#i imagine them more as a tiefling but that face is only available for humans

[exocomets]

warlock jumpscare. their name is vidar and they're a goofball. the only thing they're committed to more than the bit is astarion

[thetravelerwrites]

Rupert and Sanoh (Lemon)

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Kobold/Male Human, Female Half-Elf/Male Tielfling Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Elf, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons, Kobold, Half-Elf Content Warning: Sex, Rough Sex, Biting, Marking, Group Sex, Dom/Sub, Breath Play Words: 3349

A story with DuMont’s friends, Rupert and Sanoh! Rupert and Sanoh are having sexy fun in a bath when Kharis and DuMont enter the room. Not willing to stop, they try to be stealthy. It doesn't work. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

“Why do wererats always have to live in sewers?” Kharis grumped. “Every time we get contracted to kill rodents of any kind, I just know we’re going to have to go somewhere gross.”

Kharis, DuMont, Rupert, Sanoh, and Norman all pulled themselves out of the sewers of one of the larger towns west of the capitol. People had been going missing, and the mayor of the town realized that the rats in town were multiplying at an incredible rate, even with preventative measures. It was a clear indication that wererats were responsible.

“It wasn’t all that bad,” Sanoh said. “The humidity down there was good for my scales. They’re so itchy.”

“It may have been good for your scales, but it definitely wasn’t good for your clothes,” Kharis remarked. “That stink isn’t coming out. You might as well burn that shit.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Sanoh said with a sigh. Her dancer’s outfit, which she always wore regardless of the situation, was torn and it’s bright red hue was now dark brown. “I really liked this one, too.”

Rupert seemed even more miserable that Kharis. “Can we please find a bathhouse? I haven’t been this filthy in years.”

“You’re one to talk, look at poor DuMont!” Kharis said, pointing at her giant lover. DuMont, the mountain of a tiefling that he was, was splattered head to toe in muck and grime and rat guts. His large church-bell bludgeon that he had slung over his shoulder was absolutely caked in blood and gore. “He’s not even complaining!”

“That’s because he doesn’t know how to complain,” Sanoh said. “He takes the phrase ‘roll with the punches’ far too literally.”

“Is that wrong?” DuMont asked, his cavernously deep voice echoing through the city streets, causing many who weren’t already staring at the group to spin in surprise.

“Of course not, love,” Kharis said, patting his arm as he walked on all fours. “I much prefer silent temperance to someone who does nothing but complain.” She looked pointedly at Rupert.

“Norman complains more than I do!” Rupert retorted.

“I haven’t said a word!” Norman protested. “Don’t pick on me because you’re a whiner.”

“Oh, my god, everyone shut up!” Sanoh said, rubbing her forehead. “There’s a bathhouse one block over, so will you all just please stop bitching.”

“I’m not bitching,” DuMont said in an undertone. “But I am hungry.”

“I’ll order you a rack of lamb and a sack of potatoes when we get to the inn, hon,” Kharis said. “Get cleaned up first. You don’t want to eat when you’re that dirty or you’ll get sick.”

“I’ve never been sick.” DuMont countered.

“Even still, you should be clean…er. And I don’t want you to drop pieces of food in the bath, either. It’ll feel like we’re all sitting in a stew.”

“You weirdos can sit in the stew, I’m getting a private bath,” Norman said.

“Why do you do that?” Rupert asked. “You always get your own instead of bathing with us, even though private baths are so much more expensive. It’s no wonder why you never have any money.”

“I’m not trying to get head by a paid companion in front of you lot,” He said sniffily.

“Suit yourself, but I bet that’d be fun to watch,” Kharis said playfully.

Norman snorted. “You would think that, you pervert.”

“You’ve become so shy since we started traveling, Norman,” Kharis said. “You used to be a nice, relatable pervert, just like the rest of us.”

“Maybe being with you people has made me see the error in my ways,” Norman remarked.

“Pssh, there isn’t anything wrong with being a pervert. Besides, I think DuMont balances me out. He can be such a prude sometimes.”

“I imagine being raised by a priest in a church will have that effect on a person,” Sanoh said.

“You are a pervert, Kharis,” DuMont said, as if in agreement with Norman.

“Does me being a pervert bother you?” Kharis asked him, grinning.

He looked at her and cocked his head as he walked, considering her, looking like a massively oversized dog, as he always did when thinking.

“No,” He said eventually.

“See? He likes it.”

“Now, I didn’t say that,” He said. His face wasn’t built to smile, but Rupert thought he could hear laughter in his voice, and Rupert grinned.

“We would be the ones to pick brazen, sex-crazed women, wouldn’t be, big guy?” Rupert said, smacking DuMont’s broad shoulder in solidarity.

DuMont grunted in a way that could have been mistaken for a chuckle.

DuMont had been very taciturn since they had met him nearly a year ago, but his personality was slowly beginning to emerge as the five of them spent more time together on the road, doing jobs. Rupert was glad he finally felt comfortable enough with the group to try joking with them.

The bathhouse came into view shortly afterward. It catered to adventuring sorts, so it wasn’t necessarily a high-end place, and the five of them tended to frequent it often. The staff there barely batted an eye at DuMont anymore. The laundresses despised the sight of them, however, since they always arrived splattered with all manner of filth, much of which was hard to wash out.

“Hey, can we get the big tub, please?” Sanoh called out as soon as they entered the place. “We’ll pay extra to reserve the whole thing, though I doubt many people will want to come in after us.”

The woman at the front desk curled up her lip at them as they entered, but said, “Yes, of course. You’re usual packages?”

“Yes,” Norman said. “Private room for me, please. Do you have any companions available?”

“Derek is available.”

“Ugh, no, not him. What about Vincent?”

“Vincent is away visiting family. Connor?”

Norman nodded. “Connor will do. Just make sure he brings the right massage oils this time.”

“That costs extra,” The woman reminded him.

“I’m aware,” Normal said, starting toward the private baths.

“I’m beginning to think Norman is too fancy for us,” Sanoh said. “We can’t afford him.” She walked up to the counter. “Do you have any scale oil?”

“We don’t have any specifically for scales, but there are plenty for skin and hair.”

“Hmm…” Sanoh said. “Give me the hair oil, then. It tends to be thicker. What scents have you got?”

Kharis snorted. “Come on, let’s get these clothes off before they stick to us. She may be at this for a while.”

Dumont and Rupert followed her to one of the larger public baths, one with a door, and closed it behind them. Now that they had been together for a long time, they were less shy about bathing together as they had been. Even DuMont had stopped blushing when he saw them all nude in the same bath.

“Kharis, I’m hungry,” DuMont said insistently. The only time DuMont ever seemed to get grumpy was when he needed a meal.

“Let me at least scrub you down once and we’ll go get some food,” She told him, pushing him into the bath still wearing his loincloth. The robes and towels weren’t nearly large enough to cover him, so they just had taken to washing him in the bath, clothes and all. They usually did him first, drained the bath, and refilled it for the rest of them.

Once Rupert helped Kharis give DuMont a once over, getting him clean enough to go into the tavern, they left to get something to eat and Rupert and Sanoh waited for the tub to be refilled. When that was done, the fresh water was nice and hot, and Sanoh arrived with her purchased oils. They both stripped down and got in with a satisfied sigh.

