#dungeonsdragons — Public Fediverse posts

#DungeonsDragons: The Dungeon Master’s Workbook of Worldbuilding Review http://dlvr.it/TTyw5b

D&D’s Gen Con keynote promises a great return from parts undefined

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.rascal.news/d-ds-gen-con-keynote-promises-a-great-return-from-parts-undefined/

D&D’s Gen Con keynote promises a great return from parts undefined

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.rascal.news/d-ds-gen-con-keynote-promises-a-great-return-from-parts-undefined/

Dragonborn Knight with Greatsword

#sketch-a-day #art #graphite #dragonborn #DnD #Dungeons&Dragons #fantasy #dragon #sword #greatsword #knight

Wizards of the Coast svela il futuro di Dungeons & Dragons per il 2026-2027: in arrivo crossover ufficiali con World of Warcraft e Star Wars. Debutta la classe Psion e nuove espansioni per consolidare l'espansione del brand. #DungeonsDragons #Notizievideogiochi #gamingnews #Gdr

Movie TV Tech Geeks #TV #Animation #DungeonsDragons 6 Animated Series Perfect for Dungeons & Dragons Fans http://dlvr.it/TTq3yh

Movie TV Tech Geeks #TV #Animation #DungeonsDragons 6 Animated Series Perfect for Dungeons & Dragons Fans http://dlvr.it/TTq3yh

Dungeons & Dragons presenta una nueva era para sus fans con World of Warcraft, Dark Sun y Star Wars

https://powerups.es/dungeons-dragons-presenta-una-nueva-era-para-sus-fans-con-world-of-warcraft-dark-sun-y-star-wars/

#JuegosDeMesa #Noticias #DarkSun #DungeonsDragons #StarWars #TTRPG #WizardsOfTheCoast #WorldOfWarcraft

Dungeons & Dragons presenta una nueva era para sus fans con World of Warcraft, Dark Sun y Star Wars

https://powerups.es/dungeons-dragons-presenta-una-nueva-era-para-sus-fans-con-world-of-warcraft-dark-sun-y-star-wars/

#JuegosDeMesa #Noticias #DarkSun #DungeonsDragons #StarWars #TTRPG #WizardsOfTheCoast #WorldOfWarcraft

Air Elemental

#sketch-a-day #art #graphite #AirElemental #elemental #air #wizard #DnD #Dungeons&Dragons #fantasy #summoning

Sirius Dice presenta las miniaturas de D&D Red Box Basic Set, una colección inspirada en la icónica portada de 1983

https://powerups.es/sirius-dice-presenta-las-miniaturas-de-dd-red-box-basic-set-una-coleccion-inspirada-en-la-iconica-portada-de-1983/

#JuegosDeMesa #Noticias #DDRedBoxBasicSet #DnD #DungeonsDragons #SiriusDice

Sirius Dice presenta las miniaturas de D&D Red Box Basic Set, una colección inspirada en la icónica portada de 1983

https://powerups.es/sirius-dice-presenta-las-miniaturas-de-dd-red-box-basic-set-una-coleccion-inspirada-en-la-iconica-portada-de-1983/

#JuegosDeMesa #Noticias #DDRedBoxBasicSet #DnD #DungeonsDragons #SiriusDice

Aboleth

#sketch-a-day #art #graphite #aboleth #DnD #Dungeons&Dragons #fantasy

Aarakocra Skirmisher & Aeromancer

#sketch-a-day #art #graphite #aarakocra #DnD #Dungeons&Dragons #fantasy #bird #aeromancer #skirmisher #kingfisher #macaw

‘Dungeons & Dragons’ Writer-Director Reveals Sequel Has Been Written, Hasn’t Been Made For “Financial Reasons”
#News #DungeonsDragons #DungeonsDragonsHonorAmongThieves #JonathanGoldstein #Sequel

https://deadline.com/2026/07/dungeons-dragons-sequel-written-not-made-financial-reasons-1237004151/

‘Dungeons & Dragons’ Writer-Director Reveals Sequel Has Been Written, Hasn’t Been Made For “Financial Reasons”
#News #DungeonsDragons #DungeonsDragonsHonorAmongThieves #JonathanGoldstein #Sequel

https://deadline.com/2026/07/dungeons-dragons-sequel-written-not-made-financial-reasons-1237004151/

Social Digest 2026.07.19-2026.07.25

https://apollolemmon.com/2026/07/26/social-digest-2026-07-19-2026-07-25/

‘Dungeons & Dragons’ Sequel Was Written but May Never Be Filmed Due to ‘Financial Reasons’
#Variety #News #DungeonsDragons #DungeonsDragonsHonorAmongThieves #JonathanGoldstein

https://variety.com/2026/film/news/dungeons-and-dragons-sequel-written-never-filmed-financial-1236821132/

‘Dungeons & Dragons’ Sequel Was Written but May Never Be Filmed Due to ‘Financial Reasons’
#Variety #News #DungeonsDragons #DungeonsDragonsHonorAmongThieves #JonathanGoldstein

https://variety.com/2026/film/news/dungeons-and-dragons-sequel-written-never-filmed-financial-1236821132/

On groove après la canicule sur GrosPixels, avec un nouveau Grosmix ! Il s'agit cette fois d'une reprise de "Advanced Dungeons & Dragons: Pool Of Radiance (NES version) - Diogene Cave, Game Over and Ending themes", sur une musique originale de Seiji Toda (1992). Bon été, et bonnes vacances si vous le pouvez !

#musique #remix #jeuvidéo #dungeonsDragons

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nAq57UkIvgw

On groove après la canicule sur GrosPixels, avec un nouveau Grosmix ! Il s'agit cette fois d'une reprise de "Advanced Dungeons & Dragons: Pool Of Radiance (NES version) - Diogene Cave, Game Over and Ending themes", sur une musique originale de Seiji Toda (1992). Bon été, et bonnes vacances si vous le pouvez !

#musique #remix #jeuvidéo #dungeonsDragons

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nAq57UkIvgw

I wrote a thing about a cartoon:

https://bzangygroink.co.uk/archives/2026/07/12/vox-machina-s4/

#VoxMachina #dungeonsdragons

I wrote a thing about a cartoon:

https://bzangygroink.co.uk/archives/2026/07/12/vox-machina-s4/

#VoxMachina #dungeonsdragons

#DungeonsDragons: The Player’s Workbook of Epic Adventures Review http://dlvr.it/TTPD59

‘Dungeon Masters’: D&D Maker Sets ‘Arcana Unleashed’ as Season 2 Campaign for Actual-Play TV Series (EXCLUSIVE)
#Variety #News #DungeonMasters #DungeonsDragons #WizardsoftheCoast

https://variety.com/2026/tv/news/dungeon-masters-season-2-arcana-unleashed-release-date-1236788824/

‘Dungeon Masters’: D&D Maker Sets ‘Arcana Unleashed’ as Season 2 Campaign for Actual-Play TV Series (EXCLUSIVE)
#Variety #News #DungeonMasters #DungeonsDragons #WizardsoftheCoast

https://variety.com/2026/tv/news/dungeon-masters-season-2-arcana-unleashed-release-date-1236788824/

Lolthin soturi (Drowin tie #3) - R. A. Salvatore
Julkaistu 22.6.2026

#Fantasia #DungeonsDragons #ForgottenRealms
https://www.risingshadow.fi/book/10366-lolthin-soturi

Dragonborn Artificer with his Mecha-dragon

#sketch-a-day #art #graphite #dragonborn #artificer #DnD #Dungeons&Dragons #mech #dragon #fantasy

Dragonborn Artificer with his Mecha-dragon

#sketch-a-day #art #graphite #dragonborn #artificer #DnD #Dungeons&Dragons #mech #dragon #fantasy

Three Things Challenge #MM447

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/07/three-things-challenge-mm447/

Three Things Challenge #MM447

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/07/three-things-challenge-mm447/

Three Things Challenge #MM446

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/06/three-things-challenge-mm446/

Three Things Challenge #MM446

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/06/three-things-challenge-mm446/

Three Things Challenge #MM445

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/05/three-things-challenge-mm445/

Three Things Challenge #MM445

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/05/three-things-challenge-mm445/

Three Things Challenge #MM444

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/04/three-things-challenge-mm444/

Three Things Challenge #MM444

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/04/three-things-challenge-mm444/

Oddities On Parade: Strange Laws of New Mountainheart

New Mountainheart is a legal headache masquerading as a country. When humans, dwarves, fey, awakened animals, awakened plants, and the occasional giant are all citizens under the same crown, the law can get… unusual. Here is a sampling of bizarre laws that seem absurd at first glance but make perfect sense once you remember just how strange New Mountainheart really is.

