Enigmatik

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

He had to inform the party of this, but how. THey all seemed positively crazy, or ludicrously stupid. This was an issue he hadn't fucking seen coming, and it was driving him absolutely mental. Gods above save him- how had this group even worked for a day? He thought all of this whilst eating, knowing that he had someone else spying on him all the while. It was too dangerous for him to contact one of the party now, and the two he had already tried to talk to weren't giving him anything. He would have to try to appeal to rationality- however much of that the group possessed.

Stranded: Prisoner's Tale (sci-fi/fantasy Med casual)

An Hour Before Planetfall

Even though he couldn't fire it, the bounty hunter was with weapon in hand. Eject the round in the chamber, catch it between two of his fingers, let the magazine clank to the ground. Toss the bullet into the air and catch it on the return. Spin the bullet around in his fingers, slot it back into the magazine. It was a relaxing thing to do, just him and the gun, making a series of muffled noises as he worked it. He took good care of his guns- if he ever had a chance, he wanted to make sure that they would fire when that trigger was pulled. Finally, he set the marksman rifle down, and looked at his other gun, examining it. The flechette pistol was an interesting breed. It was acually pressure, rather than gunpowder based, which meant that it could fire underwater, but not in the vacuum of space. It was fairly chunky, and loaded as it was, it weighed a fair amount. Enough to bash somebody's head in.

---

He had been on a desert. A sandstorm had kicked up, but he was so close. The trail in the air was so powerful that even the howling wind and whipping sand couldn't effect him. He knew his quarry was out there. He had continued walking, visor lowered as he tracked his prey.
Nobody else with him. It was only him and his own abilities. This was the early days. No rifle, assault or otherwise. Just his pistol and a local weapon- a slightly curved blade, a cross between a sword and a hatchet. It was mostly used to clear the dense and resistant desert brush that grew up, but he had found it worked brutally well against opponents as well.

He had seen a figure vaguely shifting in the distance. He had broken out into a sprint. The figure had materialised fully, the solid outline now having heart him in pursuit. Adjusting the helmet, he placed a hand on his target's shoulder and whirled them around. He knew it was his target as soon as he saw their face. Eyes had widened, and he had pulled the trigger on his gun, only for nothing to happen. Later on, he would find out that the sand had clogged up the mechanism. That never happened again.

With his gun an undersized club, that was what he had used it as. The butt of it had smashed down, splintering the nose of his target. There had been a fight. The 'pop' of his shoulder dislocating, and the fury and pain. The blade coming out, planted deep in the gut. Yanking it out and hacking, hacking, hacking. Until his target's torso and limbs were different entities, and the former was a bloodied chunk. The thrill of a finished hunt, even as he popped his shoulder back into position.

---

The flechette rounds themselves. Serene. They looked so innocuous- just a small plastic casing, like an elongated shotgun shell. Within were fifteen ripper shrapnel shards. Muscle and bone didn't like them one bit. Skin didn't neither. He loaded the gun to the brim, before picking them all up, and placing them at the foot of his bed. Lying back down, he let out a long, slow, deep breath.

Planetfall

He awoke to the ship lurching to one side. It didn't take a genius to realise what was happening. They had gotten caught in a gravity well. This was it, his chance. He suited up quickly, making sure everything was settled. The flechette gun went where it went, as did his other two weapons. Wasps fitted neatly into the hard case that they were designed to fit in, and he placed the case up against the cell wall towards where they were falling. Then, he braced for impact.

Impact took a while.

Fifteen minutes of waiting, the ship twisting and plummeting faster. The side slowly became the floor as the entire ship turned, before the cellblock was ejected. His stomach lurched as the much smaller 'craft' started falling faster and faster, the windows showing only flashing greens and blacks as land and space twisted in and out of visibility. Then, there was a split second of weightlessness, before a roaring sound started. Reentry. He really hoped the ship was powerful enough to withstand the gravitational reentry, the windows becoming redder and redder as flames licked around it.

