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Messages - SunrypeSlim

#1
I'm leaving due to bullying from Abala. Anyone with self-respect should consider the same. Is this how you want to spend the days you have left?
#2
Resolve
by H. Jeebies


In the depths of the city, where the grime and filth collected, a solitary figure emerged - the Worm Hunter. With steadfast determination, he ventured into the treacherous gutters, his eyes scanning the murky alleys for any sign of movement. Armed with nimble fingers and an unwavering purpose, he embarked on a relentless pursuit of the elusive worms that infested the streets. His mission was clear - to restore cleanliness and reclaim forgotten corners from the clutches of these vile creatures.

Amidst the squalor and decay, the Worm Hunter couldn't help but be consumed by thoughts of his son. The image of his young boy's face, bright with innocence and admiration, flickered through his mind. His son, his beacon of joy and hope, brought meaning to his otherwise arduous existence. It was the thought of providing a better life for his child that fueled his resolve, driving him forward in his tireless quest.

Yet, despite the undeniable love he held for his son, a nagging sense of shame gnawed at the edges of the Worm Hunter's conscience. Society had deemed his chosen occupation unworthy and menial. He was acutely aware of the disdain that surrounded his job, painting it with an aura of dirt and lowliness. The weight of societal judgment burdened him, casting shadows on the pride he harbored for his ability to provide for his family.

But deep within the Worm Hunter's heart, a flicker of defiance burned. He knew the value of his work, no matter how unappreciated it might be by others. It was through his unconventional job that he put food on the table and kept a roof over their heads. He took pride in his ability to ensure his family's survival, understanding that his labor, despised as it may be, was a testament to his love and responsibility as a father.

One fateful day, as the Worm Hunter navigated the labyrinthine alleys, a shudder rippled through the very foundations of the city. The ground beneath him trembled, and with a sickening lurch, a sinkhole materialized beneath his feet. In an instant, the earth opened up, swallowing the unsuspecting Hunter into its gaping maw. Darkness consumed him as he plummeted into the abyss, his desperate cries echoing in the void.

Within the belly of the sinkhole, the Worm Hunter found himself surrounded by an eerie symphony of unsettling sounds. Dark, wet, and sloshing noises permeated the air, playing on his senses like a haunting melody. Panic welled up within him as he realized the perilous nature of his predicament. Trapped in this forsaken abyss, he called out for help, his voice reverberating through the blackness, desperate for a lifeline.

Time stretched on, seeming to defy all measure, as the Worm Hunter waited for salvation. Doubt crept into his heart, whispering the possibility of being forgotten, left to wither away in this desolate chasm. The fear of a lonely demise gnawed at his spirit, threatening to extinguish the flickering flame of hope that had kept him alive.

But just as despair threatened to consume him entirely, a glimmer of hope emerged from the shadows. Echoes of voices and the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears, piercing through the suffocating darkness. Help had arrived. A beam of light broke through the gloom, illuminating the abyss and infusing the Worm Hunter's heart with renewed anticipation.

Rescue workers descended into the sinkhole, their determined faces framed by the glow of their Minor Nuisance pins. Their presence brought a surge of optimism, a tangible lifeline amidst the darkness. With their expertise and unwavering resolve, they were there to extricate the Worm Hunter from his subterranean nightmare.

As the rescuers shone their lights into the depths, their faces contorted with horror. The sinkhole, once believed to be infested with worms, revealed a far more sinister truth. It oozed with a repulsive, corrosive substance that devoured anything it touched. The rescuers recoiled, realizing the unimaginable danger that lurked beneath the city's surface.

It was too late for the Worm Hunter. His body, already halfway dissolved by the malevolent ooze, bore witness to the harrowing fate he had unwittingly stumbled upon. The rescuers could only look on with heavy hearts, their arrival coming too late to save the brave soul who had dared to confront the darkness. In that tragic moment, the Worm Hunter's sacrifice became etched in the annals of both heroism and caution, forever remembered as a testament to the perils that lie hidden beneath the city streets.
#3
She Marches With Melek
by H. Jeebies


Jobrim searched his pack for the third time in a minute, his hands fidgeting from the excitement coursing through his veins. Far above on the hillside, it would be impossible to hear the clank of potions and sundry from his preparations. Peony kept watch over the hordes below, her crossbow trained on one in particular; a Melek mage, by the look of it, festooned with baubles and icons of long dead gods. It was a fitting decoration for the deathless childe of darkness that now babbled its foul magicks through stolen, swollen lips. Kendra, for her part, remained unperturbed by the horde, its size, its fell art, or even its shambling moans. Her confidence had been infectious at the outset, with the small party gathered in like-mind to tackle work from the job board, but that hadn't lasted. By the time they had reached the auld broken roads, the air had grown fetid and toxic, grey mists settling in the valley they had set their sights on. Even the residual heat of the day turned to a chill and sobering wind by the time they arrived.

