dwarf didn't require him to say much in return other than the occasional, "You don't say?", or, "How shrewd!" Especially since Gundren was buying. Once the dwarf talked himself out, he always got to the point eventually. As Marten expected, Gundren had a job for him. Marten was happy for a job that paid in gold. He wanted to pass on his father's old bow to his nephew and purchase a crossbow for himself. 10 GP wouldn't be enough to do that, not after his own expenses, but it would get him closer. Marten could tell that there was something that Gundren wasn't saying, but he agreed to the job without any questions.
When Marten met at the wagon to leave Neverwinter, he was surprised at the group that Gundren had gathered. Not just a couple of the usual men with clubs and shortswords. The dragonborn was dressed like some sort of knight, and there was a dwarven fighter, too. Even more unusual were the winged fairy, rabbit-person, and what looked like a half-orc. Marten introduced himself briefly, barely making eye contact. He said little, mostly answering questions with a "Yep" or a "Nope" or perhaps "Thank'ee." As the group talks, he looks away, his gaze always roving. But you get the sense that he's listening.
When Marten first came up to the wagon, you didn't even realize at first that he was one of the guards. He is short for a human and not very imposing. His cloak is plain and drab with a couple crude patches. At first, he looked like a vagabond who was going to beg for some food. Under his wide-brimmed hat, you see an unkempt beard and a face that looks tanned and weathered. His brown hair hangs loosely to his shoulders. The rest of his clothes also look poor and worn: a simple tunic over leather armor, an old belt, and old breeches. His boots are soft-soled and look newer than most of his clothes, and his rapier and daggers look well cared-for, as does his bow and arrows.
The weather and rain don't seem to bother Marten much. He often scouts up ahead of the wagon or off to the sides of the road. Over the next couple of days, Marten doesn't say that much more. He's not unfriendly and stays near the group while the others talk, but his participation in the conversation mostly involves short replies. He seems competent and quietly helps set and break camp and care for the oxen. You gather that he grew up in a small village and used to herd sheep and goats as a child, but it seems like he has done a variety of "jobs" in the years since then. When it's dry, he sits and works a piece of wood with a whittling knife.
Daphyra trudges on, staring alternately at the hem of her white robe getting muddier, or the horse's bottom five paces in front of her. When she'd agreed to help the dwarf accompany a wagon to Phandalin, she hadn't thought she'd be walking the whole way. Sitting on an uncomfortable wagon, possibly, but walking? Surely a priestess of Bastet deserved better than that. She thought back to three days ago when she'd agreed to help.
Help. It always came down to that. Daphyra liked to be needed, loved to be indispensable, so when the dwarf had come to the Temple of Bastet in Neverwinter, asking for a healer to journey with the wagon to Phandalin, she was delighted. Her superiors had been planning for Daph to spend some time at the temple in Phandalin to teach the clerics there some of her medical skills and gain some knowledge in return, so it was the perfect timing. The offer of ten gold for the Temple's coffers in return for her services on the trip sealed the deal and she was off to Phandalin a tenday earlier than originally planned.
She'd imagined she would be a respected, maybe even revered member of the party, given a comfortable seat and shaded from the sun. She'd pictured herself bandaging a guard's arm, her soft furry paws soothing a fevered brow, her large liquid eyes cast to the heavens to beg the goddess for mercy, the guard thanking her and saying, "I wouldn't have survived without your help, Daphyra. Praise the Goddess Bastet!"
She preens a little, smoothing down her whiskers at the memory of this image. Her long velvety ears perk up at the vision, before wilting a little at the incessant rain as she comes back to herself. So far the most her skills have been needed for are blisters from walking, many of them on her own large feet.
Daphyra forces herself to stand straighter, pulling her head up more proudly, before calling to her companions. "What we need to while away the journey is a good hymn. Who's with me?"
Past characters:
Cariadne - Forest of Celador
Daphyra Fuffletail - The City of Cats
DM - Geek Legends - Wild beyond the Witchlight
Leela Steadystone - Adventures in the Sands
Mirri Goldenhorn - Journeys through the Radiant Citadel
Lola Smythe-Whyte - Larkin Expedition
Daphyra - Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver
Vanja - Binder's Hold and the Problem with the Mine
"blood of his enemies is always a good one" vidruth laughs, taking a drink from his waterskin "not that anyone else here'd know it. If you've got a non-religious song you'd like im game to try and learn it, but I doubt that between the lot of us we could agree on a hymn none of us hate"
as he does every hour, he carries his pack for ten minutes while resummoning the thin floating stone disk he uses to carry it the rest of the time.
