#I made them a tiefling with horns before I designed the outfit and now their horns don’t fit under the hat

[kantiris]

Galaxy’s most saddest wet eyed baby girl tiefling cleric, ever

[therealvagabird]

Some D&D characters!

I made this adventuring party a little while ago, inspired by the idea of an “all-monster” play on the traditional D&D party. Mainly just a fun exercise in character design. I even played as one of them solo.

I might write some excerpts of various adventures of this fictional band, but no promises. They do have something of a vague story-arc to them, though.

Name: Brute

Race: Bugbear

Class: Fighter

Appearance: Very large and burly bugbear, with almost ankle-length arms. Medium grey skin, thick black fur coat with prominent beard. Gold eyes. Features strong but weathered. Has many scars.

Usually wears a sturdy breastplate with simple, dark-colored underclothes in a soldiery style – sometimes with barbute helm. Attire is overall simple, crude, and military, favoring convenience over flair.

Specialties: Polearm defence, medium armor, military discipline, mercenary attitude.

Bio: It was after the landed Lord Francis of Aquila slew a tribe of feral bugbears on a hunting trip that he decided to take one orphaned youth as a personal slave, believing it would make for an intimidating warrior. Though given the sanctified name of “Barba Molossus” (or “Hairy Dog”) in accordance with religious rites, the bugbear was most often known as simply “Brute”. Brute was trained to be a loyal soldier and personal guard of the Aquilan noble family, and steadfastly served despite the constant derision directed at him. When Castle Aquila was ultimately overrun by a rival house, Brute fled into the wilds, eking out a living before coming across a large goblinoid tribe. Once again an outcast for his human rearing, Brute learned that ultimately his brutality would earn him the respect of most greenskins regardless.

Brute is a dour and bitter man, having been exposed to the worst aspects of many different environments and cultures. He has a reputation for savagery and ruthlessness that strikes fear into the hearts of many, even if they deride him as a simple dog. Despite this reputation, Brute is actually quite disciplined and reserved, only exposing his wrath when pushed, and being an otherwise very effective mercenary most of the time.

—

Name: Wu Jinn, “White-Eyes”, “The Clever”, “The Spider” (pejorative)

Race: Hobgoblin

Class: Wizard

Appearance: Shorter hobgoblin, long limbed but average build. Very dark, burgundy skin. Almost elven features, with blunted nose. Wavy black hair with white strands, close on sides but gathered up into long, braided nest on head to be wrapped in turban. Facial hair wispy – if left unshaved will grow slight Fu Manchu, goatee, and sideburns. Black irises.

Sharp-cut purple underclothes in Eastern style. Black, hooded over-robe. Beige leather lamellar armor offers simple protection with flexibility. Black, stiff mantle on shoulders. Pointed shoes. Tight, beige turban on head. Many pouches and arcane tools carefully sorted about person.

Specialties: Magical manipulation and lore, history and general knowledge. Carries enchanted whip and sword.

Bio: There was a time when the hobgoblin mage covens of the dark East were sought after fiercely by warchiefs looking to secure magical power and sage council. Now, the respect allotted to the goblin mages has severely diminished. Wu Jinn trained in the hidden arcanums, perused the libraries of many great kingdoms, and became a learned scholar at a very young age. Now, he is stuck as the disregarded councilor to an orc chief, usually relegated to distributing medicine and conjuring fireballs when he has the knowledge of the past and future at his disposal.

Wu Jinn is a highly analytical hobgoblin, but was drawn to magic over simple scholarship due to the inherent mystery of the arcane. All knowledge is of interest to him, though this has not come without cost. Wu Jinn is aware of what terrible forces are at work in the universe, and it only heightens his frustration with people. He’s not terribly concerned with issues of power or politics, and regards most beings, even himself, as very insignificant in a cosmic sense. Regardless, he can never understand why so many would-be governors concern themselves with such things if they could just listen to him and organize everything so much more conveniently.

—

Name: Mary, “Nightingale”

Race: Tiefling

Class: Sorcerer

Appearance: Tiefling woman with almost black skin and fiery red eyes. Hair is black, straight, and usually kept around jaw length, though held back by nomad-style bandana. Rather tall, lithe but with powerful stature if not slouching. Horns have been completely filed off and hidden with bandana. Facial features strong and very beautiful, though haggard. Fangs, claw-like nails, barbed tail, and forked tongue kept hidden.

