Recent Forum Posts
From categories:
page »

125th Entry

349 SD, Imperial Year 1235 (1st Imperial Calendar)
"Omen" Doom/Caledon (Reaver's Deep 2412)

From above, the dead sphere Seeker had brought them to had ground through the aether like a procession of ash and dust, a tomb-world occluding the constellations lit pale and ruddy by the echo of flame that had once been a star. From the surface it stood worse: small as the star was, faint as it was compared it's brilliant kin the world's degrading orbit had dragged the ember close such that the dying cinder swelled to thrice the size of Loco Ottii's own sun in the sky and cast the ruined landscape horizon to horizon the color of flame. And blood. Had there been air to breathe it would have been as the desert, or so the ships readings said; hot enough and dry enough to have ripped the water from El's lungs.

As it was, the world stood on the other side of sapphire glass with El and her captain watching things crawl, shambolic and blind, in the shadow of the Cirya's landing.


"Is this supposed to be another lesson?"

"No. Yes." Seeker blinked once. Twice. Three times. As near a self effacing laugh as the wyrm could manage and the captain shook their head once, the motion borrowed from El but never quite mastered, the easy shift of the elf's neck turned stiff and precise by Seekers anatomy. Seeker had said the motion made them faintly dizzy when they had learned it, years ago, but now …

But now, even as they blinked disquiet at the sensation, they offered it out to the merchant as … something. Apology. Camaraderie? An olive branch after the weeks gone by, the churning starfalls from system to system towards this hellish place as though it answered the broken thing between them.

"It is. More. Less. It is - " another blink, slower.

"Warning?" the uncertain timber of Seekers voice was punctuated by a testing flick of their tongue. "No. A thing to be. Experienced. Not known." Turning from the viewing glass Seeker lowered their head, crests falling as they shrank into themself until they were only but a full head and hand taller than El.

"Apologies. This place. Unsettles."

"I can't imagine why." For all the sharpness in El's tongue, there's no venom and it's with a sigh that she leans forward and presses a hand against the sapphire. The things far below in the shadow of the ship, of the valley don't react and lurched randomly in spasmodic arrhythmic, multi-pedal motions, rigor making the compound limbs stiff and the myriad mouths idiot rictus grins.

"They look like …"

"Weapons. They are automata. Of the Charnel One's make. Fighting a war long lost."

"So that's the point? Scare the godtouched simpleton into obedience on account that this is what happens if Morrdiggian wins?" the steel was there now, and the feeble rapprochement between them fractured under the weight of El's furious stare. Then Seeker barked, a huff of air between the cheeks and tongues, crests shaking with a sudden spasm and blinked and blinked again. Not the mirthful laughter of the eyes they had known between friends but something bleak and morbid. A chuckle by way of a death rattle.

"Win, Qenna? No. Here. Here the Charnel One. Lost."


Seeker would not explain themselves, no matter how El harangued or argued. Not when they left the ship nor when they trekked across the blasted sands crawling with centipedal scorpions of acid and bone and dried sinew. Nor when they passed the cemetery fields and their inchoate, desiccated ghuls feeding upon each other for want of corpses. Not even in the aftermath of the cthonian flesh groves - Seeker simply shrugged an insisted they press on as dead flesh burned, what little anima that released at long last to ash. By the time the party arrived at the ruins El had long since ceased her questions and instead merely witnessed.

Walking through the crumbled stones, she noted their pass passing innumerable echoes of the city's former denizens; frozen silhouettes, burned into the walls in a perpetual shadowplay of some life long forgotten. She studied the sprawling streets that made the dancing grounds of Aerelous seem quaint in scale, the sculptural spires that even worn down by dust would make the architect-growers of Ereth Cinlu weep for jealousy. She attended the silence as they pressed on, passing through what was more the absent memory of a place than the place itself. All the way to the tower, she witnessed.

And then began the climb.


She had been facing west, and ebon silhouette against the setting sun. Framed now, forever, a shadow burnt into the tower's stone looking out across the remains of a bone dry sea. The Omen star watching, gloaming red and gold where it hung just above the horizon like a great, lidless eye.

El stood in the space between those gigantic, shadow wings and fought back something that might have been a sob. Perhaps a laugh. Whatever it was the despair of it caught in her throat before it birthed true sound and only the static his of the aethertalker's auto-vox offered testament that she had made sound at all. With a whisper-crackle, Seekers voice was conjured to El's ear.

"Qenna. Do you understand?"

"What? What is the point here, Seeker? Yes, I understand. You're quite godsdammned clever. The opposite of undeath is death, so even in failure there is victory - "

"Failure?" something in Seekers voice grows sharp. Frustrated.

"This. Was not. Failure."

"They did this. Not Morrdigian. Not us. They. She - " Seeker pointed a gloved talon to the shadow on the floor between them.

"DID. This. They - ERASED - themselves. Qenna."

"Rather than become. The playthings. Of the Charnel One. Rather than be. Denied. The blessing. Of Endings."

"They burned themselves. From existence. They made themselves. Forgotten. And what is death. But that?"

The words came, a heaving staccato that El once would have translated as anger but understood to be something else. Something urgent and true. Almost pleading, or as near a thing the wyrm had ever managed.

"This. Is all. Morrdigian fears."

