D&D 5E So long and thanks for all the fish!

[rgoodbb]

A Potted Plant, that he had flung earlier in the brawl, flew his way and he caught it without even looking. He handed it to Lady Terri. "A Blushing Beauty, I believe." This really was some of 'Nard's best work"

Leave the scrapping to to the Monk and the Harpooned Paranladinger and the PC-PC's. What to think of them. Talking of them, where is that Halfling?

At that moment, the Halfling popped his head around the door. "Hey guys. No need to fight. I know who took all the be.."

SMACK

The Brass end of Trombone snapped out from the darkness outside, knocked him unconscious...And then it was gone....

 

[BoldItalic]

To save you looking them up in Burke's, Hortense is the unmarried eldest daughter of the late Marmaduke House, IX^th Duke of Strathbogle; her younger sister Florence married a baronet, the Hon Mutch Trainger, and Terri is their daughter. Her surname is hyphenated because technically her mother, as the daughter of a duke, outranks her father, who is only the son of an earl, and at the dinner table she gets the extra spoon. The family are in straightened circumstances because Mutch invested heavily in walrus mining at a time when all the smart money was moving into offshore banking, and he lost the lot.

I'd steer clear of giving your characters noble backgrounds, it can get awfully complicated.

 

[Craig Fox]

Phinsk woke up in a cold dark alleyway, with hard stones underneath him and some scruffy street cat licking his face. Groaning with a massive headache, Phinsk growled "Get away ya bugger.", roughly shoving the cat aside.
"Meow! Is that any way to treat your patron?" said the cat.
"Oh darn, this of all times I had to be reminded that I signed up with the jolly Cat Lord." sighed Phinsk. "Couldn't you have put me somewhere more comfortable, a bed, like?"
"And how was I supposed to do that?" asked the Cat Lord. "Folks in these parts aren't too amenable to a talking cat asking for a meal and lodgings."
"Yeah, yeah, OK. So the fight - did you see that?"
"It's over." stated the Cat Lord. "Everyone in that bar is sitting there quietly, trying to drink away the memory of being pulverised into next week by a disarmingly feminine looking man in a fetching skin-tight leotard, and not caring a jot that they have to do it on wine.
"Well, that's one way to restore peace." muttered Phinsk. He struggled to get to his feet, but a wave of pain and nausea hit him.

"No, no son, you just stay there for now." murmured the Cat Lord soothingly. "Besides, I didn't just come here to save your ass (and head) from flying trombones. I came here to call in a favour. I gave you a rewarding career path as a fey warlock, and now it's time for you to do something for me."
"Not right now, I hope." groaned Phinsk. The pain was really bad.
"No, but you should start seriously planning it tomorrow morning." said the Cat Lord. "In a nutshell, a terrible foe has arisen, one growing stronger by the day, who will soon be capable of tearing down barriers between planes of existence, and destroying what he finds here. Planes like the Feywild/Arborea/you know, where I live."
"What, you mean that new Acererak that Bobuntil built?"
"No, not him. He's tough, but a competent party of levels 10+ can take him down. I'm talking about those spare parts of The Machine of Lum the Mad that Bobuntil tried to use. When exposed to the Book of Vile Darkness, they fused together, came to life, and ran off."

Phinsk laughed, despite the pain. "And I guess it tried to find its other parts and fuse back into one."
The Cat Lord held up a paw. "You'd think so, but no! Instead, it roamed around looking for artificers which it could shake down and intimidate into building powerful mods and extensions for it. Already, this thing is pimped to the max, Twenty feet high, CR 25 at least, and known as The Machine of Lum the Madder. It's rumoured that the tarrasque stays hidden because it's too scared to show up while Lum the Madder is roaming about. But that's not all."
"Of course not!" Phinsk almost shouted. "That would be more than all the all we need, but there's still more! Aarrghh!!"
"'Fraid so. That beer you saw being stolen? It's happening everywhere. Lum the Madder wants to rip out the very bedrock of civilization by removing its beer, so it's sent its followers to steal it all. We can live without magic, but not the simple ritual of drinking a tasty ale in a rowdy establishment." The Cat Lord stopped and looked around. "Oh look, a group of the Sisters of Mercy are walking by. Call out for them for assistance."