“Oh, gods, this is nice,” Sanoh said.

“Mmm,” Rupert agreed. “I think this is the first time in a month that my shoulders have relaxed.”

“My scales were starting to get so brittle. Will you get my scale brush and scrub the oils into my back? I can feel them flaking.”

“Sure, just a second,” He said, getting out with a splash and grabbing her back. She had a special boars-hair brush she used to clean and sharpen her scales and horns. Her favorite thing in the world was laying out and letting him groom her tiny body all over. It often got her in a frisky mood.

Sure enough, after only scrubbing her back for fifteen minutes, she started to wiggle in his lap, rutting her hips backward into him. He began to harden immediately. Sanoh seemed to revel in getting him aroused in dangerously public places, but it always caused Rupert anxiety.

“What are you doing?” Rupert said. “Kharis and DuMont will be back any minute.”

“Then let’s be quick,” She said, looking back at him over her shoulder.

She lifted up in the water and slowly sank her swollen lips down onto him. He gripped her hips and groaned, his head falling back, trying to keep his voice down. There really was no arguing when she was in a mood like this. He began to thrust up into her, sloshing the water around them.

She laughed breathlessly. “Good boy.” She thrust back into him as he moved inside her. Before long, he picked her up and lay her over the side of the bath, slamming himself into her hard enough to make her thighs ripple. She began to moan loudly.

“Shh!” He hissed. “You’re going to get us thrown out.”

“But it feels so good,” She whimpered. “Norman has sex in the baths all the time, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t make me gag you,” He said, panting.

“You can try,” She said, laughing, before crying out against the tile. He put his hand over her mouth, but she bit him. He let go, inspecting his hand, and when he found she hadn’t broken the skin, he instead grabbed her throat, squeezing.

“Oh, fuck,” She wheezed, her eyes going glassy. As bossy as she was, she loved it when he was rough and took charge.

“Shut up!” He snarled in her ear. “You started it. Be quiet and take it.”

“I will,” She simpered, and he squeezed harder.

“I said, shut up!” He slammed hard into her, and she squeaked against his grip on her neck, her body trembling in excitement. She came suddenly, gushing down her legs, but he didn’t relent, crushing his body against hers, breathing down her neck and spine, moving at a frenzied pace.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” He said through his gritted teeth. “Stand still, don’t fucking move.”

Before he got the chance, however, he heard the far door open and Kharis’s voice drift through.

“Shit!” He exclaimed, pulling out suddenly and ducking under the water to hide himself. His cock was throbbing with the unfulfilled promise of climax, but there was little he could do about it now. He was just going to have to sit there and suffer in silence.

Until Sanoh sat back down onto him, spearing him inside her, her inner walls still quivering from the orgasm.

“Now what are you doing?!” He asked frantically.

“Just act natural,” She replied in an undertone.

“They’re going to know!”

“Not if you don’t make a big deal about it! Lay your head back and pretend you’re sleeping!

“Sanoh!”

“Just do it!”

Rupert lay his head back against the tile on the edge of the bath with Sanoh in his lap just as Kharis and DuMont re-entered the bathing area, stripping down to join them.

“Well, DuMont cleaned out the tavern, so if you want food, you’re going to have to find a vendor somewhere,” Kharis said.

“Not surprising,” Sanoh said, stealthily riding Rupert’s cock under the water, pretending to be washing her arms to cover the movement.

“What’s with him?” Kharis asked, nodding at Rupert.

“He conked out almost immediately after you left. I’m just keeping his lap warm,” She said smoothly.

Kharis snorted and said, “I wish I could fall asleep as easily as he can. DuMont’s like that too,” She reclined on the large red tiefling. “He can fall asleep mid-sentence.”

“A gift and a curse,” Sanoh said in agreement. She squeezed Rupert’s length with her inner muscles, and it took all his effort not to grunt or move. He dug his fingers into the skin of her hips as a warning. Sanoh snorted. She moved under the pretense of adjusting herself and nearly made Rupert jump out of his skin with how deep she’d push him into her. He couldn’t help but make a small sound.

Kharis noticed. “What are you doing?” She asked Sanoh, her eyes narrowing.

“What are you talking about?” Sanoh asked innocently.

Kharis gave Sanoh a sardonic look. “You don’t have to pretend to be asleep anymore, Rupert, I know what’s going on. I’m a pervert, after all.”

Rupert sighed and lifted his head. “The jig is up, I guess. Sanoh, hop off.”

“I didn’t say you had to stop,” Kharis said. “Far be it from me to interrupt your fun.”

“What about DuMont?” Rupert asked skeptically.

“What about him?” Kharis replied, reaching over in the water and placing her hand in DuMont’s lap.

“Wha…” DuMont said, startled. “What are you doing?”

“Having fun,” Kharis said. “Don’t you want to have fun?”

“But…” He looked at Sanoh and Rupert.

“They’re already having fun,” Kharis said. “They started before us.”

“They are?” DuMont asked in surprise, squinting at the pair.

As if to answer, Sanoh let Rupert’s organ fall out of her and spun in Rupert’s lap. Now that she didn’t have to worry about stealthing, she rocked on him and moaned.

“Oh,” DuMont replied, and then sucked in his breath when Kharis squeezed him.

“Are you okay with this, buddy?” Rupert asked over Sanoh’s shoulder, though he was beginning to lose speech. “We’ll stop if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sanoh said with a snort.

“We’ll stop if you aren’t comfortable, DuMont,” Rupert repeated, giving Sanoh a warning look. Sanoh rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” DuMont replied, playing with Kharis’s hair and she fondled him under the water.

“See? He’s fine, don’t be such a baby,” Sanoh said, pushing him into her deeper. He grunted and stopped speaking.

Kharis held her breath and ducked her head under water, and DuMont tensed and groaned, his hands balling into fists on the side of the tub. From then on, there was little talk, just moans, grunts, groans, and breathy whimpering.

Kharis came up and went to the edge of the bath, bending over and presenting her rear. DuMont followed her and knelt down, pressing his cock into her and thrusting in hard, pushing her forward and down onto the tile. She laughed breathlessly.

“That looks like fun,” Sanoh said, going over to bend over next to Kharis, wiggling her butt at Rupert and moving her tail out of the way, so he could see her dripping between her legs. Rupert followed DuMont and rammed back into her, thrusting fast and hard.

“Wanna see something really fun?” Sanoh said to Kharis. Kharis nodded, and Sanoh leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.

The reaction was instantaneous. Rupert grabbed Sanoh by the throat again and pulled her up against his body.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, his voice hard and angry. He sped up, fucking her roughly as he held her in place. “You belong to me. Don’t you dare do that again without my permission.”

Sanoh’s face went slack and she nodded, whimpering, completely at his mercy.

DuMont’s reaction was also immediate. He grabbed Kharis up and vaulted out of the bath, throwing her to the floor. He pinned down her arms and legs and put his face inches from hers. He didn’t say anything, but a low, guttural snarl issued from his throat, his brows furrowed as he stared at her with the intensity of a predator looking at prey.

“What’s the matter, big guy?” She said with a grin. “Are you jealous?”

“Mine,” He growled lowly, almost indistinguishable from the threatening, thunderous rumble of his voice.

“Prove it,” She challenged.