"And that gives us power? Gives their sacrifice meaning? I - " El threw up her hands. " - I don't understand."

"The world. Is still. Here. They. Were still. Here. Even if. No-one remembers." Seeker spoke slowly. Calmly. As though each word were a gem to be weighed and shown, until all the facets of it were visible to the hearer.

"Our foe. Does not understand. This. He mistakes. The teller. For the tale."

"But what does that matter if - " El's objection is cut off with a hiss. A command to attention rarely used but no less potent for it.

"It matters. Because. He is blind. They. ALL. Are blind. The quantum. Personas. The waveforms. You call. Gods. Are of. The same. Mortal dross. As we. They are bound. To the same world. As we. And they. Are too weak. Too. Limited. To live. Knowing. They must. Die."

"Tell me. Qenna. Was this a beautiful. City?" the question startles El, and the surprise of it shocks her into honesty. Even with the weight of the loss, the grief of the place and the monstrous war machines that lurch in the fields beyond, she knows her answer.

" … aye. Was and is. Even knowing what was lost."

"To them. It is only. And ever. Just. a Ruin." El can hear the smile, sad and slow and serpentine in Seekers voice. "It is why. We fight. And how. We win."

"To them. The end. Is ashes. To us? We are more. Than the strange dust. Of which we are made."

Re: The Enchridium of El by CirlotCirlot, 28 May 2024 07:34

108th Entry

133 SD Satakei, Imperial Year 1235 (1st Imperial Calendar)
Deep Ort Rann/Narquel (Diaspora 0206)

One by one, false stars blinked into existence across the aether horizon, their witchgates wicking up and burning space itself in final conflagrations of hate and eldritch fire. Seeker had told her once how space and time worked, how the light of foreign suns traveled and how the night sky was a history written in shadows and time; this victory would be remembered so, a story told in new constellations blazing bright in night skies, illuminating distant shores centuries hence in some far off yonder.

Yet here, now, their victory tasted of ash and cast only shadows.

Sighing, El turned from the glazen portal and back to their prize. Tracing the embossed glyphs, running from edge to edge to edge of the central sigil glowing with a soft amber weirlight, she translated the title yet again into each language she knew, the answer impossibly, inevitably coming out the same.

With a reluctant hand, El opened the Codex of the Black Sun to the first page and began to read …


"YEARS Seeker! Three godsdamned years and a half dozen crew and - " The Wyrm's crest shuddered, a flinch at El's invocation and her trail thrashed uncomfortably. Seeker opened her mouth to speak, tongue tasting the air in a moments deliberation only to be interrupted by the tome flung into her midsection. Solid as the wyrm was the impact elicited only a grunt and a pained hiss of impatience at her ward.

" - and for what? Lives and treasure and toil and those empty-headed, clay-fingered, water-sucking tentacle fondling cultists didn't. even. worship. Morrdigian." El bit the words as she spoke, stalking the length of Seekers captain and pointing at Seeker, at the tome, accusingly.

"Unless I misunderstood the bargain the Charnel one was why I was brought here, that was the bargain Seeker not chasing - " El flung a hand towards the dark outside, the impossible color beyond the glass of the space between spaces as the Aethership leapt between stars. The gesture takes something from her and the cleric sags, fury sublimating into fatigue with the space of a word. " - madmen and dreamers."

"It had been. Years. Qenna. And you still. Do not. Understand." Seeker shook their head, the accusation not angry so much as sad.

"Madness has not. One name. Morrdigian is but one. Profanation. Of reality." Seeker rose from her haunches, bringing themselves to their full height and stepped forward, putting a heavy, gentle hand upon El's shoulder.

"If the good. We have done. Does not reckon. Upon your ledger. Then mark this." Seeker paused, eyes blinking and then blinking again, a faint flush of coloration shifting across their scales as she transitioned her role within their hierarchy of two from "captain" to "friend." Or as near as such as the Wyrm might manage. Then she speaks slowly, calmly, like one might to a child.

"Horror has more than one face. Just as His Ghuls are. But fractions. Of Morrdigians hole. So is he. Just one eidolon. One collapsed waveform. Of the improbability that lurks beyond. The Outer Dark." Then the hand gives El's shoulder a squeeze, razor talons pircking at skin hard enough to feel but not enough to hurt. Ever and always with the kid goddamn gloves.

"We fight. The insanity at the center. Of all things."

"We train you. Not to fight A God, Qenna. We train thee. To fight all gods. So that you can use. Their own weapons. Against them."

El Put her hand on Seekers claws, gave it one tired affectionate pat before looking up at the Wyrm and shaking her head.

"That wasn't the deal, Seeker." Pushing the hand away, El stepped back. It's not anger that clouds her feature but the self same frustration Seeker knew, bone deep, at the chasm between them. Godtouched. In the wyrmish tongue it was a curse. In her own, in every other tongue she knew, a blessing.

"Not with Mercer. Not with Me. I'm not a weapon in your GodsWar, Seeker. I was supposed to be learning how to build, not - " outside, beyond the starfall false stars burned as space itself died. By her hand. By their hand. To stop something horrible, true. But … she could not count the lives. So help her, in Galinthe's name, her ledger, her ledger now stood so far beyond the black that it bled the color of rust and Crimson. And she knew not the number.

