ttrpg nonsense

With a "normal" whalefall, we're talking about something (a dead whale, to be precise) that lands in an EXTREMELY nutrient-poor environment, the deep ocean. It's not the equivalent of "a truck full of free hamburgers lands from the sky in the middle of your neighbourhood". This is an environment where an important part of the food chain is "marine snow", aka flakes of organic matter (including feces) that drift down from above, and they eat that because it's possible to get nutrients from it. So when a whole-ass (or partial-ass, because it's already been nibbled on from sharks and the like) whale carcass arrives, it is something MAJOR. It starts a whole new localized ecosystem, an oasis of life; those that eat the dead whale, those that eat those that eat the dead whale, and so on. And as the whale is consumed, the creatures there shift, leaving when there's nothing left that they'd eat, arriving when parts of the whale that they DO eat are now exposed, and it continues until the very bones have been devoured.

Whalefalls are fascinating.

But to get back on topic… if we're looking at this as like a WHALEFALL, and not the equivalent of "dropping your fast-food order on the parking lot and now there's seagulls everywhere" (which also has promise but it's substantially less weird), then the town has to count as a "nutrient-poor environment". And since it's a TOWN, which means a settlement where people are able to survive and overall have enough to eat, then the skywhalefall-eaters must eat something other than what can be easily acquired in the area, so they're extremely rare there because there's not enough to support a larger population. Creatures that would only have been seen singly, and are rarely active because they need to conserve energy. Something like the local cryptid.

When you first see it, you try to memorize every detail, because it's a once-in-a-lifetime experience to actually encounter one of them for even a brief glimpse. And then, you see another (its mate?). And another. And another.

As the formerly-cryptids arrive, their presence -- combined with that of the skywhale carcass that's STILL there -- effectively shuts down the town. They don't even need to be hostile or frightening, it's just from sheer numbers, body mass blocking easy transportation. Some people leave, with plans to come back once things are less crazy. More people arrive, to see what weirdness is happening, or to try to harvest from the skywhale or the formerly-cryptids, or to try to make money off of those who are visiting. Normally you'd welcome the influx of visitors and their money, but parts of your infrastructure got squished by a giant dead skywhale, and a good chunk of the rest of the town's infrastructure is currently inaccessible due to formerly-cryptids having a feast.

And then, weirder things arrive. Creatures you'd never even heard of, creatures you'd been sure were just a poet's hallucinations, creatures you're not sure how they even exist. But they're there, and they feed. Some of them on the skywhalefall, some of them on the formerly-cryptids, some of them on others of the weird creatures. A visiting scholar is FASCINATED, and offers you more money than your family has seen in generations, to take samples. Your neighbour responds before you even have time to think it through, and rushes in. The creatures didn't intend to harm your neighbour, that's not the kind of food they desire, but that's faint consolation for one who'd gotten in the way of hungry jaws. You politely decline any further requests from that scholar.

Time passes. The skywhale carcass is unrecognizable from what it had been when it first landed. So is your town. Whole areas have been effectively abandoned, and damaged from the skywhale's original impact, or the frenzy of what has been eating it, or attempts to combat them, or simply lack of upkeep. Temporary dwellings and places of business, at what had been the outskirts of town, are now more built-up and permanent since it became clear that this wasn't going to go away in a few weeks. People have moved away, for more normal settlements. People have moved TO your town, for specialized resources that can be (carefully!) acquired from the skywhale and what eats it. It has become normal to you.

It's the now-resident scholar -- who'd learned a valuable lesson about the use of observation from a DISTANCE -- who notices it first. Certain types of the weird creatures are being seen less and less, then not at all. The creatures start taking up less room, because there's fewer of them. It becomes feasible to go back to some of the buildings that had been abandoned, even if it would be a lot of work to get them back in inhabitable condition again. The formerly-cryptids are now ACTUALLY cryptids again, with only rare sightings of them.

Time passes. The weird creatures are now restricted to only what parts of the skywhale still remain. These ones barely even look like "creatures", more like red flames, dancing on what's recognizably bones but not the bones of any normal animal. It's easy for the area to be fenced off, no hazard to anybody but those who would make direct contact with the not-flames.

Eventually, nothing is left. No bones, none of the weird creatures. Its effects are shown in the altered shape of the town, from where the town had been forced to build around it, and in the town's mascot, a cartoonishly-dead skywhale.

Wanting to go home

Wanting people out of your house who shouldn't be there

Trying to find a reliable babysitter

Trying to deliver a letter or package

Trying to do a favor for someone

Wanting to see a specific thing, place, or kind of animal

Wanting to collect the money somebody owes you (the lower the debt the better)

Trying to win a bet

Fact 2: In most versions of Dungeons & Dragons, the default alignment of werebears is Lawful Good.

Architect Manas Bhatia used AI technology to create “symbiotic architecture,” showing how apts. carved out of Hyperion trees would look. 

The architect questions: ‘Can the envelope in which we live & breathe as creatures do, instead of us dwelling in air-conditioned concrete and glass boxes we call apartments?’

The result is a surreal series of apartment buildings that take on nature completely.

Hollowed-out Hyperion trees are transformed into functional breathing architecture, with apartments facing inwards and natural lighting sweeping in to create an illuminated, enchanted natural space.

In this envisioned alternate future, buildings are not machines made from concrete or steel. Instead, they are live and can grow to accommodate the ever-growing needs for housing.

Manas Bhatia imagines apartment towers as giant hollow redwood trees that breathe and grow. They are magical, but would they continue to grow if they were all hollowed out and everything?