1. Article 71 Supplemental Accessibility Clarification: Public buildings whose intended clientele is all under 1 foot tall are exempt from Article 71, Section 7 of the building code, not required to provide entrances accessible to beings exceeding 8 feet in height or 6 feet in shoulder width
2. The Metaphorical Weaponization Prevention Statute: Due to numerous complaints from various mortals of severe head trauma, fey jokes that use the word club (as in a group of people defined by membership) as a pun with the weapon of the same name are hereby classified as aggravated linguistic assault
3. The Equine Occupational Temperance Statute: It is illegal to sell or otherwise provide alcoholic beverages to horses, mules, or donkeys during working hours, no matter how much they beg for a drink.
4. The Arborial Bodily Integrity Act: Tapping, drilling, or otherwise piercing the bark of a tree without permission is considered felony assault.
5. The Universal Personhood and Predatory Conduct Act: Attacking any creature with the intent to eat it is considered attempted murder. Natural predatory instinct shall not constitute a legal defense
6. The Fair Speech and Consent in Introductions Ordinance: The phrases ” May I have your name” and “May I take your name” are hereby banned from all contexts
7. The Unauthorized Murder Prevention Ordinance: Any assembly of three or more non-guild crows shall be treated as an unsanctioned murder under the charter of the corvid’s guild and hereby subject to guild punishments.
8. The Anti-Glamour Fraud Statute: The sale of illusory or invisible goods is hereby prohibited.
9. The Public Molluscan Transit Safety and Civic Infrastructure Protection Ordinance: The spreading, spilling, or unauthorized disposal of salt upon any public roadway shall be considered vandalism of civic property, reckless endangerment of municipal gastropod assets, and the creation of a public traffic hazard
10. The Residential Climatic Alteration and Stormwater Management Code: Weather-altering magic is permissible so long as the effect is restricted to a space no larger than 20×20 feet on one’s own property. Alterations to weather any larger than that require the written consent of property owners and or relevant local, regional, or national government officials as necessary.
11. The Ethical Transfiguration Standards Act: Polymorphing a sentient entity requires written permission from the transformee and cannot be permanent.
    • The above restriction shall not apply to Tansy Fleetfoot
12. The Domestic Thaumic Coercion Prohibition Statute: The use of any citizen’s true name to bind, charm, or otherwise manipulate with magic is illegal. The use of a true name to bind, charm, or otherwise manipulate with magic any noncitizen is allowable so long as the ensorcelled is not forced to commit crimes within the boundaries of the kingdom.

Oddities On Parade: Strange Laws of New Mountainheart

New Mountainheart is a legal headache masquerading as a country. When humans, dwarves, fey, awakened animals, awakened plants, and the occasional giant are all citizens under the same crown, the law can get… unusual. Here is a sampling of bizarre laws that seem absurd at first glance but make perfect sense once you remember just how strange New Mountainheart really is.

1. Article 71 Supplemental Accessibility Clarification: Public buildings whose intended clientele is all under 1 foot tall are exempt from Article 71, Section 7 of the building code, not required to provide entrances accessible to beings exceeding 8 feet in height or 6 feet in shoulder width
2. The Metaphorical Weaponization Prevention Statute: Due to numerous complaints from various mortals of severe head trauma, fey jokes that use the word club (as in a group of people defined by membership) as a pun with the weapon of the same name are hereby classified as aggravated linguistic assault
3. The Equine Occupational Temperance Statute: It is illegal to sell or otherwise provide alcoholic beverages to horses, mules, or donkeys during working hours, no matter how much they beg for a drink.
4. The Arborial Bodily Integrity Act: Tapping, drilling, or otherwise piercing the bark of a tree without permission is considered felony assault.
5. The Universal Personhood and Predatory Conduct Act: Attacking any creature with the intent to eat it is considered attempted murder. Natural predatory instinct shall not constitute a legal defense
6. The Fair Speech and Consent in Introductions Ordinance: The phrases ” May I have your name” and “May I take your name” are hereby banned from all contexts
7. The Unauthorized Murder Prevention Ordinance: Any assembly of three or more non-guild crows shall be treated as an unsanctioned murder under the charter of the corvid’s guild and hereby subject to guild punishments.
8. The Anti-Glamour Fraud Statute: The sale of illusory or invisible goods is hereby prohibited.
9. The Public Molluscan Transit Safety and Civic Infrastructure Protection Ordinance: The spreading, spilling, or unauthorized disposal of salt upon any public roadway shall be considered vandalism of civic property, reckless endangerment of municipal gastropod assets, and the creation of a public traffic hazard
10. The Residential Climatic Alteration and Stormwater Management Code: Weather-altering magic is permissible so long as the effect is restricted to a space no larger than 20×20 feet on one’s own property. Alterations to weather any larger than that require the written consent of property owners and or relevant local, regional, or national government officials as necessary.
11. The Ethical Transfiguration Standards Act: Polymorphing a sentient entity requires written permission from the transformee and cannot be permanent.
    • The above restriction shall not apply to Tansy Fleetfoot
12. The Domestic Thaumic Coercion Prohibition Statute: The use of any citizen’s true name to bind, charm, or otherwise manipulate with magic is illegal. The use of a true name to bind, charm, or otherwise manipulate with magic any noncitizen is allowable so long as the ensorcelled is not forced to commit crimes within the boundaries of the kingdom.

Three Things Challenge #MM442

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/02/three-things-challenge-mm442/

Three Things Challenge #MM442

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/06/02/three-things-challenge-mm442/

Three Things Challenge #MM438

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/05/29/three-things-challenge-mm438/

Three Things Challenge #MM438

https://markneweden.wordpress.com/2026/05/29/three-things-challenge-mm438/

From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kaupferthal, Part 4

Previous entries in this series

• From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 2
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 3

Blossombud 28th

Cinni was not fooled.

It was the first thing she told me when we woke up today.

If I promised to join her companions and play the little sister for a few months. She promised not to reveal me. She even promised to finish my research notes.

Not that I can make them any more.

With all the mind modification magic I used on myself, I am in no position to refuse or return home on my own.

I agreed.

This is my last entry.

I considered turning this into a diary, but decided against it.

I can barely interpret my own drawings anymore.

Blossombud 28th

(Subsequent entries attributed to Cinnibara von Kupferthal)

My mom has, somehow, turned herself into an incredibly adorable wyrmling.

And I’m thinking about getting some little ones of my own.

Strange how fate sets up these little opportunities

I gently convinced her to take a vacation from her endless research expeditions and tag along with me and my cohorts for a few months.

I think she would benefit from having the childhood she never had and a mother figure who would not eat her.

I may even convince her to call me “mommy.”

(I am only half joking.)

I promised to continue her notes, and I think I understand the crayon scribbles she was using as notes.

I am, admittedly, an archaeologist, so this sort of sociological observation is not my specialty—but I believe I can manage.

Garnette, the Eochaid daughters, and I spent the day helping to the best of our abilities with the preparations for tomorrow’s Beltane celebrations.

The girls and Garnette spent the day weaving the traditional floral crowns.

I used my prestigious stature to help hang strings of lanterns and flower chains between the brughs. Everything smells like fresh blossoms and cut greenery.

A Beltane pole was erected in the center of the green, and long tables were erected around it.

I could smell the preparations for the feast; it would be the traditional vegan fare most Fey communities serve at this time of year.

No meatfruit or meat, however. That made me sad. I can eat vegetables, but I would rather have meat.

All in all, it is a fairly typical Beltane celebration for the highlands—though somewhat more industrious in preparation than most.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

Beltane

That was… an eventful day and night.

The folk of Brugh na Ciorcal really know how to host a celebration.

Garnette had an absolute blast playing games with the other children.

My companions—Gunaakt the warrior, Akhealis the witch, Grunk the thief, and Primrose the druid—seemed to enjoy themselves.

However, as I was also recording the events for prosperity on behalf of my mother, I cannot help but notice certain disparities between the fey Beltane celebrations I have attended elsewhere in the region and those held here.

Some of those differences are worryingly off script.

It started off typical enough.

The druids led the entire village in a procession to the altar site, with its effigies of the Young Lord and Lady and the sacred bonfires.

The invocation of names from the days of the old fey empires was spoken aloud, and protocols announced.

Then the first deviation from the script. The druids sacrificed a lamb to the Lord and Lady. There was no shock, no horror—only solemn reverence as the beast’s neck was slit. Only Garnette, my companions, and I showed any adverse reaction to the scene. Garnette practically started crying for the little lamb, and my companions did their best to hide their disgust and horror.

It was the sort of thing I would expect to be depicted on the walls in human temples or tombs that my crew typically delves into.

Not in the middle of a fey enclave.

(I may need to revisit my mother’s conclusions. She may have underestimated how far this enclave has drifted.)

After the sacrifice, the townsfolk made the traditional cleansing passage between the bonfires, and the fun and games started.

Musical instruments were broken out, ale started to flow, and the children and Garnette wandered into the fields to play.

The second deviation was that the headman, Sir Labhruinn, held a tournament of sword, bow, and lance.

How very Arthurian of him.

It was a miserable affair; nobody had any real skill. If Gunaakt were not restricted to a bench by his injuries, he would have taken home the “knighthood” that was the prize.

The feast was okay, no meat, just bread, roasted vegetables, and soup. It was a relief to see the Fey had not become carnivores after witnessing the sacrifice, but I would have liked a meat dish.

Giorsail approached me privately and asked whether I would take her and Luthais with me when I return to the city, saying Garnette had told them I could introduce them to our mother.

Mother’s notes are a little hard to read in the last few entries, but I do remember seeing something about the two having trist.