" - whatever it is we've done."

Seeker blinked once, then twice, then settled onto her haunches again until her serpent-slit eyes were level with El's and her crest had gone from furled to folded; the mark of their clan and caste and rank tucked away.

"I could say. That to build. With us. You must understand. us. Which is true. But that is not why. You are here. It's not even. To keep your God's. Touch - " Seeker separates the word, teasing apart the oath on her tongue into harmless words. The first time they'd ever done so. " - from tainting. Our. My - " another blink at the correction. " - World."

"That is not why."

"You are here, Queena. To learn. What is. At stake. If we lose. And what it may cost. To win."

Re: The Enchridium of El by CirlotCirlot, 19 May 2024 01:05

Here is an outdated list of Party Loot carried by E'gis:

20' silk rope
Wyrmish Leather pouch of protection & hardness (magic) (T)
3 mushroom of healing (d3).
1 Ethereal potion
0 Raise Dead potion
3 No Air potions
30 Larens leaf
30 Gar’s moss
1 kor (stimulant)
4 Morton bloom poultice (regen limbs)

E'gis also has Eheral’s Spellbook which contains:
Feather Fall
Dark Walk
Prot Normal Missiles
Comprehend Lang
Detect Magic
Multimissile I
Magic Missile 1
Flame Rope 2
Unseen Servant
Burnings Hands 2
Heal 4

And this is from Adelard's Party list:
copper clasp with winged horse, with red hair (probably belonged to Eheral who had red hair)
Amulet with head of Mordigian
3 Dragon scale
2 gal Dragon blood, some dragon sinews
3 Dragon teeth (200 lb ivory)
2 Dragon claws, frills
2 enumerator scrolls
Silver bowl for holy water (6/15 marks left)

(I expect some of these thigns may have been sold)

Party stuff (indicate who is carrying it)

Crecent Lands Circa 3423 by CirlotCirlot, 27 Apr 2024 23:13

49th Entry

247 SD, Imperial Year 1233 (1st Imperial Calendar)
Starfall, Enroute Red Sands/Alun (Daibei 1406)

"There is no pattern. Here. Quenna." Seeker's tongue flicked impatiently, the closest thing the wyrm ever came to a human sigh. "You seek. Reason. From madness. Planar deviancy. Knows no logic. See - " one heavy taloned hand lifted, traced the lines of bloodied crimson in the phatasmal image.

" - these? Serve no purpose. It is. Wasted ritual. Neither leyline. Nor arcanic. Channel. Horror. without purpose."

Across the table, El frowned through the suspended image. Images. The record crystals projected phantasmic illusions in the space between them. A half dozen images taken from a half dozen worldets, stations and ships, stored externally in amber because there were limits even to what the wyrms seercasters would suffer remembrance of.

In the end they had counted the limbs after all. All of them. Every time.

El shook her head once, frustration breaking in a scowl across her features.

"'Tis hubris to foreswear sense in madness. Madness still reasons, it just reasons differently." That earned another tongue flick from Seeker.

"So says. The godtouched." El could almost hear the smirk-slash-sneer in Seekers voice. Her faith was a point of gentle mockery at the best of times and after three days pouring over these images …

"Enough. I have duties. To attend. If you must continue. With this - " Seeker's tail twitched as they turned and ducked out of El's quarters. " - reasoning. Be swift. Or be done. Star-rise is in twelve and ten."


El slumped back in her seat, rubbing her eyes. Hours gone. Days gone, in truth, and nothing. For all her certainty that there was a message in the ruined lives they'd witnessed she could not find it. It matched no divine summoning or incantation she knew of and Seeker had scuttled her hopes of an arcane ritual.

But it was too purposeful, too deliberate to be mere slighter. A head. A limb. An entrail drawn just so and …

El swore, the absence of revulsion at the images before her turning her stomach. Throwing an arm across the table the crystals scattered, the images above scattering like flung parchments as the stones skittered and collided. Gods, perhaps Seeker was right. The task was hard enough without wallowing the the remains of it. The K'yan had been less fetid, less rotten than this.

Standing she moved to collect the records but froze as her head came up and she saw saw two of the records. In the scattering their phantasmic projections had overlapped, the projections flipping and layering on top of each other along an unfamiliar edge. Overlaid like this, oriented like this, the blood trail snaked between the corpses like a river. Like a route. A trade route. One she had seen … if that was the Imperial Highroad then that was Azer which would make that Jurin and …

El flung herself to the door of her quarters, leaning out of the hatchway and shouting into the common hall, all reservations forgotten.

"Seeker! Send word for the Astropath! And bring star charts!"

Re: The Enchridium of El by CirlotCirlot, 27 Apr 2024 20:57

41st Entry

178 SD, Imperial Year 1233 (1st Imperial Calendar)
Skara/Edge (Daibei 0707) - Deep Ort Mining Station "Haugur"

"SLeEpERdReAMsUNDyinG-!" the thing screamed across the vacuum via some unholy aethertalker, it's toothed beak thrashing wildly behind the helm of the multi-limbed suit that turned it's flailing tentacles into armored, pincered centipedes that hammered against the shield spell holding it at bay. Metalic talons clawed, tearing at the arcanic threads and making the unspace between them shudder - distortion rippling being itself and leaving El gasping, nauseous in her helmet.

