#d&d campaign: of the first and second

[tenbirdsinatrenchcoat]

d&d is so fucking funny. theres a secret society thats gonna destroy the city we're in and use said destruction to ascend their god. theyve been stalking some of our party members practically since they were born. they have feelers in civilizations that most people don't even know exist.

they also have absolutely no idea whats going on with my character and it is pure comedy.

we found notes on all of us party members made by the bbeg last sesh and everyones like "omg how do they know about the fire in my childhood" and shit.

the secret society doesnt even know everetts been dead for a year.

you'd THINK that a secret society with the power of a god behind them would be able to dig more into someones past and notice "hey this guy had a terminal illness and then disappeared for a full year. his gravestone is in this graveyard. hey why is he walking around again".

AND YET.

they dont even know what kind of magic user he is im fucking screeching

[tenbirdsinatrenchcoat]

quick update if anyone was interested: we did experience the horrors quite badly. well. some of us did. ev had a normal night. one party member almost got killed in a dream (and possibly in the waking world as well) before being rescued by another party member. third party member went and nonconsensually turned someone into a vampire. fourth party member tried to sleep as little as possible out of spite and did not succeed.

anyways ev spent his night downloading primordial into his docent, reading every book he could in the guy we're staying at's house, and writing a "send this to my dad if i die" letter. and sleeping ig but hes an automaton he barely needs that anymore.

terrors: experienced

fuckheads: interrogated

moments: had

i am forcibly removed from the d&d session (no session for two weeks :( so sad)

anyways thanks for coming to my ted talk ig. if people are Actually interested ill create a post explaining the full details of the entire campaign (so far). only if people are interested tho bc its been a shit ton of content for 12 sessions.

reblog this post showing or talking abt something u love. ANY type of topic!!! i wanna see what brings ppl delight and the things u guys care about :3

[aethira]

Day 6: Deity | Eclipse

[bluecatdraws]

you might want to watch your pockets around her...

[cloudedgalaxies]

Ugh I've been trying so hard to get that next STSH chapter out but school has literally been trying to kill me recently... I feel so bad that I didn't manage to get anything out in February and now we're nearly halfway through March already TwT OTL

For those of you who read STSH and are caught up to and/or finished Book 7, just a reminder that I started writing and planned STSH out in advance to knowing its end, and since I only play in EN I won't really know what Book 7's end is for sure until it comes to our server. Ultimately there are some little details I could maybe change here and there to make it fit better, but in the end idk if it'll be very lore-accurate to the end of Book 7, sorry (this is like my 1 true fear in the world so I'm probably taking it harder than I need to lol)

[slothquisitor]

I would just like to state for the record that my partner’s D&D character died tonight and for once it was not my fault! The last two times could be directly attributed to decisions I made. Whoops.

[mythrilpencil]

Sky’s Journal 5

(cw: killing mention)

———

Something is wrong with me.  

We approached the Zeboiim blockade about a week ago on our repaired ship. We tried to sneak past, with Avel using illusions to hide us and me keeping the winds favorable, but we got caught anyways. So instead we tried to tell the captain of the ship that apprehended us that we were just “refugees” on our way to have business with the lizardfolk up the coast. She didn’t completely believe us—but her diviner said to trust us. 

The diviner, Regina, later took the lock off the door of the brig we were being held in and had us follow her to her room to talk to us.

Stubbs—who came out of Han’s ears—recognized what Regina was. A Faceless: an entity that can see a future. 

The future Regina sees has us fail at our quest. She sees us die.

And when we asked why��she pointed at me. Through me.

Something about me makes us fail in her future. It will kill Father.

But apparently the “ancient magics” protecting me are “free” and not bound by wizards or something. I don’t know what that means.

Regina did say that in all futures she knows about, we leave the blockade; and she knows two other Faceless who saw futures wherein we succeed in our quest instead.

We didn’t have any more time to inquire further after that, though. A Rephaiim fleet approached ours. The captain of the ship we were on ordered us back to our own ship and join the formation long enough for them to clear us a path.

We fought in the battle.

The Rephaiim ships had lots of summoned devils and elementals at their disposal. We did our best to find a way through the chaos, but our ship was too slow. We boarded an enemy sloop instead.

Avel grew wings. One draconic, one angelic. Aasimar.

Most of that battle is a blur to me now. All I know is that I killed a lot of people. I feel sick just by thinking about it. Avel tried to not kill, until one of the enemy wizards redirected one of his spells and he got mad. 

