Expendable

Are small town roleplays still a thing? (Modern/Slice of life.)

Sandboxed are hard to keep interest. What would this be?

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

J'eon the Blacksmith

---

J'eon was about to send a wave of fireballs towards the enemy when he spotted Kareet and other Tekeri bolt towards the enemy archers. The glen blacksmith gnashed his teeth - if he fired now, he might hit them. Worse, if he fell short, the archers would see the Tekeri moving towards them.

He grinned as five fireballs appeared in his hand, about the size of his thumb, and hauling his arm back, threw them at an arch so they would fly over the archers before falling behind them, hopefully not hitting the trees. With the wind, it should blow the flames toward the enemy.

"You will regret this night, I think," the Glen rumbled.

---

Jack Mallory

---

"Understood," Jack snapped, surprised the headset still had the ship in range. "The survival of the ship and the civilians on board takes priority! I repeat, ship's survival comes first!"

The creatures attacking them wouldn't stand still long enough for a shell to land....

Impossibly massive arms appeared, shorter than a Glenn. As the hands began moving towards them, Jack turned and fired off three rounds where the arms would have met. Maybe it had a head out there.

"Can you leap over it?" he asked.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Ilyana the Half-Human

---

As the water wagon attendant jotted down in his log of the four gallons of water issued to Illyana, there came a heavy sigh from underneath the wagon, and a small figure crawled out from underneath - Thistrideth Dragongrog, the beardless night baker. Many a dwarf gave the redhead a double-take when they saw her naked chin, the blood-red lipstick or the blush on her bare cheeks. While many a dwarf made noise of disgust, sometimes one of them would hang back, and ask her in a trembling voice where they could get that makeup, too?

Athulwin most likely had caught wind of her makeup parties with the interested female dwarves, but he wasn't invited. And makeup was a lot more comfortable than that itchy false-beard that her mother made Thistrideth wear.

However, she wasn't wearing her signature makeup at the moment. She looked annoyed, unhappy about crawling out from under the best cool spot in the desert. Her studded sleeping mask had been shoved up like some weird headband.

"Hey," Thistrideth called out to the wagon attendant, shaking her head to clear it, then staring at the receding back of Illyana as she made her way towards her cart, "Was that Hyrilea with that boy?"
"Uh, yeah."

"Not again," Thistrideth grumbles, then sighs as she pulls herself upright. "Don't let anyone take my spot."

As she entered the commissary tent, Thistrideth could see the centaur with the other servers, helping to lay out carpets on the sands.

"Hyrilea!" the lowland dwarf bellowed angrily, making every head in the tent jerk in her direction. The centaur frowned, but cantered over.
"Thist,..."
"What the hell were you doing with that boy?"
"Boy? Oh, nothing. He didn't know where the water wagons were...."
"And so you offered to show him," the baker said scornfully. "And you then offered to show them around town, too. What's the matter? Kostantinos' eyes wandering around those new fillies?"
"I... I don't know what...!"
"Save it, honey. The last thing we need is a jealous guard attacking a half-grown half-elf. Do you want to see him in a slave collar here because he killed that boy? Maybe you as well? Do you know where you might wind up if you get collared?
"He's not a boy, he's a sailor off of a navy ship! He's got all those battle scars...!"
"He's not even forty!" Thistrideth retorted. "Hell, I don't know his have dropped, yet."

Blushes burned on a few cheeks behind Hyrilea.

"Boy's got no family name, he's been disowned," the baker went on. "What was Athulwin gonna do? Leave the lad behind, like his crew did? The kid's got a good head on his shoulders, I don't need you messin' with it because you're angry at Kostantinos and tryin' ta make him jealous!"

The centaur ducks her head, her right hand wraps around her left elbow.

"I... I'm sorry, Thist...."
"Yer sorry," the dwarf says scornfully. "They tell me dat lump on your shoulders is a head, you best start usin' it. If yer angry at Kostantinos, take it out on him. Kick him in da shins, give him a nip - he's a big boy, he can take it. Don't go draggin' others into your mess, and I won't have to find someone else to pull the spice wagon."

---

Granny Siri

"Hey, you!" Siri called out, spying Illyana. "I need some help with this tent, think when you're done with yer water, you could come back here? There's coin in it for you!"

"Coin?" the half-human said, blinking at the Wanderer cleric. "Sure, I'll be right over."

Siri frowned as Illyana trudged away.

"Did he look okay to you?" she asked Pilot.
The construct shrugs, turning back to tugging at the canvas, trying to spread it out.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>

Absolutely! There's infinite room. The Caravan is bigger on the inside, I swear

@Tortoise

People have gotten lost. Remember to bring string and tie it well at the entrance. There will be stairs.