" - dYiNGBeYOnDdEATH: DREAMERWaKEsWAkESWAKE.WAKE.WAKE - !" it burbled, gills heaving with the effort of sound as it punctuated it's incantation with strike after strike after strike …

"'Ere you wake, first you ought f'cking rest- " El braced the shield spell with the brazen market staff like a myrmidon barring the door to their charged bastion. Reaching for her holy symbol with one frantically free'd hand she incanted a miracle, bargaining her prayers faith for intercession as on the other side of the shield a force punched through the membranous veil of reality. Galinthe's own cudgel slammed into the space-squid from behind, shattering the faceplate against rough rock of the abandoned tunnel. The unholy shrieking stopped as the thing inside froze and boiled, air, water and ichor bleeding in churning vapor droplets from the remains of it's face out into the aether.

Reality snapped back with the dying, ripples in the pond of being fading into the still abyss, leaving the cleric heaving unsteady breaths, shaking inside the armor that kept the Nothing at bay.


"How many?" El sighed as she tried to count the remains in the barracks.

"Twelve and five. On the roster. Bodies - " Seeker's features were more inscrutable than normal behind the faceplate of their helmet. Her head turned, brushing against the low hewn ceiling and pipes of the station as she took in the … pieces. " - indeterminante. It will take time. To count limbs."

There's a hitch in El's breath she hopes isn't audible on the comms. Shutting her eyes against the flash frozen abattoir that once had been home to …

"Don't bother. Gather the bodies. I'll pyre them." something twists in her face, wrings her hands but both are stilled by the suit. Trapped. Protected. Contained against what lurked just beyond. She knows Seeker's objection before they say it and cuts them off.

"'Tis a miracle. They shall burn without air." a tiny shrug as she reaches down and grabs an hand. Tiny. Half the size of hers.

"No god worth the name would allow this tresspass to linger"

Re: The Enchridium of El by CirlotCirlot, 25 Apr 2024 06:46

37th Entry

115 SD, Imperial Year 1233 (1st Imperial Calendar)
Sundown/Edge (Daibei 0805)

El stood amidst a miracle - or an abomination - a myriad array of ledgers and contracts conjured from light, phantasmic sigils conveying information but lacking permanence, changeable despite Cirin's blessings; aehtric shadows dancing beneath her touch as she chased another miracle. The creation of wealth from nothing.

" … the local exchange favors our notes over yours, I'm afraid. That means for this - " El reached out, highlighted a line of the Cirya's ledger, 1000 Wyrmish Marks, 1728 Imperial kCreds vanishing from her accounting and appearing in the air between them, leaving the lupine merchant captain squinting unpleasantly at the figure while she spoke. " - it will come to three weights of palladium, the black-diamond silks and the crate of radioactives - " the word was strange to her tongu even after a score of negotiations, a tripping stumble of syllables that bore none of the solemnity the subject demanded. But Seeker had not agreed with her nomenclature and so 'radioactives' they remained.

El still thought "death rocks" was a perfectly fine name.

The trader shifted on their digitigrade legs, arms folding and ears flicking in what El guessed was irritation. She'd not traded with this species before but beneath the growls and the bluster wolves were wolves, be they on four legs or two. Absent it's pack …

A curl of the lip offered a hint of fang and a narrowing of the eyes stayed El's invoice.

"Information." The merchants words were a gruff interjection, half throat half teeth. The tradetalk was almost unintelligible beneath the growl.

"Have information: better trade?" El let a placid mask of indifference settle on her face - or hoped she did, with naught but Seeker and their Creche for company she had little cause to guard her expression. It was not, as she had first thought, that she was opaque to them. It was that wyrms simply did not care. For a race who hid themselves away in the footnotes of time they held precious little for subterfuge. Then again, why should they? Subterfuge was for those who lacked the means to force their will upon the world and what was their magic but will made manifest, their plasms their will made flesh?

Shaking aside the thought she lifted her hand to the trader, palm up. An invitation to present his case.


El blinked once. Then whistled two tones, sharp, then low. Beneath the shadow of the merchant stall the market pole thrummed in response as enchantments unfurled. The bonded slave-serpent wove itself into being out of sunlight and shade and scampered over to it's master. Half translucent and phantasmal, it was something less than a Wyrm but more than a lizarman - reptilian, winged, clawed, in stature to El what El was to the Wyrms themselves. "Droy'na - " the summon reacted to it's name, unfocused eyes snapping to attention on El's face.

" - Bargained well and done, Captain. 1200 Crowns. My djinnplasm can handle arranging the loading and customs arrangements, if you follow me to my Captain we can discuss this further … "


"Rumor." Seeker-of-Spheres gnawed on some sort of fried meat that smelled unpleasantly of fat and warmingly of spices. From her perch on the animascope El's nibbled on some sort of stuffed bun, filled with herbs and fungi. And cheese. From . . something. Maybe spiders? The translation hadn't been clear.

"First lead in months - " El's exasperated sigh was cut off by Seeker, mid point-by-bun.

"Rumor. And you overpaid. For it."

"I invested in it - " El enunciated the wyrmish slowly. Forcefully. The same way they had tried teaching her a year ago, like speaking to a child.