Eventually he used his magic to scare the remaining enemy soldiers on board and order them to abandon ship.

We…eventually won the battle, I think.

The other captain lost a fair number of her crew, including Regina—but apparently she can regenerate. But she thanked us for our help and used her position to give us a new crew for our new sloop. She also promoted Alden.

Then they started celebrating on her warship. I couldn’t make myself join for a while, though.

[cellarboundcolaboration]

First Introduction

Hello intrigued, I am Weinbergii; I'm the person Whom made this blog. The Why:

To share the love I have for Dungeons and Dragons

To share the joy I have from the stories concocted with my friends and other fellow players.

To allow the players I roll/role with to be able to share and place inputs of their own should they choose.

To allow the players I role/roll with interact through this blog should they choose.

And My final why, to share my related drawings, in a way that combats my doubts, and the stories that birthed the art.

I hope you enjoy your time here.

[noegrets]

“Crippled wrists and fingers make writing slow and laborious,” Jefferson wrote [to Adams] in 1823. “But while writing to you, I lose the sense of these things, in the recollection of ancient times, when youth and health made happiness out of every thing.”

while frustrating, the funniest response to historical erasure of same sex couples is people wildly overcorrecting and assuming any interaction between two men in history was a secret homosexual relationship covered up by Big Historian. i saw someone on r/sapphoandherfriend sincerely ask if Thomas Jefferson and John Adams were lovers.

[tenbirdsinatrenchcoat]

im about to send everett to brazil (not actually brazil). woe, interplanar purgatory be upon ye

d&d is so fun and cool i love scheming with my dm to ruin my fellow players days by taking their beloved friend (me)'s character and completely yeeting his ass for a few sessions.

anyways. im gonna play varah soon. im so fucking hype.

[soraavalon]

Eudora: How much is that? DM: It's like two silver. Tark: *laughing* I got it. I got it. Eudora: I can afford two silver. It might be a little bit tight, but... Tark (OOC): I was gonna say, 'Girl, if you can't afford two silver then Tark's about to have some serious conversations about your finances.' Eudora (OOC): Her finances are fine, it's just that I haven't been tracking it well, so I've got numbers scatterd across various pages. Hunt (OOC): Oh. DM: Okay. Marigold (OOC): Oh no. Tark (OOC): Can't even imagine. Can't even imagine. DM: Yeah 'cause you bought a literal ledger book. Tark (OOC): Hey! It works, don't it? DM: Yeah. Nathaniel (OOC): You bought a literal ledger book--- Tark (OOC): Yes. Nathaniel (OOC): For your D&D character? Tark (OOC): Yes I did. DM: Which is buried when I'm 'I don't know, fucking number I guess?' Nathaniel (OOC): Oh my god. Tark (OOC): Do ya'll wanna know just how much money Tark has? Hunt (OOC): Yes! Eudora (OOC): Yes. DM: [something] drop. Tark (OOC): *mock clearing throat* 9,550 gold. Hunt (OOC): Oh my fucking god! DM: He makes a lot of money. He has a regular job that pays well. Tark (OOC): And the fact that I haven't been spending my money on anything. Nathaniel (OOC): I do have about 300 platinum banked, so. DM: Okay, yeah. Eudora (OOC): Yeah. We made some good money, mostly from Tark's brother. Hunt (OOC): I don't know the exact total, but I think I have roughly 4,000 gold in total. DM: Yeah, okay. Marigold (OOC): 400. What are you guys doing?! DM: Crime! Hunt (OOC): Crime! DM: And prostitution. Tark (OOC): I would've had a lot more than that if I didn't buy those diamonds for Revivify for you guys. Marigold (OOC): Well, I think you can afford it. Tark (OOC): I don't know, can I? Hunt (OOC) & DM: *laughing* DM: One dress is gonna put him out, you know. Tark (OOC): That is actually a true fact. Nathaniel (OOC): It's entirely possible that I got most of my money from selling my old apartment now that I moved back into my parent's house. -various 'yeah's- Tark (OOC): Wouldn't surprise me. Real estate goes for a lot.

[fdragon-art]

Day 131 - Map Madness

"...how the hell should I make this look??"

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie was terrifying. 

Elliot had known the guy for a few years now, ever since Eddie had stepped into the Spellbound Bar with big eyes and a wild grin. The guy hailed from some small ass town in Indiana, but it was clear to see that he hadn’t hidden much of himself over there. 

