[LFP] Online (CST) — D&D 5e One-Shots & Homebrew Campaigns
Who we are Veteran DM (“nlkxiv” on Discord) running high-energy, fully home-brewed adventures—think Billy Mays-level hype with custom classes, monsters, and cinematic music cues.
Looking for
3–6 players (new or experienced—enthusiasm > rules mastery).
Age 18+; voice on Discord; reliable mic & connection.
When & where
Online only, US Central Time (GMT-5).
Tuesday’s CST 7 PM–10 PM Open For Enchantment
Thursday’s CST 7 PM–10 PM On Low Tides
Friday’s CST 7 PM–11 PM Last Rites & Lying Eyes
Saturdays
CST 11 AM–2 PM The Great Ale Run
CST 3 PM–6 PM The Side Roads
CST 7 PM–11 PM Hunters Hotel
Play style Rule-of-Cool > rules lawyering, big role-play moments, tactical but fast combat. Safety tools, session zero, and lines/veils in place.
Modules / setting
All original: noir mega cities, draining seas, wandering enchantment wagons, and more. No published modules; every plot reacts to your choices. Everything homebrewed
Rolling from misty piers at dawn to amber dunes by dusk, Mina’s wagon, Open for Enchantment, is legend on wheels. Lacquered teak panels shimmer with shifting runes; awnings unfold like dragonfly wings, washing streets in emerald glow. Pulling it is Catrine—a moss-furred cat taller than a horse—guided by gold-filigree reins and lanterns that fling constellations across her pelt.
Inside, telescoping clockwork shelves reveal star-iron stilettos, bottled lightning, and crystal-winged homunculi. A living leviathan-hide map on the ceiling rearranges continents whenever Mina plots new routes through Lustria’s glowing jungle or Ubalam’s sky-piercing towers.
Tiny behind the counter, Mina wears a coat packed with relic keys and IOUs inked in phoenix ash. Orphaned on stories of wandering librarians, she now writes her own, harvesting treasures from vine-choked temples and jade-masked tombs: echo grenades, mnemonic broths, mirrors that remember forgotten faces.
Onyx, a sleek tom, taps ledgers to catalog every vial while Catrine lounges outside like a furry hillock. Demand now dwarfs one girl, two cats, and a wagon, so a brass placard clicks out: HIRING—Seeker-Couriers & Recovery Artificers. Payment: coin, relic, or revelation. If your boots crave unseen horizons, claim a seat before the wagon vanishes with the moons into myth forever.
Sun-washed Behar’s harbor rings with gull cries as the freshly enchanted schooner Starlight Gale strains against her lines. Hewn from Whispering Glade heartwood and rigged with wind-elemental silk, she isn’t a cargo hauler—she’s a wager on destiny.
At her helm stands Captain Lysara Vex, corsair-turned-merchant whose smile outshines polished cutlass steel. She alone holds charters to Lustria’s uncharted isles: merfolk cities aglow beneath sapphire gulfs, volcanic atolls where sharkin war-priests tithe blood to tidal gods, ruins that rise moonward once each cycle. Wealth, wonder, or watery graves lurk beyond the horizon.
But these seas rebel. Storms chant forbidden names, leviathans churn the deeps, and rival corsairs stalk trade lanes on sails black as intent. To face them, the Gale needs more than sailors; she needs adventurers—diplomats, artificers, duelists, and dreamers hungrily chasing coin, redemption, or plain escape.
Sign the log and earn freedom: to chart unmapped currents, broker spices that rouse the dead, duel moon-mad sea beasts, and decide which alliances—or betrayals—will rewrite Lustria’s fate. The tide is turning, the wind is rising, and the Whispering sails are set. Board now, or watch destiny sail without you. Your story waits in the salt spray and starlit wake tonight, adventurer.
In Ubalam, crescent-shaped pearl of Lustira’s storm-bright coast, towers as tall as kingdoms glimmer like struck matchsticks against a restless tropical night. Coral-pink surf crashes into casino piers, mixing brine with champagne mist, while ferries ferry revelers between floating cabarets and sky-bridge penthouses. Lantern boats drift upstream, past shanty barges and mirrored corporate docks, toward the Glowing Jungle, that uncharted green furnace where orchids shine like streetlamps and ever-singing insects strum nocturnes.
