#isthisanything — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #isthisanything, aggregated by home.social.
-
Sid Meier's ffxiv 6
#chost #isthisanything #videogames -
Is This Anything?
Meet Dr. X. F. J. Widdershin, DMin, ThD, NWAR, MEM, MBA, J.D., LL.M., DVM, DC, DDS, BSYD, MD, PhD, DPT, EMD, EMT-P, RN, CRTT, DD, ASA, FSA, CAE, IAEE, PE, APSS, CMP, MS, (Ret.) (Vet.) (Esq.) And Notary Public!
The good doctor always seems to be right where he's needed, right when he's needed. The townsfolk will insist he's always been there, but the townsfolk across the county line say the same.
His tinctures work, his inventions function, even the snake-oil seems to have a potency to them. And that one thing the party has been needing to finish the collection? It's right there, for sale, right next to a bottle of rat poison and three loose trinkets from a board game.
And if the party needs to ask any follow-up questions? He's already packed up and gone. The townsfolk will swear they've never heard of him.
(And he'll also notarize anything. He has a stamp.)
---
Do your players need a lead on that relic? The Doctor has one. Do they need an antidote before sundown? He mixed a batch this morning, funny they should ask. Do they need a reason to go left instead of right? He's got something for sale that'll sort that right out. Whatever your party needs to keep the adventure moving, Dr. Widdershin has it, has done it, or knows someone who has, and he's fully credentialed in all three. He's already set up in the next town! He's been expecting them!
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #NPC #Salesman #SnakeOil
-
Is This Anything?
Meet Dr. X. F. J. Widdershin, DMin, ThD, NWAR, MEM, MBA, J.D., LL.M., DVM, DC, DDS, BSYD, MD, PhD, DPT, EMD, EMT-P, RN, CRTT, DD, ASA, FSA, CAE, IAEE, PE, APSS, CMP, MS, (Ret.) (Vet.) (Esq.) And Notary Public!
The good doctor always seems to be right where he's needed, right when he's needed. The townsfolk will insist he's always been there, but the townsfolk across the county line say the same.
His tinctures work, his inventions function, even the snake-oil seems to have a potency to them. And that one thing the party has been needing to finish the collection? It's right there, for sale, right next to a bottle of rat poison and three loose trinkets from a board game.
And if the party needs to ask any follow-up questions? He's already packed up and gone. The townsfolk will swear they've never heard of him.
(And he'll also notarize anything. He has a stamp.)
---
Do your players need a lead on that relic? The Doctor has one. Do they need an antidote before sundown? He mixed a batch this morning, funny they should ask. Do they need a reason to go left instead of right? He's got something for sale that'll sort that right out. Whatever your party needs to keep the adventure moving, Dr. Widdershin has it, has done it, or knows someone who has, and he's fully credentialed in all three. He's already set up in the next town! He's been expecting them!
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #NPC #Salesman #SnakeOil
-
Is This Anything?
Meet Dr. X. F. J. Widdershin, DMin, ThD, NWAR, MEM, MBA, J.D., LL.M., DVM, DC, DDS, BSYD, MD, PhD, DPT, EMD, EMT-P, RN, CRTT, DD, ASA, FSA, CAE, IAEE, PE, APSS, CMP, MS, (Ret.) (Vet.) (Esq.) And Notary Public!
The good doctor always seems to be right where he's needed, right when he's needed. The townsfolk will insist he's always been there, but the townsfolk across the county line say the same.
His tinctures work, his inventions function, even the snake-oil seems to have a potency to them. And that one thing the party has been needing to finish the collection? It's right there, for sale, right next to a bottle of rat poison and three loose trinkets from a board game.
And if the party needs to ask any follow-up questions? He's already packed up and gone. The townsfolk will swear they've never heard of him.
(And he'll also notarize anything. He has a stamp.)
---
Do your players need a lead on that relic? The Doctor has one. Do they need an antidote before sundown? He mixed a batch this morning, funny they should ask. Do they need a reason to go left instead of right? He's got something for sale that'll sort that right out. Whatever your party needs to keep the adventure moving, Dr. Widdershin has it, has done it, or knows someone who has, and he's fully credentialed in all three. He's already set up in the next town! He's been expecting them!
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #NPC #Salesman #SnakeOil
-
Is This Anything?
A D&D One-Shot that plays out like a Hallmark Christmas Movie.
In the town of Wickhollow, the wreaths go up a week before Solstice. The winter baking competition has been running since before anyone can remember. The mayor wears a sash. The candle in the window of the oldest house on the main road has been lit every Longest Night for several generations.
Someone in your party has been here before. They lived here, they loved here, they lost here. They left. They swore they'd never come back. But the town has welcomed them back with open arms.
Something is wrong this year. It's not a problem that can be solved by hitting it, but it is certainly the type of problem that will absolutely ruin the Longest Night celebrations if nobody does anything.
---
This is the idea of a one-shot that needs player and DM input to fully flesh it out.
What's wrong could be a family feud nobody will say aloud. It could be a recent loss that the town hasn't fully grieved yet. It could be a ritual nobody remembers how to perform. It could be the reason the hometown hero left in the first place, a wrong done to them that still sits unaddressed in the room.
One in the party is the "hometown hero" of sorts. They've returned to the town for the first time in years. Why they've returned could be a recent death in the family. It could be an old love to rekindle. It could be a letter with no return address that somehow found them anyway. It could just be that they were passing through; they swear they were only passing through.
The rest of the party are the quirky and lovable townsfolk. A chimneysweep, always covered in soot. A stablehand who can't escape the smell. An innkeeper who reserved the last room just for the "hero". The child who still believes all of it, completely, without irony.
The climax of the story is not driven by combat, but by a speech, a performance, a small act of community that the "hometown hero" could not have managed at session zero.
And it must start snowing right at the end. That is not a suggestion. The DM does not get a vote on this. It must start snowing.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #OneShot #LongestNight #WinterSolstice #Hallmark
-
Is This Anything?
A D&D One-Shot that plays out like a Hallmark Christmas Movie.
In the town of Wickhollow, the wreaths go up a week before Solstice. The winter baking competition has been running since before anyone can remember. The mayor wears a sash. The candle in the window of the oldest house on the main road has been lit every Longest Night for several generations.
Someone in your party has been here before. They lived here, they loved here, they lost here. They left. They swore they'd never come back. But the town has welcomed them back with open arms.
Something is wrong this year. It's not a problem that can be solved by hitting it, but it is certainly the type of problem that will absolutely ruin the Longest Night celebrations if nobody does anything.
---
This is the idea of a one-shot that needs player and DM input to fully flesh it out.
What's wrong could be a family feud nobody will say aloud. It could be a recent loss that the town hasn't fully grieved yet. It could be a ritual nobody remembers how to perform. It could be the reason the hometown hero left in the first place, a wrong done to them that still sits unaddressed in the room.
One in the party is the "hometown hero" of sorts. They've returned to the town for the first time in years. Why they've returned could be a recent death in the family. It could be an old love to rekindle. It could be a letter with no return address that somehow found them anyway. It could just be that they were passing through; they swear they were only passing through.
The rest of the party are the quirky and lovable townsfolk. A chimneysweep, always covered in soot. A stablehand who can't escape the smell. An innkeeper who reserved the last room just for the "hero". The child who still believes all of it, completely, without irony.
The climax of the story is not driven by combat, but by a speech, a performance, a small act of community that the "hometown hero" could not have managed at session zero.
And it must start snowing right at the end. That is not a suggestion. The DM does not get a vote on this. It must start snowing.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #OneShot #LongestNight #WinterSolstice #Hallmark
-
Is This Anything?
A D&D One-Shot that plays out like a Hallmark Christmas Movie.
In the town of Wickhollow, the wreaths go up a week before Solstice. The winter baking competition has been running since before anyone can remember. The mayor wears a sash. The candle in the window of the oldest house on the main road has been lit every Longest Night for several generations.
Someone in your party has been here before. They lived here, they loved here, they lost here. They left. They swore they'd never come back. But the town has welcomed them back with open arms.
Something is wrong this year. It's not a problem that can be solved by hitting it, but it is certainly the type of problem that will absolutely ruin the Longest Night celebrations if nobody does anything.
---
This is the idea of a one-shot that needs player and DM input to fully flesh it out.
What's wrong could be a family feud nobody will say aloud. It could be a recent loss that the town hasn't fully grieved yet. It could be a ritual nobody remembers how to perform. It could be the reason the hometown hero left in the first place, a wrong done to them that still sits unaddressed in the room.
One in the party is the "hometown hero" of sorts. They've returned to the town for the first time in years. Why they've returned could be a recent death in the family. It could be an old love to rekindle. It could be a letter with no return address that somehow found them anyway. It could just be that they were passing through; they swear they were only passing through.
The rest of the party are the quirky and lovable townsfolk. A chimneysweep, always covered in soot. A stablehand who can't escape the smell. An innkeeper who reserved the last room just for the "hero". The child who still believes all of it, completely, without irony.
The climax of the story is not driven by combat, but by a speech, a performance, a small act of community that the "hometown hero" could not have managed at session zero.
And it must start snowing right at the end. That is not a suggestion. The DM does not get a vote on this. It must start snowing.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #OneShot #LongestNight #WinterSolstice #Hallmark
-
Is This Anything?
The Butterfly Festival
Every year, over the course of a fortnight, the city fills with butterflies. Millions of them. They blanket every surface, drift through every street, settle on every shoulder. They come for a few days, and then leave, continuing their migration and dispersing.