He opened his mouth and sank his front canine teeth into her shoulder, drawing blood. He thrust himself back into her without letting go, his jaws locked, and he lifted her off the ground and just railed her.

There was no hope of keeping their voices down now. If they got kicked out, they got kicked out. Sanoh and Kharis screamed, shouted, howled, and swore in pleasure as their lovers used their bodies to climax.

At some point, there was a knock on the door.

“Is everything okay?”

“Go away!” Sanoh and Kharis shouted in unison.

Kharis and Sanoh came several times before the boys were done with them. While Kharis had as much stamina as DuMont did and was just as active, at some point Sanoh’s legs gave out and she simply lay there on the floor in a perpetual orgasm trance as Rupert pumped her full of his warmth and kept going like a machine, finally collapsing on top of her, breathing as if he’d run five miles in a minute.

DuMont was the last to reach his peak, gushing into Kharis, his seed pooching her stomach and dripping out of her, down his legs, and splattering onto the floor. For a solid minute, the room was quiet, safe for a lot of heavy breathing.

Finally, as they all caught their breath, the re-entered the bath to wash each other.

“Kharis, you’re bleeding,” Sanoh said, pointing. There was a very large bite in her shoulder, and it was rather deep.

“Oh,” DuMont said, flustered by worry. “I… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, big guy,” She reassured him. “I wanted you to do it. It’s proof.”

“Proof?” He echoed, his brow furrowed.

“That I belong to you,” She said simply. “Help me wash it.”

As rough as DuMont had been, his gentleness in tending the wound was a mirror opposite. Rupert and Sanoh sat cuddled together and watched fondly as DuMont lovingly treated and bandaged Kharis’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, DuMont,” Rupert said. “Sanoh marked me, too.” He turned and showed DuMont a bite on his left shoulder blade. “And Sanoh’s bites can be venomous. I was sick for a week.”

“I said I was sorry,” She said reproachfully. “It was the heat of the moment, I couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He said, hugging her in close and kissing her forehead.

“Does it hurt?” DuMont asked Kharis.

“Not really,” She said. “I’m sure it will tomorrow when the sex high has worn off, but I feel great right now. And it’ll scar up nicely, I think.”

“I’m sorry!” DuMont said, hiding his face.

“Honey, it’s okay!” She said, pulling his hands down. “I like it! It lets everyone who sees it know that I’m yours. Don’t you want people to know that you and I are in love?”

“Well… yes…” He said, frowning.

“There, see? It’s all fine.” She went up and hugged his neck. “Don’t fuss so much. I’m fine.”

He pulled her back and fixed her with a glare. “No kissing other people.”

She grinned at him. “I won’t, I promise. It was just an experiment.” She winked at Sanoh, who stuck her tongue between her teeth as she smirked. “And I’d say it was successful.”

DuMont grumbled. “I didn’t like it.”

She patted his face and kissed his exposed jaw. “I won’t do it again.”

“Okay,” He said, seemingly satisfied, and he pulled her into an embrace, careful of her shoulder.

The wound healed up really quickly, and Kharis took to wearing asymmetrical shirts, so that she could show it off. Most assumed that it was a grievous injury from a wild beast, and Kharis would laugh and say that was partly right.

Sanoh and Rupert didn’t engage in sex around the two of them again, but it was definitely something they kept in the back of their mind. For a rainy day, maybe.

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[nerdarchy-blog]

The follow up to 2017’s Xanathar’s Guide to Everything, on Nov. 17, 2020 fifth edition Dungeons & Dragons upcoming Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything must indeed possess powerful magic to contain so much stuff in 192 pages — the exact page count of its predecessor according to Jeremy Crawford, principal rules designer of the game. The product of 18 months work the book includes material for Dungeons Masters and players of 5E D&D alike. I had an opportunity to join the press briefing with Crawford and Greg Tito, communications and press relations director for D&D and let me tell you, sitting on this was really exciting. Reading and hearing what players speculated on and wanting to say, “You’re all right! It’s all in the book. All the character options and new stuff you’re guessing about are inside!” So let’s get into Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything.

On the cover for Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything Tasha holds an ornate grimoire covered with symbols from the planes of existence in stunning art by Magali Villeneuve.

A delightful conversation about 5E D&D

No sense burying the lead — all the options and fresh new modular content you thought might be in Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything is there. Subclasses for all the classes are in there. Alternate class features from the most popular Unearthed Arcana in the entirety of 5E D&D are in there. The artificer class is in there — including some tweaks, new infusions and the Armorer subclass that was loved by people, according to Crawford. The Aberrant Mind sorcerer, UA’s most highly rated content ever, is in there and so are many from the past year. Spell Versatility and new Beast Master Companions are in there and I know there’s untold numbers of players stoked to hear this. There’s new artwork for the Artillerist Artificer Specialist that was shared during the briefing too.

A human artificer balances his Eldritch Cannon on his shoulder as seen in Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything. [Art by Brian Valeza]

Like XGtE the book explores the titular character’s wonderfully complex point of view in comments on the content throughout, with nods to Tasha’s history in her comments and captions. One clue about Tasha’s mysterious origin reveals itself on the cover. The tattoo on her cheek is a chicken leg, which Crawford explained is an “echo of the chicken-legged hut that Baba Yaga lives in.”

A bunch of subclasses and class features only chicken scratches the surface of the scope of material. Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything is organized into four chapters. While perusing the material in the book readers learn more about Tasha and the lore surrounding her. Tasha’s life has involved the fantastic since the very beginning of her origins in the fey realms. As she became a brilliant and powerful wizard her adventures took her to other planes and dimensions so she is unfazed by beings of any sort, least of all her frenemy Mordenkainen.

Character options

Spells and magic items

Group patrons

Tools for Dungeon Masters

Customizing your origin is an important part of the development of the book and something the design team seems particularly proud of, for good reason. Players love the idea of more personalized character origin stories. I use This Is Your Life stuff from XGtE all the time and TCoE builds on that tremendously. Like, seriously a lot. The design goal was tools for players to create truly unique characters with amazingly magical origins and backstories.

This includes modifying traits during character creation to better reflect the story players want to tell and offers a lineage template with fill-in-the-blanks tools to totally personalize characters. The Lineage System introduces a new way to approach creating and playing characters and adventures in 5E D&D, a responsibility the design team takes very seriously as stewards of the game. During the press briefing Crawford and Tito explained how TCoE is one of multiple books demonstrating a shift in how D&D handles things like race.

Other changes include the removal of negative racial modifiers for certain races from Volo’s Guide to Monsters via errata. Crawford explained how their original intention for races like kobold and orc was as Monstrous Adventurers, separate from standard character options. This is why those options are included in their own section in VGtM along with options considered more powerful than standard in some cases, like yuan-ti and to a lesser extent goblins. Because this context is lost through the way so many players engage with 5E D&D through online tools and resources like D&D Beyond, it became a pain point for players and TCoE will include updated versions. Hooray for kobold and orc enthusiasts!

The Lineage System offers tools to create characters not bound by a species archetype. I love the way Crawford explained how this modular piece of content interacts with existing 5E D&D material. The core game, what is presented in the Player’s Handbook and other sources, illustrates an archetypal adventuring character like an elf. Choosing this option for your character represents playing Elfie McElferson in other words — the exact kind of elf that comes to mind when you think of D&D elves. The Lineage System gives players and DMs tools to disentangle characters’ personal traits with cultural traits. And worry not! The path to customization is very smooth according to Crawford, who emphasized it is not complicated at all.

