Monstrous Compendium Vol. 1: Spelljammer Creatures
Frozen Sick
D&D Beyond Basic Rules
Basic Rules (2014)
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Monstrous Compendium Vol. 1: Spelljammer CreaturesFrozen SickD&D Beyond Basic RulesBasic Rules (2014)Sign in to view your library & saved favorites.
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“Well, I find it to just be messy. If who you’re dealing with is bad enough for all these kills, I doubt the bodies will scare them.”
NO BREATH ~ NO SOUND
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
"Its a calling card idiot."
"Guys....we need to go..."
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
(anyone want to rp?)
Hämärä häkellyttävä, menneisyyden menettävä
Tulevaisuus tuntematta, korkealle kurkottava
Kahleet kultaiset kukistin, raudat ruostuneet ripustin
Yksinäisen yön ylitin, sieltä itsenikin löysin
Bunker seems a little confused but puts the token into her cloak
He groans, watching the impending disaster (make a dex save)
“Oh cool. I left quiches at first, but I would always end up going back to get them. You can’t leave an innocent quiche for the cops to manhandle!”
The door out has slammed shut. A faint wind blows.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
*sure*
Theren is standing amidst a few dead owlbear corpses.
Phoenix is standing in a mercenary camp, a few mercs dead around him.
Nick is cornered in an alleyway, his golden aura flaring as 3 thugs and him get into combat.
The Stormtroopers are engaged in combat with the native wildlife.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Phoenix just sighs and continues walking.
The troopers raise their blasters, flashlights on.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
“Okay, okay. I know when I’m not wanted.” Mauric waits a few seconds. “It’s now, right?”
The winds grow faster.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
"Yes."
"Stay ready!"
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
“Okay then.” Mauric walks away slowly.
The winds grow even faster.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
Nick appears and grabs their hand. "Come on. I wanna show you somethin."
The troopers shift nervously
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Mauric smiles at him and follows. “What is it?”
An air elemental resembling a serpent-headed bull manifests. “YOU SHALL NOT DISTURB THE CHAMPION’S TOMB!”
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
"There is a great view i found. Come on!" he says, tugging their hand a bit
"STAND DOWN IN THE NAME OF THE GALATIC EMPIRE!"
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Mauric follows him.
The guardian uses its Whirlwind. Every trooper must make a Strength save.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
Nick leads him to a small cliff overlooking some woods with the sun setting in the distance. "Yes! We made it!" he says with a grin
STR: 13
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
“This is… really beautiful.” Mauric sits back slightly.
All troopers take half of 13 bludgeoning damage.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
Nick nods, sitting next to them with a smile on his face.
"OPEN FIRE!"
Attack: 15 Damage: 25
Attack: 29 Damage: 28
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
“I gotta tell ya. This is the second most beautiful thing I’ve seen since I came to the Inn.”
The guardian screeches in pain.
No news is good news…
I'll lay a white rose on the cold earth, knowing it that it has not claimed your soul.
"Whats the first?"
"KEEP FIRING!"
Attack: 12 Damage: 19
Attack: 29 Damage: 18
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
*Anywhoozle, time to destroy the Pan's, the Gay's, and the Bi's.*
The rings of hell are known for their devils and how each serves a purpose. Sometimes it's to cause chaos, other times it's to threaten their enemies, but for a good bit, it's all about getting as many souls as you can to climb up that neverending ladder of power.
Russ, or The Black Death as his enemies call him, is an outlier. While he might not be heavenly material, he doesn't belong in hell either. He was born in hell as an incubus but the idea of seducing and being used never appealed to him. However, that way of thinking doesn't get you power you so desperately crave so he hid what he really was, playing himself off as a Erinyes, after all he has the wings and face for it. He served in hell's military but grew bored of having to even listen to those he hated as much as they hated him. Time and time again, he was made example of because he wouldn't listen to them.
That's when he left the military. At that point, he really did look like an Erinyes. His body was built with muscles, his skin tanned and scarred. His dark eyes burned with the red fire of internal fury. But because he had no place amongst them anymore, they stripped him of his powers, his heritage, and shoved him into the mortal realm.
Years and years past, the hell forgot about him. What they didn't know is that he lived amongst mortals now. He was stuck, mentally speaking. He was so used to hell, now he was here, trying to figure out his way.
---------------------------
A man is walking around the stalls of the market in town. He wears a black tank-top, dark jeans, a black jacket, and thick boots. His face is covered by a balaclava that resembles a skeletal jaw. The hood covers his head, as if that will shield him from being stared at. Here he was, a hulking 6'8 man, wearing dark clothes that one would call "deviant".
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