Given what I know of the headman, it would be for the best if they get out of town before he learns about the two of them.

Once Gunaakt can walk again, we will leave—and they will be coming with us.

Greenleaf 4th

Well, that came apart faster than anticipated.

Why could it wait one more day?

Sir Labhruinn finally bent to his wife and mother’s demands and confronted Luthais about his relationship with Giorsail.

It escalated into a shoving match, then a fistfight.

Luthais lost control and let loose one of the verses of power.

The bolt of fire missed just barely, but the damage was done.

There was no deliberation.

Luthais and Giorsail were banished from the village.

It is ironic that Sir Labhruinn, a man so wrapped up in the myth of chivalry, would banish his own son for choosing Merlin’s path over Lancelot’s path.

We also decided to leave since we might be overstaying our welcome.

We strapped Gunaakt to my back so he would not slow us down, and said our farewells to the townsfolk.

I had to carry Garnette out of the village by the scruff of the neck, flailing and wailing all the while. She did not want to leave.

I am not sure she understood why she had to.

But I’m glad to leave the fey village that was too mortal for my tastes.

Much later that year, I found myself reflecting on Brugh na Ciorcal.

As much as I hate to say it, Brugh na Ciorcal is not an isolated case. I began noticing similar deviations in other fey enclaves, nothing as extreme as in Brugh na Ciorcal, but noticeable nonetheless.

It is worrying, but I am not sure what to make of it.

That will be a task left to my mother.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

NMR 499

Looking back on my time as Garnette, I can say it was some of the happiest days of my life.

I did not have a childhood. My mother was an unthinking, feral dragon with a notorious reputation. I might have followed the same path had I not been taken in during my eighth year—perhaps too late, in truth. Being so old, my infancy dragged on for a little bit longer than most, as Ozimaev the sorceress worked the feralness out of me. By the time I was able to talk, she already considered me an apprentice or a familiar rather than a daughter.

It was study, study, study after that.

The two years I spent with Cinni as her little sister, Garnette, healed some old wounds I was unaware I had. I was able to wander about, wide-eyed and curious, as if I’d never done so before. With the construct in my mind gently guiding me away from my adult knowledge, I experienced the world anew. For the first time, I was able to play the silly games of young children alongside them, not as an adult but as an actual participant, and it was wonderful.

I think it also healed my relationship with Cinni. She settled down for a spell in a kobold possibilium mine not too far away from Sliberberg to raise my first batch of grandchildren.

I visit regularly to play with them.

Maybe Garnette should pay them a visit, too.

From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kaupferthal, Part 4

Previous entries in this series

• From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 2
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 3

Blossombud 28th

Cinni was not fooled.

It was the first thing she told me when we woke up today.

If I promised to join her companions and play the little sister for a few months. She promised not to reveal me. She even promised to finish my research notes.

Not that I can make them any more.

With all the mind modification magic I used on myself, I am in no position to refuse or return home on my own.

I agreed.

This is my last entry.

I considered turning this into a diary, but decided against it.

I can barely interpret my own drawings anymore.

Blossombud 28th

(Subsequent entries attributed to Cinnibara von Kupferthal)

My mom has, somehow, turned herself into an incredibly adorable wyrmling.

And I’m thinking about getting some little ones of my own.

Strange how fate sets up these little opportunities

I gently convinced her to take a vacation from her endless research expeditions and tag along with me and my cohorts for a few months.

I think she would benefit from having the childhood she never had and a mother figure who would not eat her.

I may even convince her to call me “mommy.”

(I am only half joking.)

I promised to continue her notes, and I think I understand the crayon scribbles she was using as notes.

I am, admittedly, an archaeologist, so this sort of sociological observation is not my specialty—but I believe I can manage.

Garnette, the Eochaid daughters, and I spent the day helping to the best of our abilities with the preparations for tomorrow’s Beltane celebrations.

The girls and Garnette spent the day weaving the traditional floral crowns.

I used my prestigious stature to help hang strings of lanterns and flower chains between the brughs. Everything smells like fresh blossoms and cut greenery.

A Beltane pole was erected in the center of the green, and long tables were erected around it.

I could smell the preparations for the feast; it would be the traditional vegan fare most Fey communities serve at this time of year.

No meatfruit or meat, however. That made me sad. I can eat vegetables, but I would rather have meat.

All in all, it is a fairly typical Beltane celebration for the highlands—though somewhat more industrious in preparation than most.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

Beltane

That was… an eventful day and night.

The folk of Brugh na Ciorcal really know how to host a celebration.

Garnette had an absolute blast playing games with the other children.

My companions—Gunaakt the warrior, Akhealis the witch, Grunk the thief, and Primrose the druid—seemed to enjoy themselves.

However, as I was also recording the events for prosperity on behalf of my mother, I cannot help but notice certain disparities between the fey Beltane celebrations I have attended elsewhere in the region and those held here.

Some of those differences are worryingly off script.

It started off typical enough.

The druids led the entire village in a procession to the altar site, with its effigies of the Young Lord and Lady and the sacred bonfires.

The invocation of names from the days of the old fey empires was spoken aloud, and protocols announced.

Then the first deviation from the script. The druids sacrificed a lamb to the Lord and Lady. There was no shock, no horror—only solemn reverence as the beast’s neck was slit. Only Garnette, my companions, and I showed any adverse reaction to the scene. Garnette practically started crying for the little lamb, and my companions did their best to hide their disgust and horror.

It was the sort of thing I would expect to be depicted on the walls in human temples or tombs that my crew typically delves into.

Not in the middle of a fey enclave.

(I may need to revisit my mother’s conclusions. She may have underestimated how far this enclave has drifted.)

After the sacrifice, the townsfolk made the traditional cleansing passage between the bonfires, and the fun and games started.

Musical instruments were broken out, ale started to flow, and the children and Garnette wandered into the fields to play.

The second deviation was that the headman, Sir Labhruinn, held a tournament of sword, bow, and lance.

How very Arthurian of him.

It was a miserable affair; nobody had any real skill. If Gunaakt were not restricted to a bench by his injuries, he would have taken home the “knighthood” that was the prize.

The feast was okay, no meat, just bread, roasted vegetables, and soup. It was a relief to see the Fey had not become carnivores after witnessing the sacrifice, but I would have liked a meat dish.

Giorsail approached me privately and asked whether I would take her and Luthais with me when I return to the city, saying Garnette had told them I could introduce them to our mother.

Mother’s notes are a little hard to read in the last few entries, but I do remember seeing something about the two having trist.

Given what I know of the headman, it would be for the best if they get out of town before he learns about the two of them.

Once Gunaakt can walk again, we will leave—and they will be coming with us.

Greenleaf 4th

Well, that came apart faster than anticipated.

Why could it wait one more day?

Sir Labhruinn finally bent to his wife and mother’s demands and confronted Luthais about his relationship with Giorsail.

It escalated into a shoving match, then a fistfight.

Luthais lost control and let loose one of the verses of power.

The bolt of fire missed just barely, but the damage was done.

There was no deliberation.

Luthais and Giorsail were banished from the village.

It is ironic that Sir Labhruinn, a man so wrapped up in the myth of chivalry, would banish his own son for choosing Merlin’s path over Lancelot’s path.

We also decided to leave since we might be overstaying our welcome.

We strapped Gunaakt to my back so he would not slow us down, and said our farewells to the townsfolk.

I had to carry Garnette out of the village by the scruff of the neck, flailing and wailing all the while. She did not want to leave.

I am not sure she understood why she had to.

But I’m glad to leave the fey village that was too mortal for my tastes.

Much later that year, I found myself reflecting on Brugh na Ciorcal.

As much as I hate to say it, Brugh na Ciorcal is not an isolated case. I began noticing similar deviations in other fey enclaves, nothing as extreme as in Brugh na Ciorcal, but noticeable nonetheless.

It is worrying, but I am not sure what to make of it.

That will be a task left to my mother.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

NMR 499

Looking back on my time as Garnette, I can say it was some of the happiest days of my life.

I did not have a childhood. My mother was an unthinking, feral dragon with a notorious reputation. I might have followed the same path had I not been taken in during my eighth year—perhaps too late, in truth. Being so old, my infancy dragged on for a little bit longer than most, as Ozimaev the sorceress worked the feralness out of me. By the time I was able to talk, she already considered me an apprentice or a familiar rather than a daughter.

It was study, study, study after that.

The two years I spent with Cinni as her little sister, Garnette, healed some old wounds I was unaware I had. I was able to wander about, wide-eyed and curious, as if I’d never done so before. With the construct in my mind gently guiding me away from my adult knowledge, I experienced the world anew. For the first time, I was able to play the silly games of young children alongside them, not as an adult but as an actual participant, and it was wonderful.

I think it also healed my relationship with Cinni. She settled down for a spell in a kobold possibilium mine not too far away from Sliberberg to raise my first batch of grandchildren.

I visit regularly to play with them.

Maybe Garnette should pay them a visit, too.

Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 3

Previous parts

• From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 2

Blossombud 26th

I need to find the time to fix the mental construct. I am enjoying being a wyrmling again too much.

