Hey Moonpate the Butt Bait! Took some doing to figure out how to find your thread. You could have given me some direction. But that wouldn't be in your nature, so never mind.
On the edge of a stinky marsh lies the sleepy village of Dank Wind. You belong to a group of meddling kids from the town of Seaton along the coast 15 kilometers to the east of Dank Wind. You and your friends have tired of the boring life in Seaton and long for mystery and adventure. More to the point, you all dread being pressed into service at the fishery and have promised to yourselves that you would leave town as a group before the first of you turns sixteen. That was two years ago and your group of friends spent that time trying to learn some useful skills that did not involve scooping fish guts and mending nets. You have practiced in secret at swinging swords, shooting bows, mumbling incantations and prayers. You feel ready to take on the world and finally experience the excitement of adventure. You have outfitted yourselves as best as possible, having saved money for your trusty equipment. Two nights ago, under the cover of a raging storm you left town the day before Doof was set to turn sixteen.
Now you sit, soaked to the bone, at a table in the Crusty Crotch tavern drinking the local swill brewed from swamp grass and what you think must be tar. The fish stew is likewise ill flavored and slimy, nothing like the famed chowder of Seaton. Still, you are all excited to be on your own in search of adventure.
The bar tender wears a greasy smock and what looks like a tiny billed cap made of fish scales perched atop his gourd shaped head. Five old timers sit at a long table talking with tremendous animation about somebody or something named Grook.
Hellboy flags down the barkeep and asks, "good sir, I couldn't help but notice those five dullards going on about someone with the unfortunate name of Grook. What's that all about?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
k, gimmie a break. We are in an establishment called the Crusty Crotch (which as got to be one of the nastiest names EVER) and you want to penalize me for naming 5 old timers who are in their cups, "dullards?!" I would say the DM has a crusty crotch in serious need of some ointment...but, hey what ever. I also addressed the silly barkeep as "good sir" Perhaps i was being too polite and I should have called him Crotch keep. Also, I believe it would be a standard roll with disadvantage, not a -2. Either way, let me know oh mighty Crotch Master
my characters all get drunk on the local Crotch swill while waiting for something to happen. When they awaken, they discover that years have gone by and now they are the old dullards of the Crusty Crotch. Fate has played a cruel joke on these would be adventurers. They stare at one another with self-reproaching grey beards knowing that it is there own fault for not anticipating that only grief could come from entering an establishment called the Crusty Crotch and using the such an antagonistic word as Dullard.
Test
Hey Moonpate the Butt Bait! Took some doing to figure out how to find your thread. You could have given me some direction. But that wouldn't be in your nature, so never mind.
On the edge of a stinky marsh lies the sleepy village of Dank Wind. You belong to a group of meddling kids from the town of Seaton along the coast 15 kilometers to the east of Dank Wind. You and your friends have tired of the boring life in Seaton and long for mystery and adventure. More to the point, you all dread being pressed into service at the fishery and have promised to yourselves that you would leave town as a group before the first of you turns sixteen. That was two years ago and your group of friends spent that time trying to learn some useful skills that did not involve scooping fish guts and mending nets. You have practiced in secret at swinging swords, shooting bows, mumbling incantations and prayers. You feel ready to take on the world and finally experience the excitement of adventure. You have outfitted yourselves as best as possible, having saved money for your trusty equipment. Two nights ago, under the cover of a raging storm you left town the day before Doof was set to turn sixteen.
Now you sit, soaked to the bone, at a table in the Crusty Crotch tavern drinking the local swill brewed from swamp grass and what you think must be tar. The fish stew is likewise ill flavored and slimy, nothing like the famed chowder of Seaton. Still, you are all excited to be on your own in search of adventure.
The bar tender wears a greasy smock and what looks like a tiny billed cap made of fish scales perched atop his gourd shaped head. Five old timers sit at a long table talking with tremendous animation about somebody or something named Grook.
Hellboy flags down the barkeep and asks, "good sir, I couldn't help but notice those five dullards going on about someone with the unfortunate name of Grook. What's that all about?"
Make a diplomacy (charisma) check. d20 with a minus 2 for the use of dullard
k, gimmie a break. We are in an establishment called the Crusty Crotch (which as got to be one of the nastiest names EVER) and you want to penalize me for naming 5 old timers who are in their cups, "dullards?!" I would say the DM has a crusty crotch in serious need of some ointment...but, hey what ever. I also addressed the silly barkeep as "good sir" Perhaps i was being too polite and I should have called him Crotch keep. Also, I believe it would be a standard roll with disadvantage, not a -2. Either way, let me know oh mighty Crotch Master
24
Do you see the actual number rolled?
at this rate, I am sure I will reach level 2 in approximately 2 years...optimistically speaking that is. We need to schedule time for this bro
Hey, what's on tap at the Crusty Crotch? Scrotum sweat aged 15 years?
my characters all get drunk on the local Crotch swill while waiting for something to happen. When they awaken, they discover that years have gone by and now they are the old dullards of the Crusty Crotch. Fate has played a cruel joke on these would be adventurers. They stare at one another with self-reproaching grey beards knowing that it is there own fault for not anticipating that only grief could come from entering an establishment called the Crusty Crotch and using the such an antagonistic word as Dullard.
Brilliant! Call me.