Phinsk did so. "Oh look, that halfling's hurt!" said one of the Sisters. Phinsk sighed with relief. He'd soon have some healing and rest. The Cat Lord sidled up close, looking like any cat nuzzling someone's cheek, while whispering in Phinsk's ear. "Ask her if they allow cats. I'm hungry, and these garbage cans have far too many rot grubs."

 

[rgoodbb]

The Tomb of Hors d'oeuvres was aptly named. Any chef worth their salt wanted to learn their trade here. This was the only six star food being prepared anywhere.

Chef Ron, a lance corporal of the 5th catering wing of the Logistics Diaboleek of the much feared and vaunted Ancient Horde, had just finished his latest batch of InfernoPretz and SourDevils. He lifted one to the light just to make sure and…..

…..WuhwuhwuhWack

A strange triangular wedge-like missile flew in an anticlockwise circular motion around the huge kitchens until it dislodged the InfernoPretz out of Chef Ron’s hand.

He looked around but saw nothing.
“Who’s there?”
“Klak” [Me]
“Show yourself. What do you want?”
As the giant insect-like form emerged from the dark pantry
“Klack’a’Lack’a’Dingdong” [I am Clu’tu’klu, Lord of Cockroaches and you shall no more use my children in your Live-Pies]

“Ahhhhhg” Chef Ron fled the kitchens

Back in the inta/extra/intra-dimensional space
“Well…….We've stockpiled hundreds of barrels of ale, we have all the snacks to last for a millenia. What now?....…….....

 

[BoldItalic]

“Well…….We've stockpiled hundreds of barrels of ale, we have all the snacks to last for a millenia. What now?....…….....

"We could start our own tavern. Call it the Keg and ... Keg?"
"I don't think that would be legal. It's not strictly our beer. We're just ... guarding it."
"Guarding it from whom?"
"The owners, mostly."

There was a reflective pause, during which the genii arranged a row of kegs to spell out a rude word.

"You know that ... thing, with all the arms and legs and the crazy laugh?"
"The thing of which we have absolutely no memory whatever?"
"Yes, well, I was thinking, ..."
"Yes?"
"Suppose we ..."

At that moment, there was a frantic knocking on the trapdoor. They opened it and a man in a chef's hat and apron tumbled through. He was shaking like a jelly and more than a trifle scared of something. When he calmed down a little, he told them a half-baked story about giant talking insects that made no sense whatever.

"What's your name, son?"
"Ron," he stammered. "Ron Dough."
"You're not Turkish, are you?"
"On my mother's side, why?"
"Just wondered."

Meanwhile, somewhere entirely different, Phinsk was sleeping soundly¹ on a straw mattress in the Temple of Wossname, the god of Everything Else. The Cat Lord was nearby, umpiring a game of cricket; the excitement was mounting as the Grasshoppers were three wickets ahead in the second innings and only needed 127 runs to win.

Meanwhile, somewhere entirely different, Sashi was sipping a cocktail of crème de menthe with ice cream and chocolate sprinkles. It wasn't bad, but it really needed some whipped cream and the bar was fresh out. "What happens next," she wondered?

---

¹ Did you know, that's a euphemism for snoring?

 

[Craig Fox]

During the lunch break, a couple of players were chatting.

"Cripes Jethro, you look as white as a ghost. What's up?"
"Well, I was given out Leg Before Wicket, and as you do, I started swearing a bit, doing my nut, and telling the umpire that it was missing by a mile and he should've gone to SpecSavers."
"So he gave you a right telling off?"
"I wish." sighed Jethro. "He beckoned me over, said something into my ear, and..."
"And?"
"I'm a blardy warlock!"
"You don't say!"
"I do!." Jethro stretched in his chair. "Anyway, can't do anything about it now, so let's have a nice mug of ale."
They were interrupted by the Cat Lord, in his human form, having just finished eating with traces of Jellimeat stuck to his whiskers. "Hi lads, sorry about that Jethro, but needs must. The locals have got wind that we have the only beer for a hundred miles around, and they've formed a mob and are about to storm the place. We need your help."