So many kids blew into California freshly freed from their families, still dressed in clothes their old life had forced them to wear. They always had a sort of fragile, reborn look to them that made all the elder queers reach out their hands, welcome them in. 

Eddie, whose last name changed on a daily basis (his drivers license listed it as ‘Henderson’ but there were rumors that it too, was fake)  had too large of a wardrobe for all of it to be recently purchased, and moved too comfortably in clothes for them to be new to him. 

The guy wasn’t mean. His temperment wasn’t why he was terrifying, really, though the constant high energy he whirlwinded around the bar with often grew too much for some of their quieter regulars. 

No it was all the shit he casually talked about. How he took things in stride, and said he had to, given he used to be the president of a D&D club he named Hellfire. 

(Hellfire. In small town America. The sheer fucking balls on this dude.) 

He regaled them all with tales of his lost sheep and the fights he had with his high school principal long before Angel, the bar owner, agreed to take him on as a busboy--then bar back, then bartender, all in rapid succession.

Always winking as he spun a story about how he was caught flagging once from an out of towner stopping by for gas, the story somehow darkly hilarious. 

A lot of people didn’t like southern California, or rather, not the way they thought they would at least, but Eddie took to it like a duck to water. There was no denying the man belonged here, in a way he hadn’t truly belonged anywhere else. 

Elliot had been the one to help him find a local metal band. He himself was one of those quieter regulars (and not a musician let alone a metalhead) but he knew people. Could make some connections.

It helped that Elliot did play D&D, and was quick to pull Eddie into his orbit that way. Get him connected to others who loved the game like the metalhead clearly did. 

And damn, could Eddie DM.

It was here though, that Elliot first picked up that Eddie’s bluster wasn’t just that. 

Watched as his new friend's eyes went hard and flat when the Vecna campaign was mentioned, shut it down with such force that it left the table briefly stunned by the sheer venom in his voice. 

How he flinched once, hands reaching for the bat he’d hammered nails into under the bar when electricity had stuttered in a heatwave, lights flickering in the bar. 

(The bat itself, and the way Eddie had simply looked at the one Spellbound had as their only defense measure and declared it “fucking useless” had not helped the rough, survivalistic story they were all putting together.) 

Winter rolled back round to spring and then summer and whispers about his home life, about how he had to survive with all the rural cow farmers looking and acting like he did, how he obviously knew how to fight was practically old news by the time he first showed up in a cropped shirt. 

The scars that decorated his stomach still caught the attention of everyone at the bar, and more than once their little D&D group had tried to map out the shape of them, if only to figure out what the hell could cause such a dramatic injury. 

No one ever quite succeeded, but then, no one was brave enough to ask the man himself. 

What it did do, was cement the idea in everyone’s heads. 

Eddie Henderson/Buckley/Sinclair/Wheeler/and one time even Walmart--was a great guy, and one who could absolutely beat the shit out of almost everyone in the bar, hands down. 

Nothing he did over the years ever challenged that. If anything, Eddie only cemented it further, which is the only reason Elliot didn’t bolt the second the two of them came home from a shift and found a stranger in front of their door. 

Elliot, 5’4, formerly named Eleanor and still not on T despite making every clawing attempt towards it, wasn’t much of a match for an enraged, pissed off jock. 

But Eddie was. 

xXx 

The jock was the straightest looking man Elliot had ever laid eyes on. 

Bruises covered half his face and one eye, and he sported a nose that had clearly been recently bloodied. Judging from the scrapes on the back of his hands he hadn’t gotten them willingly--or maybe was just giving as good as he got. 

He was walking wildly back and forth in front of their garage, hands opening and closing, a look in his eyes that spoke of someone not entirely in control as he muttered audibly to himself. 

Given the preppy polo shirt, expensive looking shorts and shoes that practically shined, they were so new, he was comically out of place, even with the entire homicidal aura he had going on. 

(Given the descriptions of the assholes who had attacked Angel only four nights ago on their walk home, Elliot could only see the man as a monster preparing to attack.) 

He slammed to a stop, breath in his throat, entirely unsure of what to do.

Thankfully, Eddie was right behind him. 

Eddie, who could probably beat this guy and six others bloody. Eddie who carried a knife. Eddie who terrified Elliot sometimes, but not the same way the idea of getting hate crimed did, Eddie who--

Who was coming up besides Elliot, looking both alarmed and confused and not at all challenging the homicidal rich boy. 

“Steve!?” Eddie said, voice high and surprised.