People come from all over to see the beauty. The festival that grew around their arrival is now the largest on the continent, with vendors, ceremonies, competitions, and tourists.
This year, something is different.
The butterflies arrived as expected, but something is off. The butterflies are... docile? Their bright colors are... muted? They seem... skittish around people. And when the fortnight ends, they don't leave. They stay, packed together, restless and dim. More keep arriving. The migration has stalled.
Nobody knows why. The festival mood curdles into unease.
---
Why this is happening can depend on the story you're telling:
1. Something blocks the migration path. A threat, a disaster, or a darkness lies ahead on their route. The butterflies are witnesses to something the players haven't found yet.
2. Something in the city is drawing them. An artifact, a ritual, a birth, a death. The butterflies are responding to a magical attractor the players may be connected to.
3. They are carrying something. Spores, a curse, fey larvae, encoded information. Someone is using the migration as a delivery mechanism, and the delay is intentional.
4. They are dying. Their colors fade a little more each day. Their death will trigger something - ecological, magical, or divine - and the clock is already running out.
5. Not all of them are butterflies. Most are, but something is hiding in the swarm, waiting.---
The cause is left open on purpose. Plug in whatever fits your current story, or let the players figure it out and surprise you.
#iTA #isThisAnything #dnd5e #DungeonsAndDragons #TTRPG #ttrpghooks #Worldbuilding #storyhook #butterflies #festival
-
Is This Anything?
Take Star Trek TOS and TNG episode plots, sand off enough of the sci-fi to pass as fantasy, and run them as D&D one-shots.
-
Meet Aldric.
He turned eighteen in the dark, which is how he would have
preferred to spend it -- quietly, without incident, without
anyone dying. He had gotten good at that. Staying small. Staying
away from the edges of things. He had watched his mother go
slowly and his father go suddenly and everyone else in between
go badly, and he had taken careful notes on all of it without
meaning to, and what the notes said was: it hurts, and it takes
a long time, and it means nothing about you except that it
happened.The god did not introduce itself. It did not ask. It told him
what he was going to do and it did not wait for him to agree and
it did not offer him anything for the trouble and when it was
done speaking the room was just a room again and Aldric was
still in it, alone, the same as he had always been except now there was a direction.He is not brave. He wants to be clear about that, in case
anyone is keeping track. He knows what swords do to bodies
because he has seen what smaller things do to bodies, and he is
not interested in finding out what the last part feels like from
the inside. But the god said go, and there is no one left to
stay for, and so he is going. Quietly. Terrified. One foot and
then the other, into whatever is waiting, which he is trying
very hard not to think about.---
Aldric is a Paladin who did not ask to be one, built along the
lines of Oath of Glory less because he believes in it and more
because something does, and has decided he's the vessel. He
looks like someone who has been bracing for bad news long enough
that it has become his resting posture -- cautious eyes, careful
hands, the kind of stillness that reads as calm until you know
what it actually is. In combat he fights like a person who is
acutely aware that damage is real, which makes him precise and
not particularly reckless, and which makes his Divine Smites
feel less like power and more like desperation with good timing.
At the table he is the one asking whether this is actually
necessary, and then doing it anyway, every time.#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #Homebrew
#Paladin #OathOfGlory #DivineMandate #CharacterBackstory
#Trauma #NewAdventurer -
Meet Aldric.
He turned eighteen in the dark, which is how he would have
preferred to spend it -- quietly, without incident, without
anyone dying. He had gotten good at that. Staying small. Staying
away from the edges of things. He had watched his mother go
slowly and his father go suddenly and everyone else in between
go badly, and he had taken careful notes on all of it without
meaning to, and what the notes said was: it hurts, and it takes
a long time, and it means nothing about you except that it
happened.The god did not introduce itself. It did not ask. It told him
what he was going to do and it did not wait for him to agree and
it did not offer him anything for the trouble and when it was
done speaking the room was just a room again and Aldric was
still in it, alone, the same as he had always been except now there was a direction.He is not brave. He wants to be clear about that, in case
anyone is keeping track. He knows what swords do to bodies
because he has seen what smaller things do to bodies, and he is
not interested in finding out what the last part feels like from
the inside. But the god said go, and there is no one left to
stay for, and so he is going. Quietly. Terrified. One foot and
then the other, into whatever is waiting, which he is trying
very hard not to think about.---
Aldric is a Paladin who did not ask to be one, built along the
lines of Oath of Glory less because he believes in it and more
because something does, and has decided he's the vessel. He
looks like someone who has been bracing for bad news long enough
that it has become his resting posture -- cautious eyes, careful
hands, the kind of stillness that reads as calm until you know
what it actually is. In combat he fights like a person who is
acutely aware that damage is real, which makes him precise and
not particularly reckless, and which makes his Divine Smites
feel less like power and more like desperation with good timing.
At the table he is the one asking whether this is actually
necessary, and then doing it anyway, every time.#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #Homebrew
#Paladin #OathOfGlory #DivineMandate #CharacterBackstory
#Trauma #NewAdventurer -
Meet Aldric.
He turned eighteen in the dark, which is how he would have
preferred to spend it -- quietly, without incident, without
anyone dying. He had gotten good at that. Staying small. Staying
away from the edges of things. He had watched his mother go
slowly and his father go suddenly and everyone else in between
go badly, and he had taken careful notes on all of it without
meaning to, and what the notes said was: it hurts, and it takes
a long time, and it means nothing about you except that it
happened.The god did not introduce itself. It did not ask. It told him
what he was going to do and it did not wait for him to agree and
it did not offer him anything for the trouble and when it was
done speaking the room was just a room again and Aldric was
still in it, alone, the same as he had always been except now there was a direction.He is not brave. He wants to be clear about that, in case
anyone is keeping track. He knows what swords do to bodies
because he has seen what smaller things do to bodies, and he is
not interested in finding out what the last part feels like from
the inside. But the god said go, and there is no one left to
stay for, and so he is going. Quietly. Terrified. One foot and
then the other, into whatever is waiting, which he is trying
very hard not to think about.---
Aldric is a Paladin who did not ask to be one, built along the
lines of Oath of Glory less because he believes in it and more
because something does, and has decided he's the vessel. He
looks like someone who has been bracing for bad news long enough
that it has become his resting posture -- cautious eyes, careful
hands, the kind of stillness that reads as calm until you know
what it actually is. In combat he fights like a person who is
acutely aware that damage is real, which makes him precise and
not particularly reckless, and which makes his Divine Smites
feel less like power and more like desperation with good timing.
At the table he is the one asking whether this is actually
necessary, and then doing it anyway, every time.#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #Homebrew
#Paladin #OathOfGlory #DivineMandate #CharacterBackstory
#Trauma #NewAdventurer -
Meet Aldric.
He turned eighteen in the dark, which is how he would have
preferred to spend it -- quietly, without incident, without
anyone dying. He had gotten good at that. Staying small. Staying
away from the edges of things. He had watched his mother go
slowly and his father go suddenly and everyone else in between
go badly, and he had taken careful notes on all of it without
meaning to, and what the notes said was: it hurts, and it takes
a long time, and it means nothing about you except that it
happened.The god did not introduce itself. It did not ask. It told him
what he was going to do and it did not wait for him to agree and
it did not offer him anything for the trouble and when it was
done speaking the room was just a room again and Aldric was
still in it, alone, the same as he had always been except now there was a direction.He is not brave. He wants to be clear about that, in case
anyone is keeping track. He knows what swords do to bodies
because he has seen what smaller things do to bodies, and he is
not interested in finding out what the last part feels like from
the inside. But the god said go, and there is no one left to
stay for, and so he is going. Quietly. Terrified. One foot and
then the other, into whatever is waiting, which he is trying
very hard not to think about.---
Aldric is a Paladin who did not ask to be one, built along the
lines of Oath of Glory less because he believes in it and more
because something does, and has decided he's the vessel. He
looks like someone who has been bracing for bad news long enough
that it has become his resting posture -- cautious eyes, careful
hands, the kind of stillness that reads as calm until you know
what it actually is. In combat he fights like a person who is
acutely aware that damage is real, which makes him precise and
not particularly reckless, and which makes his Divine Smites
feel less like power and more like desperation with good timing.
At the table he is the one asking whether this is actually
necessary, and then doing it anyway, every time.#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #Homebrew
#Paladin #OathOfGlory #DivineMandate #CharacterBackstory
#Trauma #NewAdventurer -
Meet Fat Man and Little Boy.
You'll meet them at a bad inn or a good road, depending on your
luck, and they will immediately be too much. Fat Man laughs
before the joke lands and Little Boy finishes it before Fat Man
can, and somewhere in the middle of all that noise you'll
decide they're harmless. Most people do.Fat Man is broad and round and warm in the way of a hearth that
doesn't know it's burning too hot. He gestures when he talks,
which is always, and he has a laugh that arrives several seconds
before anything funny happens. Little Boy is long and narrow and
still, and watches everything with the patient attention of
someone who has learned that the world reveals itself if you
wait. They have been together long enough that their sentences
are a single thing split between two mouths.They're carrying something. They don't know what it is -- not
really. They were paid to move it, told it was fragile, told not
to open it, and they haven't, because they are, despite
everything, professionals. It is fragile. It is also the reason
the next three sessions go the way they do. By the time you
understand what they had, you will have already decided you
liked them. That's the point. That was always the point.---
Fat Man and Little Boy are comic NPCs built for early placement
and long shadow -- loud enough to dismiss, warm enough to trust,
and load-bearing in ways the party won't clock until it's loud.
