Hobby Dive into the Dark: the Carrion Crown Play-by-Post!

[Memento Mori]

d20

intimidate

 

[The Patriarchy]

intimidate

its a skill. usually you say what you will say or do to intimidate but you can keep it simple.

when you roll a skill its always a d20 roll

 

[Memento Mori]

its a skill. usually you say what you will say or do to intimidate but you can keep it simple.

when you roll a skill its always a d20 roll

I rolled 14, intimidate the villagers

 

[The Patriarchy]

I rolled 14, intimidate the villagers

oh yeah i forgot i need to refresh to see rolls.

 

[Schwarzwald]

I rolled 14, intimidate the villagers

*Pssssst* hey tell them your gonna rip their dicks off and use them for fish bait, that's intimidating.... (Chestnut whispers)

 

[The Patriarchy]

Before the words can settle, I step from the grave’s edge, my robe dragging through the sucking mud. Across the fog-drowned Restlands, a small figure stands upon the mound of fresh earth that will soon hold the Professor.


The halfling claims the rise as if it were a throne. Platinum hair, unnaturally straight, falls like pale silk around a narrow face. His deep purple-shadowed eyes regard the villagers from seventy feet away, the distance kept like a moat between himself and their breath, their dirt, their ignorance.


he rambles some schitzo garble that nobody understands, you think it might be intentionally elven at times


one of the pallbearers breaks the silence.


“I’m gonna rip their dicks off and use them for fish bait!”


The curly-haired slayer crouches like a hunting dog straining at the leash, black curls damp with fog. Beside him the broad-shouldered rogue shifts slightly, a light mace loose at his side, eyes flicking across the six men ahead.


The other pallbearers close ranks.


Across the field, Gibs’ face darkens. His companions move with him, hands dropping toward farm tools



The fog tightens.


Weapons are drawn.

@Apollo Tenzen @Memento Mori @Schwarzwald roll D20 and post combat strategy

rolling for Rafaels card

 

[The Patriarchy]

 

[Apollo Tenzen]

Before the words can settle, I step from the grave’s edge, my robe dragging through the sucking mud. Across the fog-drowned Restlands, a small figure stands upon the mound of fresh earth that will soon hold the Professor.


The halfling claims the rise as if it were a throne. Platinum hair, unnaturally straight, falls like pale silk around a narrow face. His deep purple-shadowed eyes regard the villagers from seventy feet away, the distance kept like a moat between himself and their breath, their dirt, their ignorance.


he rambles some schitzo garble that nobody understands, you think it might be intentionally elven at times


one of the pallbearers breaks the silence.


“I’m gonna rip their dicks off and use them for fish bait!”


The curly-haired slayer crouches like a hunting dog straining at the leash, black curls damp with fog. Beside him the broad-shouldered rogue shifts slightly, a light mace loose at his side, eyes flicking across the six men ahead.


The other pallbearers close ranks.


Across the field, Gibs’ face darkens. His companions move with him, hands dropping toward farm tools



The fog tightens.


Weapons are drawn.

@Apollo Tenzen @Memento Mori @Schwarzwald roll D20 and post combat strategy

rolling for Rafaels card

I am sorry bro, gonna post tomorrow, too tired btw. great game

 

[Memento Mori]

Before the words can settle, I step from the grave’s edge, my robe dragging through the sucking mud. Across the fog-drowned Restlands, a small figure stands upon the mound of fresh earth that will soon hold the Professor.


The halfling claims the rise as if it were a throne. Platinum hair, unnaturally straight, falls like pale silk around a narrow face. His deep purple-shadowed eyes regard the villagers from seventy feet away, the distance kept like a moat between himself and their breath, their dirt, their ignorance.


he rambles some schitzo garble that nobody understands, you think it might be intentionally elven at times


one of the pallbearers breaks the silence.


“I’m gonna rip their dicks off and use them for fish bait!”


The curly-haired slayer crouches like a hunting dog straining at the leash, black curls damp with fog. Beside him the broad-shouldered rogue shifts slightly, a light mace loose at his side, eyes flicking across the six men ahead.


The other pallbearers close ranks.


Across the field, Gibs’ face darkens. His companions move with him, hands dropping toward farm tools



The fog tightens.


Weapons are drawn.

@Apollo Tenzen @Memento Mori @Schwarzwald roll D20 and post combat strategy

rolling for Rafaels card

Cast icicle

 

[Schwarzwald]

Before the words can settle, I step from the grave’s edge, my robe dragging through the sucking mud. Across the fog-drowned Restlands, a small figure stands upon the mound of fresh earth that will soon hold the Professor.