They both watched as the figure spun to face them, crazed look crumbling down to something Elliot couldn’t read. 

“Hey.” The supposed Steve said, rather miserably, shoulders hunched right before Eddie shot forward, hands hovering in the air like he wanted to touch but didn’t know where to start. 

“What the hell Harrington--did you lose another fight!?”

“I don’t lose every fight you know.” Steve snarked back, sounding exactly like every rich snob Elliot’s ever encountered. 

It’d get his back up, except Steve’s entire body was curving towards Eddie in obvious relief. “Henderson exaggerates.” 

Which was doubly confusing, given Eddie was supposedly a Henderson.

“Sorry for dropping by like this. Wasn’t close to anyone else, so I didn't know where else to go.” Steve continued, as Eddie finally stopped waving his hands around and instead began herding Steve through the door and to the kitchen. 

Confused, Elliot followed.

(What the fuck else was he supposed to do?) 

“I thought you were on a cruise?”  Eddie challenged, sounding more and more normal as he and Steve traded banter. 

“I was. Clearly, I’m not anymore.” 

“Steve.” Eddie said, voice almost pleading as he patted the only empty spot on their counter, before turning to fish a bag of peas out of the fridge. 

(Had Elliot ever heard him plead like that? Had he thought Eddie even capable?) 

Steve jumped up on it like a dog that had been asked to perform a trick, while Elliot hovered in the living room, watching it all go down across the little half wall that separated the two spaces. 

“Did I just see pop tarts in your freezer?” Steve asked instead of answering. 

“Don’t distract me, you dick. Put this on your face.” 

And so they went, instantly and immediately comfortable, two people who clearly had known each other for a long time trading insults and catching up while Eddie tried unsuccessfully to pull what happened out of Steve via an increasing number of ridiculous nicknames. 

He’d worked his way past ‘Stevie’ and was well on his way to calling the stranger things like ‘big boy’ by the time Anders came home from her shift at the record store. 

Swaned through various other, mildly incriminating nicknames until he saw something that made him start cursing, at which point he rapidly fell down the nickname rabbit hole, landing at a final; 

“Come on Sweetheart, you look like someone tried to kill you! Just tell me what happened!”

Jake, who had just waltzed in the front door, blinked wildly. 

“Eddie has a guest.” Anders informed him, handing their roommate an open beer from the pile she’d put on the floor as he slammed to a halt. 

Took in their intruder so starkly out of place on the kitchen counter, nestled between twin pride flags and a poster for Eddie’s band like a misplaced catalog model.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Jake said flatly, as Steve grumbled something lowly at their fearless DM, and Eddie flicked his nose in retaliation. 

"He's from Indiana," Elliot offered, the closest thing to an explanation he had. "Same town as Eddie."

He hesitated, then added, "I think."

It was all he’d managed to piece together, the conversation had been all over the place.

“Steven Madonna Harrington,” Eddie snapped finally, spinning to pin his guest with a glare, “you either tell me what happened or I’m calling Robin.” 

‘Madonna?’ Anders mouthed at Elliot, as if that was the weirdest part of this entire situation. 

Steve kicked at Eddie lightly. “She has finals this week you jerk.”

Eddie slammed both his hands down on the counter, one on either side of Steve’s hips, staring up challengingly. 

It put him almost directly in between Steve’s legs, bringing their faces intimately close together. 

“And she’s gonna lose her shit when she finds out her platonic with a capital P soulmate ditched off that family cruise he’s been dreading for months, looking like he decided to take up backyard boxing, and then came to my place instead of calling her first--” 

“Fine! Fine, you underhanded asshole. Tommy was on that stupid Alaska cruise. Decided he wanted to reconnect.” 

“Hagan did all this!?” 

“Oh no, this is from my dad.” Steve motioned to himself, a grim sort of amusement curling around the words. “He caught me and Tommy making out. Decided to have a little chat about how he disapproved.” 

“That is awful and we are returning to it immediately but first--Steve. Babe.” Eddie stared at him in clear dismay. “Tommy Hagan?”

Another eye roll, this one earning a wince from Steve as it agitated his bruises. “Not the time Mun--” 

Eddie coughed loudly right over the rest of whatever Steve was about to say, getting a weird look from everyone around him. 

“Henderson.” Eddie corrected softly. “They changed it to Henderson after all the uh.” He paused, as though trying to recall the word he wanted. Went with; “Earthquake.” 

That got some glee out of Steve. 

“You picked Dustin’s last name? Does he know?” 