But with Giorsail’s around, I cannot do it here, and my hostesses are loath to let the ‘princess from the big city’ out of their sights.

Anyway, observations.

For the first time, I was able to observe the druid perform a ritual up close.

Saraid’s water broke.

I was lucky enough to be within smelling range.

I immediately bolted for the master bedroom, assuming (correctly) that the birth would occur in there. I hid behind a large trunk (thank goodness for this stupid collar.)

The druids were called for, and they arrived promptly.

I witnessed the birthing ritual in full.

The druids started to murmur in an antiquated dialect of fey similar to the runic tongue of Faerie used in spellcasting, but not quite.

Fortunately, I am fluent in most forms of fey, including this particular dialect of the Runic Tounge of Faerie

The structure was formal—almost bureaucratic. Titles were announced, permissions invoked, and roles acknowledged.

There were invocations of various spirits with names like “Viscount of the Third Root” and “Steward of the Western Wind”—titles that sounded precise but whose referents I could not identify. These include invocations of the elements, references to what sounded like royal court proceedings, and the presentation of a visiting noble to another noble’s court.

I would once have laughed at its absurdity. I am no longer certain that would be appropriate. Again, I hate how the spell is making me act.

I have a theory that the rituals the druids perform are leftover bits of protocol from the Faerie kingdoms of yore.

My friends at the Natural Philosophers Society in Silberberg have coined the term “Cargo Cult” to describe how newly contacted stone-weapon-wielding tribes on the continent of Yohualtlan react to explorers wielding modern technology. They perceive the explorers as gods and start to worship them, especially when the explorers trade spare axes and other tools for rations.

I suspect a similar process may be at work here—rituals preserved long after their original meaning has been forgotten, retained for form rather than function.

However, I am not sure how typical what I saw is compared to other enclaves. It may be worth some follow-up expeditions.

Back to the observations.

The new member of the Eochaid clan was a boy. Once the druids filled out, the family filled in to witness the new arrival. I took this opportunity to slink out of my hiding spot back into the brugh.

I unfortunately ran into Giorsail and Luthais sharing an… intimate moment in the central hall. She’s… a lot younger than I first assumed, maybe a few years older than Luthais, which makes her all the more terrifying that she can pull off seeming like she’s in her mid-20s all the time. From the sound of it, they were serious about the relationship.

Fey have been known to have flings outside their species, but inter-species love affairs are beyond rare.

It’s the sort of thing that they write epic poems about whenever it happens, the sort that either ends with love conquering all through magic, the lovers eloping, or mutual suicide.

Of course, they noticed me.

Luthais lifted me off the ground by the scruff of my neck as though I weighed nothing. He threatened me, saying that if I said anything, he would prove himself a dragonslayer to his father. I found myself genuinely afraid.

Giorsail, by contrast, was calm—watching me in a way that suggested she saw far more than I would have liked. She said that my “mother” was an important person back in Sliberberg. There was some discussion. It sounded like they were planning to run away to the big city.

I took my chance and said that my big sister, Cinni, was out adventuring in the area, and she would surely help them if I asked nicely. It seemed to placate them, and they let me go on my way.

The only other thing of note was a large feast in honor of Gòrdan’s birth. Thankfully, there was no meat at the feast, just normal veggies. All I could say about it is that it was a bigger version of the usual dinner served in the Eochaid clan’s brugh. 

However, I caught Sir Labhruinn and Samthann talking about me, saying that he loathes to let me leave the village until my mother or my older siblings come to collect me. Samthann was delighted to have the princess from the city stay a little longer.

This complicates matters.

I was planning to stay until a few days after Beltane and then head back home once I started to wear out my welcome. But apparently, the Eochaid clan loves me and is looking for an excuse to have me stay a little longer, or more likely, meet my “mother.”

As I said, my daughter, Cinnibara, is somewhere in these hills with her mortal friends. I could possibly contact her to be my chaperone. But on the other hand, I would rather not.

She does not approve of my methods.

Ironic since her cohort are ruffians more interested in coin than research.

Her finding a wyrmling version of me would be an awkward conversation.

I could sneak out of the village. Maybe spend some time exploring. I really enjoy being little again, and it’s tempting to go exploring in this form and experience the wide-eyed wonder I had when I was young.

More tempting than it should be.

Ugh, the construct is affecting my judgment now.

I will sneak away in the morning and fix this mess—before I lose the inclination to do so.

Blossombud 27th

NO, NO, NO. This has gone very wrong.

I was reworking my spell beneath a tree outside the village when I smelled another dragon.

It was Cinni.

She had her adventurer friends with her, and they were coming straight to the village.

Everybody knew that she was coming, and the first thing she did was introduce herself using her full title.

She would see straight through me if my disguise were not perfect.

I panicked and miscast the spell.

The construct is now even stronger than before. I can get to my adult knowledge if I really concentrate, but I cannot hold on to it for long.

Worse, the suggestions that the concentrate are really intrusive now. My attention span is gone. I am even more impulsive. 

I can still read my crayon drawing notes, but just barely.

I feel… smaller. Simpler. Thoughts slip away if I do not hold onto them.

I may have made this more difficult to undo than intended.

I am not sure I want to.

I am, it seems, going to be the wyrmling Garnette von Kupferthal for the foreseeable future.

At least I do not smell like myself. That is good. It means the disguise may hold.

I snuck back in town and found my new friends. They brought me to meet my “big sister.”

My reinforced childhood was enough to fool her—at least, I think it was; her delight in meeting her youngest sister was genuine. I am sure of that.

She immediately doted on me as though I truly were her little sister. She even removed the shrinking collar I had been saddled with over the past few weeks.

It is so strange to have our relationship inverted, with her acting like the mother and me the daughter.

I do not think she would approve of this version of me.

She, I, and my new friends spent the rest of the day together, playing and making floral crowns for Beltane. She even shrank herself down to horse size so we could play together without frightening the others.

We are now sharing a room in my friend’s house. She is fast asleep, curled around me as I once did when she was little.

I like it when she holds me like this.

We are going to be staying here for a while

Her last delve went poorly. She is uninjured, but her companions are not.

Gunaakt, the orc landsknecht, will be bedridden for several days.

Once he recovers, they intend to return to Sliberberg—and take me with them.

I will go.

I may have to accept that this is no longer a research expedition.

It may become a… vacation.

Perhaps one that is long overdue.

That thought is… concerning.

Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 3

Previous parts

• From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 2

Blossombud 26th

I need to find the time to fix the mental construct. I am enjoying being a wyrmling again too much.

But with Giorsail’s around, I cannot do it here, and my hostesses are loath to let the ‘princess from the big city’ out of their sights.

Anyway, observations.

For the first time, I was able to observe the druid perform a ritual up close.

Saraid’s water broke.

I was lucky enough to be within smelling range.

I immediately bolted for the master bedroom, assuming (correctly) that the birth would occur in there. I hid behind a large trunk (thank goodness for this stupid collar.)

The druids were called for, and they arrived promptly.

I witnessed the birthing ritual in full.

The druids started to murmur in an antiquated dialect of fey similar to the runic tongue of Faerie used in spellcasting, but not quite.

Fortunately, I am fluent in most forms of fey, including this particular dialect of the Runic Tounge of Faerie

The structure was formal—almost bureaucratic. Titles were announced, permissions invoked, and roles acknowledged.

There were invocations of various spirits with names like “Viscount of the Third Root” and “Steward of the Western Wind”—titles that sounded precise but whose referents I could not identify. These include invocations of the elements, references to what sounded like royal court proceedings, and the presentation of a visiting noble to another noble’s court.

I would once have laughed at its absurdity. I am no longer certain that would be appropriate. Again, I hate how the spell is making me act.

I have a theory that the rituals the druids perform are leftover bits of protocol from the Faerie kingdoms of yore.

My friends at the Natural Philosophers Society in Silberberg have coined the term “Cargo Cult” to describe how newly contacted stone-weapon-wielding tribes on the continent of Yohualtlan react to explorers wielding modern technology. They perceive the explorers as gods and start to worship them, especially when the explorers trade spare axes and other tools for rations.

I suspect a similar process may be at work here—rituals preserved long after their original meaning has been forgotten, retained for form rather than function.

However, I am not sure how typical what I saw is compared to other enclaves. It may be worth some follow-up expeditions.

Back to the observations.

The new member of the Eochaid clan was a boy. Once the druids filled out, the family filled in to witness the new arrival. I took this opportunity to slink out of my hiding spot back into the brugh.

I unfortunately ran into Giorsail and Luthais sharing an… intimate moment in the central hall. She’s… a lot younger than I first assumed, maybe a few years older than Luthais, which makes her all the more terrifying that she can pull off seeming like she’s in her mid-20s all the time. From the sound of it, they were serious about the relationship.

Fey have been known to have flings outside their species, but inter-species love affairs are beyond rare.

It’s the sort of thing that they write epic poems about whenever it happens, the sort that either ends with love conquering all through magic, the lovers eloping, or mutual suicide.

Of course, they noticed me.

Luthais lifted me off the ground by the scruff of my neck as though I weighed nothing. He threatened me, saying that if I said anything, he would prove himself a dragonslayer to his father. I found myself genuinely afraid.