Usually dresses in light leather garb with comfortable underclothes and many bandanas. Loose, dark blue linens with tattered black hooded longcoat. Outfit always arranged to disguise infernal features. Prefers as much jewelry as she can wear without being conspicuous.

Specialties: Shadow magic, deception, psychological attacks, stealth, theft, assassination

Bio: Mary was born as the result of a dark ritual by cultists of the Lower Planes, believing she would be the Agrat bat Mahlat, or “Gift of Desolation”, destined to lead a fiendish conquest of the world. An attack against the cult and secret rescue of Mary by a kindly cleric disrupted that plan, however. Mary was placed in an orphanage when the cleric could no longer guard her, and given her current name. A rough childhood and many caretakers later, Mary took to the streets to become a rogue known as “Nightingale”, an enemy of the cruel and powerful, all while running from the remaining members of the old cult that wished to return her to her destiny.

Mary has the misfortune that evil runs very strongly in her blood. Her magical power can only be used to bring pain, confusion, and destruction even when carefully applied. For this reason, she has made it her mission to only target evil and tyrannical enemies, taking them down either directly or with careful manipulation in the hopes that good might fill the void. Nightingale prefers to remain out of sight and out of mind, disguising her infernal heritage in public and attempting to get in and out without a trace when on a mission. She is naturally attracted to many vices, and may have sudden bouts of rage or bitterness, but most of the time tries to retain a peaceful attitude in the hopes that goodness might one day come naturally to her.

—

Name: Batul Grimhand, “Hacksaw”

Race: Half-Orc

Class: Cleric

Appearance: Tall female half-orc with dark olive-green skin. Older, with sturdy figure and many minor scars. Kinky hair shaved into short tight stripe. Broad features, dark brown eyes, prominent but well-kept tusks.

Outfit includes knee-length white undercoat and clothes tucked into sturdy boots, and long leather gloves. Dark blue pants. Solid breastplate covered in all manner of medical pouches protects torso. More accessories affixed to leather belt and faulds. Keeps white bandana around neck to cover face if needed. Will don long leather cloak for bad weather.

Specialties: Field medicine, general healing, shock stabilization, combat support

Bio: Though it has been many centuries since orcs and goblins were defined as lawless and endlessly cruel raiders, the reality of the greenskin strongholds can still be exceptionally brutal in the modern day. To be born a half-breed, and a rare female at that, lead to a tough upbringing for Batul. Service in the warhost and later as a mercenary soldier abroad gave discipline and protection for Batul when there was none. She trained as a medic, seeing the violent realities of the world and wanting to make a difference. However, her clerical training only did so much, and most of the time she was only allotted the time and resources to get the injured back on their feet so that they could die fighting. Trauma and bitterness soon seeped in, and by the time she was an experienced medic, she was also a surly and iron-hard orc. Now, Batul has the respect she always wanted, at the cost of her enthusiasm and optimism. Though there are still the occasional jeers, most know not to mess with Hacksaw if you know what’s good for you.

Batul carries a genuine desire to help people within her scarred and hardened exterior. She is often the voice of pessimism and caution, always expecting the worst and never much trusting in anyone but herself. Years of belittlement and wartime shock have given her a grim disposition that earned her few friends but also few enemies. Her strength is in getting severely injured people back in fighting shape in short order, though she can’t do much more. Given time and resources, she could perhaps do a great many things, heal people body and mind, but she doesn’t hope for such high ideals anymore. Despite her negativity, she is always ready to suggest that a situation might be more than it seems – that enemies might be misunderstood, that what others call “weakness” might not be so reprehensible, and that killing and death are not so noble. Of course, if it comes down to letting a patient die or taking up her axe, she will swiftly choose the latter.

—

Name: Tash, “Tashi”

Race: Goblin

Class: Monk

Appearance: Very thin goblin, shorter than average, with skinny face, impish features, large ears, and huge yellow-green cat eyes. Pale grey-green skin. Messy mop of warm black hair. Would almost be cute for a goblin if he wasn’t covered in all manner of injuries and other old maladies.

Ragged cream sleeveless gi, and dark blue pants, with dark over-cloak and a faded burgundy belt/sash. Wears dark jika-tabi style footwear. Hands and other parts of body usually wrapped in bandages. Has many satchels for trinkets, as goblins like to have.

Specialties: Sword-and-hand fighting, danger sense, survival, dodging.