Fat Man runs high Charisma and low Wisdom, all impulse and
infectious energy, a natural distraction. Little Boy is his
complement: high Perception, low everything the party might
think to check. Together they function as a delivery mechanism
for a plot device neither of them understands, and as a quiet
argument that the most dangerous things in a campaign are the
ones that make you smile first.#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #NPC
#Homebrew #ComicRelief #PlotTwist #DungeonMaster #DMTools -
Meet Fat Man and Little Boy.
You'll meet them at a bad inn or a good road, depending on your
luck, and they will immediately be too much. Fat Man laughs
before the joke lands and Little Boy finishes it before Fat Man
can, and somewhere in the middle of all that noise you'll
decide they're harmless. Most people do.Fat Man is broad and round and warm in the way of a hearth that
doesn't know it's burning too hot. He gestures when he talks,
which is always, and he has a laugh that arrives several seconds
before anything funny happens. Little Boy is long and narrow and
still, and watches everything with the patient attention of
someone who has learned that the world reveals itself if you
wait. They have been together long enough that their sentences
are a single thing split between two mouths.They're carrying something. They don't know what it is -- not
really. They were paid to move it, told it was fragile, told not
to open it, and they haven't, because they are, despite
everything, professionals. It is fragile. It is also the reason
the next three sessions go the way they do. By the time you
understand what they had, you will have already decided you
liked them. That's the point. That was always the point.---
Fat Man and Little Boy are comic NPCs built for early placement
and long shadow -- loud enough to dismiss, warm enough to trust,
and load-bearing in ways the party won't clock until it's loud.
Fat Man runs high Charisma and low Wisdom, all impulse and
infectious energy, a natural distraction. Little Boy is his
complement: high Perception, low everything the party might
think to check. Together they function as a delivery mechanism
for a plot device neither of them understands, and as a quiet
argument that the most dangerous things in a campaign are the
ones that make you smile first.#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #NPC
#Homebrew #ComicRelief #PlotTwist #DungeonMaster #DMTools -
Meet Fat Man and Little Boy.
You'll meet them at a bad inn or a good road, depending on your
luck, and they will immediately be too much. Fat Man laughs
before the joke lands and Little Boy finishes it before Fat Man
can, and somewhere in the middle of all that noise you'll
decide they're harmless. Most people do.Fat Man is broad and round and warm in the way of a hearth that
doesn't know it's burning too hot. He gestures when he talks,
which is always, and he has a laugh that arrives several seconds
before anything funny happens. Little Boy is long and narrow and
still, and watches everything with the patient attention of
someone who has learned that the world reveals itself if you
wait. They have been together long enough that their sentences
are a single thing split between two mouths.They're carrying something. They don't know what it is -- not
really. They were paid to move it, told it was fragile, told not
to open it, and they haven't, because they are, despite
everything, professionals. It is fragile. It is also the reason
the next three sessions go the way they do. By the time you
understand what they had, you will have already decided you
liked them. That's the point. That was always the point.---
Fat Man and Little Boy are comic NPCs built for early placement
and long shadow -- loud enough to dismiss, warm enough to trust,
and load-bearing in ways the party won't clock until it's loud.
Fat Man runs high Charisma and low Wisdom, all impulse and
infectious energy, a natural distraction. Little Boy is his
complement: high Perception, low everything the party might
think to check. Together they function as a delivery mechanism
for a plot device neither of them understands, and as a quiet
argument that the most dangerous things in a campaign are the
ones that make you smile first.#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #NPC
#Homebrew #ComicRelief #PlotTwist #DungeonMaster #DMTools -
Meet Zagrea Afxbis.
Six generations ago, a young Tiefling named Urxikas Afxbis was playing dice in a loud bar and caught another player cheating. He called it out. There was a scuffle. The scuffle became a brawl. The brawl became a full-room catastrophe -- everyone involved, furniture flying, chaos wall to wall.
Everyone except the Green Hag sitting alone in the far corner.
Urxikas got thrown across the room and landed near her. Scrambling up, he stepped on her pack. Something inside shattered. She screamed. The whole bar went quiet.
She walked up to him slowly. Got close. And in a voice barely above a whisper, she told him exactly what she thought of him and every red-blooded, tail-dragging devilspawn that would come after him. Then she blew a handful of sand in his eyes and walked out.
That was six Afxbisses ago. The curse has been passed down faithfully through every generation. Uncontrollable magic. Skin that changes color every time a spell fires -- bright green after poison, bright red after fire, eight colors counted so far, possibly more to come. The Afxbis line has learned, generation to generation, how to ride the magic, how to keep it from swallowing them whole. The skin, they never figured out.
Somehow, Zagrea is a happy guy. Charismatic, warm, a little prone to exaggeration when he's telling stories. He finds joy in most things. Most people like him immediately.
But spend enough time with him and you'll see it -- something behind the eyes. Something that doesn't quite rest. He keeps moving because standing still was never really an option. He wasn't welcome most places, growing up. So he kept walking, kept adventuring, and somewhere along the way started looking for something that resembles peace.
He hasn't found it yet. His powers are getting stronger by the day.
---
Zagrea Afxbis is a tall Tiefling Sorcerer with almost no muscle to speak of, wearing colorful striped overalls and a cape long enough to wrap himself in -- both striped vertically in white, red, vermillion, orange, amber, yellow, chartreuse, green, teal, blue, violet, purple, magenta, and black. He attacks from range and relies on his arcane knowledge when his spells don't cooperate. He can will his bare hands to strike like a club, dagger, or handaxe, and can summon a vibrant shield of light from his own arms when pressed. He is a lifelong adventurer, a walking folk legend, and arguably the most colorful person in the room -- sometimes literally.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Sorcerer #Tiefling
-
Meet Zagrea Afxbis.
Six generations ago, a young Tiefling named Urxikas Afxbis was playing dice in a loud bar and caught another player cheating. He called it out. There was a scuffle. The scuffle became a brawl. The brawl became a full-room catastrophe -- everyone involved, furniture flying, chaos wall to wall.
Everyone except the Green Hag sitting alone in the far corner.
Urxikas got thrown across the room and landed near her. Scrambling up, he stepped on her pack. Something inside shattered. She screamed. The whole bar went quiet.
She walked up to him slowly. Got close. And in a voice barely above a whisper, she told him exactly what she thought of him and every red-blooded, tail-dragging devilspawn that would come after him. Then she blew a handful of sand in his eyes and walked out.
That was six Afxbisses ago. The curse has been passed down faithfully through every generation. Uncontrollable magic. Skin that changes color every time a spell fires -- bright green after poison, bright red after fire, eight colors counted so far, possibly more to come. The Afxbis line has learned, generation to generation, how to ride the magic, how to keep it from swallowing them whole. The skin, they never figured out.
Somehow, Zagrea is a happy guy. Charismatic, warm, a little prone to exaggeration when he's telling stories. He finds joy in most things. Most people like him immediately.
But spend enough time with him and you'll see it -- something behind the eyes. Something that doesn't quite rest. He keeps moving because standing still was never really an option. He wasn't welcome most places, growing up. So he kept walking, kept adventuring, and somewhere along the way started looking for something that resembles peace.
He hasn't found it yet. His powers are getting stronger by the day.
---
Zagrea Afxbis is a tall Tiefling Sorcerer with almost no muscle to speak of, wearing colorful striped overalls and a cape long enough to wrap himself in -- both striped vertically in white, red, vermillion, orange, amber, yellow, chartreuse, green, teal, blue, violet, purple, magenta, and black. He attacks from range and relies on his arcane knowledge when his spells don't cooperate. He can will his bare hands to strike like a club, dagger, or handaxe, and can summon a vibrant shield of light from his own arms when pressed. He is a lifelong adventurer, a walking folk legend, and arguably the most colorful person in the room -- sometimes literally.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Sorcerer #Tiefling
-
Meet Zagrea Afxbis.
Six generations ago, a young Tiefling named Urxikas Afxbis was playing dice in a loud bar and caught another player cheating. He called it out. There was a scuffle. The scuffle became a brawl. The brawl became a full-room catastrophe -- everyone involved, furniture flying, chaos wall to wall.
Everyone except the Green Hag sitting alone in the far corner.
Urxikas got thrown across the room and landed near her. Scrambling up, he stepped on her pack. Something inside shattered. She screamed. The whole bar went quiet.
She walked up to him slowly. Got close. And in a voice barely above a whisper, she told him exactly what she thought of him and every red-blooded, tail-dragging devilspawn that would come after him. Then she blew a handful of sand in his eyes and walked out.
That was six Afxbisses ago. The curse has been passed down faithfully through every generation. Uncontrollable magic. Skin that changes color every time a spell fires -- bright green after poison, bright red after fire, eight colors counted so far, possibly more to come. The Afxbis line has learned, generation to generation, how to ride the magic, how to keep it from swallowing them whole. The skin, they never figured out.
Somehow, Zagrea is a happy guy. Charismatic, warm, a little prone to exaggeration when he's telling stories. He finds joy in most things. Most people like him immediately.
But spend enough time with him and you'll see it -- something behind the eyes. Something that doesn't quite rest. He keeps moving because standing still was never really an option. He wasn't welcome most places, growing up. So he kept walking, kept adventuring, and somewhere along the way started looking for something that resembles peace.
He hasn't found it yet. His powers are getting stronger by the day.