This Mug immediately shared with me a transcendental tale of an Infinite Mug that anchors the Universe and keeps it from folding in on itself. I filed this report under "illogical nonsense" and asked why its sign is in Times New Roman font, when it is basic knowledge that Arial Black is a far superior font. I wondered: How did this mug even get past the assembly line with its theistic beliefs and poor font choices?
quote from Romantically Apocalyptic by Vitaly S Alexius
With a wing-powered jump Berry lands in front of the oxen and starts to sing loudly with light hearted steps, “We all go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah!” and begins to play his flute to the tune. While playing he looks around to see who’s joining in. He continues walking and playing with a spring in his step, “We all go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah!” Then he follows up with his flute playing the melody and jumping around those in the party who still haven’t joined in for encouragement. “We all go marching one by one,
The little one stops to suck his thumb,” which he does with a popping sound and a smirk on his face. “And we all go marching down on the ground, To get out of the rain.”
For the mood:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Pjw2A3QU8Qg&pp=ygUQQW50cyBnbyBtYXJjaGluZw==
|| Myrla - Wood Elf Rogue - After the Fall || Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Trystane - Trollblood Lycanthrope - Vecna || Taiga - Genasi Fighter - Looking for Group || Riyphou - Loxodon Druid - Secrets || Tez - Half Elf Artificer - Looking for Group || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || Zelaerys - Halfling/Celestial Divine Soul - NWN || Kesili - Human/Dhampir Monk - Witchwood || Trystane (main/gestalt) - Gestalt Trollblood - DOOM ||
Chapter 1: The Triboar Trail
Two days of southward travel have come and gone, as have 30-odd miles, and now we leave the past, and Neverwinter, behind, and join our heroes in the present, on The High Road.
The sun is high, if one can use such a measure on a gray and cloudy day whose mirthless skies have whipped you with spattering rain since your journey began. Let’s put it this way. You broke camp early this morning, and you walked for four or five hours. If you could see the sun, it would be high.
Yes, it is cold and wet, uncomfortable travel weather, and as a result, no one has been talking very much on this journey, which has made the miles pass slowly. Also, the oxen — the ones pulling the wagon — have stubbornly resisted direction, and worse, seem to plop huge, steaming droppings on the road only when it is your turn on rearguard duty.
They, the oxen, are named Sun and Moon. Obviously whoever saw to their birth was an optimist, giving such heavenly names to such obstinate creatures. All to say, the gig has been kind of a drag so far, and you still don’t know very much about your fellow wagoneers.
However, this morning you turned east onto the Triboar Trail, a flat path with dependable wheel ruts, and, according to your map, good news! You can expect to reach Phandalin (and your payment) by sundown. Moreover, the clouds begin to break, and the sun now bathes you in intermittent warmth. A light mist hovers in the wood bordering the trail, due to the earlier rain evaporating from the moistened earth, and this boosts your spirits – the sunlight part, not the mist part – and the chattier members of the group may feel inclined to converse.
(OOC: Here is a map showing your travel so far and your current location)
(OOC: You have heard each other's names following brief introductions at the outset of your journey. Please introduce yourselves to one another in earnest, and/or engage in/continue conversation between yourselves if your character is so inclined.)
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters
when berry was singing vidruth listened through once then joined in with his voice and using minor illusion to add drums, the drums weren't perfect, but he strove to adapt the wardrums he was familiar with to a lighter tune.
but that was days ago, since then he has been determinedly striding along after the wagon, his disk and pack following him for most of the time, when he rests he draws acircle around his bedroll.
enjoying the sun he walks closer to berry "i've got another song if yer interested" he suggests "dont have much for a flute though, shields and spears taught me the first music i knew, then drums taught me my second, then i learnt a little of the harp from my times in riversmeet"
This Mug immediately shared with me a transcendental tale of an Infinite Mug that anchors the Universe and keeps it from folding in on itself. I filed this report under "illogical nonsense" and asked why its sign is in Times New Roman font, when it is basic knowledge that Arial Black is a far superior font. I wondered: How did this mug even get past the assembly line with its theistic beliefs and poor font choices?
quote from Romantically Apocalyptic by Vitaly S Alexius
Kiselina will walk next to Daphyra during a lull in the talking/singing/banter.