Bio: Though the greenskin stronghold Tash was born into was far from the worst around, it is still a hard life to be one of the mine-dregs. Despite being very sickly, scrawny, and cowardly by goblin standards, Tash worked in the mines until he sustained enough injuries to earn him a discharge for menial work. The misfortunes heaped upon him would have crippled or driven other goblins mad, but somehow Tash survived. Eventually his survival rate earned him a place in the Dregs’ Union, the goblin racket that allowed successful menials a chance at higher privilege. Though he earned few friends for his paranoid and self-loathing demeanor, he was taken under the wing of Master Maka, an old goblin warrior. Maka was far past his prime, but recognized Tash as “lucky” and so gifted him with the secrets of his Sword and Fist style. The martial secrets were enough to put Tash on the path from survival to possible success.

Tash is an extremely paranoid and mentally degraded goblin. Oftentimes he feels as though he was born into the wrong species. Weak, sickly, and fearful of many things even goblins would have no problem with, Tash tends to underestimate his hidden fortitude. While often the voice of fear and worry, he has proven to be adept at surviving even when thrust into the middle of battle, his fight and flight instincts somehow giving him incredible speed and clarity when they balance out. He is also very intuitive, and while often derided as stupid he has a keen eye for detail. Tash’s greatest obstacle is overcoming the pain and fear of his life to realize just how noble he could be.

—

Name: Baako, “Bomber”, “Batty”, “Blossom”

Race: Goblin

Class: Ranger

Appearance: Hale and lanky goblin with forest green skin, fiery eyes, a wide grin, large batlike ears and a batlike nose. Wide face with sharp features, and long black dreadlocks usually kept back in a ponytail.

Wears tan, sleeveless tunic and baggy tan pants tucked into tall black boots. Black leather cuirass in the style of apron overalls. Black archer’s gloves. Tattered, dark ranger cloak. Green belt sash. Many leather straps and harnesses all over body holding component pouches.

Specialties: Subterfuge, traps, ranged combat, tracking

Bio: Baako is a highly eccentric goblin whose erratic behavior has earned him equal parts distain, fear, and camaraderie from his peers. Born into the foragers, his energetic nature saw him advance quickly before joining the Union and becoming a ranger. He now runs as a scout, warrior, and hunter, wielding numerous traps and diversions to protect his stronghold’s borders. Baako is also a big fan of pranks and debauchery, however, and his constant petty theft and disruptions to his comrades and superiors has earned him as many enemies as his outgoing and driven nature have earned him allies.

Nobody knows for sure if Baako is just theatrical or suffers from some sort of split personality. He will often slip into different “personas” depending on the task at hand or even just swings of his mood. Common nicknames for himself include “Bomber” when he’s hoping to cause mayhem, “Batty” when acting as a ranger, or “Blossom” when he wants to feel cute. Most just leave him be, as for all his oddities he’s proven to be a highly competent goblin. Focused and indefatigable so long as he’s kept occupied, it’s only when Baako gets bored that trouble starts.

[mystery-moose]

FIC: Angus McDonald and the Flight of the Flying V (4/?)

[AO3 link]

They’ve come a long way, but even ten years after the world was saved, they’re still not quite where they should be. A whim, a missing painting, and a handful of near-death experiences help a flip wizard and his apprentice bridge the gap.

Taako does his best. Angus takes some risks. Introductions are made, bonds are tested, and lessons are learned — better late than never.

Angus changed quickly. He'd never exactly had a large wardrobe, though years of birthday and Candlenights presents from the Bureau (and Taako in particular) had given him a particularly eclectic selection. He chose the usual, and briefly thought about wearing one of his gifts before deciding against it; in all likelihood, Taako would have either forgotten he gave it in the first place, or would pretend to as a goof.

Taako was actually ready to leave before Angus, which surprised him. His new outfit was a little more sedate than the one he'd arrived in town wearing, aside from the constants of his hat, umbrella, and jewelry, while his makeup (beyond the glamour he always cast on himself) was as perfect as it always was.

"Thought you were in a hurry, Agnes," he said smugly, checking his nails.

"Not as much as you, I guess," Angus countered, grabbing his blue cap from the shelf by the door. "You must be excited."

Taako shrugged and said, "It's something to do," and Angus immediately knew he was right. He grinned as he left the apartment, and Taako followed after him.

It was a beautiful day in Neverwinter, and it made for good walking weather. Angus chartered cabs when he had to, but he always preferred to travel on foot. It let him get to know the winding streets and alleyways of the city, and kept him fit, the latter being almost as important as the former. Something Carey had drilled into him back in the Bureau days — it was one thing to know what you had to do, and it was another thing entirely to be able to do it.