" - let's say the rumor's a bust - " that earned a double eyeblink and El backtracked from the idiom. " - that the rummor is so much bronzed clay. We're no worse off than we were before and the Captain will crow in every dockside tavern or inn about how he cheated the Concordant of Wyrms of their lucre for some measly words. And then the word spreads. And then all the brokers and all the rakes in all the bars in all the systems within a half score starfalls from here will be asking after our quarry."

"Maybe some enterprising agent finds actual legit word. Or the one's were hunting find out, get spooked and make a mistake when they silence the good captain in an attempt to protect themselves."

"Either way we have more than we did, and our odds go up."

"Many ifs. Qenna."

El nodded, settling back into the lean against the console and watching the port life bustle below her, a dozen score races she'd never known nor could now name tinted blue by sapphire glass going about the business of being alive.

"Yes, but - " another double blink and a shrug cut El off.

"Clever. Reckless. But clever."

"Not reckless when it's not my money."

"Some. Would say. More." El laughed at that, threw upa hand, fingers skyward in surrender.

"Point! Point. Fine, I was reckless. But I got us a lead. Now will you actually tell me why we're looking for these 'Servants of the Red Crown?'"

Re: The Enchridium of El by CirlotCirlot, 23 Apr 2024 07:30

Miracle Name: Aegis of Faith

Level: 5

Creates a shimmering shield around the cleric or a chosen ally, granting temporary added evasion points and hit points equal to half the cleric’s and, if the cleric's AC is higher, gives them the cleric’s AC.

Duration: 1 minute.
Saving Throw: N/A.
Range: Touch.
Speed: Medium
Ingredients: N/A

Miracle Name: Blade Barrier

Level: 5

Barrier of whirling blades 20’ high x60' long. Can not encircle. Max curve is 180 degrees. Cannot be cast over water. 5d8 damage. Force ST to break through. 3 melee +3 per level after 8th.

To time missile fire to pass through the blades, must successfully hit AC 12 from EITHER SIDE of the barrier.

Duration: See above.
Saving Throw: See above.
Range: 40 foot distance and see above.
Speed: Medium
Ingredients: N/A

Miracle Name: Cure Critical Wounds

Level: 5

Cured 3d8+3 of damage

Duration: Instant.
Saving Throw: N/A.
Range: Touch.
Speed: Medium
Ingredients: N/A

Miracle Name: Damnation

Level: 5

Curse a creature within the 100’ range causing it to feel the full weight of its past misdeeds and failures. The target must make a Magic saving throw. On a failed save, it takes d8 damage for 4-6 melees and is overwhelmed with feelings of guilt and despair, granting advantage on being hit. (+2 hit).

Opposite (apotheosis) causes damage to undead.

Duration: 6 melee.
Saving Throw: Magic on 6d6.
Range: 100 feet.
Speed: Medium
Ingredients: N/A.

Miracle Name: Death Ward

Level: 5

A Cleric can ward one target for 8 hours, during which time the first time the target is reduced to 0 hit points or fails a save and would die, instead of being slain, they are reduced to 1 hit point with no blood loss.
Duration: 8 hours.
Saving Throw: N/A.
Range: Touch.
Speed: Slow
Ingredients: N/A.

Miracle Name: Divine Guardian

Level: 5

Summons a divine spirit to aid the cleric and their allies in battle. The guardian fights alongside the party.

Fights as a fighter of half the cleric's level. Init +4. Damage 1d8+2. AC 8. Evasion Points (2/3rds cleric). HP of the clerics.

May be used by the caster to partially block blows for half damage for themselves or someone else (but it can’t fight when doing this), and will take damage from the partially blocked blows.

Duration: 1 minute + 3 melee per level after 8th.
Saving Throw: N/A.
Range: 100 foot distance but must be in LoS.
Speed: Medium
Ingredients: N/A

Miracle Name: Grand Blessing

Level: 5

Works for hand held and missile attacks +2 +2 +10% and +1 saving throws. Works even if people are already in combat.

Duration: 1 minute.
Saving Throw: N/A.
Range: 100’radius.
Speed: Slow
Ingredients: N/A.

Miracle Name: Greater Miracle

Level: 5

Allows a cleric to duplicate a Miracle 4th or below OR use one they didn’t pray for.

Duration: N/A.
Saving Throw: N/A
Range: N/A feet.
Speed: Slow
Ingredients: N/A.

Miracle Name: Faith of the Martyr

Level: 5

The casting cleric immediately restores miracle levels, or spell points, or health quote to a creature (or themselves) up to their level. For every spell point/level regained the cleric will lose 1d6+1 evasion point from their MAXIMUM evasion point total (i.e., reducing their maximum evasion points). They may choose how many to recover.

This prevents the cleric from casting this, taking damage, and then healing it with a cure spell. Maximum evasion points return at a rate of the Cleric's level per day.

Duration: N/A.
Saving Throw: N/A
Range: Touch.
Speed: Fast
Ingredients: N/A

Miracle Name: Raise Dead

Level: 5

Cleric will be at 1 HP for a week and must make a Magic ST on 6d6 to stay conscious. Must be cast within 15 minutes of death plus 15 minutes after 8th level.