Everyone in the clubhouse could now hear the howling. Soon it would drown everything out. A brick crashed through the window. Jethro peered fearfully out the hole. "Damn, there's hundreds of them! What do I do?"
The Cat Lord put his face near Jethro's ear again. "Start eldritch blasting, boy." he growled.

 

[rgoodbb]

Things were not quite as they seemed. Worlds were merging, ideas were joining, universes were colliding, it was written in the stars, plans were being put in place and certain aspects were coming together, and lines were drawing closer.

Basically: There was a convergence. All right?

Twenty feet high, Thirty brains wide and Forty Winks worth, The Machine known as Lum the Madder. Or Lo-Mad for short had roamed through the countryside squashing flounce where they flaunted and gimmespikes where they gibbled. Lo-Mad had taken a left turn at Scotch Corner and was heading for the cricket ground. It saw the angry mob of Beerless folk and picked up speed.

This was the time. This was the place. Right here, right now. Heroes of old and new stood as a united front against thie Abominable Sn….Threat:
Throg
Hermione
Gildan reincarnated as a Kender
Spiton
THAC0
Klick-Klack
D20
Sashi
Harriet
The Nardster
Uncle Fo and the Clan of Unobvious Anagrams
Verice
Stonnard
Jezza
Phinsk
The Cat Lord
and....Jethro

Would it be enough? Just then, everyone sighed as one of the Hero’s wanted a little bit of last minute RP…..

 

[BoldItalic]

"Hold on," said Ballnard, "Hermione, can you still do weddings? You still have your credentials and whatnot?"

"Well, yes, theoretically, but ..."

"Terri," declared Ballnard, going down on one knee, "Will you marry me?"

There was an embarrassed shuffling of feet, an impatient rattling of weapons, mutterings under the breath and general disquiet at this breach of table etiquette. After all, they were just about to roll initiative for what looked like a boss fight and there was a distinct expectation of Magic Item Tables, hopefully at least G or H, hanging in the air. The DM was already making meaningless dice rolls behind the screen and cackling, so you didn't have to be metagaming to know what was about to happen.

There was no answer from the Mysterious Trainger. Ballnard looked around in bewilderment.

"Sorry," said [MENTION=6801229]rgoodbb[/MENTION] checking the list, "She's not actually here. She's just a normal NPC with no actual class."

"No class? No class? She's a f***ing aristocrat! Descended from dukes and earls! She was my ticket out of this wretched narrative!" shouted Ballnard growing increasingly irate. "That's it! I'm leaving! Right now!"

And with that, Ballnard picked his dice bag and flounced out of the thread, leaving the party one sorcerer short.

"Sorry about that," said Ballnard's character Stonnard, "He won't go far. I'm still wearing his Cloak of Teleporting Circles". There were nods of approval from around the table. "Well done, that dwarf," said a cultured English voice from the back row.

"Are we quite finished?" asked the DM, looking round for dramatic effect. In that case,

Roll For Initiative!​

 

[rgoodbb]

@BoldItalic relented. "OK, OK Cut. Cut! Aristocrat is a ..... uhm......Noble.....is a......uhm.....lord.....in a time of war.....She's.....uhm a W.....Martial no, a Commander, No a WARLORD!" "Ahem" "..LLL'LADY a WARLADY!"

Warlady Terri winked at D20 "Wanna help me out here?"

"Sure! you rolled a .....Natural 20! what are the odds! (I know the odds. it was rhetorical. Never tell me the fracking odds. I'm a D fracking 20 yo!). Good job you didn't roll 3d6 eh! Tactician the out of this mess M'Lady!"...............

 

[cbwjm]

Just decided to check the last page, I like how this thread bears no relationship to the opening post in any way, shape, or form.