Giorsail, by contrast, was calm—watching me in a way that suggested she saw far more than I would have liked. She said that my “mother” was an important person back in Sliberberg. There was some discussion. It sounded like they were planning to run away to the big city.

I took my chance and said that my big sister, Cinni, was out adventuring in the area, and she would surely help them if I asked nicely. It seemed to placate them, and they let me go on my way.

The only other thing of note was a large feast in honor of Gòrdan’s birth. Thankfully, there was no meat at the feast, just normal veggies. All I could say about it is that it was a bigger version of the usual dinner served in the Eochaid clan’s brugh. 

However, I caught Sir Labhruinn and Samthann talking about me, saying that he loathes to let me leave the village until my mother or my older siblings come to collect me. Samthann was delighted to have the princess from the city stay a little longer.

This complicates matters.

I was planning to stay until a few days after Beltane and then head back home once I started to wear out my welcome. But apparently, the Eochaid clan loves me and is looking for an excuse to have me stay a little longer, or more likely, meet my “mother.”

As I said, my daughter, Cinnibara, is somewhere in these hills with her mortal friends. I could possibly contact her to be my chaperone. But on the other hand, I would rather not.

She does not approve of my methods.

Ironic since her cohort are ruffians more interested in coin than research.

Her finding a wyrmling version of me would be an awkward conversation.

I could sneak out of the village. Maybe spend some time exploring. I really enjoy being little again, and it’s tempting to go exploring in this form and experience the wide-eyed wonder I had when I was young.

More tempting than it should be.

Ugh, the construct is affecting my judgment now.

I will sneak away in the morning and fix this mess—before I lose the inclination to do so.

Blossombud 27th

NO, NO, NO. This has gone very wrong.

I was reworking my spell beneath a tree outside the village when I smelled another dragon.

It was Cinni.

She had her adventurer friends with her, and they were coming straight to the village.

Everybody knew that she was coming, and the first thing she did was introduce herself using her full title.

She would see straight through me if my disguise were not perfect.

I panicked and miscast the spell.

The construct is now even stronger than before. I can get to my adult knowledge if I really concentrate, but I cannot hold on to it for long.

Worse, the suggestions that the concentrate are really intrusive now. My attention span is gone. I am even more impulsive. 

I can still read my crayon drawing notes, but just barely.

I feel… smaller. Simpler. Thoughts slip away if I do not hold onto them.

I may have made this more difficult to undo than intended.

I am not sure I want to.

I am, it seems, going to be the wyrmling Garnette von Kupferthal for the foreseeable future.

At least I do not smell like myself. That is good. It means the disguise may hold.

I snuck back in town and found my new friends. They brought me to meet my “big sister.”

My reinforced childhood was enough to fool her—at least, I think it was; her delight in meeting her youngest sister was genuine. I am sure of that.

She immediately doted on me as though I truly were her little sister. She even removed the shrinking collar I had been saddled with over the past few weeks.

It is so strange to have our relationship inverted, with her acting like the mother and me the daughter.

I do not think she would approve of this version of me.

She, I, and my new friends spent the rest of the day together, playing and making floral crowns for Beltane. She even shrank herself down to horse size so we could play together without frightening the others.

We are now sharing a room in my friend’s house. She is fast asleep, curled around me as I once did when she was little.

I like it when she holds me like this.

We are going to be staying here for a while

Her last delve went poorly. She is uninjured, but her companions are not.

Gunaakt, the orc landsknecht, will be bedridden for several days.

Once he recovers, they intend to return to Sliberberg—and take me with them.

I will go.

I may have to accept that this is no longer a research expedition.

It may become a… vacation.

Perhaps one that is long overdue.

That thought is… concerning.

[grannus] Blogparade: Drei Dinge, die mir jede Rollenspielrunde versauen

Dieses Jahr lädt Bartimeaus zur Blog-Parade ein und da ich noch nie einen Rant geschrieben habe, bin ich direkt dabei! Los geht’s, Abfahrt!

Der Trend zu One-Shots

One-Shots degradieren das inhärente Risiko im oldschooligen Spiel zu einem billigen Slapstick-Gag. Oh, Erfahrungspunkte für Schätze? Großartig! Was kaufe ich mir davon? Ach ja, nichts, denn das Spiel endet um 22:00 Uhr.
Ich plädiere verdammt noch mal für die Kampagne. Egal ob eine Sandbox, die Zeit zum Atmen braucht oder eine längere Abfolge von zusammenhängenden Abenteuern. Ich will nicht nur den einen miesen Dungeon sehen, den der Spielleiter gestern Abend hastig aus einem schlechten Blog (hust hust) kopiert hat. Ich will die lebendige, schmutzige Welt da draußen spüren. Ich will, dass meine Entscheidungen Narben hinterlassen – in der Spielwelt und auf meinem Charakterbogen.

In einer Kampagne hat das Gold, das wir unter Einsatz unseres Lebens aus den Gewölben schleppen, plötzlich einen Sinn. Es baut Burgen. Es besticht korrupte Wachen. Es finanziert Söldner, die sich im nächsten Dungeon vor uns in den Tod stürzen dürfen. Das Domänenspiel – eigentlich ein Herzstück von D&D und doch reden viele drumherum und haben es noch nie erlebt. Eine Kampagne verwandelt eine Gruppe von zufälligen, austauschbaren Abenteurern in eine legendäre (oder bemitleidenswerte) Truppe mit echter Geschichte. Da schmerzt der Tod des Stufe 4 Diebes, den man monatelang durch den Dreck gezogen hat, noch wie ein echter Verlust – und ist nicht bloß ein statistischer Schulterzucker wie beim One-Shot.

Hört auf, Rollenspiel wie ein Tinder-Date zu behandeln, bei dem man nach dem ersten Treffen direkt die Nummer blockiert. Habt mal wieder den Mut zu einer festen Beziehung. Lasst uns eine Kampagne spielen, verdammt noch mal.

Alle Runden, alle Spiele mit dem gleichen Mindset

Oh, Überraschung. Da sitzen wir nun, bereit für eine düstere, moralisch graue Cyberpunk-Dystopie, in der jede Entscheidung das eigene Leben kosten kann. Und wer stolpert als Erstes durch die Tür? Genau. Der Typ, der seit exakt fünfzehn Jahren ein und denselben Charakter spielt. Er heißt diesmal vielleicht X-Phile_99 statt Gamli, aber das Mindset? Einwandfrei aus dem High-Fantasy-Baukasten von 2000 importiert. Es ist zum Steinerweichen. Diese Spezies von Spielern leidet an einer chronischen, unheilbaren Genre-Blindheit. Sie besitzen die faszinierende Fähigkeit, jegliche Atmosphäre, jedes mühsam aufgebaute Setting komplett zu ignorieren, um stur ihr einziges, abgespeichertes Verhaltensmuster abzuspielen. Da wechselt man extra das System. Weg von der epischen Fantasy, hin zu kosmischem Horror. Die Welt ist kalt, der Verstand bröckelt, die Monster sind unbeschreiblich. Was macht unser Mindset-Monolith? Er versucht, dem Cthulhu-Kultisten das Knie zu zertrümmern, um eine „Initiative-Modifikation“ zu erzwingen. Bei Lovecraft! Herzlichen Glückwunsch, du hast das Spiel verstanden. Nicht.

Oder die umgekehrte Fraktion: Die ewigen Taktiker. Egal, ob man ein erzählorientiertes Indie-Spiel über emotionale Bindungen oder ein lockeres Bier & Brezel spielt – sie sitzen mit dem Taschenrechner da. Sie optimieren. Sie suchen den „Build“. Sie wollen das System „brechen“. Wenn man ihnen sagt, dass ihr Charakter gerade eine tiefgreifende existenzielle Krise durchlebt, fragen sie, ob dieser Zustand ihnen einen Nachteil auf irgendeinen gibt. Man möchte sie einfach nur sanft an den Schultern packen und schütteln, bis die Würfel aus den Taschen fallen. Alternativ würde ich auch zu denen nach Hause gehen, um deren Fernseher aus dem Fenster zu werfen.

Diese Leute spielen kein Rollenspiel. Sie spielen ein persönliches, psychologisches Sicherheitsnetz. Bloß keine neue Denkweise zulassen. Bloß nicht auf die Prämisse der Welt einlassen. Lieber das System wie eine schlecht sitzende Jeans so lange dehnen, bis es sich wieder anfühlt wie die heimische Komfortzone.

Aber hey, das gab es früher bei mir. Mit meiner jetzigen Runde erleben ich sowas nicht. Die sind herrlich gut drauf und bereiten mir große Freude. Küsse und Grüße! Auch der nächste Punkt entstammt meiner Rollenspiel-Vergangenheit und hat nichts mit der Gegenwart am Hut.