Along with the new class options and alternate features players can customize how each class feels. This includes something that worms its way into the mind of every edition of D&D sooner or later.

Psionics! The Aberrant Mind is just one of the psionic themed subclasses from UA. Along with a few others, these psionic subclasses use a modifed version of the playtest mechanics, which Crawford described as “evolved.” I’m pretty middle of the road when it comes to psionics, neither thrilled to use them or abhorred by their inclusion in the game but I’ve got to say I really dug that Psionic Talent die so I hope that’s what he meant.

During the press briefing they did not get too deep into new spells and magic items in TCoE but there are some tidbits to share. For starters Tasha adds new spells of her own design to D&D canon. Tasha’s caustic brew and Tasha’s otherworldly guise are two mentioned and I’m excited to see more. Spells named for the wizards who created them evokes a sense of mystery and wonder in all D&D players and after all her incredible excursions and magical experimentation I’m certain Tasha’s influence on 5E D&D will be immense.

Spellcasters can boost their power with new spell focus magic items too, which sounds awesome. There’s got to be a magical cauldron, right? One of the magic items Crawford talked about sounds totally awesome — the Tarokka Deck. Not like, any old prophetic card deck though. This is THE Tarokka Deck, an artifact capable of trapping spirits. Can I tell you I lost track of what they said for a moment because I was daydreaming about a Ghostbusters inspired 5E D&D campaign.

Sidekicks (remember them?) get expanded in TCoE too. Resources to create your own customized sidekicks sounds like a lot of fun new toys to play with. When asked what the most surprising thing about the book is, Crawford revealed there’s a sidekick class. You can play as a Warrior, Expert or Spellcaster, which offers a slimmed down experience for perhaps new players or those looking for less complexity. This sounds awesome to me. I’ve used the Sidekicks content from UA several times and it is terrific, so more of that and more ways to use it can’t go wrong.

More than that though Crawford was surprised by “how much liberty players have to customize.” The Lineage System, tons of new class options and alternate features, spells, feats (wow I didn’t even mention those!) all combine to create more levers and dials players and DMs can use to tailor our game experiences and tell the kinds of stories we want with exactly the kinds of characters we imagine.

“Our work on the game is a delightful conversation with the community that never ends,” as Crawford put it. With tremendous amounts of fun, cool sounding new content like they’re brewing up in Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything, I don’t doubt it.

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A tiefling sorcerer levitates several feet off the ground. [Art by Kieran Yanner]

A lineup of four homunculus servants. [Art by Irina Nordsol]

The young wizard Tasha studies her spellbook in front of Baba Yaga’s hut. Looming nearby is Baba Yaga herself, watching her adopted daughter intently. [Art by Brian Valeza]

This is a massive tome holding secrets of ultimate evil. The exterior of the book reflects the evil within. The covers are made of dark demon scales, which are trimmed in rune-carved metal shaped to look like demonic claws. [Art by David Sladek]

Two wood elf lads swim in a glittering pond, which is fed by a waterfall that pours out of a face carved in a bluff. [Art by Robin Olausson]

A youthful merfolk king lounges on his throne underwater. [Art by Andrew Mar]

Using a psychic spell, a wizard battles a troglodyte underground. [Art by Andrew Mar]

Sidekicks will be expanded in the fifth edition Dungeons & Dragons Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything. [Image courtesy Wizards of the Coast]

An alternate cover art version is only available through local game stores. [Art by Wylie Beckert]

A heavy, ominous storm brews at sea as clouds gather. But these are not normal storm clouds. These have formed into a churning mass of enormous skulls in the sky. [Art by Titus Lunter]

Oh! Are you still here? One last thing I’ll mention is the section on Magical Environments includes Eldritch Storms, magical fruits and magical roads, a Mirror Realm and a Mimic Colony. Stay nerdy.

Congrats! That new #DnD stuff you thought would be in Tasha's Cauldron of Everything is in there. #staynerdy The follow up to 2017's Xanathar's Guide to Everything, on Nov. 17, 2020 fifth edition Dungeons & Dragons upcoming…

[jawsandbones]

The Banquet - The Mansion

Fearnot | Tiefling | Cleric | rennybu Foxglove | Half-Orc | Druid | boss-saarebas Keyr | Human | Cleric | pegaeae Lafalin | Human | Fighter | justbooker Sifra | Elf | Warlock | reassembleme Urnon | Tiefling | Fighter | lynngo-art

Part One: The Mansion

The halls are empty, and she is alone, save for one. A veil covers her face, darkened lace, a mourning gown for those she has known. A mourning gown to mourn herself, the taut skin across older bones, flesh that isn’t quite her own. She slouches on her throne, some pouting pose, fingers playing with fingers. A nail comes lose. She wrenches it from her skin, bloodless and sticky, sets it on the armrest. It stays rocks slowly for a moment, comes to rest, ashen and dead. She stares at it, her thoughts distinctly elsewhere.

“It’s time,” she says at last, “find them.” A hand on the back of the throne, the other moving to her shoulder. A touch that is meant to be reassuring, but fingertips bite into her flesh and it is control, not comfort.

“It will be done.” That touch leaves her as they go, the flame faltering as they pass. She sits, alone, and in the gloom. Her thoughts swirl, and she flicks the fingernail from the armrest. It skitters across spotless marble floors, and echoes in the silence.

She runs her finger through the dust, and a clear line appears on the mantle. The clock in the very middle has ceased to tick, some part of it broken. Neglected, and no one has bothered to fix it. She startles slightly, at the crack of wood in the fireplace, and steps back, brushing her hand against her skirts. The log splits completely, and ashes fall through the grate. Foxglove turns round, stepping from hardwood to rug, a glance that makes its way across all the strangers. The invitation burns in her pocket, and she slips a hand inside, holding the cool paper.

A woman sits nearby, her hands folded carefully in her lap. Another turns in place, fingers playing with the bow in their hair. A large tiefling leans against the wall, his arms crossed and eyes closed. The other tiefling is wandering from painting to portrait, studying the brushstrokes of each one as her hands knit nervously together. The woman sitting on the stairs is bouncing her leg, her hands in fists. A frown on her face, and she clears her throat as she stands up suddenly.

Foxglove watches as she fiddles with one of the pockets on the inside of her jacket, pulls free an envelope. A strange thing, to see a woman so comfortable in trousers. And the hat! She tips it back, as she holds up the envelope, turning it in her hands for the rest of them to see it. Foxglove knows the writing on it. The script matches exactly to her own invitation. Their permission of being in this place. “My – my name is Lafalin,” she says as she tucks the envelope back into her pocket, “what’s yours?” She asks no one in particular, in an American accent.

“Keyr.” The one who had been fiddling with their bow passes a touch against the crescent scar on their forehead, before they drop their hands to their side. Foxglove tilts her head – what beautiful blue eyes this one has. It’s as far as the introductions go, before everything is reduced to silence and stares, once again. Lafalin goes to sit back on the steps. A small chuckle, beside Foxglove.

