#dndmemes

I love voicing "little guys" and Pocket the Street Alchemist is just the most critterish kobold little guy and I love 'em.

(Little yap sesh)

Oml did y'all see ts last night? Every time I think they can't get more Kino, THEY DO! Rett being this Shep's version of Cogburn and Gideon being his brother felt like the dynamic he should have always had. It felt right. As much as I like Classic Shep, he was always uncomfortable in CoS which fit given the campaign themes but it's so amazing to see him be more at home with these two. Although he's got that permanent tiefling scowl I would even say he was happy🥹

I'm personally not a big fan of witchlight because the party, though funny, is like that toxic friend group that brings out the worst in eachother. And yes, once again, that works with the theme, and all groups are a little toxic here and there, but it's just too much for me. I've honestly been really sad that I don't like Witchlight for the whole two years I've been here though. Gideon always struck me as the best of the gang, along with Torb, I've alway felt that he could be an AMAZING character in the right party, and it seems I was right, because Daggerheart him is so cozy.

Rett has always been the dad friend of any group he's in, and despite Rich shitting on Overture Rett I've ALWAYS loved him, so now the fact that he's a literal dad to two very traumatized red boys who definitely THRIVE with him and in this setting, was OUGH 🥹🥹🥹

Also he's a GODLY MAN?! HELLO?! There are so many things that I...*cough cough* LIKE (iykwim) in this campaign it's not even funny. I know it's only three sessions but ts got me going "Fantasic, gimmie 400 of em."

I'm still overjoyed even a day later that Daggerheart is a thing, that we have our Nuclear Holy Trinity family, and also the Goneses, and MIKEY GM! WELCOME BACK KING!

We missed you, please don't leave again/silly

Anyways, here's a stupid little meme I made because they said the phrase during session :3

I eat the tentacle carefully,

as one does with conquered provinces.

Slowly,

so as not to appear emotional.

The char gives way with a soft resistance,

the kind no empire plans for.

Salt. Oil. Lemon.

A civilizing sequence.

Once, this limb may have conducted thoughts

large enough to bruise architecture.

Now it is reduced to protein,

to something that squeaks faintly

between my teeth.

Somewhere, an elder brain

misplaces a sensation

a pressure where certainty should be

and cannot account for it.

This is not cruelty.

This is administration.

I chew, patient and thorough.

There will be no monuments,

no tablets recording the loss of this curl of flesh.

History rarely notes

what passes through the mouth.

When I swallow,

nothing trembles.

The waiter refills my glass.

Still,

for the remainder of the meal,

the empire is smaller.