“Fuck no dude, he’d never shut up about it.” Eddie put a hand on Steve’s thigh, jostling it lightly. “We’re not talking about me right now though. Your dad disowned you?”

“Supposedly.” Steve shrugged, like this was normal and not a huge ordeal. “I’ll check on my credit cards tomorrow, see if he’s serious.” 

Eddie’s stare was growing flat, fast. “Even if he isn’t, he beat the shit out of you.” 

“Yeah, well, everyone kinda does, I guess it was just his turn.” 

“Steve.”

“I’m kidding!” Then, in a far more serious tone; ‘I am sorry about crashing in like this. I can get out of your hair.” 

Eddie was already waiving a hand dismissively, head shaking, but Steve plowed forward anyway. 

“I mean it. The cruise stopped at a port near here and I needed to get off it before my dad decided disowning me and throwing all my shit over the rails weren’t enough.” 

Steve finally looked up, taking in all the people who were watching this play out like a TV sitcom. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game night.” 

“There’s no game, they all live here.” He turned and glared, and got one embarrassed face and two entirely unapologetic ones in return. “They’re just enjoying the show.

‘It’s getting a five star rating so far.” Anders snarked at him. “Might lose a star, if one of the main actors keeps breaking the fourth wall, though.” 

Eddie flipped her off. 

“You’re not going anywhere looking like this. You are at minimum, staying here for the rest of the weekend.” 

“If you’re sure.” Steve said hesitantly. To the group at large, he added; “And no one minds me taking the couch.” 

“The couch is a shared communal space.” Eddie shot back instantly, before anyone else could protest. “You’re staying in my room.” 

“Oh.” Steve said, like he’d half expected, wanted even, Eddie to make that offer. “Okay.” 

“I am so confused right now.” Anders muttered, and Elliot could only nod along because, well. 

Yeah. 

Him too. 

“Come on, let’s get your stuff, I’ll show you around. Keep the peas on your face.”

“Eds, man, I don’t have any stuff. I was lucky to escape with my wallet.” Steve vollied, but hopped off the counter anyway, following Eddie as he was led up the stairs, towards the metalheads room. 

“This is the weirdest day of my life.” Jake announced when they’d disappeared. 

“It’s not over yet.” Anders said, cracking open another beer.  “Give it a bit.” 

“How on earth could this get any weirder?” Elliot muttered. 

“Well thanks Elliot.” Anders told him flatly. ‘If it wasn’t guaranteed before, it is now.” 

“How!?”

“She’s right bud, you challenged the fates.” Jake responded. “We’re in for it now.” 

(Given Steve never moved back out, they absolutely were.) 

Bonus

“You know.” Eddie said, and his voice was quiet but the house was fucking ancient and not in the best of shape, and thus Elliot heard him loud and clear through their shared wall. “I kiss a lot better than Tommy Hagan.”

“Not letting that one go anytime soon, huh?” Steve rumbled back. 

“I’m just saying! If you’re going to get disowned for a kiss, it should be a damn good one and not whatever limp noodle bullshit Hagan does. I saw him with Carol, he kisses like a puffer fish.” 

A low snicker, followed by; “He did kinda kiss like a fish.”

“See!?” Vindicated, Eddie grew louder in volume. “I could give you a kiss that would actually be worth all this shit! A proper kiss!” 

“You offering, Munson?”

“Well if the good knight Sir Harrington doth allow it--”

An ‘mmph!’ noise that took a moment for Elliot to translate as Steve kissing Eddie, which made this entire fucking day suddenly make a whole lot more sense. 

“If you stop all the nerd talk we can take it beyond a kiss.” 

“I can do that.” Eddie said, voice breathless. “I can definitely do that.” 

“Good.” 

Elliot snorted in amusement, before reality of their paper thin shared wall and the fact he was going to hear fucking everything asserted itself. 

He decided to go sleep on the couch.

[agenderfrenchfry]

When Sasha hosts her first D&D session, Michael isn’t invited, really, but it shows up regardless; clutching a character sheet and set of resin dice whose insides swirl around in a way that gives everyone a headache. Jon is ready to kick it out immediately, but Sasha vouches for it, and somehow they begin the game with it in their party.

None of them claim to know the Distortion, but they expected a chaotic character — a wild mage or barbarian, maybe. They don’t expect a lore bard, especially not a human one, and especially not one of such a kindly demeanor. It’s strange, watching Michael switch between voicing its character and describing its actions to Sasha, as though they’re actually playing with two distinct Spiral avatars instead of one.