“What a chatty bunch,” she says as she brushes off her skirts from where she’s sitting. She brushes hair behind pointed ears and looks at the rest. “My name is Sifra.” The smile hangs on her mouth, as though the introductions are the promise of this night not being a complete bore. A hand raised, and one of the tieflings steps nervously forward. Purple skin, yellowed eyes, their white hair bound and braided in rows on her head.

“Fearnot,” she says, before she lowers her hand to worry with the other, stepping back closer to the wall. Collectively, they all glance at the other tiefling. As if sensing their stares, he opens his eyes. Wordlessly, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his own invitation. It is all he gives, before he tucks it back, and closes his eyes once again.

“I’m Foxglove,” she bursts out, their heads all turning towards her. She clears her throat, blushes, and steps back towards the fireplace. “Hi.” Keyr smiles, gives her a small wave. A sigh of relief, when all their eyes move elsewhere. Shoulders easing, a weight lifted. There’s been too many stares since she’s come to the city. All at the protruding fangs, green skin. She is a proper outsider here, in this proper place.

Lafalin is standing again, but not for introductions this time. She steps onto the floor, looks up the stairs as their host begins to descend. Her hand curled around the bannister, back hunched over, the owner almost as ancient as the house itself. Wispy grey hair is pinned back as much as possible, green eyes glassy, and lipstick done by an unsteady hand. The stairs creak under her every slow step, her black dress trailing behind her. “It pleases me greatly to find that you have all accepted my invitation,” Agnes says with a slight smile. Gold glitters on each finger, a lace collar around her neck.

Finally finding steady ground, off that last step, Agnes looks around the foyer. Not at them, but at the peeling wallpaper, the wet stains on the ceiling, the dust of a home poorly maintained. “This estate has been in my family for generations. It has sheltered and protected us. Imagine my surprise, then, when I found it had become malevolent towards me.” Another smile, wistful and longing. This time, her gaze finds each and every one of them. Foxglove, Lafalin and Keyr, standing together by the fireplace. Sifra, paying rapt attention from where she sits. Fearnot and the other tiefling stand by the door, sharing a glance with each other.

“With my husband having recently passed, I am alone now. This estate is all I have left,” Agnes says, “I refuse to give it up. If you help me save it, I will reward you handsomely, with gold and more. All that I have promised each of you in your letters… if you are still willing to help me?” Fearnot moves forward slightly, her steps halting.

“Sorry, um – what do you mean by malevolent?” she asks. Agnes smiles at her.

“Exactly that. Spirits and their ilk have begun to roam these halls,” Agnes says, looking once more around the room. The portraits of those much younger, in their prime, stare grimly back at her.

“I’ll help you Miss Agnes,” Foxglove says as she pulls at her braid. It’s the first acceptance which begets even more. Muted voices of agreement, a nod that works its way around to each one of them, a pact written in a glance. Agnes hums, a pleased chime, clapping her hands together.

“Then I will leave you to it,” she says. Glassy eyes seem to clear, and this smile is sharper than all the others. She moves with ease past the foyer table, placing a small golden key upon it as she goes. The door opens at her lightest touch, slams shut behind her. All of them hear the lock turn. The nameless tiefling goes to the door immediately, reaching for the handle. The locks on the inside of the door do nothing. He tugs and pulls, to no avail. A hard shoulder shove against it, and the door doesn’t even rattle. Locked. Barred. Unbreakable.

Fearnot goes to the windows, pulls back the thick and heavy curtains. Where she might have expected glass, she finds metal. Lafalin’s hand instinctively goes to rest at her hip, over where her pistol sits holstered. “No way out but through, then,” Keyr says as they walk towards the table, and pick up the shining key. They regard it carefully, the simple thing. Much too small to fit the lock of the front door. Instead, they try the others. Three other doors in this room, and the key fits two. “Which one shall we go through first?”

Lafalin shrugs, heads through the doorway of the one Keyr stands in from. Reaching inside, she finds the light switch on the wall. Turning it on, slowly, the dining room comes to life. The lightbulbs groan after such a long period of inactivity, cobwebs slung between every chandelier. The chairs are settled against the table, properly set, and empty. A single vase sits upon the table, wilted and dead flowers in its grasp. The fireplace at the head of the room is long unused, void of both wood and ash.

Keyr moves around the table, to the other side of the room. The grandfather clock is ornate, beautiful, and broken. Opening the body of it, they find the pendulum missing. Foxglove holds her fists against her chest as she slowly walks up to the table. Dust shifts as she reaches out, a stitch between her brows, a sad downturn on her lips. She brushes fingers against darkened petals, and breathes life inside the flowers. Roses bloom back into beauty, living once again, to stay that way until death claims them once again. “Why would she bother locking us inside? We already said we’d do the job for her,” Foxglove says as she pulls her hand back, her voice echoing around the room.

“I’m not sure,” Fearnot says, stepping beside her, looking at the roses. “Perhaps she thinks we might leave before it’s completed.”

“Will she let us out when it is completed?” Foxglove asks her. Fearnot can only frown. Lafalin stands in front of the fireplace. Her arms crossed, her head turns towards a painting that’s hunt beside it. Decently level, competently done, of some nondescript landscape. It’s pretty enough, doesn’t seem to hold any particular significance. Turning her head the other way, and there’s an empty space where a matching painting should be. The nail is still fixed in the wall, but the painting itself is on the floor. She goes to it, crouches down beside it.

This one is no landscape, but a portrait. One whose face has been scratched from existence. She reaches out, touches torn canvas. Cold, unnaturally so, and Lafalin pulls her hand back with a wounded note of surprise. The others slowly make their way towards her. “What is it?” Foxglove asks.

“There’s something wrong about this painting,” she says. She grasps the frame firmly as she stands, feeling the cold bite into her palms, and hangs the portrait back where it could be. The only one not crowded around the painting is the silent tiefling, still standing by the doorway. The others watch, step back, as the paint begins to weep. It leaves the canvas, sticky over the frame. It blackens the wall as it seeps downwards, pools on the floor. Keyr is the only one who steps forward, eyes wide with wonder.

The paint shifts, begins to rise. A figure pulls itself free, a woman incorporeal and incomplete. A dress which matched the portrait. A face, intact, no longer slashed out. She wastes little time. “I am something people love or hate.” Her voice seems to come from a place far away, an echo of a memory. “I change people’s appearances and thoughts. To some, I fool. To others, a mystery. Some wish to hide me, but I will always show. No matter how hard people may try, I will never go down. What am I?”

Foxglove’s eyes are wide, searching, but after a moment, she leans forward. “Are you age?” she asks the ghost. The ghost extends her hand towards her. In her palm, a key, very much real. As Foxglove takes it, the ghost seems to smile. A sweet and distance sigh, before she closes her eyes and disintegrates into ash. Fearnot immediately speaks a small prayer underneath her breath, as Foxglove looks at the key in the palm of her hand.

“Ghosts giving us keys,” Sifra says, “how novel.”

“I suppose we can try this one on the front door, or the other rooms,” Foxglove says.

“Are there going to be more ghosts?” Fearnot asks, “more riddles?”