Duration: N/A.
Saving Throw: See above.
Range: Touch.
Speed: Slow
Ingredients: N/A

Miracle Name: Reckoning

Level: 5

Unleashes a wave of holy energy that damages undead and fiends (5d8), while bolstering the resolve of allies (+1+1+5%) and advantage on saving throws (-1). Damage is instant. Resolve 5 melee. Undead clerics may use this against the living

Duration: See above.
Saving Throw: 5d6 against Magic for half damage.
Range: 100’ with AoE of 40’ diameter.
Speed: Slow
Ingredients: N/A

Miracle Name: Regeneration

Level: 5

Works like the potion. Takes about 5 minutes to regenerate a limb.

Duration: N/A.
Saving Throw: N/A.
Range: Touch.
Speed: Slow
Ingredients: N/A.

Miracle Name: Succor

Level: 5

2x recovery of spell points or HQ or half time miracle recovery.1 person lasts one day usable on one person only up to 2x time / week.

Duration: 1 day and see above.
Saving Throw: N/A.
Range: Touch.
Speed: Slow
Ingredients: N/A.

Miracle Name: Sunbeam

Level: 5

Either 1 blast of 6d8, 2 blasts of 3d8 or 3 blasts of 2d8 (released every 5 counts of initiative).

Cleric summons a coruscating lance of holy radiance that strikes out at a single target within 75 feet. This light is treated as true sunlight for vampires or other creatures affected by natural light and inflicts double damage on the undead. For examples, a cleric declares they use a single beam, in which case it'll go on the cleric’s initiative or declare a multibeam attack, in which case the caster will cast their first beam on their rolled initiative, their second beam on initiative -5 (like a bowshot) and then a potential third beam at -10.

Duration: N/A.
Saving Throw: Agility on 5d6.
Range: 75 feet.
Speed: Medium
Ingredients: N/A.

Having considered that, I think we could sell:

50 blown glass vials and containers (varying sizes)
50 yards southland silk
100 yards cotton fabric
50 yards woolen fabric
200 lbs furs
200lbs of fine leather
Dye (dried) 30 lbs

200lbs smoke weed
1 kilo black and white lotus - (What's this for?)
25 pounds varying sized fish hooks
50 pints honey
50 pints maple syrup
Scrimshaw 50 lbs

300 feet rope
50 35 handmade mirrors
30 stylus and wax tablets
Pewterware (dishes, forks, spoons, knifes) —200 150 lbs
30 knives
20— 10 short swords
20 10 long swords
10 5 — 1 g. swords
10— 2 maces
10 1 g. maces
100 caltrops
50 35 pounds tinware
5 3 bulls eye lanterns
3 painter boxes
4 1 portal writing desks
3100 sheets of paper / 100 vellum
4 2 suits of chain
6 suits of leather
3 1 suits of banded
Shields s/m/l 8/4/3
10 lbs raw mother of pearl
50 lbs of marbles
4 jewelry boxes
1 sets of smithing tools (including portable anvils)
30 lbs in semi precious stones
.5- kg gold in 50 gm ingots
1 kg silver in 50 gm ingots
2 kg coper in 100 gm ingots

Propose what you would like to buy for the ship and how much money you have left and we can see what we can do.

Re: Snake Jazz Lounge by Daniel SaroffDaniel Saroff, 19 Apr 2024 19:31

So absent Mercer's training I'm not sure I'll be angling for much of an upgrade using her crowns* - she's a beast as is, short of upgrading her shield I don't see her trying for additional equipment. I already got spell storing crystals for a song elsewhere, and, well, we're already talking about Clerics maybe needing a nerf, I don't want to prove the point … .

All of which means Mercer is gonna have some coin left. I expect it's small, in comparison to the total cost, but using what remains of her stake would it be possible to purchase/obtain improvements for the ship? Or Br'ook's medical treatment?

*The fact I'm also outfiting El from scratch may factor into this. Juggling a lot of math these past two weeks!

Re: Snake Jazz Lounge by CirlotCirlot, 19 Apr 2024 00:55

Are the Wyrms prepared to sell magic items? If so, are they providing a discount like they are for purchasing spell and power storing crystals?

Re: Cost of Magic Items by AyrkinAyrkin, 18 Apr 2024 14:54

"But … look, pretty soon you're gonna force Andrew into playing a Cleric due to his magical insecurities and do you WANT him to have access to that?

Ha! You read my mind….just think of the possibilities with such powers at my fingertips….(Mwha ha! ha!) Ahem. Cough.

Ah, someone has been dipping into the 5e Cleric spell pool!*

Feels weird seeing raise dead on the list. Off the top of my head the consequences are so dire that I can't see it being used in a standard campaign with an adventuring cleric and it's a BIG spell slot to park just in case.

… . oddly, I kinda think it maybe should be a mage spell? Or a Witch invocation? Like, Clerics work within the confines of the strictures codified in the Bellum Deorum, their miracles are by and large things that work within existing structures. They reinforce faith (Prayer) heal already living beings (Heal) and otherwise manipulate existing forces or summon leased divine power. Raise Dead lies outside of that, it's a breaking of the natural order.

Which is, without getting too pointed about it, Mage shit.**

Blade Barrier - I might suggest dropping the damage on this as it's persistent? at 8d8 its a huge AoE with sufficent burst damage that it's potentially lethal the round it's dropped. Add two more rounds on top of that (minimum) and you basically have a repeating, stationary Flame Strike.