Taako, of course, disagreed.

"Are we there yet?" he whined, bracing his umbrella across his shoulders.

"Almost, sir!" Angus said cheerily, pausing to look before crossing the street. Simple legwork like this always put him in a good mood.

As they crossed, Taako made a very impolite gesture to one of the wagon-drivers hurrying them along. Angus led the way down a set of old stone steps into an alley between two larger buildings. There stood an old oaken door, with a viewport and an iron cage over it. Angus knocked once, twice more, then once again. The port slid open and a pair of large, intense eyes stared out, first at Angus, then over his shoulder at Taako.

"What's the good word?" a deep voice asked.

"Never a good word," Angus replied, "only a polite one."

After a moment to glance at Taako again, the port slid closed. A series of snaps and clanks sounded as the door was unlocked. When it opened, Angus ducked inside with Taako close on his heels.

The basement shop had changed a great deal from the last time Angus had visited — he recognized a few of the paintings leaning against the far wall, and there was a bronze sculpture of an aarakocra he'd seen before, but the rest was all new. Art of all kinds littered every available surface, from floor to ceiling across the room. There were scroll cases tucked neatly alongside bottles in a wine rack to his right; urns so old the designs upon them were faded almost to invisibility; a suit of armor with an elaborate chest-piece in the shape of a blossoming rose, holding a spear with a bright blue ribbon trailing from its haft; and a large animal horn tucked into a leather bag that itself looked hand-crafted in a old tribal style.

"Boss is in the back," the goliath said as she closed the door. "You're here to talk to 'em, yeah?"

"Yeah," Angus said, tipping the brim of his cap. "Thanks, Sheila."

Sheila nodded, then glared at Taako, who smiled in what he probably thought was a disarming way.

"Don't worry," Angus said. "You can trust him. Can't she, Taako?"

"Oh, absolutely," Taako agreed, nodding emphatically. "I'm as trustworthy as they come!"

Sheila crossed her arms and didn't take her eyes off him. Angus patted Taako's shoulder.

"I'll be out in a minute," he said. Then whispered, "Don't touch anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Taako murmured, smiling and nodding at Sheila.

Angus headed for the only other door in the back of the room, past the long ornately carved dining table where place settings of a dozen different styles were stacked a dozen high. He knocked politely before stepping inside.

This room rarely changed much; pieces came and went, certainly, but there were more fixtures here that Angus imagined were kept as much because of their beauty or sentiment as their price. A massive redwood desk with a relief of an ancient battle scene carved into the front dominated most of the room, with a couple chairs in strange and unique styles sitting by the door. There was a grandfather clock in one corner, mostly hidden behind a bookshelf stacked with tomes so old their titles were long faded. An alchemical lamp with a beautiful stained glass shade sat on the desk, illuminating a collection of papers with indecipherable handwriting.

"Be with you in a sec," the tiefling said, standing behind their desk and writing something on a slip of parchment.

Angus closed the door and waited patiently, hands in his pockets. Rocco was worth waiting for; always polite, always helpful, occasionally difficult but never obstinate. It was a shame they were sort of a criminal, but then, so were a lot of Angus' oldest friends. He tried not to judge.

Rocco finished whatever they were doing, swiping their pen triumphantly as they did so. They straightened and smiled as they removed their reading glasses. "Ah, Mr. McDonald! What can we do for you today?"

"Nothing major," Angus said with a shrug. "Just wanted to know if any new paintings came through recently."

"There are always paintings coming through here, detective," Rocco said. "You know that."

"This would be a big one. You'd recognize it."

"Big as in...?"

"Flight of the Flying V."

Rocco blinked — they seemed genuinely surprised, but Angus kept his eye out for any tells. "Flight has been stolen?"

"Less than two days ago," he said. "It hasn't made the papers yet. The Museum contacted me to look into it quietly before the story breaks."

The tiefling's hand rose up to stroke across their horns and run back over their hair. Rocco stepped around the desk, glancing thoughtfully around the room and looking a little disappointed, if Angus had to guess.

"Detective," they said, turning their attention back to Angus. "I'm... speaking honestly, a bit flattered that you thought my business would be able to fence something like the Flying V, but... even if someone had come in with it, brokering a deal for a painting by one of Faerun's oldest masters is beyond me."

Angus' eyebrows rose — Rocco was polite, but they were never exactly humble. "Is that so?"