“I expect so,” Keyr says. They look at each other, nervous glances meeting more steady ones. A silent agreement, and together, they head towards the other room that Keyr had opened the door to. The ballroom is large and empty, save for a wall lined with paintings, a piano in the corner. This room as been all but abandoned. Sifra makes her way towards the piano, opens the cover with ease. She presses a finger down against a white key, and to her disappointment, no sounds play. The lid is propped open, and when she looks inside, she finds no strings misplaced. No gears missing. No reason it should not play.

Fearnot makes her way across the room, to the wall of paintings. They cover every inch, no rhyme or reason to the way they are hung. Mundane cityscapes, still life paintings of flowers and fruit, landscapes and portraits. She freezes, at one. Looking up at it, and it’s almost as though her own face looks back. It’s the same – but isn’t. A few slight differences, some sort of familial recognition. At the bottom of the frame is a letter. ‘F’, outlined in gold.

“This isn’t possible,” Foxglove is saying beside her, looking at a different painting. This is no portrait, but a sigil, ornately painted. At the bottom of the frame, a ‘B’. The other tiefling is looking at a different painting. A battlefield that no one else should know, a choir of angels dotting the heavens. This frame carries an ‘A’ at the bottom. He keeps his jaw clenched, swallows roughly. At Foxglove’s outburst, Sifra had come curiously. Taking note of each letter, the lack of letters at all the rest. She makes her way to the piano. F. B. A. This time, sound plays when she presses the correct keys.

The piano almost heaves breath, and a ghostly figure comes to, sitting on the bench, a foot on one of the pedals. His hands slowly leaves the keys, and he looks up at Sifra. “I reach for the sky, but clutch to the ground. Sometimes I leave, but I am always around. What am I?” Another echo. Another memory. The others come crowding, in time to hear Sifra’s answer.

“A tree,” she says. The ghost holds out his hand, and Sifra opens her palm. A key, very much like the one given to Foxglove. The ghost smiles, puts his hands back onto the piano, and fades into ash.

“I’m surprised they aren’t attacking us,” Keyr says, “ghosts aren’t usually so passive.”

“We haven’t answered their riddles wrong,” Foxglove says, pausing for a moment. “Yet.”

“Then we should hope our luck holds,” Sifra says, depositing her key neatly into the pocket of her dress. “Let’s try the other doors.” With one last curious glance back at the painting, Fearnot follows after them as they all filter back out into the foyer. Sifra and Foxglove both try their keys on the front door, find them too small for the lock. Only one other closed door on this level. Sifra finds no success. Foxglove does. She pushes open the door, and the kitchen is warm with light.

Unlike the others, this room is well used. Boxes pile in one corner, covered in dirt which spills onto the floor. The counters are covered in books, small vials, and clear potions. Sifra goes to the counter nearest, flipping through the pages of the largest book. In each page, she finds spell after spell. Her frown deepens as she reads every word – these things which should have been forgotten. Fearnot reaches out curiously to a vial near Sifra, but she waves the other away. “That’s nightshade,” Sifra says, pointing at the plant beside the vial, “that’s poison.” Fearnot immediately pulls her hand back.

“This is a book filled with rituals and magic,” Sifra says, slightly louder so other milling around can hear her. “What would Agnes want with a book of spells?”

“She did say in the invitation that we were her last hope,” Foxglove says, looking at all the boxes, “maybe she tried to get rid of the ghosts on her own.”

“Maybe she made it worse,” Keyr says. Lafalin steps up beside Foxglove, wrenches open the lid of one of the boxes with a hard grunt. She almost lets the lid fall when she sees what’s inside.

“How much do you want to bet every single one of these has a skeleton?” she asks Foxglove. The bones are… covered in dirt, jewelry and dull clothing still on their bodies. Void of skin, of hair and nail, they have been clearly dead for a long time. Which means these are –

“Grave robbing? I would not have expected that from Miss Lancaster,” Sifra says as she peers inside a box. Lafalin is wrenching open the others. Body after body, all in the same sort of condition.

“Do – do you think this is why the estate is haunted now? She desecrated graves? Brought these bodies here?” Fearnot asks. The others shrug, have no clear answer. Fearnot puts her hand over one of the boxes, says a prayer. For herself, or for the body, it doesn’t matter. The other tiefling has opened another box of his own. This one, however, is missing its skull. He glances around the kitchen, spots a skull sitting in the corner of the room. He goes to it, picks it up carefully, and places it back with the other bones.

The skull snaps into place. Something seems to gasp in it, and a ghostly figure rises from the bones. Little more than bones itself, skin hanging, features decayed. Hands place themselves on the edge of the box, and it pulls itself to stand free, in front of him. “The man who made it didn’t want it. The man who bought it didn’t need it. The man who used it never knew it. What am I?” He frowns down at the ghost.

“Are you a coffin?” he asks. The ghost raises his hand, a solid key in his palm. As he takes it, Keyr is speaking up. Their prayer is louder than Fearnot’s, no less appreciated. An echo of thanks, a sense of peace, and the ghost fades away.

“Did she kill her family or something? These ghosts we’ve encountered all look like people in the portraits around the estate,” Lafalin says.

“I would like to leave as soon as possible,” Sifra says, as she goes to slam the spell book closed.

“Agreed.” For the first time, he speaks.

“What’s your name?” Foxglove asks quietly.

“Urnon,” he says. The key clenched in his hand, he leaves the kitchen. One by one, they all follow. The stairs creak under the weight of all them, hurried steps to go upwards. The landings holds nothing special, except for the two locked doors. Sifra heads towards one of them, and tries her key. To her surprise, success, it opens. The study is warm when they first enter. Embers glow in the fireplace, dying slowly but surely. Drinks sit on the bar, a half finished game of chess at a table in the middle of the room. He goes to it, picks up one of the pieces, and turns it in his hand.

Fearnot’s head tilts at what’s on the coffee table. Picking it up, and it’s in the shape of a doll, some toy well loved. A shame, that most of it is charred. “Do we need to put that in the fireplace? Is another ghost going to pop out? It’s a toy. A child’s toy,” Lafalin asks, staring at it, up at Fearnot.

“Do we have to put the toy in the fire? I mean, it’s already burned,” Keyr says, taking it in their hands.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Foxglove says, as they pass the toy to her. Gently, she places the charred doll atop the wood. The moment her hand leaves the fireplace, it roars to life. Flames spit and spill, the burning ghost of a child stepping free. Her hands clasped behind her back, she sways and smiles at her audience.

“Oh,” Keyr says, their shoulders falling. Fearnot has her hands over her mouth, looking at the ghost. Urnon looks up from where he stands, the chess piece still in his hands. Slowly, he puts it down. Lafalin is stepping back, bumping against Sifra. Perhaps she wants to step back as well, but Foxglove finds herself rooted in place, eyes wide as she stares at the child.

“I have only two backbones and thousands of ribs,” a playful voice, a cheerful echo, “steam and metal passes over me. What am I?”

“Are you a railroad?” Foxglove asks. A pleased huff, a wider grin. Opening a clenched hand, another key. “I’m sorry.” Spoken softly, as she takes the key. The ghost reaches out, tugs against her dress. Foxglove leans over, and the ghost stands on its toes, presses a kiss to her cheek, and then falls into ash. She touches her cheek. Despite the flames, it didn’t hurt. More as if the warm touch of the sun, on a cloudy day.