---
Zagrea Afxbis is a tall Tiefling Sorcerer with almost no muscle to speak of, wearing colorful striped overalls and a cape long enough to wrap himself in -- both striped vertically in white, red, vermillion, orange, amber, yellow, chartreuse, green, teal, blue, violet, purple, magenta, and black. He attacks from range and relies on his arcane knowledge when his spells don't cooperate. He can will his bare hands to strike like a club, dagger, or handaxe, and can summon a vibrant shield of light from his own arms when pressed. He is a lifelong adventurer, a walking folk legend, and arguably the most colorful person in the room -- sometimes literally.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Sorcerer #Tiefling
-
Meet Phineas Draem, Proprietor of Phin's Finds.
He was never a warrior. Never an adventurer. Never a thief. He was a salesman.
Phin's Finds occupied a crooked alley in the kind of neighborhood that doesn't appear on city maps. Cramped, cluttered, lit poorly on purpose. The sort of shop where adventurers found oddities, nobles found things they couldn't buy anywhere reputable, and scholars found things they weren't supposed to touch. Phineas didn't steal or pillage. Everything in his stock passed through someone else's hands first. He simply had a gift for being the last person those hands sold to.
He built his business on charm, patience, and a network of whispers that stretched further than anyone knew. He out-negotiated rivals, cultivated desperate sellers, and kept careful track of who owed him what and who might need something quietly acquired. Over a lifetime of that work, card by card, he assembled his crowning piece -- a nearly complete Deck of Many Things. Not a replica. Not a partial draw. The real thing, almost whole.
Then one night it was gone. The stock too. Everything. Break-in, betrayal, curse -- he doesn't know. He may never know. What he knows is that he woke up with no money, no goods, no shop, and no status. Only the road.
He is not built for the road. He knows this. But desperation has a way of expanding a man's skill set, and it turns out that everything Phineas spent decades perfecting -- reading people, running networks, saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment, hiring the right middlemen, maintaining appearances under pressure -- translates surprisingly well to staying alive in places that would like to kill him. He ducks behind cover. He throws out distractions. He cuts through minds with words when steel would be slower. There is a hidden dagger, just in case. He has not had to use it yet. He intends to keep that record.
He is not chasing glory or gold. He is chasing stock. Artifacts, relics, cursed objects, forgotten magic. Anything with a story and a market. He wants his deck back. He wants his shop back. He wants to be, once again, the black market's most indispensable dealer -- and he is willing to go find the inventory himself.
---
Phineas Draem is a Rogue 3 / Bard 7 -- Mastermind and College of Eloquence -- and it shows. His silver tongue makes persuasion feel like a gift to the person being persuaded. His read of people borders on unsettling. He lies with the timing of a man who has rehearsed honesty so thoroughly he knows exactly when to abandon it. He has never seen real battle and does not intend to start now -- but he has survived everything the road has thrown at him so far on fast talk, misdirection, and the quiet confidence of a man who knows more about the situation than anyone else present. The dagger is a last resort. The words are the weapon.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Rogue #Bard
-
Meet Phineas Draem, Proprietor of Phin's Finds.
He was never a warrior. Never an adventurer. Never a thief. He was a salesman.
Phin's Finds occupied a crooked alley in the kind of neighborhood that doesn't appear on city maps. Cramped, cluttered, lit poorly on purpose. The sort of shop where adventurers found oddities, nobles found things they couldn't buy anywhere reputable, and scholars found things they weren't supposed to touch. Phineas didn't steal or pillage. Everything in his stock passed through someone else's hands first. He simply had a gift for being the last person those hands sold to.
He built his business on charm, patience, and a network of whispers that stretched further than anyone knew. He out-negotiated rivals, cultivated desperate sellers, and kept careful track of who owed him what and who might need something quietly acquired. Over a lifetime of that work, card by card, he assembled his crowning piece -- a nearly complete Deck of Many Things. Not a replica. Not a partial draw. The real thing, almost whole.
Then one night it was gone. The stock too. Everything. Break-in, betrayal, curse -- he doesn't know. He may never know. What he knows is that he woke up with no money, no goods, no shop, and no status. Only the road.
He is not built for the road. He knows this. But desperation has a way of expanding a man's skill set, and it turns out that everything Phineas spent decades perfecting -- reading people, running networks, saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment, hiring the right middlemen, maintaining appearances under pressure -- translates surprisingly well to staying alive in places that would like to kill him. He ducks behind cover. He throws out distractions. He cuts through minds with words when steel would be slower. There is a hidden dagger, just in case. He has not had to use it yet. He intends to keep that record.
He is not chasing glory or gold. He is chasing stock. Artifacts, relics, cursed objects, forgotten magic. Anything with a story and a market. He wants his deck back. He wants his shop back. He wants to be, once again, the black market's most indispensable dealer -- and he is willing to go find the inventory himself.
---
Phineas Draem is a Rogue 3 / Bard 7 -- Mastermind and College of Eloquence -- and it shows. His silver tongue makes persuasion feel like a gift to the person being persuaded. His read of people borders on unsettling. He lies with the timing of a man who has rehearsed honesty so thoroughly he knows exactly when to abandon it. He has never seen real battle and does not intend to start now -- but he has survived everything the road has thrown at him so far on fast talk, misdirection, and the quiet confidence of a man who knows more about the situation than anyone else present. The dagger is a last resort. The words are the weapon.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Rogue #Bard
-
Meet Phineas Draem, Proprietor of Phin's Finds.
He was never a warrior. Never an adventurer. Never a thief. He was a salesman.
Phin's Finds occupied a crooked alley in the kind of neighborhood that doesn't appear on city maps. Cramped, cluttered, lit poorly on purpose. The sort of shop where adventurers found oddities, nobles found things they couldn't buy anywhere reputable, and scholars found things they weren't supposed to touch. Phineas didn't steal or pillage. Everything in his stock passed through someone else's hands first. He simply had a gift for being the last person those hands sold to.
He built his business on charm, patience, and a network of whispers that stretched further than anyone knew. He out-negotiated rivals, cultivated desperate sellers, and kept careful track of who owed him what and who might need something quietly acquired. Over a lifetime of that work, card by card, he assembled his crowning piece -- a nearly complete Deck of Many Things. Not a replica. Not a partial draw. The real thing, almost whole.
Then one night it was gone. The stock too. Everything. Break-in, betrayal, curse -- he doesn't know. He may never know. What he knows is that he woke up with no money, no goods, no shop, and no status. Only the road.
He is not built for the road. He knows this. But desperation has a way of expanding a man's skill set, and it turns out that everything Phineas spent decades perfecting -- reading people, running networks, saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment, hiring the right middlemen, maintaining appearances under pressure -- translates surprisingly well to staying alive in places that would like to kill him. He ducks behind cover. He throws out distractions. He cuts through minds with words when steel would be slower. There is a hidden dagger, just in case. He has not had to use it yet. He intends to keep that record.
He is not chasing glory or gold. He is chasing stock. Artifacts, relics, cursed objects, forgotten magic. Anything with a story and a market. He wants his deck back. He wants his shop back. He wants to be, once again, the black market's most indispensable dealer -- and he is willing to go find the inventory himself.
---
Phineas Draem is a Rogue 3 / Bard 7 -- Mastermind and College of Eloquence -- and it shows. His silver tongue makes persuasion feel like a gift to the person being persuaded. His read of people borders on unsettling. He lies with the timing of a man who has rehearsed honesty so thoroughly he knows exactly when to abandon it. He has never seen real battle and does not intend to start now -- but he has survived everything the road has thrown at him so far on fast talk, misdirection, and the quiet confidence of a man who knows more about the situation than anyone else present. The dagger is a last resort. The words are the weapon.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Rogue #Bard
-
Meet Phineas Draem, Proprietor of Phin's Finds.
He was never a warrior. Never an adventurer. Never a thief. He was a salesman.
Phin's Finds occupied a crooked alley in the kind of neighborhood that doesn't appear on city maps. Cramped, cluttered, lit poorly on purpose. The sort of shop where adventurers found oddities, nobles found things they couldn't buy anywhere reputable, and scholars found things they weren't supposed to touch. Phineas didn't steal or pillage. Everything in his stock passed through someone else's hands first. He simply had a gift for being the last person those hands sold to.
He built his business on charm, patience, and a network of whispers that stretched further than anyone knew. He out-negotiated rivals, cultivated desperate sellers, and kept careful track of who owed him what and who might need something quietly acquired. Over a lifetime of that work, card by card, he assembled his crowning piece -- a nearly complete Deck of Many Things. Not a replica. Not a partial draw. The real thing, almost whole.
Then one night it was gone. The stock too. Everything. Break-in, betrayal, curse -- he doesn't know. He may never know. What he knows is that he woke up with no money, no goods, no shop, and no status. Only the road.
He is not built for the road. He knows this. But desperation has a way of expanding a man's skill set, and it turns out that everything Phineas spent decades perfecting -- reading people, running networks, saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment, hiring the right middlemen, maintaining appearances under pressure -- translates surprisingly well to staying alive in places that would like to kill him. He ducks behind cover. He throws out distractions. He cuts through minds with words when steel would be slower. There is a hidden dagger, just in case. He has not had to use it yet. He intends to keep that record.
He is not chasing glory or gold. He is chasing stock. Artifacts, relics, cursed objects, forgotten magic. Anything with a story and a market. He wants his deck back. He wants his shop back. He wants to be, once again, the black market's most indispensable dealer -- and he is willing to go find the inventory himself.