At the heart of this wild decadence stands the Golden Coin Detective Agency, an office above a noodle stall and below a zeppelin mooring, where ceiling fans creak over old case files smelling of salt and ink. The crew—broken-hearted gumshoes, arcane forgers, a lizardfolk tracker who keeps score in cigarette burns—take any mystery the constables dodge: ghost-ridden vaults, shark-cult kidnappings, extortion notes etched in lightning on penthouse windows. They hunt clues through moonlit bazaars, orchid-lit back alleys, and liquor-stained jazz dens, then vanish upriver to stake out vine-wrapped monoliths older than the city itself.
Campaign play is equal parts smoky parlor deduction and breathless jungle pursuit. Characters tail suspects across carnival rooftops, bribe lighthouse wardens, and decrypt jazz riffs that hide smuggler ciphers; then they canoe upriver beneath bioluminescent vines, dodging quetzal-wyrms and clockwork piranhas to reach ruin-vaults humming with curse-powered engines. Ubalam’s elite host masquerade balls aboard cloud-skiffs, yet even in satin masks their sins reek; every question peels another layer off the city’s gilded façade.
Theme leans hard into pulp noir: gunmetal rain, brass lanterns, perfume masking rot, ethical gray thicker than harbor fog. But glittering possibilities tempt wayward souls: reclaiming relics to fund orphan schools, exposing cartel magnates, or forging fragile truces between skyscraper barons and jungle spirits. The Golden Coin’s motto—“Secrets. Shadows. Sin. Solved.”—is both promise and prayer.
Long arcs might unravel the silent tower whose windows never show dawn, or the spectral train heard under low tide, or why the jungle glows: is it alien starfall, druidic penance, or arcane fallout from wars erased from annals? Each revelation shifts Ubalam’s balance, and players decide whether the scales tip toward justice, survival, or one last drink before the waves rise.
Ubalam is a song of neon surf and jungle heartbeat; every stanza begs investigation, every chorus costs a little innocence. How many truths can heroes afford before the city swallows them with a grin of gold and seawater?
Cases entwine like mangrove roots: a stained opera ticket, a jade coin split in half, whispers of a lightless floor in Tower Nine. Between leads, detectives play mahjong with fence-queens, patch sea-planes, or watch dawn boil over reef glass. Each act plants evidence; each silence costs leverage
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[LFP] Online (CST) — D&D 5e One-Shots & Homebrew Campaigns
Who we are
Veteran DM (“nlkxiv” on Discord) running high-energy, fully home-brewed adventures—think Billy Mays-level hype with custom classes, monsters, and cinematic music cues.
Looking for
3–6 players (new or experienced—enthusiasm > rules mastery).
Age 18+; voice on Discord; reliable mic & connection.
When & where
Online only, US Central Time (GMT-5).
Tuesday’s CST 7 PM–10 PM Open For Enchantment
Thursday’s CST 7 PM–10 PM On Low Tides
Friday’s CST 7 PM–11 PM Last Rites & Lying Eyes
Saturdays
CST 11 AM–2 PM The Great Ale Run
CST 3 PM–6 PM The Side Roads
CST 7 PM–11 PM Hunters Hotel
Play style
Rule-of-Cool > rules lawyering, big role-play moments, tactical but fast combat. Safety tools, session zero, and lines/veils in place.
Modules / setting
All original: noir mega cities, draining seas, wandering enchantment wagons, and more. No published modules; every plot reacts to your choices. Everything homebrewed
Interested?
DM me on Discord: nlkxiv
or email: Nuisance.DND.dm@gmail.com
Jump aboard before the last seat vanishes!
CAMPAIGNS
Open for Enchantment
Rolling from misty piers at dawn to amber dunes by dusk, Mina’s wagon, Open for Enchantment, is legend on wheels. Lacquered teak panels shimmer with shifting runes; awnings unfold like dragonfly wings, washing streets in emerald glow. Pulling it is Catrine—a moss-furred cat taller than a horse—guided by gold-filigree reins and lanterns that fling constellations across her pelt.
Inside, telescoping clockwork shelves reveal star-iron stilettos, bottled lightning, and crystal-winged homunculi. A living leviathan-hide map on the ceiling rearranges continents whenever Mina plots new routes through Lustria’s glowing jungle or Ubalam’s sky-piercing towers.
Tiny behind the counter, Mina wears a coat packed with relic keys and IOUs inked in phoenix ash. Orphaned on stories of wandering librarians, she now writes her own, harvesting treasures from vine-choked temples and jade-masked tombs: echo grenades, mnemonic broths, mirrors that remember forgotten faces.