“One left,” he says. The other door holds two locks. One for the key Foxglove had just received, and the other for his. He takes the key which Foxglove offers, and turns them both. It clicks, creaks open. Almost immediately, the smell overtakes them. Sickly sweet, flowered and perfumed. Fearnot holds her hands over her nose and mouth as she steps inside after them, her eyes widening at the sheer volume of flowers which threaten to overwhelm the room.

Jars of perfume sit open and empty on the vanity, seemingly dumped all over every inch of the bedroom. The fireplace is dark and unused, the portrait above it covered. Foxglove struggles to move through the potted plants, the leaves and flowers, find her way to the bed. Beside it, sits a coffin. “Over here,” she calls out.

“Another fuckin – if a ghost pops out of this, I’m going to be upset,” Lafalin says as she pushes aside flowers and plants to open the coffin. She struggles with it, can’t quite seem to find a way to open it. Urnon goes beside her, joins her in trying to open it. Finally, and with great effort, the lid creaks open. The group of them slowly peer inside.

“Is it just me,” Sifra says slowly, “or does that look an awful lot like Miss Agnes.” Wispy grey hair pinned back. Mourning clothes. Pale sunken flesh, decay beginning to set in, but undeniably their host. They all startle, jump back, when her eyes suddenly open. The corpse reaches for the edge of its coffin, pulls itself upwards. Unbacked and glassy eyed, it inhales no air, beats with no blood. Agnes turns to them, and unhinges her jaw.

“I am greater than god,” she says, her voice a rattle, “more evil than the devil. The rich need me, the poor have me, and if you eat me, you will die. What am I?”

“Nothing,” Foxglove says, “you’re nothing.” Bones crack as Anges holds out her hand. Foxglove takes the key from her. Without caring about the stares, the concern of the rest of them, Agnes goes to lay back down in her coffin. She closes the lid atop herself.

“If that’s Agnes,” Keyr says slowly, “then who wrote to us and met us here?”

“I almost don’t want to think about it,” Fearnot says in a quiet voice. Lafalin studies the key which Foxglove holds up.

“That seems like it could fit the front door,” she says, “but there’s only one way to find out.” Lafalin adjusts the belt around her waist, the hat on her head. Her boots click against the hardwood as she marches out, moving to go down the stairs. Foxglove quickly chases after her, the rest following suit. In the foyer, Lafalin holds out her hand and Foxglove passes over the key. Fitting into the lock, they glance at each other as it successfully turns, clicks.

“Would ‘Agnes’ be waiting outside for us?” Fearnot asks. Urnon raises his hand, wraps it around the hilt of the greatsword strapped to his back. Lafalin pulls free her pistol, Keyr their pepperbox. With a wavering sigh, Fearnot takes her wheelock from its holster. Foxglove takes the staff from her back, holds it tightly in her hands. Lafalin pushes open the door, and warm light from the mansion spills out into the courtyard.

Fog has rolled in from the river, drowning the city in it. Through these rolling waves, they see a dark figure, standing in the middle of the courtyard. The stones underneath their feet shift as they all step towards it. “I did not expect you to solve every riddle,” Agnes says, her hands clasped behind her back, as she looks at them all. “Perhaps you have more potential than was expected.”

“What do you want with us?” Lafalin asks, pulling back the hammer of her pistol.

“I don’t want anything to do with you. I just needed to bring you all together,” she says.

“Why?” Foxglove asks. Keyr raises their pepperbox as Agnes begins to laugh. A hunched back straightens, grey hair darkens. Horns sprout, skin darkens, and green eyes begin to glow. The night hag is still laughing, screeching, as it races forward. Sifra barely has time to step back as claws rake down where she once stood. Keyr’s aim is steady and true, their bullet catching the hag in the shoulder. Urnon stands defensively in front of Sifra, baring the hag’s way.

Frustrated, she turns her attention elsewhere. With a wave of her hand, the hag dismisses Foxglove’s spell, instead sinks her claws into her belly. Fearnot takes steady aim, fires again and again, Lafalin matching her. Keyr sheathes her gun as they go to Foxglove’s side, and Urnon swings down his sword, chopping off the hag’s hand. Bleeding, bruised and screaming, the hag staggers back. A beam of crackling energy streaks towards the hag. It engulfs the hag, the death blow, and Sifra lowers her hand, her spell having completed the job.

“Deep breaths,” Keyr is telling Foxglove as they press their hand against her belly, imbue her with healing magic. Skin knits back together, but her dress remains ruined and bloodstained. Where the hag has fallen, the body twists upon itself. Skin becomes blackened paper, bones crack and compress, skin fades. All that remains are the rags it was wearing, a clean skull.

Lafalin crouches down before the creature, roots through its pockets. An envelope. As she stands, she pulls the letter free, tosses the blank envelope aside. “Miss Agnes Lancaster,” she reads, “congratulations are offered for finding the creatures requested.” She pauses briefly, looks around at all of them before continuing, “For your service to the Court, you are hereby invited to the Royal Masquerade, next Sunday eve. Another task will be given to you there.” She lowers the letter.

“What do we do now?” Fearnot asks. Wordlessly, Foxglove walks forward, reaches down, and tears the skull of the hag from its body. Holding it up, she looks at the pristine bone, and then turns to the rest.

“We were brought here for a reason. Someone ordered that thing to find us. So… I suppose we’re going to a masquerade,” she says.

[a-d-n-d-journal]

Game Session #10

Characters:

Mirri in the wind, tabaxi; rapier

Rysiel, half-elf druid; acid burns, simple clothing and leather armor, scimitar

Teir, tiefling warlock; acid burns, vibrant gold skin and black hair w/silver highlights, horns, hooves, expensive-looking clothes and leather armor, carries a dagger as his only (physical) weapon

Zastu, dragonborn rogue; white scales almost completely covered in a hooded cape and mask, leather armor, short bow and shortsword + dagger

Noteable NPCs...

Sydiri Haunlar, human (Chondathan) fighter; brunette, chain shirt, dagger, shortbow, wooden club

Zephyros, cloud giant; windswept white hair, wispy white bear, billow purple robe with gold stars

Amarath and N'von, two human cultists missionaries and their seven human cult followers friends; all dressed in tight fabric wrapped around their thin bodies, topped with head wraps and decorated with feathers. Amarath carries a disturbing "smiling bag"

We were all tired and braindead during this one, so details are sparse...