Rocco nodded, and they wrung their hands a little as they spoke. "To say nothing of the attention it would bring, Flying V is a masterwork. It's the symbol of an entire artistic period stretching back thousands of years. I'd be afraid to breathe on it, let alone touch it."

"The Curator said it was priceless," Angus said. "But if you had to fence it?"

Rocco almost looked like they'd been asked to put a price on their mother. Then they paused and looked down thoughtfully. Rocco was a collector, Angus knew that, but they were also a consummate professional. There were times those two things had clashed in the past, but never quite like this.

After almost thirty seconds of serious consideration, Rocco looked up and gave their price. Angus balked.

"Are you serious?" he asked, already knowing the answer from the look on Rocco's face.

"It's the place I'd start bargaining," Rocco said firmly. "And I'd take a fifth right off the top for the amount of trouble it would bring."

Now Angus was the one running his hand through his hair. He tried not to set expectations early on in a case, but apparently that ship had sailed, because that was very much larger than he thought.

"You see what I meant, now, yes?" Rocco said. "I'm proud of my business, Mr. McDonald, but I know my limitations."

"Yes, I can see that." Angus shook his head. "Well. This is going to sound unnecessary, after that, but if someone does come in wanting to fence Flying V, can you let me know?"

"I won't be making that deal, so all I'd be able to give you is a description."

"That's fine," Angus said, reaching into his pocket. "Whatever you can do will help."

He pulled out his notebook and a small satchet of bonds — paper money was less visible than gold, and Rocco had an account under an alias at Neverwinter Trust. Angus tore half a page out of his notebook and handed it and the bonds over to Rocco, who pocketed them in a smooth and practiced motion.

"Thanks, Rocco," he said, holding his hand out. Rocco shook it. "Stay out of trouble."

"Quite," they said dryly. "Sorry we couldn't be of more help."

Angus stepped out of the office, preoccupied with his own thoughts, and was startled to attention by an unexpected sound.

"—and I was like, 'careful, don't burn a spell on it!' "

Sheila slapped her knee, roaring with laughter. Taako doubled over cackling and leaned on Sheila's shoulder.

"What a stiff!" Sheila said, wiping her eyes.

"I know, right?" Taako said. "You should have seen the look on his face!"

Angus stifled a grin and cleared his throat. Taako looked over, brows raised.

"We're done!" Angus said cheerily. "Thanks for waiting."

"Oh, no bigs," Taako said. "We really got to bonding, right, Sheila?"

"Yeah. I'll 'member about that nail polish," she said, wiggling her fingers. "Thanks."

"You'll look marvelous, ketzile," Taako replied with a brush of his hand over hers. "Adios!"

They stepped outside and Sheila shut the door behind them. Angus turned and regarded Taako.

"What?" he asked, fiddling with a bracelet. "She's a fun lady. Just gotta get past that rough 'n tumble exterior, y'know? Can't judge a book by its cover, Ango. You should know better."

Angus stared at Taako for a moment, then shook his head and started up the stairs to the street. "It's not her I'm surprised by, sir."

Taako feigned shock. "I'm a social butterfly! People like me!"

Angus turned once he got to the top. "Not normally, no."

"Oh, go to hell, twerp," Taako retorted casually, flipping his hair over his shoulder. "You get whatever it was you needed?"

"Yes and no," Angus said, glancing down the street. "They'll contact me if they hear anything, but I doubt they will."

"You attune your stone with just anybody?"

He grinned. "Even better."

Angus pulled out his notebook and handed it to Taako, who flipped it open and shook his head at Angus' handwriting. "I don't get it."

"Remember that old interceptor book I had?"

"Assume that I do."

"This is the opposite. Sends and receives." Angus allowed himself a moment to geek out while Taako paged through the book. "Anything I write in there gets archived in a journal back at my house, as a backup. And if I tear out part of a page, anything written on that piece appears in both. More surreptitious than a stone of Farspeech, and less chance of being overheard."

"Huh." He furrowed his brow. "You enchant this yourself?"

Angus puffed his chest out a bit. "Yep!"

Taako looked momentarily impressed. It shifted into amusement as he handed the book back. "Cute. Real Caleb Cleveland stuff."

His grin turned sheepish. "I came up with it on my own,"

"Are you sure? Because I seem to recall a similar device from Caleb Cleveland and the Treacherous Trail—"

"A wholly original creation!" Angus loudly declared.

Taako snorted and put his sunglasses on. "Well, where we going now, Poirot?"