So wenig Spielzeit,  so viel zu tun

Es gibt Leute, die verwechseln den Spieltisch permanent mit einer betreuten Kaffeefahrt für einsame Herzen. Sie wollen gar kein Rollenspiel spielen. Sie wollen eine soziale Selbsthilfegruppe, bei der zufällig ein paar Regelbücher auf dem Tisch herumliegen. Wenn ich eine Talkshow will, schalte ich das Fernsehen ein. Wenn ich eine Pizza-Party will, gehe ich in die Pizzeria. Wenn ich mich aber für eine Rollenspielrunde verabrede, dann erwarte ich, dass wir verdammt noch mal dieses Spiel spielen! Wir schaffen in einer Vier-Stunden-Sitzung gefühlte zwei Räume, weil jede Aktion von einer dreißigminütigen Meta-Diskussion und dem Austausch von Memes auf dem Smartphone unterbrochen wird. Am Ende des Abends packen alle hochzufrieden ihre Sachen und säuseln: „Hach, das war wieder so nett heute.“ Nein, war es nicht! Wir haben nicht gespielt, wir haben nur kollektiv Zeit totgeschlagen. Sucht euch für eure Plauderstündchen bitte ein anderes Hobby und lasst diejenigen an den Tisch, die tatsächlich die Würfel rollen lassen wollen.

So, Rant zu Ende.

-grannus-

[grannus] Blogparade: Drei Dinge, die mir jede Rollenspielrunde versauen

Dieses Jahr lädt Bartimeaus zur Blog-Parade ein und da ich noch nie einen Rant geschrieben habe, bin ich direkt dabei! Los geht’s, Abfahrt!

Der Trend zu One-Shots

One-Shots degradieren das inhärente Risiko im oldschooligen Spiel zu einem billigen Slapstick-Gag. Oh, Erfahrungspunkte für Schätze? Großartig! Was kaufe ich mir davon? Ach ja, nichts, denn das Spiel endet um 22:00 Uhr.
Ich plädiere verdammt noch mal für die Kampagne. Egal ob eine Sandbox, die Zeit zum Atmen braucht oder eine längere Abfolge von zusammenhängenden Abenteuern. Ich will nicht nur den einen miesen Dungeon sehen, den der Spielleiter gestern Abend hastig aus einem schlechten Blog (hust hust) kopiert hat. Ich will die lebendige, schmutzige Welt da draußen spüren. Ich will, dass meine Entscheidungen Narben hinterlassen – in der Spielwelt und auf meinem Charakterbogen.

In einer Kampagne hat das Gold, das wir unter Einsatz unseres Lebens aus den Gewölben schleppen, plötzlich einen Sinn. Es baut Burgen. Es besticht korrupte Wachen. Es finanziert Söldner, die sich im nächsten Dungeon vor uns in den Tod stürzen dürfen. Das Domänenspiel – eigentlich ein Herzstück von D&D und doch reden viele drumherum und haben es noch nie erlebt. Eine Kampagne verwandelt eine Gruppe von zufälligen, austauschbaren Abenteurern in eine legendäre (oder bemitleidenswerte) Truppe mit echter Geschichte. Da schmerzt der Tod des Stufe 4 Diebes, den man monatelang durch den Dreck gezogen hat, noch wie ein echter Verlust – und ist nicht bloß ein statistischer Schulterzucker wie beim One-Shot.

Hört auf, Rollenspiel wie ein Tinder-Date zu behandeln, bei dem man nach dem ersten Treffen direkt die Nummer blockiert. Habt mal wieder den Mut zu einer festen Beziehung. Lasst uns eine Kampagne spielen, verdammt noch mal.

Alle Runden, alle Spiele mit dem gleichen Mindset

Oh, Überraschung. Da sitzen wir nun, bereit für eine düstere, moralisch graue Cyberpunk-Dystopie, in der jede Entscheidung das eigene Leben kosten kann. Und wer stolpert als Erstes durch die Tür? Genau. Der Typ, der seit exakt fünfzehn Jahren ein und denselben Charakter spielt. Er heißt diesmal vielleicht X-Phile_99 statt Gamli, aber das Mindset? Einwandfrei aus dem High-Fantasy-Baukasten von 2000 importiert. Es ist zum Steinerweichen. Diese Spezies von Spielern leidet an einer chronischen, unheilbaren Genre-Blindheit. Sie besitzen die faszinierende Fähigkeit, jegliche Atmosphäre, jedes mühsam aufgebaute Setting komplett zu ignorieren, um stur ihr einziges, abgespeichertes Verhaltensmuster abzuspielen. Da wechselt man extra das System. Weg von der epischen Fantasy, hin zu kosmischem Horror. Die Welt ist kalt, der Verstand bröckelt, die Monster sind unbeschreiblich. Was macht unser Mindset-Monolith? Er versucht, dem Cthulhu-Kultisten das Knie zu zertrümmern, um eine „Initiative-Modifikation“ zu erzwingen. Bei Lovecraft! Herzlichen Glückwunsch, du hast das Spiel verstanden. Nicht.

Oder die umgekehrte Fraktion: Die ewigen Taktiker. Egal, ob man ein erzählorientiertes Indie-Spiel über emotionale Bindungen oder ein lockeres Bier & Brezel spielt – sie sitzen mit dem Taschenrechner da. Sie optimieren. Sie suchen den „Build“. Sie wollen das System „brechen“. Wenn man ihnen sagt, dass ihr Charakter gerade eine tiefgreifende existenzielle Krise durchlebt, fragen sie, ob dieser Zustand ihnen einen Nachteil auf irgendeinen gibt. Man möchte sie einfach nur sanft an den Schultern packen und schütteln, bis die Würfel aus den Taschen fallen. Alternativ würde ich auch zu denen nach Hause gehen, um deren Fernseher aus dem Fenster zu werfen.

Diese Leute spielen kein Rollenspiel. Sie spielen ein persönliches, psychologisches Sicherheitsnetz. Bloß keine neue Denkweise zulassen. Bloß nicht auf die Prämisse der Welt einlassen. Lieber das System wie eine schlecht sitzende Jeans so lange dehnen, bis es sich wieder anfühlt wie die heimische Komfortzone.

Aber hey, das gab es früher bei mir. Mit meiner jetzigen Runde erleben ich sowas nicht. Die sind herrlich gut drauf und bereiten mir große Freude. Küsse und Grüße! Auch der nächste Punkt entstammt meiner Rollenspiel-Vergangenheit und hat nichts mit der Gegenwart am Hut.

So wenig Spielzeit,  so viel zu tun

Es gibt Leute, die verwechseln den Spieltisch permanent mit einer betreuten Kaffeefahrt für einsame Herzen. Sie wollen gar kein Rollenspiel spielen. Sie wollen eine soziale Selbsthilfegruppe, bei der zufällig ein paar Regelbücher auf dem Tisch herumliegen. Wenn ich eine Talkshow will, schalte ich das Fernsehen ein. Wenn ich eine Pizza-Party will, gehe ich in die Pizzeria. Wenn ich mich aber für eine Rollenspielrunde verabrede, dann erwarte ich, dass wir verdammt noch mal dieses Spiel spielen! Wir schaffen in einer Vier-Stunden-Sitzung gefühlte zwei Räume, weil jede Aktion von einer dreißigminütigen Meta-Diskussion und dem Austausch von Memes auf dem Smartphone unterbrochen wird. Am Ende des Abends packen alle hochzufrieden ihre Sachen und säuseln: „Hach, das war wieder so nett heute.“ Nein, war es nicht! Wir haben nicht gespielt, wir haben nur kollektiv Zeit totgeschlagen. Sucht euch für eure Plauderstündchen bitte ein anderes Hobby und lasst diejenigen an den Tisch, die tatsächlich die Würfel rollen lassen wollen.

So, Rant zu Ende.

-grannus-

#DungeonsDragons: The Fallbacks Series 1 #3 Review http://dlvr.it/TSWgrF

These Dungeons & Dragons Movies Are the Best Gateway to the TTRPG

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.comingsoon.net/movies/features/2047443-best-dungeons-dragons-movies

These Dungeons & Dragons Movies Are the Best Gateway to the TTRPG

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.comingsoon.net/movies/features/2047443-best-dungeons-dragons-movies

Social Digest 2026.04.26-2026.05.02

https://apollolemmon.com/2026/05/03/social-digest-2026-04-26-2026-05-02/

From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1

Highsun 8th 501 NMR

Some friends in the Natural Philosophy Society asked for my research from an expedition I did a few decades back. They are creating a book on the Faerie folk.

My little Cinni is one of the cowriters.

Naturally, I was delighted to share my research on modern agrarian fey culture.

Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal

Blossombud 10th 470 NMR

I have finished settling into my research blind outside Brugh Na Ciorcal. I found a suitably large hole in an oak tree to serve as my camp, although I am questioning my decision to disguise myself as a robin as I use my beak to write these words. It might be worth relocating to somewhere where a creature that could hold a pen could conveniently dwell. Ugh, I am getting distracted again.

An aerial inspection revealed that the village of Brugh Na Ciorcal is an almost unremarkable average specimen of Fey Enclave except for its location. It is located in the crook of a bend of Gilline Run river (although the locals most certainly do not use that name. Inquire about that at a later date). The village is roughly 1000 feet in diameter as the robin flies, which is rather large for a fey settlement, and is surrounded on 3 sides by the river (did the inhabitants change the river’s course?). The village is perfectly circular, elevated roughly 20 feet above the surrounding terrain and surrounded by an earthen berm about 7 feet high and a ditch 4 feet deep on the landward side. The entrance is flanked by a pair of unusual-looking standing stones, perfectly square columns, definitely fey-related from the spiraling markings, but they look older than the village.