---
Phineas Draem is a Rogue 3 / Bard 7 -- Mastermind and College of Eloquence -- and it shows. His silver tongue makes persuasion feel like a gift to the person being persuaded. His read of people borders on unsettling. He lies with the timing of a man who has rehearsed honesty so thoroughly he knows exactly when to abandon it. He has never seen real battle and does not intend to start now -- but he has survived everything the road has thrown at him so far on fast talk, misdirection, and the quiet confidence of a man who knows more about the situation than anyone else present. The dagger is a last resort. The words are the weapon.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Rogue #Bard
-
Meet Phineas Draem, Proprietor of Phin's Finds.
He was never a warrior. Never an adventurer. Never a thief. He was a salesman.
Phin's Finds occupied a crooked alley in the kind of neighborhood that doesn't appear on city maps. Cramped, cluttered, lit poorly on purpose. The sort of shop where adventurers found oddities, nobles found things they couldn't buy anywhere reputable, and scholars found things they weren't supposed to touch. Phineas didn't steal or pillage. Everything in his stock passed through someone else's hands first. He simply had a gift for being the last person those hands sold to.
He built his business on charm, patience, and a network of whispers that stretched further than anyone knew. He out-negotiated rivals, cultivated desperate sellers, and kept careful track of who owed him what and who might need something quietly acquired. Over a lifetime of that work, card by card, he assembled his crowning piece -- a nearly complete Deck of Many Things. Not a replica. Not a partial draw. The real thing, almost whole.
Then one night it was gone. The stock too. Everything. Break-in, betrayal, curse -- he doesn't know. He may never know. What he knows is that he woke up with no money, no goods, no shop, and no status. Only the road.
He is not built for the road. He knows this. But desperation has a way of expanding a man's skill set, and it turns out that everything Phineas spent decades perfecting -- reading people, running networks, saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment, hiring the right middlemen, maintaining appearances under pressure -- translates surprisingly well to staying alive in places that would like to kill him. He ducks behind cover. He throws out distractions. He cuts through minds with words when steel would be slower. There is a hidden dagger, just in case. He has not had to use it yet. He intends to keep that record.
He is not chasing glory or gold. He is chasing stock. Artifacts, relics, cursed objects, forgotten magic. Anything with a story and a market. He wants his deck back. He wants his shop back. He wants to be, once again, the black market's most indispensable dealer -- and he is willing to go find the inventory himself.
---
Phineas Draem is a Rogue 3 / Bard 7 -- Mastermind and College of Eloquence -- and it shows. His silver tongue makes persuasion feel like a gift to the person being persuaded. His read of people borders on unsettling. He lies with the timing of a man who has rehearsed honesty so thoroughly he knows exactly when to abandon it. He has never seen real battle and does not intend to start now -- but he has survived everything the road has thrown at him so far on fast talk, misdirection, and the quiet confidence of a man who knows more about the situation than anyone else present. The dagger is a last resort. The words are the weapon.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Rogue #Bard
-
Is This Anything?
A roaming philanderer who names all his bastards the same name. It's not of sentiment or of tradition; it's so he doesn't have to remember all their names. But if they ever do meet, he'll know exactly what to call them.
-
Is This Anything?
A roaming philanderer who names all his bastards the same name. It's not of sentiment or of tradition; it's so he doesn't have to remember all their names. But if they ever do meet, he'll know exactly what to call them.
-
Is This Anything?
A roaming philanderer who names all his bastards the same name. It's not of sentiment or of tradition; it's so he doesn't have to remember all their names. But if they ever do meet, he'll know exactly what to call them.
-
Is This Anything?
The Felt Digit of Tactile Telekinesis is a large, overly stuffed, pointing hand made of felt, sized to fit over a grown adult's fist. It is sewn from cheap red and yellow felt, with uneven seams and shifted stuffing. The item is in the shape of a hand curled up with an extended index finger.
To use the item, the user must wear the item on their own hand, then press the tip of the felt finger against any object, and concentrate. Telekinesis occurs immediately, but it's not the object that moves, it is the wearer.
By maintaining contact between the felt digit and the object, the wearer can move themselves in any direction, at any speed the telekinesis would otherwise permit, for as long as the tip remains pressed against the surface. Release contact, and the effect ends.
Wondrous Item, uncommon. Requires attunement by a creature with at least one hand.
The wearer can move at a speed of up to 30 feet per round in any direction while maintaining contact. The felt digit has 4 hit points and no AC to speak of. -
Meet Dirty Daerjl.
He was good at his job. Really good. Medical examiner, respected by his peers, celebrated in his field. And every paycheck, every bonus, every coin he didn't immediately need -- straight to the table.
Cards, dice, lizard races. Gambit of Ord was his game of choice, but Daerjl wasn't picky. If there was a bet to be made, he was there to make it. And one night, he was so sure he had a sure thing that he bet everything he had. He didn't have a sure thing.
He ran before they could stop him. Took a roundabout path to an inn, lay low, and told himself it would blow over. He went home the next morning to smashed windows, a kicked-in door, and most of his belongings in pieces on the floor. On top of the debris: a note.
"We have informed your former employer that you work for us now."
And just like that, his credentials as a funeral director, coroner, and medical examiner became someone else's tools. For years, he planned the disappearances. Covered up the murders. Did the dirty work and asked, regularly, when his debt would be paid off. The answer was always nothing.
One day he just didn't go in. Left town. Didn't look back.
He hasn't paid off the debt. He knows they haven't forgotten. But out here, wand in one hand and firearm in the other, he is at least on his own terms.
---
Dirty Daerjl is a Rock Gnome Artificer, level 10. At 2'10 and 40 pounds, he is at least 250 years old, with dark tan skin, a large bulbous nose, and dark grey hair cut flat on top. He bridges magic and technology with the precision of someone who spent a career in the details. He is a hard worker, a dedicated craftsman, and genuinely cannot walk past a card table without slowing down.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Artificer #RockGnome
-
Meet Dirty Daerjl.
He was good at his job. Really good. Medical examiner, respected by his peers, celebrated in his field. And every paycheck, every bonus, every coin he didn't immediately need -- straight to the table.
Cards, dice, lizard races. Gambit of Ord was his game of choice, but Daerjl wasn't picky. If there was a bet to be made, he was there to make it. And one night, he was so sure he had a sure thing that he bet everything he had. He didn't have a sure thing.
He ran before they could stop him. Took a roundabout path to an inn, lay low, and told himself it would blow over. He went home the next morning to smashed windows, a kicked-in door, and most of his belongings in pieces on the floor. On top of the debris: a note.
"We have informed your former employer that you work for us now."
And just like that, his credentials as a funeral director, coroner, and medical examiner became someone else's tools. For years, he planned the disappearances. Covered up the murders. Did the dirty work and asked, regularly, when his debt would be paid off. The answer was always nothing.
One day he just didn't go in. Left town. Didn't look back.
He hasn't paid off the debt. He knows they haven't forgotten. But out here, wand in one hand and firearm in the other, he is at least on his own terms.
---
Dirty Daerjl is a Rock Gnome Artificer, level 10. At 2'10 and 40 pounds, he is at least 250 years old, with dark tan skin, a large bulbous nose, and dark grey hair cut flat on top. He bridges magic and technology with the precision of someone who spent a career in the details. He is a hard worker, a dedicated craftsman, and genuinely cannot walk past a card table without slowing down.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Artificer #RockGnome
-
Meet Dirty Daerjl.
He was good at his job. Really good. Medical examiner, respected by his peers, celebrated in his field. And every paycheck, every bonus, every coin he didn't immediately need -- straight to the table.
Cards, dice, lizard races. Gambit of Ord was his game of choice, but Daerjl wasn't picky. If there was a bet to be made, he was there to make it. And one night, he was so sure he had a sure thing that he bet everything he had. He didn't have a sure thing.
He ran before they could stop him. Took a roundabout path to an inn, lay low, and told himself it would blow over. He went home the next morning to smashed windows, a kicked-in door, and most of his belongings in pieces on the floor. On top of the debris: a note.
"We have informed your former employer that you work for us now."
And just like that, his credentials as a funeral director, coroner, and medical examiner became someone else's tools. For years, he planned the disappearances. Covered up the murders. Did the dirty work and asked, regularly, when his debt would be paid off. The answer was always nothing.
One day he just didn't go in. Left town. Didn't look back.
He hasn't paid off the debt. He knows they haven't forgotten. But out here, wand in one hand and firearm in the other, he is at least on his own terms.
---
Dirty Daerjl is a Rock Gnome Artificer, level 10. At 2'10 and 40 pounds, he is at least 250 years old, with dark tan skin, a large bulbous nose, and dark grey hair cut flat on top. He bridges magic and technology with the precision of someone who spent a career in the details. He is a hard worker, a dedicated craftsman, and genuinely cannot walk past a card table without slowing down.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Artificer #RockGnome
-
Meet Daz'Throol, Knight of Rix-Cave, Protector of the Green Shield, Master of the Staff of Throol.
There are people who protect others because they have to. Because it's their duty, their oath, their job. Daz'Throol does it because he cannot do otherwise. Something in him -- something ancient and immovable -- simply will not allow the weak to fall while he still stands.
He is calm. Almost unnervingly so. He speaks quietly, moves deliberately, and carries himself with the kind of stillness that makes a room feel safer just by him being in it. He will listen to your problem. He will consider it fully. And if that problem involves something trying to hurt you, he will step in front of it.
He will always step in front of it.
His war pick and the Staff of Throol are tools, not trophies. The Green Shield, which protects him as he protects others, is worn with the ease of something earned. His chain mail covers his torso, plate covers his legs, and in his nose hangs the ring that carries both his holy symbol and the signet of his order -- present and visible, a reminder of what he is and who he answers to.