Onyx, a sleek tom, taps ledgers to catalog every vial while Catrine lounges outside like a furry hillock. Demand now dwarfs one girl, two cats, and a wagon, so a brass placard clicks out: HIRING—Seeker-Couriers & Recovery Artificers. Payment: coin, relic, or revelation. If your boots crave unseen horizons, claim a seat before the wagon vanishes with the moons into myth forever.
============================================================================================================================================
On Low Tides
Sun-washed Behar’s harbor rings with gull cries as the freshly enchanted schooner Starlight Gale strains against her lines. Hewn from Whispering Glade heartwood and rigged with wind-elemental silk, she isn’t a cargo hauler—she’s a wager on destiny.
At her helm stands Captain Lysara Vex, corsair-turned-merchant whose smile outshines polished cutlass steel. She alone holds charters to Lustria’s uncharted isles: merfolk cities aglow beneath sapphire gulfs, volcanic atolls where sharkin war-priests tithe blood to tidal gods, ruins that rise moonward once each cycle. Wealth, wonder, or watery graves lurk beyond the horizon.
But these seas rebel. Storms chant forbidden names, leviathans churn the deeps, and rival corsairs stalk trade lanes on sails black as intent. To face them, the Gale needs more than sailors; she needs adventurers—diplomats, artificers, duelists, and dreamers hungrily chasing coin, redemption, or plain escape.
Sign the log and earn freedom: to chart unmapped currents, broker spices that rouse the dead, duel moon-mad sea beasts, and decide which alliances—or betrayals—will rewrite Lustria’s fate. The tide is turning, the wind is rising, and the Whispering sails are set. Board now, or watch destiny sail without you. Your story waits in the salt spray and starlit wake tonight, adventurer.
==========================================================================================================================
Last Rights & Lying eyes
In Ubalam, crescent-shaped pearl of Lustira’s storm-bright coast, towers as tall as kingdoms glimmer like struck matchsticks against a restless tropical night. Coral-pink surf crashes into casino piers, mixing brine with champagne mist, while ferries ferry revelers between floating cabarets and sky-bridge penthouses. Lantern boats drift upstream, past shanty barges and mirrored corporate docks, toward the Glowing Jungle, that uncharted green furnace where orchids shine like streetlamps and ever-singing insects strum nocturnes.
At the heart of this wild decadence stands the Golden Coin Detective Agency, an office above a noodle stall and below a zeppelin mooring, where ceiling fans creak over old case files smelling of salt and ink. The crew—broken-hearted gumshoes, arcane forgers, a lizardfolk tracker who keeps score in cigarette burns—take any mystery the constables dodge: ghost-ridden vaults, shark-cult kidnappings, extortion notes etched in lightning on penthouse windows. They hunt clues through moonlit bazaars, orchid-lit back alleys, and liquor-stained jazz dens, then vanish upriver to stake out vine-wrapped monoliths older than the city itself.
Campaign play is equal parts smoky parlor deduction and breathless jungle pursuit. Characters tail suspects across carnival rooftops, bribe lighthouse wardens, and decrypt jazz riffs that hide smuggler ciphers; then they canoe upriver beneath bioluminescent vines, dodging quetzal-wyrms and clockwork piranhas to reach ruin-vaults humming with curse-powered engines. Ubalam’s elite host masquerade balls aboard cloud-skiffs, yet even in satin masks their sins reek; every question peels another layer off the city’s gilded façade.
Theme leans hard into pulp noir: gunmetal rain, brass lanterns, perfume masking rot, ethical gray thicker than harbor fog. But glittering possibilities tempt wayward souls: reclaiming relics to fund orphan schools, exposing cartel magnates, or forging fragile truces between skyscraper barons and jungle spirits. The Golden Coin’s motto—“Secrets. Shadows. Sin. Solved.”—is both promise and prayer.
Long arcs might unravel the silent tower whose windows never show dawn, or the spectral train heard under low tide, or why the jungle glows: is it alien starfall, druidic penance, or arcane fallout from wars erased from annals? Each revelation shifts Ubalam’s balance, and players decide whether the scales tip toward justice, survival, or one last drink before the waves rise.
Ubalam is a song of neon surf and jungle heartbeat; every stanza begs investigation, every chorus costs a little innocence. How many truths can heroes afford before the city swallows them with a grin of gold and seawater?
Cases entwine like mangrove roots: a stained opera ticket, a jade coin split in half, whispers of a lightless floor in Tower Nine. Between leads, detectives play mahjong with fence-queens, patch sea-planes, or watch dawn boil over reef glass. Each act plants evidence; each silence costs leverage