The village itself consists of 120 faerie burrow houses, or brughs, of various sizes, arranged in the typical concentric-ring layout connected by spiraling paths. At the center is a large circular green with expected Fey paganism standing stones and an altar. Surrounding the green is a larger brugh which is almost certainly the headman’s dwelling, what looks like an alehouse, a general store (A rarity in a Faerie enclave, possibly a sign of outside trade), and several larger brughs which likely belong to the headman’s favorite lackeys or druids.

Outside the village for another mile or so on both sides of the river is another spiral, this one made up of paths through enclosures, orchards, and gardens enclosed by wild but trimmed hedges. The majority of these were gardens of semi-wild vegetables and fruit trees. However, I was surprised to see a plowed field at the very outskirts of the clearing and what, to my bird tongue, tasted like common wheat. They obviously were planting the stuff because a youth with a stick chased me away. The presence of domesticated crops certainly raises my eyebrows, and this might suggest a larger societal drift towards baseline mortality in the same region.

Tomorrow I will attempt a full census. This will require either a change in form or a more creative approach; robins, as it turns out, are not inconspicuous when taking notes.

Blossombud 11th

I am so tired.

I have completed my census of the Brugh Na Ciorcal, having changed my shape no less than fourteen times to get into every nook and cranny. This was, in retrospect, excessive.

I assume that none of the residents noticed me, except for the pets.

Note to self: scout villages for cats and dogs before transforming into a mouse, shrew, or bird.

Secondary note: Dogs are enthusiastic; cats are methodical

For the most part, this village’s population is utterly average except for a few deviations.

The village population stands at approximately 650 individuals—give or take a handful, as counting while being chased out of a burrow is imprecise work.

The largest group consists of satyrs and satyrkin (195), followed by a substantial goblinoid population (130) and a notable number of centaurs (95). This distribution is not unusual in isolation, but the balance between them feels… deliberate. I cannot yet say why.

The remaining population comprises smaller fey species (25), various others (30), and individuals of mixed or unclear lineage (65).

Of particular interest is the presence of 15 Fomorians. Their integration level remains unclear. I did not observe them in communal clusters, nor entirely apart. They occupy an uncomfortable middle, which may be more telling than either extreme.

There are 180 children, 115 adolescents, 250 adults, 90 elders, and 15 who are… significantly older than the rest. I am uncertain whether to classify the latter as elders or as something else entirely.

Most of the population (roughly 70%) are farmers and herdsmen working the fields, which aligns with my earlier observations regarding their agricultural tendencies.

Of the remainder, 95 are craftsmen and artisans, suggesting a healthy internal economy. Seven serve as resident druids, with fifteen apprentices—an unusually robust druidic presence for a settlement of this size, though perhaps necessary given the mixed population.

Twenty (mostly the doddering ancients) appear to be unemployed, though I suspect this is a matter of perspective rather than reality.

25 make up the household of Sir Eochaid, the middle-aged centaur who serves as the village’s chief.

The reminder consists of the goblins of  the Fòlais’ family, who run the trading post, and Giorsail, a young hobgoblin hedge witch and diviner who seems to serve as an advisor to Sir Eochaid (This is… highly irregular. A non-druid serving as advisor to a village chief suggests either a breakdown in traditional authority or an adaptation I do not yet understand. I will investigate further.)

The village has 2000 sheep, 30 geese, 20 donkeys, innumerable cats, and a few dogs.

The whole village is unified in its dress, which consists of woolen kilts and tunics for the men and boys, and woolen dresses for the women and girls, all in a frankly unfortunate tartan pattern that I suspect is meant to signify unity. The only real visible indicators of status among the villagers are the green robes the druids wear over their clothes at all times, and the jewelry clasps, pins, and broaches the chief’s family, household, and top underlings wear, bronze for the servants, silver for the henchmen, and gold for the chief and his family.

Tomorrow I will start observing Sir Eochaid and his household. Hopefully, I will uncover useful data on the villagers’ social structure and customs and maybe get to the bottom of Giorsail’s presence in the village.

Blossombud 15th

It has been difficult to keep from laughing at Eochaid’s household over these last few days—though I am beginning to suspect that doing so would be unkind.

I spent half a week observing the headman and his household as a mouse and had to stifle myself a few times in order to prevent them from noticing the novelty of a laughing rodent.

The family consists of the Patriarch Sir Labhruinn Eochaid the 10th, his wife, Saraid, his sons, Búadach, Luthais, and Torna, his daughters, Samthann, Teafa, Ealga, and Cathach, and the ancient grandmother, Sìonag. Along with these numbers, Saraid was heavy with child and barely able to move from the master bedroom without help.

 Sir Labhruinn fancies himself a valiant warlord in the tradition of the knights of the Round Table—or even King Fredrick himself—and strives to live according to what appears to be a deeply sincere, if somewhat misunderstood, ideal of chivalry.

He refers to his Brugh as his castle, even though it is only marginally larger than the second biggest dwelling in the village and consists of only 18 rooms.

The focus of the brugh is a large circular room at its center, which houses the central hearth. Such chambers are universal to all burghs, but Sir Labhruinn uses them as his throne room and the great hall. He spends all days sitting upon a pallet, adjudicating secular matters, listening to counsel from the druids and Giorsail, and receiving reports from the villagers he calls his “men-at-arms,” a term which appears to confer more dignity than responsibility. 

This chamber also holds the family’s greatest treasures: a set of bronze centaur armor, a lance, and a sword, all of Faerie design, all heavily enchanted, and several tapestries that supposedly show his ancestors, who, according to him, were famous Faerie knights in one of the fallen Faerie kingdoms.

The other chambers consist of a kitchen, the bedchamber he and Saraid share, the bedrooms for the children, two guest chambers, a bedchamber/workspace for Giorsail, a room for Sìonag, a library, and a nursery. All the rooms were well furnished compared to the rooms in the other brughs in the village, with well-worn, heavy wooden furniture featuring lots of spiral engraving and various personalization. The sleeping chambers featured straw pallets that centaurs seem to prefer.

When not sitting in court, Labhruinn insists on teaching his sons the “art” of knightly warfare. Every day, just after lunch, they go out to the meadow beyond the fields and practice swordcraft, archery, and jousting. I am no swordswoman, but their efforts resembled rehearsal more than practice.

I also discovered the reason for Giorsail’s presence in the household. Apparently, Sir Labhruinn is doing things quite literally by the book. Le Morte d’Arthur, The Errantry of Frederick von Mountainheart, and several other storybooks in the library. They are heavily bookmarked and have multiple underlined sections per page. Giorsail was recruited to be  Sir Labhruinn’s own personal “Merlin,” though I am not certain Giorsail agrees with this designation.

I also have to correct my assessment of her ability; despite not being far out of girlhood, she is more than a mere hedgecrafter. Her spellbook suggests at least a modicum of tuition under a proper wizard. She also has the ability to see magic auras around people and things without using spells, a very inconvenient power for my purposes.

However, Giorsail’s presence seems to have disturbed the household’s harmony. Sìonag and Saraid have gotten into multiple nasty arguments with Giorsail over the last few days, including a few at the nightly feasts. I initially misinterpreted Luthais’s interest in Giorsail as romantic. This was incorrect. He appears instead to be drawn to her craft—specifically, to the possibility of becoming something other than what his father intends.

This is the limit of what I can glean through observation alone. To understand this household—and perhaps this village more broadly—I will need to participate. Giorsail’s abilities present a significant complication. I must consider my approach carefully.

From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1

Highsun 8th 501 NMR

Some friends in the Natural Philosophy Society asked for my research from an expedition I did a few decades back. They are creating a book on the Faerie folk.

My little Cinni is one of the cowriters.

Naturally, I was delighted to share my research on modern agrarian fey culture.

Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal

Blossombud 10th 470 NMR

I have finished settling into my research blind outside Brugh Na Ciorcal. I found a suitably large hole in an oak tree to serve as my camp, although I am questioning my decision to disguise myself as a robin as I use my beak to write these words. It might be worth relocating to somewhere where a creature that could hold a pen could conveniently dwell. Ugh, I am getting distracted again.

An aerial inspection revealed that the village of Brugh Na Ciorcal is an almost unremarkable average specimen of Fey Enclave except for its location. It is located in the crook of a bend of Gilline Run river (although the locals most certainly do not use that name. Inquire about that at a later date). The village is roughly 1000 feet in diameter as the robin flies, which is rather large for a fey settlement, and is surrounded on 3 sides by the river (did the inhabitants change the river’s course?). The village is perfectly circular, elevated roughly 20 feet above the surrounding terrain and surrounded by an earthen berm about 7 feet high and a ditch 4 feet deep on the landward side. The entrance is flanked by a pair of unusual-looking standing stones, perfectly square columns, definitely fey-related from the spiraling markings, but they look older than the village.