He does not raise his voice. He does not need to. When the calm breaks, you'll know.
---
Daz'Throol, Knight of Rix-Cave, Protector of the Green Shield, Master of the Staff of Throol, is a Loxodon Paladin, level 10. He controls the battlefield, absorbs punishment, and keeps his party standing. His presence at the table is that of an anchor: patient, immovable, and absolutely certain of his purpose.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Paladin #Loxodon
-
Meet Daz'Throol, Knight of Rix-Cave, Protector of the Green Shield, Master of the Staff of Throol.
There are people who protect others because they have to. Because it's their duty, their oath, their job. Daz'Throol does it because he cannot do otherwise. Something in him -- something ancient and immovable -- simply will not allow the weak to fall while he still stands.
He is calm. Almost unnervingly so. He speaks quietly, moves deliberately, and carries himself with the kind of stillness that makes a room feel safer just by him being in it. He will listen to your problem. He will consider it fully. And if that problem involves something trying to hurt you, he will step in front of it.
He will always step in front of it.
His war pick and the Staff of Throol are tools, not trophies. The Green Shield, which protects him as he protects others, is worn with the ease of something earned. His chain mail covers his torso, plate covers his legs, and in his nose hangs the ring that carries both his holy symbol and the signet of his order -- present and visible, a reminder of what he is and who he answers to.
He does not raise his voice. He does not need to. When the calm breaks, you'll know.
---
Daz'Throol, Knight of Rix-Cave, Protector of the Green Shield, Master of the Staff of Throol, is a Loxodon Paladin, level 10. He controls the battlefield, absorbs punishment, and keeps his party standing. His presence at the table is that of an anchor: patient, immovable, and absolutely certain of his purpose.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Paladin #Loxodon
-
Meet Daz'Throol, Knight of Rix-Cave, Protector of the Green Shield, Master of the Staff of Throol.
There are people who protect others because they have to. Because it's their duty, their oath, their job. Daz'Throol does it because he cannot do otherwise. Something in him -- something ancient and immovable -- simply will not allow the weak to fall while he still stands.
He is calm. Almost unnervingly so. He speaks quietly, moves deliberately, and carries himself with the kind of stillness that makes a room feel safer just by him being in it. He will listen to your problem. He will consider it fully. And if that problem involves something trying to hurt you, he will step in front of it.
He will always step in front of it.
His war pick and the Staff of Throol are tools, not trophies. The Green Shield, which protects him as he protects others, is worn with the ease of something earned. His chain mail covers his torso, plate covers his legs, and in his nose hangs the ring that carries both his holy symbol and the signet of his order -- present and visible, a reminder of what he is and who he answers to.
He does not raise his voice. He does not need to. When the calm breaks, you'll know.
---
Daz'Throol, Knight of Rix-Cave, Protector of the Green Shield, Master of the Staff of Throol, is a Loxodon Paladin, level 10. He controls the battlefield, absorbs punishment, and keeps his party standing. His presence at the table is that of an anchor: patient, immovable, and absolutely certain of his purpose.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Paladin #Loxodon
-
Is This Anything?
The Bop It Idol - Wondrous Artifact
The Bop-It Idol was built by trickster gnome/shopkeeper/blacksmith/inventor of considerable skill and considerable irritability who loved a good riddle almost as much as he hated anyone who thought they had figured one out.
This garishly colored scepter is warm to the touch and deeply pleased with itself. It attunes to the first creature that holds it for more than a minute and then it refuses to let go.
At the start of each of your turns in combat, the idol issues a command in a loud, cheerful voice audible to every creature within 60 feet. Bop It! Twist It! Pull It! Flick It! Spin It! Encore!
What those commands mean depends on the DM. In one version, the idol is asking: strike a nearby creature, take the dodge action, attempt a grapple, expend a resource like a spell slot or ki point, or perform a flashy weapon flourish with disadvantage because it wants a show. Comply and your turn continues. Refuse and you pay for it in psychic damage, lost actions, or an embarrassing tumble to the floor.
In the other version, it is not asking at all: your body lurches toward the nearest creature, a spell slot is drained, your attack is redirected, you move differently in the order of things.
Both versions share one final mechanic. When you drop to zero hit points, the idol speaks one last time in a voice only you can hear: "Pass it." Then it throws itself at whoever is closest.
Crumwick thought that was the funniest part.
#iTA #isThisAnything #dnd #TTRPG #homebrewdnd #dnd5e #magicitems #curseditem #cursedartifact #bopit #gnomeinventor #homebrewmagicitem
-
Meet Danumo Tallfellow.
He started on the street. Coins in a hat, card tricks, a little sleight of hand. Then he picked up an instrument and the coins came faster. He moved inside -- taverns, pub stages, dock-side crowds. Then small theaters. Then leads. Then one-man shows. Then coliseums.
There is no bigger stage than the one Danumo has already stood on. He has filled every seat in every room in every city. He is not just famous. He is beloved. He is the kind of name that makes strangers smile just by saying it.
It isn't enough.
It was never going to be enough. He doesn't want to maintain his fame -- he wants to expand it. Into every market, every household, every corner of the known world that hasn't heard of him yet. There aren't many of those left. But there is one frontier he hasn't conquered.
Adventuring.
At 5'1, he is the tallest halfling you have ever met, and he knows it. Slender, olive-skinned, with piercing green eyes and hair that enters the room a moment before he does. He has been trained in stage combat by the best stuntmen working, and he intends to find out how well that translates to something real.
---
Danumo Tallfellow is a Halfling Bard -- performer, showman, and the most charismatic person in any room he walks into. He has never walked into a room he didn't own.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Bard #Halfling
-
Meet Danumo Tallfellow.
He started on the street. Coins in a hat, card tricks, a little sleight of hand. Then he picked up an instrument and the coins came faster. He moved inside -- taverns, pub stages, dock-side crowds. Then small theaters. Then leads. Then one-man shows. Then coliseums.
There is no bigger stage than the one Danumo has already stood on. He has filled every seat in every room in every city. He is not just famous. He is beloved. He is the kind of name that makes strangers smile just by saying it.
It isn't enough.
It was never going to be enough. He doesn't want to maintain his fame -- he wants to expand it. Into every market, every household, every corner of the known world that hasn't heard of him yet. There aren't many of those left. But there is one frontier he hasn't conquered.
Adventuring.
At 5'1, he is the tallest halfling you have ever met, and he knows it. Slender, olive-skinned, with piercing green eyes and hair that enters the room a moment before he does. He has been trained in stage combat by the best stuntmen working, and he intends to find out how well that translates to something real.
---
Danumo Tallfellow is a Halfling Bard -- performer, showman, and the most charismatic person in any room he walks into. He has never walked into a room he didn't own.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Bard #Halfling
-
Meet Danumo Tallfellow.
He started on the street. Coins in a hat, card tricks, a little sleight of hand. Then he picked up an instrument and the coins came faster. He moved inside -- taverns, pub stages, dock-side crowds. Then small theaters. Then leads. Then one-man shows. Then coliseums.
There is no bigger stage than the one Danumo has already stood on. He has filled every seat in every room in every city. He is not just famous. He is beloved. He is the kind of name that makes strangers smile just by saying it.
It isn't enough.
It was never going to be enough. He doesn't want to maintain his fame -- he wants to expand it. Into every market, every household, every corner of the known world that hasn't heard of him yet. There aren't many of those left. But there is one frontier he hasn't conquered.
Adventuring.
At 5'1, he is the tallest halfling you have ever met, and he knows it. Slender, olive-skinned, with piercing green eyes and hair that enters the room a moment before he does. He has been trained in stage combat by the best stuntmen working, and he intends to find out how well that translates to something real.
---
Danumo Tallfellow is a Halfling Bard -- performer, showman, and the most charismatic person in any room he walks into. He has never walked into a room he didn't own.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Bard #Halfling
-
# Meet Cornelius "Papa" Behrr
Three hundred wins, but one loss that doesn't show up in any record book.
Papa Behrr had been fighting his whole career. He was good at it. He trained hard, he fought clean, and he was respected. Then one day, cooling down at the gym, he spotted a woman training across the room. Elvish. Striking. Moving like someone who had been in more fights than she'd ever admit. He introduced himself. She suggested a walk.
For hours they talked -- about fighting, about family, about the lack of it. Somewhere along the way she pulled out a staff, plain gold and wood, and balanced a stone above it. Then a leaf on the stone. Then a larger stone on the leaf. All of it spinning, hovering, effortless.
As Papa watched, Lucia reared back with her free hand and knocked him cold.
He woke up alone. No pack, no hat, no shirt, no rings, no shoes. Just his pants and the memory of every detail -- her long dark orange hair, her obsession with the Aqumore Archipelago, the tattoo on the back of her left hand, between thumb and forefinger: "LK."
He fell apart after that. Stopped fighting, started drinking. Then started drinking seriously. It was somewhere in a blackout that the decision made itself: find her. He doesn't know yet if it's for revenge or something worse. He just knows he has to look her in the eyes one more time.
---
Cornelius "Papa" Behrr is a Human Fighter -- a career boxer with over three hundred professional wins and one very personal loss he can't let go of. He fights with his hands, his feet, and the kind of stubborn endurance that only comes from spending decades getting hit and getting up. He is warm, steady, and easy to underestimate -- right up until he isn't.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Fighter #PC
-
# Meet Cornelius "Papa" Behrr
Three hundred wins, but one loss that doesn't show up in any record book.
