D&D 5E [5e] One shot - Frolic and Fire [IC] [FULL]


Quick DM's note: I’m glossing over a bunch of stuff to try to get to the “interesting bits”. Feel free to add as desired.

The life of an adventurer is hectic and dangerous. At least some of the time. The rest of the time, unless you’re industrious and willing to work, it can be dull and not at all easy to keep your belly full. This has definitely been one of those times. The last job was good, even if the pay was merely okay, and, after buying supplies, a tankard of ale or four and a few meals, the coin pouch was looking a little thin. That’s when you heard about a job in Esmer. A podunk fishing town on the edge of Lake Usta. It wasn’t much: a simple caravan guard job. Only 2 silver a day plus meals, But it was something.

Travel was easy. The land was rolling foothills with long grass dotted by occasional clumps of trees. A light breeze bends the grasses in rolling waves and the sky was cloudy and grey, with the smell of coming rain. Even the birds knew it, they were headed for the trees or other shelter when the rain started. Slowly, almost reluctantly at first, it came in a fine mist that dampened everything. Then came the real rain. Big, heavy, soaking drops dumped from the sky in near torrential downpour. Small streams quickly formed in the valleys between the small hills, but you were smart enough to stay to the high ground and even find a lone tree that, only somewhat surprisingly, had several others headed for it as well.
Although cautious and wary, the tree was the best source of shelter for miles in any direction. So, with the pelting rain continuing into the night, you spend a fairly damp evening around a very smoky fire exchanging names and tales of where you’ve been, the things you’ve seen and dangers you may have faced.

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the magical equivalent to the number zero
Quickly finding a spot on one of the branches, the feline humanoid known to some as Whispers on the Wind observes the others while lying comfortably on the bark. The ochre fur that covers his body, crisscrossed with dusky-gray blotches, shines with moist and smells like wet cat, the green eyes reflect the light from the fire as the tabaxi studies each in turn. The catfolk is dressed in sturdy traveller's clothes, a leather armor underneath, and both a backpack and a sack are placed nearby on other branches of the tree.

Whisper, as he is known for short, sees an old human man, a beardless dwarf, and an imposing giant of a man, among others. What an odd assortment of people! The tabaxi shivers, maybe from the misty cold, then closes his eyes and seems to be sleeping.



OOC: I don’t recall getting the loot division from Legends are Born, the last adventure Milady was on. When I get that sorted, there are likely some things I will purchase in the “before” of this adventure.

Milady huddled down by the fire, her cloak pulled around her against the rain. Her traveling clothes were of fine make, though worn, as she hadn’t had a decent paying job in a while. Her leather armor, the rapier, hand crossbow, and dagger beneath her cloak were of fine make and well cared for, the leather corset a deep scarlet, almost black in the night, giving nice lift to her buxom bosom, her pants black, the cloak a deep forest green. She wore a wide brimmed black hat pulled down low over her features. Her blonde hair hung in wet strands framing her beautiful face and keen, if miserable, entrancing blue eyes. She had removed the black half mask she usually wore. With the low firelight and the hat pulled down, it was doubtful her companions would get a good look a her, and unlikely they would recognize the Lady Clarisse de Winter of Waterdeep. It was even less likely they would recognize the peasant girl Riyoco Tesin, wanted in Baldur’s Gate for theft and murder.

Milady stabbed a piece of the game hen roasting over the fire with her dagger and delicately picked at the steaming, greasy meat as she ate and studied her companions on this job. She knew Badger, that crazy old mage, from the job at Skulltop Hill, where she’d left him studying his magic in the cave there. The dwarf was new. Who ever heard of a beardless dwarf? She’d never thought a dwarf could get uglier, but… The tabaxi in the trees above she knew professionally. He’d fenced a few things for her. And he was a perfumer, ironically. She would have loved to have come to him as Clarisse de Winter, but she was careful about keeping her two lives separate.

Gods, but it was nights like this that she missed her feather bed in Waterdeep. If the creditors hadn’t taken it away yet.

Damn it, Bretson! she cursed her deceased husband.


[sblock=Milady’s Mini Stats]
Inspiration: 0
AC: 15
HP: 20/20 HD: 2/2d10+2
Init: +3
PP: 10
PI: 12
Bolts: 38 Used: 0
Second Wind (1/R 1d10+2)



Badger muttered to himself as he tried to dry out his robes. He seemed to be picking at a contraption he wore over the robes, every now and then whipping out a small rod, pointing it at a part and saying some strange words. Then, with a crackle of energy, a small hymn filled the air for a moment before fading.