The halfling claims the rise as if it were a throne. Platinum hair, unnaturally straight, falls like pale silk around a narrow face. His deep purple-shadowed eyes regard the villagers from seventy feet away, the distance kept like a moat between himself and their breath, their dirt, their ignorance.


he rambles some schitzo garble that nobody understands, you think it might be intentionally elven at times


one of the pallbearers breaks the silence.


“I’m gonna rip their dicks off and use them for fish bait!”


The curly-haired slayer crouches like a hunting dog straining at the leash, black curls damp with fog. Beside him the broad-shouldered rogue shifts slightly, a light mace loose at his side, eyes flicking across the six men ahead.


The other pallbearers close ranks.


Across the field, Gibs’ face darkens. His companions move with him, hands dropping toward farm tools



The fog tightens.


Weapons are drawn.

@Apollo Tenzen @Memento Mori @Schwarzwald roll D20 and post combat strategy

rolling for Rafaels card

Commoners literally can't process my genius, Chestnut thinks as he looks down from his throne.

Initiative: [d20 + 2] (Includes +2 Reactionary)

Combat Strategy: > * Naturalist Audit: Since we are in initiative, I’m making an 'Active' Knowledge (local) check [d20 + 2] to identify their clumsy anatomy and grant my allies the +1 insight bonus to AC and Attacks.

Before they charge, I weaving the fog into a Silent Image (DC 14) of an Elven Sentinel to block their path.

Grease Contingency, I'm holding Grease (DC 14) for any peasants that manage to slip through the "moat" of mud.

I stay on my mound, eyes fixed on Gibs and the crows.

"You greasy dogs! You'll regret this!"

 

[Memento Mori]

Filling in for @Apollo Tenzen

Can I just attack with quarterstaff?

@The Patriarchy

 

[The Patriarchy]

Commoners literally can't process my genius, Chestnut thinks as he looks down from his throne.

Initiative: [d20 + 2] (Includes +2 Reactionary)

Combat Strategy: > * Naturalist Audit: Since we are in initiative, I’m making an 'Active' Knowledge (local) check [d20 + 2] to identify their clumsy anatomy and grant my allies the +1 insight bonus to AC and Attacks.

Before they charge, I weaving the fog into a Silent Image (DC 14) of an Elven Sentinel to block their path.

Grease Contingency, I'm holding Grease (DC 14) for any peasants that manage to slip through the "moat" of mud.

I stay on my mound, eyes fixed on Gibs and the crows.

"You greasy dogs! You'll regret this!"

conflicts are simplified just roll a d20 no initiative.

Filling in for @Apollo Tenzen

Can I just attack with quarterstaff?

@The Patriarchy

You can have him continually attack with quarterstaff.

Also I'm assuming you move in range to attack with icicle continuously. This gives a -4 shooting into combat penalty without precise strike feat after melee begins.

 

[Memento Mori]

You can have him continually attack with quarterstaff.

Roll for Tenzen

Also I'm assuming you move in range to attack with icicle continuously. This gives a -4 shooting into combat penalty without precise strike feat after melee begins.

Sure

 

[Schwarzwald]

conflicts are simplified just roll a d20 no initiative.


You can have him continually attack with quarterstaff.

Also I'm assuming you move in range to attack with icicle continuously. This gives a -4 shooting into combat penalty without precise strike feat after melee begins.

K

 

[The Patriarchy]

everyone else

 

[The Patriarchy]

The powerfully built rogue beside him—the one with the heroically strong frame and the mind of a razor—does not hesitate. In one fluid motion he and the slayer drop the coffin safely behind them, untouched, the bier poles clattering harmlessly into the mud. Then the rogue explodes forward. Two light maces whirl into his hands as though born there, and he becomes a storm of precise, merciless violence. Sneak attacks land like thunder—each strike finding the soft hollow behind a knee, the gap beneath a raised arm, the momentary blindness of rage. Four of the thugs never even finish drawing their weapons; they crumple in a bloody blur, throats opened, skulls cracked, bodies folding into the wet earth with wet, final sounds. The rogue moves like a machine built for this exact moment, eyes flicking across angles and distances with autistic precision, never wasting a breath.

The curly-haired slayer is right behind him. He plants his quarterstaff and drives the fifth man straight into the dirt with a single, savage overhead smash that leaves the thug twitching and still.

I lift my hand, whispering the words for an icicle, feeling the Lady’s chill gather at my fingertips. The spell leaves me clean and eager—yet every shard flies wide or fizzles into harmless mist before it can reach flesh. Rough luck; I barely scratch the air itself.