Papa Behrr had been fighting his whole career. He was good at it. He trained hard, he fought clean, and he was respected. Then one day, cooling down at the gym, he spotted a woman training across the room. Elvish. Striking. Moving like someone who had been in more fights than she'd ever admit. He introduced himself. She suggested a walk.
For hours they talked -- about fighting, about family, about the lack of it. Somewhere along the way she pulled out a staff, plain gold and wood, and balanced a stone above it. Then a leaf on the stone. Then a larger stone on the leaf. All of it spinning, hovering, effortless.
As Papa watched, Lucia reared back with her free hand and knocked him cold.
He woke up alone. No pack, no hat, no shirt, no rings, no shoes. Just his pants and the memory of every detail -- her long dark orange hair, her obsession with the Aqumore Archipelago, the tattoo on the back of her left hand, between thumb and forefinger: "LK."
He fell apart after that. Stopped fighting, started drinking. Then started drinking seriously. It was somewhere in a blackout that the decision made itself: find her. He doesn't know yet if it's for revenge or something worse. He just knows he has to look her in the eyes one more time.
---
Cornelius "Papa" Behrr is a Human Fighter -- a career boxer with over three hundred professional wins and one very personal loss he can't let go of. He fights with his hands, his feet, and the kind of stubborn endurance that only comes from spending decades getting hit and getting up. He is warm, steady, and easy to underestimate -- right up until he isn't.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Fighter #PC
-
# Meet Cornelius "Papa" Behrr
Three hundred wins, but one loss that doesn't show up in any record book.
Papa Behrr had been fighting his whole career. He was good at it. He trained hard, he fought clean, and he was respected. Then one day, cooling down at the gym, he spotted a woman training across the room. Elvish. Striking. Moving like someone who had been in more fights than she'd ever admit. He introduced himself. She suggested a walk.
For hours they talked -- about fighting, about family, about the lack of it. Somewhere along the way she pulled out a staff, plain gold and wood, and balanced a stone above it. Then a leaf on the stone. Then a larger stone on the leaf. All of it spinning, hovering, effortless.
As Papa watched, Lucia reared back with her free hand and knocked him cold.
He woke up alone. No pack, no hat, no shirt, no rings, no shoes. Just his pants and the memory of every detail -- her long dark orange hair, her obsession with the Aqumore Archipelago, the tattoo on the back of her left hand, between thumb and forefinger: "LK."
He fell apart after that. Stopped fighting, started drinking. Then started drinking seriously. It was somewhere in a blackout that the decision made itself: find her. He doesn't know yet if it's for revenge or something worse. He just knows he has to look her in the eyes one more time.
---
Cornelius "Papa" Behrr is a Human Fighter -- a career boxer with over three hundred professional wins and one very personal loss he can't let go of. He fights with his hands, his feet, and the kind of stubborn endurance that only comes from spending decades getting hit and getting up. He is warm, steady, and easy to underestimate -- right up until he isn't.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #CharacterIntro #Fighter #PC
-
Is This Anything?
An explosion at the local Magic Factory rains glittering dust across a nearby town. Anyone who breathes it in is subject to something like Wild Magic -- unpredictable, uncontrollable, occasionally wonderful, occasionally catastrophic.
(What's a Magic Factory? I'm not entirely sure. Maybe ley lines are like oil -- something you can drill for, pump, refine, and ship in barrels. Maybe somebody built an industry around that. Maybe that was always going to end badly.)
The town isn't destroyed. It's just... complicated now. And somebody has to sort it out.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #WildMagic #Worldbuilding
-
Is This Anything?
In the moments before death, everybody gets one wish spell. (Rules As Written, can't undo the death, no "great latitude" granted.) You have one action, the world bends around it, and then you're gone.
#iTA #isThisAnything #iTAWish #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #WishSpell #Worldbuilding
-
Is This Anything?
Two identical blades. One always strikes true. One lies through its teeth. Every morning you wake up not knowing which is which and the only way to find out is to use them.
The most commonly-cited origin involves a gnome. Records disagree on the name, but the most repeated version i s Crumwick Follensby-Follensby-Follensby-Nimbleton-Follensby-Esq., Esq., a blacksmith of considerable skill and considerable irritability, who loved a good riddle and could not stand to be in the same room as someone who already knew the answer.
He forged the blades himself. Set the magic himself. Then, by most accounts, dropped them in a random merchant's stock at a busy market, bought a meat pie, and left. Nobody saw him again, or at least nobody who saw him knew who they were looking at.
Whether Crumwick made THE WITNESS or merely found them and added to them is disputed. Some scholars place the blades a century before any record of the gnome. He has never been available for comment.
Those who have carried both blades for long enough sometimes describe them less as two weapons and more as one unresolved question.
---
THE WITNESS
Weapon: Shortswords (or any identical weapon pair)
Rarity: Very Rare
Attunement: Required as a pairTHE WITNESS is two identical blades attuned and wielded as a single weapon system. They cannot be attuned separately. A creature that carries only one, or wields only one while the other is undrawn, gains no benefit from either.
TRUTH AND LIAR
At the end of each long rest, the DM secretly designates one blade as Truth and one as Liar. This assignment is not revealed to the wielder. When the wielder makes attacks, both attack dice are rolled openly. The wielder knows which die corresponds to which blade, but does not know which blade is advantaged.Truth blade attacks are made at advantage.
Liar blade attacks are made at disadvantage.The wielder may determine the assignment through observation over the course of the day.
THE FALSE READ
When the Liar blade misses, the wielder becomes aware that a read has occurred. The DM provides one piece of false information about the target. This may include but is not limited to: current HP threshold, intended next action, damage vulnerabilities or resistances, or current condition. The information is delivered confidently and without indication that it is false.UNATTUNED
If the blades are carried without attunement, both are treated as attacking at disadvantage at all times. The False Read does not trigger.NOTE: THE WITNESS is written here as shortswords. The mechanic applies equally to any pair of identical one-handed weapons suitable for dual wielding.
OPTIONAL: THE WITNESS may be treated as sentient. If so, neither blade speaks unprompted. What, if anything, they say is left to the DM.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #MagicWeapons #MagicItems
-
Meet Voss
He doesn't remember what ordinary thing he was doing when it happened.
He remembers before; a quiet and unremarkable life, sure, but it was *his*. And he remembers the after; which is Pip, already perched, already watching him with the patience of a thing that has been waiting a long time and is relieved the wait is finally over. Voss didn't go looking for this. He is still not quite sure what *this* is.
Voss is neat about everything. His coat, his words, the careful way he stands in a room as though he's already located the exits and decided which one he prefers. He watches people the some people watch fires, waiting for it to inevitably get out of hand but already knowing when that will happen. He's not unfriendly. He just seems that way because of his carefulness.
Ask him what Pip is and he will pause for a long time before responding: "I'm still working on that".
---
Meet Pip
Small. Fast. Certain, in an unearned way.
He arrived without invitation nor explanation.
He finishes sentences. Not out of impatience, but because he already knows where the sentence will end, and waiting for it to come seems like a dreadful formality. He is always right about that direction, and knows that this is not entirely endearing. He has not adjusted.
Voss noticed early on that Pip has never said anything provably false. Voss has spent considerable time deciding whether this is reassuring. It is not. Something that has never been wrong is either very wise or has never been tested.
What Pip is, exactly, is a question he deflects with the efficiency of something who has heard it many times and found the asking much more interesting that the answering. Voss asks sometimes, late at night when the camp is quiet. Pip often responds that he is still working on that. Voss suspects this is true, and he is not eased by it.
---
Meet Voss and Pip
If asked, they'll tell you they're not a team. Voss will tell you as much, very carefully, with a pause before the word team like he is checking whether it fits. Pip will tell you much quicker and with more confidence and with zero elaboration. They will then immediately function as a team, and nobody will bring it up, becuase obviously they're a team.
---
Voss is an Aberrant Mind Sorcerer who doesn't so much *cast* as *indicate*, neat and deliberate in everything including violence, built around reading the room before acting and acting *precisely* when he does act. Pip is a familiar by ruling, and something harder to pin down by name in every other measure. Small, construct-adjacent, forward-leaning, eager, with eyes that are slightly too steady and a certainty that has never once wavered in Voss's presence.
In combat, Voss stands at the edge and tilts the table quietly while Pip handles what needs handling. They are the most efficient two voices in the party, and the least forthcoming. And the question of which one of them is actually doing the magic is, as Voss might say, still being worked on.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #Homebrew #Sorcerer #Familiar #Construct #DynamicDuo
-
Meet Voss
He doesn't remember what ordinary thing he was doing when it happened.
He remembers before; a quiet and unremarkable life, sure, but it was *his*. And he remembers the after; which is Pip, already perched, already watching him with the patience of a thing that has been waiting a long time and is relieved the wait is finally over. Voss didn't go looking for this. He is still not quite sure what *this* is.
Voss is neat about everything. His coat, his words, the careful way he stands in a room as though he's already located the exits and decided which one he prefers. He watches people the some people watch fires, waiting for it to inevitably get out of hand but already knowing when that will happen. He's not unfriendly. He just seems that way because of his carefulness.
Ask him what Pip is and he will pause for a long time before responding: "I'm still working on that".
---
Meet Pip
Small. Fast. Certain, in an unearned way.
He arrived without invitation nor explanation.
He finishes sentences. Not out of impatience, but because he already knows where the sentence will end, and waiting for it to come seems like a dreadful formality. He is always right about that direction, and knows that this is not entirely endearing. He has not adjusted.