Zephyros welcomes the party (Rysiel, Teir, Zastu, plus Sydiri at this point) to his floating tower. He explains that his extra-planar allies have told him that someone would come to help fix the mess that is the Ordning. What is the Ordning? It's giant society. Ever since forever, giant society has been ordered by type—with Storm Giants at the top, and Cloud Giants (me, Zephyros) below that, then whoever –handwaves– below that (fire and frost giants, stone giants, hill giants). Giants used to rule this land, until the war with the dragons millenia ago (giants and dragons are mortal enemies you know). Well, with the recent uprising of the dragons (a couple years ago), Annam got angry at us and called us all lazy and complacent. Oh, Annam, he's the Giant god. He looks over everything. And he broke the Ordning, that's why you've been hearing about giant attacks lately—everyone is trying to prove they're the most fit giant to rule over all of us. Er, you have heard about that, haven't you? Well, I thought that king Hekaton, lord of the Storm Giants, would be able to keep his seat of power, and hold control over giant society. He certainly seemed like he was going to continue that way. But then... Well, his wife, poor Neri, went missing. She had a soft spot for the small folk (that's you), and met with them on a regular basis, on an island off the Sword Coast. She turned up dead a while later—murdered. Hekaton, as you can imagine, flew into a rage. He would have led the giants to smash every small folk settlement on the coast, if it weren't for their youngest daughter—Serissa—who held her mother's affection for the small folk. She convinced Hekaton not to destroy you all, for Neri's sake. But now he's... Well, nevermind. Rysiel and Teir pipe up, insisting that Zephyros finish that thought. He's resistant at first, but they guess the truth, or near to it. Hekaton has gone missing now too. He went in search of his wife's murderers, but hasn't been heard form for weeks. His youngest daughter—Serissa, remember?—holds the throne, with her elder sisters—Mirran and Nym—acting as advisors, along with her uncle Uthor probably.

The party decides that going straight to the Storm King's throne is the best idea, and ask Zephyros where it is. Unfortunately, it is beyond them for many reasons. Maelstrom is a citadel deep within the Trackless Sea. Technically Zephyros' tower can bring them there—or close anyway, but they'd definitely be destroyed without magical protection, and Zephyros isn't interested in risking death. He offers to bring them close, but assures them they would die (kind of non-chalantly, at which point Mirri tells them that Zephyros isn't all there due to his fondess for contacting other planes and sometimes going temporarily insane). He knows how to get there, but they aren't near important enough—yet—to be able to manage it. The party sighs collectively, and asks to go to their second destination—Triboar—to deliver the news of Darthag Ulgar's death to his ex-wife at the Lionshield Trading post there. Zephyros brightens up immediately and says it'll take about 11 days (275 hours exactly) to get there. He asks if there's anything else he can get them before he retires upstairs to consult his extraplanar allies (Mirri rolls their eyes, "Not again!") —I also tell the party that they can treat Zephyros as a sort of merchant, but his supplies might be limited since he's a giant. Zephyros mentions that Mirri's (+1) rapier used to be a clothes pin, so who knows what he might have. (Rysiel asks for -something-, but I roll for it and he doesn't have it :/ ); They get some food—very airy spongcake-type stuff, and Zephyros brings down one of his many journals from the Moonshae Isles, which he wrote and illustrated himself. Mirri can't read them, but has been looking at the pictures a lot. Rysiel translates for Teir, who is increbily interested. The journals are about 100lbs each, and 4-5ft tall, made of thick parchment. (They can be used as a mundane item that grants advantage on certain knowledge rolls, but specific information isn't really available unless I go read a jillion wiki articles about the Moonshae Isles and their history/fauna/flora/etc). There's also some roleplay with the Tressym (Rillix) as they figure out what to feed it. Zephyros drops a hunk of raw meat at some point (and some of the griffon's hay bedding for Bobble), and Rysiel creates a bonfire to cook with. Zephyros reminds them not to come up to the second floor, or the griffon aerie. (Not that they have the ability anyway) The days start passing... Teir seeks Sydiri's help in wearing armor and using shields (they improvise with a giant wicker coaster). On the first day, Zephyros approaches "Ryan" to tell him that someone is looking for him. They go aside (outside) to talk, and Teir sneaks behind to eavesdrop. Both "Ryan" and Teir are disappointed though, when Zephyros reveals that "someone is looking for you" is the entirety of the message. Zephyros doesn't seem to notice, but the next day he comes down after speaking to his allies again and tells "Ryan" that "A Rainy Kevin" (or is it "Kevin Rainy"?) is the one looking for him, but that it will be someone else that finds him. Ryan/Rysiel thanks Zephyros, but looks confused.

On the third day, the party is surprised by some visitors, because no one wants to stand in the wind and cold to watch the fucking majestic countryside far below. There's a fluttering of many large wings, and then a moment later—some shouting. The voices ask—in the common tongue—for the owner and resident of the tower to come out and say hello. Zephyros is sleeping upstairs at the time, so the party waits until the owners of the voices make their way inside. Nine slendar humans appear, all dressed similarily in fabric wrapped around their bodies, tied tightly. They have more fabric wrapped around their heads, and are decoraed with feathers. Two of them appear somewhat more decorated, and one carries a shoulder back with a distrubing-looking smiley face. Teir recognizes the bag as magic, but doesn't remember why. The newcomers seems somewhat surprised to find some small folk, but ask if there's a cloud giant around. The party stands around looking offended until Zephyros calls down and greets them. "Have you heard of our Lord and Saviour, Yan C Bin?" One of the cultists missionaries asks. Zephyros looks confused. Two of them introduce themselves (to Zephyros) as N'von and Amarath, and explain that Yan-C-Bin wants his help to 'restore the planes to their rightful primodial state'. They're hazy on what this means, they just want a yes/no from Zephyros. Zephyros is confused, so he asks the party. Teir seems to think this is a bad idea, and is jealous of the newcomer's arrival, and also: how the fuck did you get here? The missionaries try to ignore him, but it quickly becomes obvious that he's not going anywhere, so: "On our giant vultures, of course." Teir tries to recall what he can about giant vultures (kind of an unusual choice of mount, but not unheard of) and what cultures/societies/groups were known to use them (no one close by! probably from another plane?) (I don't remember the rest of the conversation, but Zephyros goes upstairs to consult his planar allies on the matter, and the missionaries go outside because they like the wind and open air)

More than an hour passes and Mirri realizes that Zephyros must have had an 'accident' (he failed his saving throw on the spell), and is lying comatose upstairs. Teir sends his raven up to check on the giant, and then they have a game of pantomime to try to figure out what's going on (Zephyros is laying on the floor, but is alive). Mirri explains that he'll be "fine" in another 8 hours or so. A little while later, the two speaking missionaries pop back inside to see what's taking so long. (I don't remember what was said) They have an argument with Teir and Zastu (Rysiel is brooding in the corner or something? Idk), and Mirri walks by with 'Calm Emotions' (make targets indifferent), causing one of the missionaries and Zastu to chill out. The missionaries go back outside. Moments later they hear the flapping of wings and a scrabbling on the tower wall. Normally they'd ignore it, as the grphyons that Zephros keeps are constantly coming and going, but something is suspicious. Zastu sneaks outside and counts the missionaries and vultures there—only seven of nine of them are there. She goes back inside to tell the party. They are very offended by the presumptuousness of these cultists missionaries!!! To be continued...

Spells cast:

Mirri:

Abilities:

Cantrips: Mage Hand

Spells: Calm Emotions

Slots used: 0/4 1st; 1/3 2nd; Regained: All (multiple rests)

Rysiel:

Cantrips: Create Bonfire

Spells:

Slots used: 0/4 1st; 0/3 2nd Regained: All (multiple rests)

Teir:

Cleric abilities:

Cantrips:

Spells:

Rituals:

Slots used: Warlock 0/2 Cleric 0/2 1st Regained: All (multiple rests)

Killcount:

Mirri: 0 Rysiel: 0 Teir: 0 Zastu: 0

Treasure looted:

Supplies for 4 minor Potions of Healing (bought for 12gp ea. by Zastu)

Made 2 minor Potions of Healing (Zastu)