Which is admittedly awesome.

But … look, pretty soon you're gonna force Andrew into playing a Cleric due to his magical insecurities and do you WANT him to have access to that?

More seriously I do think Andrew has a point in that I can't think of any single mage spell currently in use that packs the same offensive punch as the higher tier cleric miracles. Part of that is most of the classic mage damage dealers are available earlier as scaled spells - Flamestrike and Fireball were roughly the same tier back when fireball was a fixed 6d6 damage or the like but now since mages can fire off fireballs at level one that oomph has gone.

To put math on it: running the numbers an average flame strike will do 27 points of damage: for the same average damage from a fireball you'd need a Level V fireball for 7.5 spellpoints. Within the range of a high level mage, but a good chunk of their daily resources. Then you compare that Ice Storm which is 6 spellpoints and averages 22 points of damage. Or Magic Missle which averages 3 points of damage for 1 spell points. Something about this math feels off, especially when spells like Wall of Ice and Wall of Stone cost all of 2 points each and are battle defining.

Maybe lower the SP cost of direct damage spells and increase the cost of utlitiy spells? Or introduce a cost break for stackable spells where the mage can cast a stacked version of the spell up to their mage level at reduced cost (or the same cost as the original tier I level of the spell?).

*One thing to be mindful of if you are looking at later editions for inspiration: D&D hitpoints got inflated majorly with 3rd edition so damage spells as a rule do more and are balanced to higher hit points in the opposition.

**Feel like this might be where to buff Mages? The idea that Mages break the natural laws and generate new effects or draw powers from beyond the gods could give their magic a boost. But I think summons are off the table which would be the easiest way to give mages something extra.

Hmmm. Not going to change the basics. But if you think those 3 are over powered, I'll tone them down or remove them. Purpose of me posting was feedback.

There is lots to debate in pros and cons of most classes. Thieves are probably the weakest in the game but it doesn't stop people from playing them.

I'm having some of the same problems with these spells (particularly blade barrier, aegis of faith and divine guardian) that I've expressed before.

I'm going to sound like a broken record but I very much believe that clerics are becoming significantly unbalanced in comparison to mages (and bards).

  • Clerics already have twice the evasions points, far better armor classes, initiatives and ability to hit in combat
  • Their miracles cannot be disrupted in combat
  • The can fully replenish all of their miracles up to six times per day (conditions permitting, of course)
  • At our current level, clerics can now cast far more miracles in a day than a mage can and that is even more true compared to bards

Adding so many damage-dealing and combat enhancing miracles to their arsenal exacerbates this. From a purely mechanical sense (putting roleplaying reasons aside) there's no good reason to play a mage or a bard: they are outclassed on virtually every dimension.

From my perspective, the only way to truly rebalance the classes now is to revert mages to the old D&D rules that mirror clerics and give mages as many spell slots as clerics get or to literally double the number of spell points that mages get (at a minimum). Otherwise, they just don't compare.

Cure critical wounds - 3d8+3 points
Raise dead - Cleric will be at 1 HP / week and must make a Magic ST on 6d6 to not become unconsious. Must be cast within 15 minutes of death plus 15 minutes after 8th level.
Blade barrier - barrier of whirling blades 20x60'. 5d8 damage. Force ST to break through. 3 melee +3 per level after 8th.
Divine Guardian - Summons a divine spirit to aid the cleric and their allies in battle. The guardian fights alongside the party. Any ally within 10' gets +1 +1 +5%. Fights as a fighter of half the cleric's level. Init +4. Damage 1d8+2. AC 8. Evasion Points (2/3rds cleric). HP Clerics. Can be used by the caster to partially block blows for half damage for themselves or someone other (but won't fight).
Aegis of Faith: Creates a shimmering shield around the cleric or a chosen ally, granting temporary evasion points and hit points equal to half the clerics and, if the cleric's AC is higher, gives them the clerics AC and magic ST (if higher)
Reckoning Unleashes a wave of holy energy that damages undead and fiends (5d8) while bolstering the resolve of allies (+1+1+5%) and advantage on saving throws (-1). Damage is instant. Resolve lasts for a minute.

THAT was great. Especially the last sentence.

Re: The Enchridium of El by Daniel SaroffDaniel Saroff, 17 Apr 2024 20:48

13th Entry

250 Sidereal Date, Imperial Year 1232 (1st Imperial Calendar)

The familiar chill of the liminal chamber made El shiver as she crossed the threshold from dreaming to waking. Sitting up - slowly, she'd learned the first dozen times - she heaved a lung full of air breath and then cycled her breath as they'd taught her. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth. The nausea of the lucid dream subsided leaving her with a gnawing hunger in her belly and a pain in her arm, made sharper as the chirurgeon withdrew the lancet in her arm and disconnected the shoggothem ampulla that had been trickling liquid dreams into her veins. She didn't recognize this attendant - she never could, with the young ones, absent scars, badges of office or the disparate sizes of ages the Wrymes tending to a sameness left her struggling with the nuances of crest and scale - but the large form shouldering through the doorway was familiar enough that she fought off the fatigue of the treatment and offered a weary smile.

"Seeker-of-Spheres." El's wyrmish was better than it had been 12 hours ago, but rusty enough from the dreaming that the words creaked in her throat.