The village itself consists of 120 faerie burrow houses, or brughs, of various sizes, arranged in the typical concentric-ring layout connected by spiraling paths. At the center is a large circular green with expected Fey paganism standing stones and an altar. Surrounding the green is a larger brugh which is almost certainly the headman’s dwelling, what looks like an alehouse, a general store (A rarity in a Faerie enclave, possibly a sign of outside trade), and several larger brughs which likely belong to the headman’s favorite lackeys or druids.

Outside the village for another mile or so on both sides of the river is another spiral, this one made up of paths through enclosures, orchards, and gardens enclosed by wild but trimmed hedges. The majority of these were gardens of semi-wild vegetables and fruit trees. However, I was surprised to see a plowed field at the very outskirts of the clearing and what, to my bird tongue, tasted like common wheat. They obviously were planting the stuff because a youth with a stick chased me away. The presence of domesticated crops certainly raises my eyebrows, and this might suggest a larger societal drift towards baseline mortality in the same region.

Tomorrow I will attempt a full census. This will require either a change in form or a more creative approach; robins, as it turns out, are not inconspicuous when taking notes.

Blossombud 11th

I am so tired.

I have completed my census of the Brugh Na Ciorcal, having changed my shape no less than fourteen times to get into every nook and cranny. This was, in retrospect, excessive.

I assume that none of the residents noticed me, except for the pets.

Note to self: scout villages for cats and dogs before transforming into a mouse, shrew, or bird.

Secondary note: Dogs are enthusiastic; cats are methodical

For the most part, this village’s population is utterly average except for a few deviations.

The village population stands at approximately 650 individuals—give or take a handful, as counting while being chased out of a burrow is imprecise work.

The largest group consists of satyrs and satyrkin (195), followed by a substantial goblinoid population (130) and a notable number of centaurs (95). This distribution is not unusual in isolation, but the balance between them feels… deliberate. I cannot yet say why.

The remaining population comprises smaller fey species (25), various others (30), and individuals of mixed or unclear lineage (65).

Of particular interest is the presence of 15 Fomorians. Their integration level remains unclear. I did not observe them in communal clusters, nor entirely apart. They occupy an uncomfortable middle, which may be more telling than either extreme.

There are 180 children, 115 adolescents, 250 adults, 90 elders, and 15 who are… significantly older than the rest. I am uncertain whether to classify the latter as elders or as something else entirely.

Most of the population (roughly 70%) are farmers and herdsmen working the fields, which aligns with my earlier observations regarding their agricultural tendencies.

Of the remainder, 95 are craftsmen and artisans, suggesting a healthy internal economy. Seven serve as resident druids, with fifteen apprentices—an unusually robust druidic presence for a settlement of this size, though perhaps necessary given the mixed population.

Twenty (mostly the doddering ancients) appear to be unemployed, though I suspect this is a matter of perspective rather than reality.

25 make up the household of Sir Eochaid, the middle-aged centaur who serves as the village’s chief.

The reminder consists of the goblins of  the Fòlais’ family, who run the trading post, and Giorsail, a young hobgoblin hedge witch and diviner who seems to serve as an advisor to Sir Eochaid (This is… highly irregular. A non-druid serving as advisor to a village chief suggests either a breakdown in traditional authority or an adaptation I do not yet understand. I will investigate further.)

The village has 2000 sheep, 30 geese, 20 donkeys, innumerable cats, and a few dogs.

The whole village is unified in its dress, which consists of woolen kilts and tunics for the men and boys, and woolen dresses for the women and girls, all in a frankly unfortunate tartan pattern that I suspect is meant to signify unity. The only real visible indicators of status among the villagers are the green robes the druids wear over their clothes at all times, and the jewelry clasps, pins, and broaches the chief’s family, household, and top underlings wear, bronze for the servants, silver for the henchmen, and gold for the chief and his family.

Tomorrow I will start observing Sir Eochaid and his household. Hopefully, I will uncover useful data on the villagers’ social structure and customs and maybe get to the bottom of Giorsail’s presence in the village.

Blossombud 15th

It has been difficult to keep from laughing at Eochaid’s household over these last few days—though I am beginning to suspect that doing so would be unkind.

I spent half a week observing the headman and his household as a mouse and had to stifle myself a few times in order to prevent them from noticing the novelty of a laughing rodent.

The family consists of the Patriarch Sir Labhruinn Eochaid the 10th, his wife, Saraid, his sons, Búadach, Luthais, and Torna, his daughters, Samthann, Teafa, Ealga, and Cathach, and the ancient grandmother, Sìonag. Along with these numbers, Saraid was heavy with child and barely able to move from the master bedroom without help.

 Sir Labhruinn fancies himself a valiant warlord in the tradition of the knights of the Round Table—or even King Fredrick himself—and strives to live according to what appears to be a deeply sincere, if somewhat misunderstood, ideal of chivalry.

He refers to his Brugh as his castle, even though it is only marginally larger than the second biggest dwelling in the village and consists of only 18 rooms.

The focus of the brugh is a large circular room at its center, which houses the central hearth. Such chambers are universal to all burghs, but Sir Labhruinn uses them as his throne room and the great hall. He spends all days sitting upon a pallet, adjudicating secular matters, listening to counsel from the druids and Giorsail, and receiving reports from the villagers he calls his “men-at-arms,” a term which appears to confer more dignity than responsibility. 

This chamber also holds the family’s greatest treasures: a set of bronze centaur armor, a lance, and a sword, all of Faerie design, all heavily enchanted, and several tapestries that supposedly show his ancestors, who, according to him, were famous Faerie knights in one of the fallen Faerie kingdoms.

The other chambers consist of a kitchen, the bedchamber he and Saraid share, the bedrooms for the children, two guest chambers, a bedchamber/workspace for Giorsail, a room for Sìonag, a library, and a nursery. All the rooms were well furnished compared to the rooms in the other brughs in the village, with well-worn, heavy wooden furniture featuring lots of spiral engraving and various personalization. The sleeping chambers featured straw pallets that centaurs seem to prefer.

When not sitting in court, Labhruinn insists on teaching his sons the “art” of knightly warfare. Every day, just after lunch, they go out to the meadow beyond the fields and practice swordcraft, archery, and jousting. I am no swordswoman, but their efforts resembled rehearsal more than practice.

I also discovered the reason for Giorsail’s presence in the household. Apparently, Sir Labhruinn is doing things quite literally by the book. Le Morte d’Arthur, The Errantry of Frederick von Mountainheart, and several other storybooks in the library. They are heavily bookmarked and have multiple underlined sections per page. Giorsail was recruited to be  Sir Labhruinn’s own personal “Merlin,” though I am not certain Giorsail agrees with this designation.

I also have to correct my assessment of her ability; despite not being far out of girlhood, she is more than a mere hedgecrafter. Her spellbook suggests at least a modicum of tuition under a proper wizard. She also has the ability to see magic auras around people and things without using spells, a very inconvenient power for my purposes.

However, Giorsail’s presence seems to have disturbed the household’s harmony. Sìonag and Saraid have gotten into multiple nasty arguments with Giorsail over the last few days, including a few at the nightly feasts. I initially misinterpreted Luthais’s interest in Giorsail as romantic. This was incorrect. He appears instead to be drawn to her craft—specifically, to the possibility of becoming something other than what his father intends.

This is the limit of what I can glean through observation alone. To understand this household—and perhaps this village more broadly—I will need to participate. Giorsail’s abilities present a significant complication. I must consider my approach carefully.

‘Dungeon Masters’ Host Jasmine Bhullar on Running D&D Without Licensing Restraints for New Actual-Play Show: ‘We Can Call Everything By Its Right Name’
#Variety #News #DungeonMasters #DungeonsDragons #JasmineBhullar #WizardsoftheCoast

https://variety.com/2026/tv/news/dungeon-masters-premiere-jasmine-bhullar-dm-1236728254/

‘Dungeon Masters’ Host Jasmine Bhullar on Running D&D Without Licensing Restraints for New Actual-Play Show: ‘We Can Call Everything By Its Right Name’
#Variety #News #DungeonMasters #DungeonsDragons #JasmineBhullar #WizardsoftheCoast

https://variety.com/2026/tv/news/dungeon-masters-premiere-jasmine-bhullar-dm-1236728254/

Bog Wizard – Satanik Panik
#DungeonsDragons #Metal #doom #doommetal #sludge #stonermetal #Michigan
CC BY-NC-ND (#CreativeCommons Attribution Non Commercial No Derivatives) #ccmusic
https://bogwizard.bandcamp.com/album/satanik-panik

Bog Wizard – Satanik Panik
#DungeonsDragons #Metal #doom #doommetal #sludge #stonermetal #Michigan
CC BY-NC-ND (#CreativeCommons Attribution Non Commercial No Derivatives) #ccmusic
https://bogwizard.bandcamp.com/album/satanik-panik

‘Dungeons & Dragons’ Maker Launches Official Actual-Play Show Amid Growing Popularity of ‘Critical Role,’ ‘Dimension 20’ (EXCLUSIVE)
#Variety #News #DungeonsDragons #WizardsoftheCoast

https://variety.com/2026/tv/news/dungeons-and-dragons-launches-official-actual-play-show-1236722646/