Voss noticed early on that Pip has never said anything provably false. Voss has spent considerable time deciding whether this is reassuring. It is not. Something that has never been wrong is either very wise or has never been tested.
What Pip is, exactly, is a question he deflects with the efficiency of something who has heard it many times and found the asking much more interesting that the answering. Voss asks sometimes, late at night when the camp is quiet. Pip often responds that he is still working on that. Voss suspects this is true, and he is not eased by it.
---
Meet Voss and Pip
If asked, they'll tell you they're not a team. Voss will tell you as much, very carefully, with a pause before the word team like he is checking whether it fits. Pip will tell you much quicker and with more confidence and with zero elaboration. They will then immediately function as a team, and nobody will bring it up, becuase obviously they're a team.
---
Voss is an Aberrant Mind Sorcerer who doesn't so much *cast* as *indicate*, neat and deliberate in everything including violence, built around reading the room before acting and acting *precisely* when he does act. Pip is a familiar by ruling, and something harder to pin down by name in every other measure. Small, construct-adjacent, forward-leaning, eager, with eyes that are slightly too steady and a certainty that has never once wavered in Voss's presence.
In combat, Voss stands at the edge and tilts the table quietly while Pip handles what needs handling. They are the most efficient two voices in the party, and the least forthcoming. And the question of which one of them is actually doing the magic is, as Voss might say, still being worked on.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #Homebrew #Sorcerer #Familiar #Construct #DynamicDuo
-
Meet Voss
He doesn't remember what ordinary thing he was doing when it happened.
He remembers before; a quiet and unremarkable life, sure, but it was *his*. And he remembers the after; which is Pip, already perched, already watching him with the patience of a thing that has been waiting a long time and is relieved the wait is finally over. Voss didn't go looking for this. He is still not quite sure what *this* is.
Voss is neat about everything. His coat, his words, the careful way he stands in a room as though he's already located the exits and decided which one he prefers. He watches people the some people watch fires, waiting for it to inevitably get out of hand but already knowing when that will happen. He's not unfriendly. He just seems that way because of his carefulness.
Ask him what Pip is and he will pause for a long time before responding: "I'm still working on that".
---
Meet Pip
Small. Fast. Certain, in an unearned way.
He arrived without invitation nor explanation.
He finishes sentences. Not out of impatience, but because he already knows where the sentence will end, and waiting for it to come seems like a dreadful formality. He is always right about that direction, and knows that this is not entirely endearing. He has not adjusted.
Voss noticed early on that Pip has never said anything provably false. Voss has spent considerable time deciding whether this is reassuring. It is not. Something that has never been wrong is either very wise or has never been tested.
What Pip is, exactly, is a question he deflects with the efficiency of something who has heard it many times and found the asking much more interesting that the answering. Voss asks sometimes, late at night when the camp is quiet. Pip often responds that he is still working on that. Voss suspects this is true, and he is not eased by it.
---
Meet Voss and Pip
If asked, they'll tell you they're not a team. Voss will tell you as much, very carefully, with a pause before the word team like he is checking whether it fits. Pip will tell you much quicker and with more confidence and with zero elaboration. They will then immediately function as a team, and nobody will bring it up, becuase obviously they're a team.
---
Voss is an Aberrant Mind Sorcerer who doesn't so much *cast* as *indicate*, neat and deliberate in everything including violence, built around reading the room before acting and acting *precisely* when he does act. Pip is a familiar by ruling, and something harder to pin down by name in every other measure. Small, construct-adjacent, forward-leaning, eager, with eyes that are slightly too steady and a certainty that has never once wavered in Voss's presence.
In combat, Voss stands at the edge and tilts the table quietly while Pip handles what needs handling. They are the most efficient two voices in the party, and the least forthcoming. And the question of which one of them is actually doing the magic is, as Voss might say, still being worked on.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #Homebrew #Sorcerer #Familiar #Construct #DynamicDuo
-
Meet Voss
He doesn't remember what ordinary thing he was doing when it happened.
He remembers before; a quiet and unremarkable life, sure, but it was *his*. And he remembers the after; which is Pip, already perched, already watching him with the patience of a thing that has been waiting a long time and is relieved the wait is finally over. Voss didn't go looking for this. He is still not quite sure what *this* is.
Voss is neat about everything. His coat, his words, the careful way he stands in a room as though he's already located the exits and decided which one he prefers. He watches people the some people watch fires, waiting for it to inevitably get out of hand but already knowing when that will happen. He's not unfriendly. He just seems that way because of his carefulness.
Ask him what Pip is and he will pause for a long time before responding: "I'm still working on that".
---
Meet Pip
Small. Fast. Certain, in an unearned way.
He arrived without invitation nor explanation.
He finishes sentences. Not out of impatience, but because he already knows where the sentence will end, and waiting for it to come seems like a dreadful formality. He is always right about that direction, and knows that this is not entirely endearing. He has not adjusted.
Voss noticed early on that Pip has never said anything provably false. Voss has spent considerable time deciding whether this is reassuring. It is not. Something that has never been wrong is either very wise or has never been tested.
What Pip is, exactly, is a question he deflects with the efficiency of something who has heard it many times and found the asking much more interesting that the answering. Voss asks sometimes, late at night when the camp is quiet. Pip often responds that he is still working on that. Voss suspects this is true, and he is not eased by it.
---
Meet Voss and Pip
If asked, they'll tell you they're not a team. Voss will tell you as much, very carefully, with a pause before the word team like he is checking whether it fits. Pip will tell you much quicker and with more confidence and with zero elaboration. They will then immediately function as a team, and nobody will bring it up, becuase obviously they're a team.
---
Voss is an Aberrant Mind Sorcerer who doesn't so much *cast* as *indicate*, neat and deliberate in everything including violence, built around reading the room before acting and acting *precisely* when he does act. Pip is a familiar by ruling, and something harder to pin down by name in every other measure. Small, construct-adjacent, forward-leaning, eager, with eyes that are slightly too steady and a certainty that has never once wavered in Voss's presence.
In combat, Voss stands at the edge and tilts the table quietly while Pip handles what needs handling. They are the most efficient two voices in the party, and the least forthcoming. And the question of which one of them is actually doing the magic is, as Voss might say, still being worked on.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #Homebrew #Sorcerer #Familiar #Construct #DynamicDuo
-
Meet Voss
He doesn't remember what ordinary thing he was doing when it happened.
He remembers before; a quiet and unremarkable life, sure, but it was *his*. And he remembers the after; which is Pip, already perched, already watching him with the patience of a thing that has been waiting a long time and is relieved the wait is finally over. Voss didn't go looking for this. He is still not quite sure what *this* is.
Voss is neat about everything. His coat, his words, the careful way he stands in a room as though he's already located the exits and decided which one he prefers. He watches people the some people watch fires, waiting for it to inevitably get out of hand but already knowing when that will happen. He's not unfriendly. He just seems that way because of his carefulness.
Ask him what Pip is and he will pause for a long time before responding: "I'm still working on that".
---
Meet Pip
Small. Fast. Certain, in an unearned way.
He arrived without invitation nor explanation.
He finishes sentences. Not out of impatience, but because he already knows where the sentence will end, and waiting for it to come seems like a dreadful formality. He is always right about that direction, and knows that this is not entirely endearing. He has not adjusted.
Voss noticed early on that Pip has never said anything provably false. Voss has spent considerable time deciding whether this is reassuring. It is not. Something that has never been wrong is either very wise or has never been tested.
What Pip is, exactly, is a question he deflects with the efficiency of something who has heard it many times and found the asking much more interesting that the answering. Voss asks sometimes, late at night when the camp is quiet. Pip often responds that he is still working on that. Voss suspects this is true, and he is not eased by it.
---
Meet Voss and Pip
If asked, they'll tell you they're not a team. Voss will tell you as much, very carefully, with a pause before the word team like he is checking whether it fits. Pip will tell you much quicker and with more confidence and with zero elaboration. They will then immediately function as a team, and nobody will bring it up, becuase obviously they're a team.
---
Voss is an Aberrant Mind Sorcerer who doesn't so much *cast* as *indicate*, neat and deliberate in everything including violence, built around reading the room before acting and acting *precisely* when he does act. Pip is a familiar by ruling, and something harder to pin down by name in every other measure. Small, construct-adjacent, forward-leaning, eager, with eyes that are slightly too steady and a certainty that has never once wavered in Voss's presence.
In combat, Voss stands at the edge and tilts the table quietly while Pip handles what needs handling. They are the most efficient two voices in the party, and the least forthcoming. And the question of which one of them is actually doing the magic is, as Voss might say, still being worked on.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #CharacterIntro #Homebrew #Sorcerer #Familiar #Construct #DynamicDuo
-
Is This Anything?
Thelma & Louise as a D&D adventure.
Two players and a DM. No map or dungeon. Just a road, a bad decision that made sense at the time, and a growing list of people who would very much like to speak with the characters.
Hijinks escalate. The law gets involved. The friendship gets tested. The horses are fast but the kingdom is not that big.
Structurally it's a two-player road campaign with a ticking clock and a moral compass that keeps getting knocked off the wagon. The DM's whole job is to keep putting interesting people and problems in the road and seeing what these two do about it.
I think i'll move this from "Just a whimsical note" to "an adventure i'll actually author". Maybe.
#iTA #isThisAnything #DnD #TTRPG #Homebrew #TwoPlayer #RoadCampaign #DMing