As the campaign continues, they discover just how many little details it put into its character. He likes colorful tunics and warm scarves. He thinks lilies are pretty. He’s somehow “more of a doormat than Martin”, as Tim puts it. He was an acolyte before becoming an adventurer. Dungeons and Dragons is a game all about constructing elaborate lies wrapped around a grain of truth, after all.

And if Jon Knows something about this character, this strange creation that seems to fit Michael like a second skin, he chooses not to say.

[punkbarbarian]

for folks who don’t follow them on instagram— ally beardsley wrote part of an op-ed in the washington post for the 50th dnd anniversary about a moment playing dnd that really stuck with them and i wanted to share it here!

“a character’s journey — and my own”

I was an aspiring comedian in Los Angeles and had just landed a salaried job at the comedy website CollegeHumor. My co-worker and friend Brennan Lee Mulligan was looking for six comedians to create a show that would be like an at-home game of D&D. Why not? “Dimension 20” became a weird punctuation to my day.

I remember there being too many rules to remember. I kept turning to my friend, Brian Murphy, to ask which dice I should be rolling. I wasn’t paid overtime, but I loved the group and was having a lot of fun.

For the second season, I had my sea legs. I created a character for the campaign who was transgender. I had started going by the gender neutral they/them pronouns at work and among friends, but sourcing hormones or getting surgery seemed equal parts expensive and invasive. A fun thing about fantasy is stripping away the crunchy, real-world limitations and asking yourself: “What would I do if I could do anything?”

That season’s arc for my character, Pete, was extremely euphoric for me. I had described him as a trans cowboy you might see at Burning Man, and the artist drew him dressed as a freaky Hunter S. Thompson in an open shirt to show his top surgery scars. He has wild magic — uncontrollable and dangerous in the game mechanics — which we used to explore the painful chaos of leaving a family that doesn’t accept you.

Since then, I’ve started testosterone HRT and had top surgery. It’s funny to listen back to myself playing a character who had transitioned in ways I hadn’t. It’s full of inaccuracies that make me smile. Pete takes a testosterone pill every day; I now know it’s a weekly injection or a topical gel. I see my face, one wrapped up in playing something so new but instantly right. It was like an oracle. A near-future me who has health insurance! Who’s talked to their mom about being trans and even spent a week post-top surgery on that mom’s couch in Temecula, Calif!

As I started transitioning my appearance, seeing that in front of the camera felt raw. I was starting hormones, and my voice was cracking. Realizing it was all being recorded felt naked at times, but it has been really nice to talk to fans and friends about how important it is to see someone that looks like you taking a big risk on themself.

With Pete, it was really important to me to tell a story other than the dramatic lead-up to a medical transition. So we started with him having just gotten out of surgery, but that’s all you see of that process. Part of his backstory is that he doesn’t have a relationship with his transphobic parents, and before shooting the first episode, I felt sick to my stomach. I’ve been on a journey with my parents, and our starting place didn’t have much common ground. When my character meets with his father, it felt as though I was actually running into my own on the street.

Brennan could sense that discomfort, and as my character’s dad was about to call Pete by his deadname, Brennan shut the interaction down, surrounding his dad with bubbles that carried him into the sky. Magic is the power and freedom to manipulate your reality, and you can banish the awful voices in your life — let them swirl away into the air.

[mollyjames]

I based a set of D&D villains around the six main stats called Virtues. (think Full Metal Alchemist sins, except Strength, Constitution, Dexterity, etc..) My favorite of the bunch was Charm. Her conceit was she could persuade, lie, cheat, change appearance, and manipulate the players pretty much however she wanted, but the second someone attacked her she would go down. I introduced her relatively early into the campaign, and I was a bit nervous because I was pretty upfront about her introduction. I didn't say it explicitly, but it was pretty obvious Charm was a Virtue from the offset. I thought "well, I like this character a lot, maybe I'll cheat it a little if I have to." Surprisingly, I never did.

In retrospect, I think the context of the Charm encounters was a huge boon. The party really only confronted her twice: the first time at a dinner party and the second at a war council, where leaders from various factions met to discuss retaking the main city for the finale of the campaign. Neither were explicitly combat scenarios, and both times it would have looked pretty bad for the party if they just up and killed Charm for apparently no reason. The end result was I had villain with only eight hit points to her name run around and torment my level 16 party unpunished for several sessions. Let me tell you, as a DM, that felt amazing.