The flames halted, and they continued to fall, slower this time. They had hit the atmosphere- quite literally. Now black turned to blue, and he was subject to the odd sensation of his ears popping. Still they span, the bounty hunter hitting the walls over and over. He didn't even want to think about the brusies- this was almost as painful as getting his scar had been.

He blacked out before they landed though. Perhaps that was a mercy.

He awoke to a loud thunking noise. Some fucker had locked the cells. Unfortuately for said fucker, he hadn't realised that the doors on his cell were busted. The hard case was nowhere in sight- he had lost his wasps, but that was of secondary concern. He was alive. Many others were likely dead. Standing up, groaning as he felt the full pain of his injuries, he heaved the door open, a scream coming from the jungle outside.

That wasn't his issue.

A Tale of Owls and Wolves (Casual Version)

I have arrived! Sound the trumpets! Blow the clarion! Something else introductional!

Tales of Owls and Wolves: A High Fantasy Interest Check

@Famotill

Just a thought, but the gnomish capital's real name should be so long everyone just calls it 'Nevermind.'

Everything is Normal

Oh no no no no no. Boris did not get to hold the fact that he had saved the boss' life over his head. Slipping his jacket on, the wings flared out. With the jetpack warming up, he zipped his jacket up and stuck his helmet on, wading over towards the greaser. Grabbing one of Albert's arms, he hoisted him up, turning to his friend. "We do this together, aight? You don't get solo benefits for saving his tubby ass."

Tales of Owls and Wolves: A High Fantasy Interest Check

WIP

Name: Pepper-Thirdborn-Of-Salwinspark-and-Deatrich-Extraordinary-tinker-fou-What? Just Pepper and my last name? Dammit. Pepper Hiezelvich.
Continent of Birth: High Mist
Race: Gnome
Class: Bard/Rogue/Warrior. She couldn't decide.
Starter Equipment: Axe-Musket, powder and shot, as many daggers as she can physically fit on her person, explosives, absolutely zero armour, an oversized cape that can be used as a parachute, explosives, some really snazzy boots, a respectable amount of currency, lute (she's trying to make an axe-musket-lute, but at the moment you have to pick two.) Explosives, various odds and ends that she uses for tinkering, tools, and more explosives.
Age: 45
Personality:
Character Traits: Flamboyant, excitable, quick-witted.
Strengths: Anything to do with explosives, interacting wih crowds.
Weaknesses:
Fears: Fucking bats.
Brief History:

Tales of Owls and Wolves: A High Fantasy Interest Check

@Famotill

Could I do gnomes based off of Dragonlance? Yhey're eccentric small halfling-like beings with immense intellect and more than one social quirks, like ridiculously long and complicated names and talk so fast their version of common is basicly a sped up version with words mashed together.

Tales of Owls and Wolves: A High Fantasy Interest Check

Looks cool, but what uh... How is this thing going to work? Like, do we take over a preexisting kingdom? ARe we founding new ones? What's happening here?

Also, no love for gnomes :( .

Stranded: Prisoner's Tale (sci-fi/fantasy Med casual)

@Sgt Vandingo

Jango isn’t going to like someone he sees as an opposing hunter.

Everything is Normal

Mark called out to Veronica as she walked in. "Hey hey hey! What's up girl? Still- Oh, ok, no." He shrugged as the secretary offered naught but a perfunctory smile his way, causing him to spin back around to his computer. Or, well, most of him. Gaze still looking at the assistant. The wave was more promising. He had just come on a little strong, it was all good. He returned the wave with a grin, before looking at the next person that came in. Issac was alright. Solid guy.

The next person was obvious. Even his jetpack made less noise than Boris' bike did, and certainly less noise than the person did. And the finger pistols. Damn the finger pistols. At least he got a wave. "Cooking? Jack. It's Monday." He would have offered his comb to his co-worker, but greasers seemingly had more combs than they did useless pockets, so it seemed like the gesture wasn't needed.

"What's happening now in the daily grind... In desk... Empty. Because I spend my whole day fixing your shit." The life of an IT guy. He had work, but as long as he claimed he was 'compiling data,' he never had to do a thing. Apart from fixing malfunctioning PCs. That happened a lot.