“Lady Daphyra, a proper introduction if you please. I am Kiselina of the Greyscale family. I couldn’t help but notice you wear the trappings of a cleric. Though I’m not sure I’m overly familiar with your religion. I have studied a bit myself”
A slight chuckle escapes, just enough to break any tension.
“Perhaps after we arrive in Phandalin, you’ll indulge me in a lesson or two about what you believe, over a meal. It’s important to me to expand my knowledge of religions and history.”
A little while later, while Berry is riding in the wagon and no longer singing and dancing around, Kiselina will attempt a light conversation.
“You certainly are a lively fellow Master Berry! Please allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Kiselina of the Greyscale family, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If I may be so bold to inquire, do you bring mirth to every occasion, even the most dreary ones or especially the dreary ones? I would be very interested in learning this song, or perhaps another if you please. Perhaps after we arrive in Phandalin over a drink? What say you, first one is on me!”
Daphyra looks at Kiselina wryly, amused by the "what you believe."
"No 'Lady', just 'Mistress ', milord. I follow the teachings of the Goddess Bastet, in the Twilight domain. My usual duties include healing the sick, offering succour to the needy, occasionally spending time in study of sacred texts. And of course, prayer and worship of the holy one. I see you are another follower of the divine. What is your path?"
Past characters:
Cariadne - Forest of Celador
Daphyra Fuffletail - The City of Cats
DM - Geek Legends - Wild beyond the Witchlight
Leela Steadystone - Adventures in the Sands
Mirri Goldenhorn - Journeys through the Radiant Citadel
Lola Smythe-Whyte - Larkin Expedition
Daphyra - Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver
Vanja - Binder's Hold and the Problem with the Mine
Berry perked up when the half-orc drummer spoke to him. It’s been two gruesome days on the road and the rain had washed off most of his initial positivity. He had appreciated the wizard’s efforts and the war drums had added a forceful touch to the march. Vidruth seems to know his music and there’s certainly something that can be learned from him, and anyway any excuse to bring more music to the world is a good one. “Interested and looking forward to it,” replies Berry with a wide smile that come out easier now with the sun. Odd that the sun has that power but he knew it to be true, just as the moon reigns over melancholy. Berry musters the curious being that this half-orc represents.
Berry face up into the sky, was trying to catch with his tongue some of the fewer getting raindrops as Kiselina walked up. They say that rain are the tears of a god or goddess but while the rain always tastes sweet not all deities are sweet aren’t they? He’ll keep sampling rain for sure until he finds a salty or bitter one, but by now he’s quite convinced that only the good gods cry, laugh, or at any rate shed their tears. But this rain is sweet, no need to keep trying it, so he jumps down to walk besides Kiselina during their conversation. With a courtly bow, he thanks her and introduces himself, “Berry, herald of pleasure and mirth, at your service, my lady of Greyscale. Making your acquaintance is most appreciated.” He continues walking next to her, “I couldn’t say, someone said we should sing and I thought it was a splendid idea. I’m unsure what the occasion was, dreary or otherwise. But does a good song really need an occasion?” He asks with a smile. “You’re welcome to learn each and every song at any time you’d like!” He tells her cheerfully.
|| Myrla - Wood Elf Rogue - After the Fall || Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Trystane - Trollblood Lycanthrope - Vecna || Taiga - Genasi Fighter - Looking for Group || Riyphou - Loxodon Druid - Secrets || Tez - Half Elf Artificer - Looking for Group || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || Zelaerys - Halfling/Celestial Divine Soul - NWN || Kesili - Human/Dhampir Monk - Witchwood || Trystane (main/gestalt) - Gestalt Trollblood - DOOM ||
Marten appreciates the drier weather and the warm sun after a couple of cold days. He takes his first opportunity to wring out his cloak and even his hat. He'll be happier when it's been dry long enough for his feet to dry out, too. He remarks to no one in particular, "I reckon we'll have fine weather all the rest of the way to Phandalin."
As the sun heats up, Marten starts to eye the mists among the trees that border the trail with suspicion. A misty copse is pretty, especially in moonlight, but up close, it poses a threat. You could hide a whole squadron in these dense mists. Now that it's dry, Marten strings his shortbow and walks with it in his hand. He wouldn't want to "stumble at the finish line" with this job.
As they walk, Marten asks Nosam, "How do you like that there crossbow? I may want to buy one when I gift this bow," indicating his shortbow, "to my nephew."