Into the Land of Twilight --- A story-focused fantasy adventure RP

I'm tempted to bring in a character. Do goblins exist in this world?

Are they in conflict with the elves? Or do the elves just ignore them?

The Guardians of Dara

I'm great at playing multiple characters, they just sorta spawn.

I've in mind a captain. Some might call them a pirate. Others a thief, a beggar, a storyteller, or an out and out liar. What really urks them though is that some of their stories have gotten confused with another captain/theif/beggar/storyteller/liar, and everyone accuses them of taking their tales.

It's a hard life.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

J'eon the Blacksmith

---

An arrow burst into flame midair as the blacksmoth glanced up at it.

“What’s this? What’s this?” he bellows, glancing towards the archers as another fireball began forming over his palm. “How do you like mine?”

The fireball darted towards the assassins, the tops of weeds suddenly bursting alight in its wake.

---

Jack Mallory

---

The creatures were reeling from the counter-attacks, probably not expecting the fight they got. Mallory fired two shots at a mimic who turned towards him and the Glen he rode, darting past without seeing what happened.

“We need to make a safe passage for the others!” Mallory yelled in the Glen’s ear, narrowly avoiding their antlers.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Ilyana the Half-Human

---

The girls in their blue aprons and scarves were toiling with beating the rugs before they would be laid down for the brightly colored commissary tent. A fair-haired orc girl, pausing to wipe her brow, caught sight of Ilyana heading towards the gates.

“It’s the sailor!” she blurted, nodding towards the half-human. The others pause, marveling at the scars they could see.
“Where do you think he’s been?”
“Where is he going with that?” the red-headed centaur asks, pointing at the buckets.
“He doesn’t know where the water wagon is!” the orc girl squeals, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Oh, I’ll go tell him,” the centaur smirks, darting towards Ilyana while the other serving girls began complaining.

“Hey! Hey, elf!”
Ilyana stops, glancing around wildly until she caught sight of the centaur.
“Uh, me?” she asks, confused.
“Yeah, you!” the centaur laughs. “I’m Hyrilea, what’s your name?”
“Ilyana.”
“Ilyana, that’s a nice name.”
“Is it?” the half-human blinks, confused. “Uh, thanks?”
“You’re welcome! Are you looking for the water wagons?”
“Uh, have they been filled?”
“Oh, yes,” the centaur sighs. “Athulwin had it done, first thing. He doesn’t want any hold-ups should we have to leave suddenly. They’re behind the commissary tent. C’mon, I’ll show you!”

Hyrilea wheels around to face towards the tent, while at the same time giving the other girls a big thumbs up and watching them react.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Ilyana answers, confused, turning to follow the girl. “So uh, did they had to leave suddenly before?”
“So I’ve heard. One of the cooks said that a Dinnin and his two guards started making a fuss when they found that the Wanderer priest was holding services on a Starday. But before it went too far, the cook said the three of them suddenly turned into frogs.”
“Frogs...?”
“Very ugly frogs, he said.”
“Ah, so...?”
“And so they packed up and left before anyone figured out what happened.”
“....Right. Uh, are you sure the cook wasn’t making it up?”

“Make it up?” Hyrilea drawls, flicking her tail suggestively as they walked around the back of the big tent and could see the water and supply wagons.
“Yeah, trying to impress you?”
“Maybe, I dunno. Here we are!” she beams, waving her arms at the nearest water wagon.
“Thank you, you’re too kind,” Ilyana replies, sagging with relief.

“So... do you want to check out the town, later? With me?” Hyrilea asks, ducking her head. Her left leg began pawing at the sand, digging a small divot nervously.

Ilyana frowns, glancing back. Was she flirting with her? No, that couldn’t be it, they weren’t even the same species or sex. There were other centaurs, of course, but most of them looked to be paired up. Hyrilea was probably just bored, not that she blamed her for that. Had to be hard trying to set up a tent when they'd been so long on the road with a town just over there.

“Uh, sure. When do you get off?”
Hyrilea blushes furiously as she glances up at Ilyana, but she was already walking towards the water wagon’s attendant.
“I’m off in an hour, I can meet you at your cart!”
“An hour,” Ilyana nods, waving her left hand and not seeing the centaur dash off.

---

Granny Siri

---

“Better hire some help,” Granny Siri sighs, watching as Pilot the construct struggled with spreading out the canvas. “We don’t need any more frogs.”

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Ilyana the Half-Human

---

"Water," Ilyana mutters, slipping the yoke with the two wooden buckets hanging from it on her shoulders. With a groan as she stands up, the cords just the right length for her to grasp the rope bails. She then turned and began trudging towards the nearest gate.