“Ah,” He said, as the rain seemed to stop inches above his robes. Satisfied he weird armor was working, he looked at the others. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make my tea.”

Badger proceeded to produce a teapot, filled with water, from his robes, and make himself some tea.

The smell of that tea was the most fouls of smells, nearly enough to singe the whiskers off a cat. When done, Badger happily pours himself a glass, takes a long, fast swig, grimacing a few times as he smacked his lips in disgust, then sits back.

“Anyone know any good ghost stories?”


The heavily armored half-giant sits with his back to the tree, his bald head resting against the trunk. A huge two handed hammer leans against the trunk beside him, it's stone head wrapped in leather fixing it to the haft and strange swirling designs carved into the flat sides of the stone.

As he moves he jingles like a bunch of tiny bells, and then stops abruptly as he feels he is making to much noise. His grim expression turns to the wizard Badger as the man asks for a ghost story.

Lu_Manno.jpg "The spirits of those who have failed to move on from this world are not to be spoken of. Their tragedies are to be mourned and taken as a warnings to those who fail to do right by their gods in this world." He turns away to hide his own shame in speaking of the dead so openly.

"We should be thankful we have found shelter, and companionship this day."

AC: 16 (chainmail)
HP: 10/10 HD: 1/1 (1d8+2)
Speed: 30'
Saves: STR +3, DEX +0, CON +2, INT -1, WIS +4, CHA +3
Features: voice of authority 1/1
Special Defenses: stone's endurance 1/1

warhammer +5 attack, 1d8+3 bludgeoning, two-handed
dagger(melee) +5 attack, 1d4+3 piercing, finesse, light
dagger(thrown) +5 attack, 1d4+3 piercing, finesse, light, thrown, (range 20/60)
Spell Slots: 1st: 2/2
Cantrips: resistance, spare the dying, light
Spells Prepared: command, herosim, bless, protection from good and evil, healing word

torches 10/10
rations 10/10[/sblock]


Badger looks confused at the half giant's words. "Who said anything about the Spirits of the dead? I meant Ghost Peppers! I've been looking for a new source. You want fire? Now they have fire. Once saw a guy eat one raw! The whole thing in one bite. He fell over vomiting blood! I collected some of it for experimentation. Found it was quite useful in making Fire Spells. Quite useful indeed."

Charwoman Gene

The shaggy, hide covered dwarf grumbles. "Ghost peppers? Ah, my clan would grow and use spices from the underdark that would curl your toes. Alas that life is behind me now. "


"I must have eaten something from there at one point," Badger said, pulling off his shoe and showing a gnarly old foot. "Cause I haven't been able to get this toe from curling for a least two decades, now."

Archon Basileus

First Post
Kantor moves up, his head low, his small arms struggling to keep a piece of cloth above his head. All in vain: the thing got soaked and now dripped over his head.

Ashe reaches cover, he shrugs the worst of it on the grass. He glances around, breathing through his mouth as usual. Beneath his mustache, a half-way smile is petrified. His eyes roll around, acknowledging the strangers. He tatters around his coat until he finds a small water skin. He opens it, takes a sip, and offers it to Milady as a friendly gesture.

"Something to warm the bones"

Glancing around, his thoughts trailed back to his last endeavors, before joining the caravan. "You've been careless, Kantor" - he thought to himself. "And now look at you. No cart, no mule, no wares to sell... Wet to the bone amidst strangers." Kantor had gone to this small village, promising to cure their diseased cattle with a miracle concoction. But he got greedy when he saw the mayor's daughters jewel collection. Sweet-talking his way into their house took a bit longer then expected. And before he noticed, he was being confronted by a meddling, do-gooder druid. Accused of fraud and marked for the dungeons he ran, leaving most of his possessions behind. With him, he brought only a backbpack, some coins and a few personal possessions - as well as a few things he 'borrowed' along the way, of course.


Lu-Manno just grunts at the jesting old man, as he wiggles his toes. He folds his arms and bows his head either lost in thought or perhaps in prayer.

OOC: Gods grant me strength. I'm not sure Lu-Manno's grimness will be able to live with Badger's essentrictness LOL

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