Only two weak blows find their marks. A farm ptchfork scrapes across the rogue’s ribs, drawing a shallow line of red. A shovel clips the slayer’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him for half a heartbeat. The rest of the thugs swing at fog, trip over their own tools, or simply freeze as the halfling’s shouted truth echoes in their skulls: just drunk farmers. Three rounds—three terrible, beautiful rounds—and it is over.

Four bodies lie on the ground, blood already soaking into the greedy soil of the Restlands. The last two throw down their rusted implements and run screaming into the woods, voices cracking with animal terror. The crows wheel overhead once more, disappointed but patient. The coffin rests exactly where it was set, pristine, never even touched.

I exhale, pulse still singing. The powerfully built rogue straightens, breathing hard, one side of his shirt dark with fresh blood—seven of his eleven hit points paid in full. The slayer rolls his shoulder with a grimace, down to eight himself, yet both wear the same fierce grin. The small platinum-haired halfling hops down from his mound, still humming that absurd little tune, eyes bright with victory. The Lady of Graves watches, cool and approving.

 

[Schwarzwald]

The powerfully built rogue beside him—the one with the heroically strong frame and the mind of a razor—does not hesitate. In one fluid motion he and the slayer drop the coffin safely behind them, untouched, the bier poles clattering harmlessly into the mud. Then the rogue explodes forward. Two light maces whirl into his hands as though born there, and he becomes a storm of precise, merciless violence. Sneak attacks land like thunder—each strike finding the soft hollow behind a knee, the gap beneath a raised arm, the momentary blindness of rage. Four of the thugs never even finish drawing their weapons; they crumple in a bloody blur, throats opened, skulls cracked, bodies folding into the wet earth with wet, final sounds. The rogue moves like a machine built for this exact moment, eyes flicking across angles and distances with autistic precision, never wasting a breath.

The curly-haired slayer is right behind him. He plants his quarterstaff and drives the fifth man straight into the dirt with a single, savage overhead smash that leaves the thug twitching and still.

I lift my hand, whispering the words for an icicle, feeling the Lady’s chill gather at my fingertips. The spell leaves me clean and eager—yet every shard flies wide or fizzles into harmless mist before it can reach flesh. Rough luck; I barely scratch the air itself.

Only two weak blows find their marks. A farm ptchfork scrapes across the rogue’s ribs, drawing a shallow line of red. A shovel clips the slayer’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him for half a heartbeat. The rest of the thugs swing at fog, trip over their own tools, or simply freeze as the halfling’s shouted truth echoes in their skulls: just drunk farmers. Three rounds—three terrible, beautiful rounds—and it is over.

Four bodies lie on the ground, blood already soaking into the greedy soil of the Restlands. The last two throw down their rusted implements and run screaming into the woods, voices cracking with animal terror. The crows wheel overhead once more, disappointed but patient. The coffin rests exactly where it was set, pristine, never even touched.

I exhale, pulse still singing. The powerfully built rogue straightens, breathing hard, one side of his shirt dark with fresh blood—seven of his eleven hit points paid in full. The slayer rolls his shoulder with a grimace, down to eight himself, yet both wear the same fierce grin. The small platinum-haired halfling hops down from his mound, still humming that absurd little tune, eyes bright with victory. The Lady of Graves watches, cool and approving.

"Well done, I knew you two brutes could handle that rabble" I say hoping off the mound.
(Is the slayer a human?)

 

[The Patriarchy]

"Well done, I knew you two brutes could handle that rabble" I say hoping off the mound.
(Is the slayer a human?)

Yes the party is two humans and two elves

 

[Schwarzwald]

Can I check up on Kendra, checking on her well being?

 

[The Patriarchy]

Can I check up on Kendra, checking on her well being?

You are still 70 fet away. The story can proceed at any time I just need to write it

 

[Schwarzwald]

You are still 70 fet away. The story can proceed at any time I just need to write it

Well I did hop off the mound at the very least.

"Well done, I knew you two brutes could handle that rabble" I say hoping off the mound.
(Is the slayer a human?)

*I dust my hands off as if I did any real work while walking up to Kendra to console her*
"My dear I hope those filthy peasants didn't frighten you in any way shape or from."
*I turn to my companions*
"We shouldn't just leave the professors coffin lying in the mud like that..."
*Ding ding my silver bell rings*
"Come now if you would be so kind..."

 

[Apollo Tenzen]

You are still 70 fet away. The story can proceed at any time I just need to write it

i'm back