What was with this heat? And why was there no water out here among the other tents and wagons? Those huge things with the tusks must need a lot of water just to keep cool.

She hoped they weren't going to make her take off her cutlass or her knife once she reached the gate. Somehow she didn't think Athulwin would take it too kindly if she killed the guards.

The sailor paused as a floating head raced past her to catch up with the group in front and suddenly vanishes. She rubs her eyes for a moment, then when the mirage didn't reappear, Ilyana starts trudging again towards the city gate.

"Must be the heat."

---

Granny Siri

Pilot the construct was busy putting out the tent and poles from the dromedary box underneath the wagon, while Siri supervised - or rather, she read from one of the many journals of previous Wanderer clerics while it worked.

"Pilot, listen to this one!" the retired apothecary cackled. "This one is from Faust while he was in that underground bazaar. He's got bars listed here!"

The scarecrow turned, its glowing red eyes blinking for a moment as it listened.

"'The Dead Necromancer's Tavern. This quiet tavern located just off Temple Street in Undertaker's Alley is notorious for the nightlife, people are dyin' to get in. 'Raise Your Spirits' nights on Celesdays offer half-off drinks for terminal illness sufferers.' He's got one star written here."

"'The Common Prayer. On the corner of Temple Street and Dawn Avenue, this humble tavern offers an assortment of gruel, pottage, sour rye bread, and the house ale. Every night is Sermon Night, where you get a lecture while you're eatin' following the cancelation of Exorcism Lundays due to licensin' issues?' They had icensin' issues for exorcisms? Well, this one has two stars! Guess it's a better atmosphere than the Necromancers?"

Pilot shrugs its shoulders.

"'The Vile Elixir Alehouse on Lighthouse Road opposite the Secret Asylum of Time and next door to the Cloister of Doom, favored by wizards, witches and warlocks. Closed Lundays. High marks for the Shepherd's Pie, pulled pork, and their Baked Apple, as well as a fine assortment of cheeses. Specialty drinks, although the Hangman's Doom should be avoided.' My, that sounds interestin'. Got four stars, guess he liked the place."

Siri paused, reading intently, then let out an explosive whoop.

"'The Immoral Demon Bar is a lively place on Phoenix Row where they say you can make a deal for just about anythin'. Notorious for their cursed magical weapons decor and their Dancing Hands review, a spectacular animated display of former customers hands who made the mistake of touching one of the weapons without permission. Remember, you can look,'" she chuckles, "'just don't touch.' Five stars. Must have really liked the hands dancin'!"

Siri glances up and the smile slips from her face. Someone had somehow pinned a small blade to Pilot's chest with a bit of parchment wrapped around the hilt while the scarecrow's eyes blinked rapidly.

"Who did that do you?" Siri demands, glancing around using the magic eyes all around the wagon and her hat band. A bunch including the giant and the bat-boy was heading towards the gates, and she could see that half-elf boy following after them with a pair of buckets on a yoke. Of the messenger, there was no sign.

Slipping warily down from the wagon seat, she crosses over to the scarecrow and pulls the thin throwing blade from its chest, an assassin's throwing blade to be sure, despite the lack of poison. Pity that, some of them gave the most wonderful tingles.

Untying the string, she uncurled the parchment and began reading.

"Greetin's and salutations, Mistress Siri," she scowls. "The Assassin's Guild is in urgent need of your assistance when you arrive in Midnight City. A Sobieck."

She studies the crest for a moment, the hilt of a blade sticking out of a bleeding human skull, then shakes her head.

"What, they couldn't just walk up and hand this to me? What's with all the cloak and dagger?" Siri asks, then winces. "Sorry about that."

Leaning forward, Siri muttering a mending spell as she ran her finger over the slit in Pilot's shirt, the fibers drawing together as if they'd never been cut. "Did you see where they went?"

The construct shook its head silently.

"And just how did they manage that trick?" she scowls, glancing around once more.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

"Get me out of here...!" Mallory yelled, slinging himself up onto the Glen's back. With luck, the server aboard ship was getting all this footage he was streaming, because nobody would believe it if he just told them. Assuming the server was powered up.

This wasn't a random beast attack - this was an intentional attack on Silbermine with the humans caught in the middle.

...Or was it on them? To separate them from their ship, because who would want to go back through that? Your basic divide and conquer.

"EVA! Warn the ship!" he yelled as he clung on for dear life. "Priority Alpha Override! Imminent attack expected! Someone's after the Jo, probably after the Captain's team, too!"

Hopefully the override would flag the AI - assuming it was up.