I think with the animated skeletons in particular the key is to play up their separation from the living in a way that’s still kinda creepy, but in an odd way rather than a horrific way. Something like:

Animated skeletons are explicitly not just skeleton versions of the living people their bones came from, and in fact don’t seem to have much in the way of individual identity – or, at least, if they do, they don’t express it in the way that humans do.  

They aren’t impaired by the loss of individual bones – including the skull! – and can freely swap bones among themselves. The same pile of loose bones won’t always animate into the same number or configuration of skeletons, nor does having more available bones necessarily translate into more skeletons.  

Consequently, questions like “how many skeletons are there?” are difficult to answer.  

Animated skeletons generally seem to understand both spoken and written languages, but don’t have much capacity for producing language; they don’t speak or write, and their capacity for signing is limited to stuff like nodding or shaking their head for “yes” or “no“, pointing to indicate objects or directions, etc.  

In spite of this, they appear to be able to communicate complex information and ideas amongst themselves, but it happens via some undetectable, (presumably) non-language-based medium.  

Their otherwise limited expressive capacity notwithstanding, skeleton “culture” (if that’s the word for it) is very big on making music. Instruments and sheet music are among the few material goods that skeletons value, though the former are typically limited to those that can be operated without breath.  

(This generally means percussion and strings. Wind instruments that can be operated without breath are an occasional feature; pipe organs are a big deal in those skeleton communities that can get their phalanges on them, as are a modified form of bagpipes, operated by two-skeleton teams where one plays the music and the other inflates the bag with a portable bellows.)  

Apart from music, skeletons are mostly into repetitive manual labour, though exclusively on a volunteer basis, as they’re uninterested in payment and will simply collapse into inanimate piles of bones if coerced. If you want a skeleton to do something for you, be prepared to explain why, in detail, to a silent, motionless, and expressionless audience.  

Skeletons are notably more likely to heed a request from a priest or religious scholar than from laypersons. There are a lot of theories as to why this is; the skeletons themselves are disinclined to comment.  

And in the field of specialist giant rat catchers, there inevitably comes a Jack Black (no not that one) who after years of killing giant rats starts catching giant rats alive. And once they start catching giant rats alive they start watching giant rats for the first time, and they get the wild thought to try breeding out the bloodlust in the species and see what’s left.

And soon they have pens full of half-tamed boggle-eyed rats, sweet as honey and big as malamutes. And after that, all it takes is one noblewoman eccentric enough to see them in the street and think “I simply must have them.”

Some idioms for fantasy races and classes shared by u/nagonjin on reddit. Follow her on instagram (@lyresforhire) for more D&D idioms.

Under the tree the rain falls twice - if you hide from your troubles without solving them, they will find you later anyway

The deeper the worm burries, the harder to take it out - about stubborn ideas and deeply rooted issues being harder to deal with

Like a jumping snake - a situation hard to believe to happen, probably something that has been interpreted wrong because it was taken out of context

Leaves fall, the tree remains - not even drastical changes mean that something is gone. In due time, it slowly transforms again.

5th-level Evocation

Casting Time: 1 Action

Range: Self

Components: V, S, M (A taco)

Duration: Instanteneous

A blast of pure lime flavor shoots from your hands in 500 feet long and 5 feet wide straight line. Each creature in the line must make a Dexterity saving throw. A creature takes 8d8 acid damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. Any creature damaged this way must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, the overwhelming flavor causes it to be charmed by you until the start of your next turn.

Nope. They really are a group of dedicated paladins who were attacking a cult stronghold.

My Dice Collection so far.

Personally I headcanon that tiefling magic starts to manifest around puberty, but if that wasn’t the case, they’d just have to suck it up and tiefling baby-proof the hell out of the place. B) Have no vases and stuff that might fall over and break during tremors. Have sturdy furniture. Lock doors and windows. Avoid having open flames around. Shove cotton or something into your ears.

BABY TIEF HEIST ONESHOT

PLAYER RULES

You are all tiefling toddlers, each pick a different subrace

All your stats are 10, then apply your racial boosts.

you have 4 hp (5 if you have the con boost) if you reach zero, you are unconscious. 

Your only abilities are your racial traits.

You have broken out of the orphanage with no money, and seek a treasure trove of candy from the store. 

How you retrieve this candy, without being apprehended, is up to you.

DM RULES

Any environmental or effect that could potentially hurt a toddler will only deal 1 hp of damage.

The candy store functions as a dungeon:

the shopkeep is a final boss (objectively has 5 hp if they go the combat route, however, this would only cause him to fall unconcious— there will be no toddler murder.)

other patrons are to be befriended or avoided. 

Any creature that is not considered Charmed by the toddlers, whether by magic or exceptional persuasion checks and baby tief cuteness, will report any thievery they see.

Environmental hazards can include

gumballs on the floor

getting distracted by a cute kitty or dog

the candy is on the top shelf!!! just out of reach!

To reach your goal:

you must steal a pound of candy for each player character. you may also steal excess to aid you in your heist just be careful how much you use.

Candy

Lollipops: if you consume a lollipop you can regain 2 hp. (5 lollipops = pound, you may grab 3 at once)

Gumballs: gumballs can be spilled on the floor, functioning like a bag of ball bearings. (20 gumballs = a pound, using gumballs wastes half a pound, you may grab 5 gumballs at once) 

Chocolate: Invokes Sugar Rush. (2 chocolate = a pound, you may grab 1 at once, 1 chocolate = one sugar rush)

Sugar Rush gives you advantage on all strength and dexterity checks for five minutes (since initiative hopefully will not be a factor, if it is invoked in a combat situation, the duration is 1 minute), however after, you must make a DC: 15 con save to avoid falling asleep for a post-sugar nap. 

You may design your candy store as you will for maximum chaos

roll a d10 + 1 for the number of potential patrons within.