"That depends." Angus started down the street with his hands in his pockets. "How do you feel about a trip down memory lane?"

Taako's whole head rolled along with his eyes. "Must you speak in riddles, sahib?"

[thatfantasybroad]

Nytha had a good time today, to spite her existential dread about choosing the sword over the lute (which I will make a separate post about now that I realize I have yet to do so.) and the impending battle. 

The group planned the points of defense for the island and an old party member built some shelters for casters and such.  

There was a lot of rp and defense management, but I worry about how much talking/planning I was doing? I always doubt how well I rp nytha as being kind of flighty/dumb like she’s supposed to be. I also worry about stealing the spotlight too much. :x 

HOWEVER… we got as much shored up as we could, and the island’s Knight informed us of some stones of far speech/sending stones in the care of an old thorn in our side who owned the local inn, so after identifying the 3 paintings (which were worth a LOT OF MONEY- One was the equivalent of da vinci’s Lady with Ermine- Titled Boy with Squirrel in game) we planned to not only get revenge on this guy, but get the stones to boot. To explain- Lord Hyden (aka Lord Chucklefuck, Sir PrickedBum, Mister Fuckface, etc etc) was unreasonable early on- and when we tried to do the right thing and warn him about the impending blood revel by the Erlqueen, he instead warned the people of the island that we were part of a doomsday cult, taking advantage of the fact that we have two tieflings in the group… so we had our (and esp for nytha- her family’s) good names dragged through the mud. 

The following is paraphrased, as I am very tired.

Nytha used the glamored studded leather (which Nytha adores tbqh) and used the command word “Givenchy” (Old elvish word for couture ofc) to change into “a blingin’ Alexander McQueen-esque outfit” to make a grand entrance to the tavern. There was a bit of W.A.S.P.-ey obviously sarcastic talking about the quality of the inn’ s finest wine, “This wine is…. adequate.” She also played the marble capture of her Nat 20 performance check and earned the attention of the room- which prompted Lord Hyden to come over and start talking shit and reiterate that they were from a doomsday cult and further trash talk.

Nytha, with my best suburban white mom outrage impression, went on an indignant DIATRIBE, railing against his hospitality, sharing how filthy the place was before one of NYTHA’S group deigned to help (Grudo Boulderfist the stonechild Mason). The foolish Inkeep stoked the fire by claiming they had no money. OOOHHH BITCH, OOOOHHHHH BITCH YOU DID NOT

Nytha proceeds to empty all of the treasure (which is foolish in it’s own way) out of the bag of holding onto the table, including stacks of gold and platinum , solid gold cherub statues, gold trim, huge draconic scrolls, and some other fancy shit. Pragmatic and paranoid as ever, she put that all away in the bag of holding, and THEN revealed one 10,000gp painting…. then ANOTHER 10,000gp painting…. and THEN revealed the 50,000gp Boy with Squirrel.

Nytha: as you see, I am a woman of esteem! *Nat 20 Persuasion roll, in addition to guidance for a total of a whopping 33* Crowd of Nobles: *Gasp!* Lord Hyden: It’s fake! It’s some kind of bardic magic! Nytha: woud any casters in the room like to challenge the painting with an identify spell? Any at all! Lord Hyden’s Bard: *gravely walks off the stage and casts Identify, and says in a hushed tone,* it’s real…. Nytha: *To Lord Hyden* WHAT NOW BITCH? Persis: *Laughing her ass off* Lord Hyden: *miserably* That’s impossible! How could you have that???

Nytha then proceeded to plug her Mum’s inn to the nobles, then turned to Lord Hyden and said “There is one little thing I want that you could prevent me from telling every inn on Kallasia…. I want your stones of far speech.” Hyden: *floundering* if you’re really rich, you could get your own. Nytha: *scoffs* it’s a matter of convenience. Unless anyone else on the island has them? Crowd of Nobles: *Crickets chirp, No one steps forward* Nytha: there you have it, I intend to have some nicer ones made when the time comes, but this is a matter of necessity. Thank You Ever So Much." She then turned on her heel and swanned out of the room. 

That nat20 made my DAY let me TELL YOU.

Later on there was one interaction that deflated her ego a little

Lucca the Halfling: Yeah, I know you guys. You're part of the doomsday cult.

Nytha: >_< *still resplendent in her designer imitation armor* Do I look like I could be part of a doomsday cult?

Lucca: ... I mean yeah, you have horns. ..

Nytha: That's racist! *crocodile tears*

But I will admit it was not deflated by much. :P