"Qenna." El wasn't sure why they decided the old K'lo Ah word for merchant was better than her name - maybe it was a title? - but in Seeker's eyes it was. "The memory plasm. Was it. Successful?" The large Wrym's breath hit in odd spots as she (it?) answered in Wyrmish and then repeated the answer in Aerine.

"Understood you both times. Hard to speak - " El gestured to her throat, fingers brushing against where the plasm patches had been placed while she was under. The flesh beneath still tingled where they had been stimulated in the pantomime of speech. " - muscles still learning to put action to the dream."

"Will come. With time." El nodded once as the attendant finished disentangling her from the chamber. Slipping from the table her bare feet hit the warm brass of the floor and the cleric had to crane her head upward to look to her host.

"This one felt different. There was more - " El gestured to the other plasm patches still on her arms, shoulder, leg, fading as they dissolved into her flesh.

"Yes. Necessary. Inoculations. There are many illnesses - " Seeker paused, in what El recognized as thought as the Wryme sought for a word that they considered more tuned to El's 'primitive' sensibilities. " - bad airs off-sphere. These protect you. So you won't get sick." Seekers nictating membranes flickered and their eyes shone in what El know understood was laughter. "Much."

Handing El her boots, Seeker nodded towards the door.

"Come. It is ready."


The skyship was sleek, almost organic - a thing of bronze and bone as much sculpted as assembled. She's seen them in the skies of Yig, sails half furled like skyfish drifting in unseen winds but this was the first time she'd one up close. As long as the flèche's guarding the battlements of Spirewall or the travertine towers of Ereth Cinlue were tall the vessel was a bulding set upon it's side. Held in place above the bay like a fixture of the firmament, the tensor lifts beneath them had hummed for near a minute before they stood abreast of the gantry. Around them just shy of two dozen Wrymes bustled in what even El's dream-trained skilled eyes could recognize as a prelaunch check. Multiple eyes going over every inch of the metal skin, a score of hands loading stores and cargo and the psychopomp adepts guiding the liminal coffins into the fuel stores.

Had she not already dreamed it - been made to dream it: it, the halls within, the controls she would soon use - it would have overwhelmed. Now? Now it merely thrilled. Recognition (was it her own, or had it been fed into her arm and into her dreams drip by plasm drip?) and excitement sang in her breast.

They were almost underway.

"Shame for her to put out without a name." El remarked, settling into a crouch and running a hand along the ships plaque, mounted just below the walkway, the wyrmish characters now familiar even as the carving felt alien and harsh under her hand.

"It has. A designation." Seeker blinked slowly, deliberately, it's tail turning on itself with a dismissive twitch to the left.

"C9A712.1.918 isn't a name, it's not even a number."

"Ships. Do not get. Names. Names. Are for the vital. To have a name. Is to live. It is to be remembered. In the tides. Of time."

"Isn't a ship alive, though?" El retorted, not so much to Seeker as herself. Rising she braced herself with a hand against the skin of the ship and it was warm to the touch. Warm as flesh. Warm as blood. Warm as home.

"It moves. It consumes. It senses. We may be the organs, the anima that guides it but with you and I and the crew-creche aboard …" El lifted a hand, the gesturing mirroring Seekers tail. Defiance. Illustration. Maybe just being a bit of a dick.

" - it's alive." There was a long moment where the Wryme simply looked down at her. Then, Seeker blinked with both sets of eyelids. Frowning and laughing at El at the same time.

"You would think so. Superstitious. You think the wave-form Passions beyond the branefold. Are Gods."

"Seems only polite to believe in them seeing as we're out to kill one. Un-kill one?" El frowned, her head suddenly hurting as she tried to parse the impossible task and was reminded at the impossibility of her own future. A problem for another time. Maybe. They'd not been quite clear when this task was to be, much less …

Slipping a hand inside her armored surcoat, El's fingers touched the folded square of parchment that sat uncomfortably close to her heart. Sighing she let the hand drop and glared a challenge to Seeker.

"I'll make you a deal. The ship gets a name - a proper name - and I'll keep the ships ledger in that damned duodecimal notation of yours. Save you from having to convert my notes to yours. Fair?"

Seeker stilled, folded their arms and tapped one claw on the dockplates. One tap. Two taps. Four. Then at eight the wrym nodded once, their tail slashing down behind them with a definite motion.

"Agreed. Pick one, Qenna." this was said with a dismissive waive of the hand. Impatience. There was a fleeting temptation to drag the moment out but El turned back to the ship and nodded once, certain. Sure as bones.


Seeker blinked again. Frowned a little.

"Expected. Sentiment. Not … " it was a rare thing for the Wrym to be at a lost for words and it took some moments thought for Seeker to find them again. "Am I mistaken. Is it not. The Elvish word. For 'ship?'"

"Aye, it is at that." El nodded once, mildly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why? Is just a word. In another tongue." El smiled at the Wryms question, turning back to the ship as she took it in. All of it in. The impossible strangeness of a wyrmship aloft in an foreign sky readying itself to dance on starlight in defiance of a god.

"What is a name, Seeker, but a strange word made familiar?"

Re: The Enchridium of El by CirlotCirlot, 17 Apr 2024 05:02
page »
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License