The trio, not long in each others' company, had nonetheless worked the job before and knew what to expect. They approached with caution, using Peony's keen elven senses to spot the shamblers from far off. They picked a spot from which to view their quarry and set camp, even as the miasma of the unhallowed graves wafted downwind towards them. Jobrim had the first doubts, though he didn't share them; the youngest of the three, his willingness to prove himself overrode the burgeoning fear within him. It wasn't until Peony had loaded a bolt and began to stand watch that he realized that fear might have a purpose. With that, he'd gone into an obsessive checking and rechecking of his pack, desperate to memorize its layout so he would not slip up in that vital moment to come.

Soon, it was time to depart; the preparations were done, and to Jobrim's mind, no more excuses to give in to the paralysis of fear. He rose to the fore, his steel fresh from the forge, and marched down the hill to engage the hordes. Kendra, at his flank, brought her staff to bear, its tips glowing with unearthly light from above; Jobrim was reminded for a moment of the inspirational quality the woman had shown before, and his resolve strengthened. Peony strode in her slim, silent manner behind the two, touching them gently with the magics that enhanced their natural talents, before falling back into a safer position.

One, then another, then countless heads turned on pocked, rotting necks, their joints creaking, their moans growing louder as they caught the scent of food in the air. As their weary march wheeled around to face the shaded hillside, a glint of light on steel slashed through the air quick as the wind, cleaving a long-dead head from sagging shoulders.

With a cry, Jobrim pushed forward into the next of the horde, his measured strikes proving his mettle. Kendra stepped out from behind him in an unpredictable charge, flanking the early arrivals with rapid blunt strikes; sparks of starlight shone out with each heavy blow, leaving the fallen revenants sizzling on the ground. Peony fired shot after shot over their heads; her magic had mostly been spent at the outset, and but for a few powerful spells for emergencies, her contribution was limited to this. Yet as Jobrim finally took a hit, his armor failing to hold back the sharp, sickly claws of a deadly ghuul, Peony was ready to react with blessed waters.

But as valorous as they were, the trio could not slay the horde fast enough to avoid getting surrounded. Pressed back to the hillside, they were forced to ascend backwards, swiping beneath them as they retook the high ground. Jobrim, for all his earlier terror, had reached a state of epiphany in the fray, and moved without hesitation to carve fouled flesh from bone. Yet as the cry rang out, one all too human, he whirled around to see an animated harpy had descended from above and caught Peony with its gnashing teeth. Jobrim did not falter, and charged the creature with his shield raised, knocking the both of them to the ground, but Peony cried again as flesh was ripped out from her shoulder. She fell in shock from the pain with Kendra standing over her, face as stone, stance almost matronly in its certainty and dedication to protect the fallen mage.

As Jobrim planted a hand to the ground and tried to push himself back up, he was struck down by a burst of red withering light. He could feel his strength sapped, but his will remained strong, and he rose once more. His steel struck true into the chest of a charging ghuul, and he wheeled the creature around to knock down the others that had begun to harry Kendra's flank. Together, the two held the line as Peony applied healing salves to her wound.

Before long, their muscles began to burn from the exertion, their skin itching and bleeding from the plagues of the undead onslaught. Peony, from the ground, wove wards of arcane majesty that managed to deflect the bursts of foul light, but the ground was littered with the corpses of the slain and there was no end in sight, save one.

When it happened, it happened fast; one moment, Jobrim stood proudly at the forefront of the battle, the strength of steel writ on his expression; in the next, his sword fell from his hands as he screamed, reaching up to his face and with a voice of abject, absolute terror, he screamed a scream to rival the dead themselves in torment. Wisps of white smoke evaporated away from his face, leaving an impression of a phantom before fading into nothing, but Jobrim stood no more. His face lay frozen in that same expression, the one he'd fought so hard to keep hidden, before being buried beneath the stomping feet of further foul monsters.

Kendra's own magics began to fade from her staff, and as the light went out and the horde descended upon her, that confidence shattered just as fast as Jobrim's mind before the phantom. She held back the horde of ghuuls for but a moment as her free hand grasped a delicate orange vial and, crushing it, she poured the liquid with bits of glass into her desperate mouth, swallowing hard. In an instant her form evaporated, and the mindless hordes saw her no longer, though there she still remained, standing over Peony, who looked up into where those inspiring eyes had once been. Before she was overcome by the horde who, by this time, had scented out the elf from the dead, she could swear she heard the voice of her once companion apologizing, before all fell to silence.

In Kendra's ear she could hear the shambling feet of ghuuls, racing aimlessly but for the scent of her blood and fear. She could hear the heavy beating of her heart, racing just as fast but towards one certain aim, one Kendra knew with absolute confidence she would achieve. Atop the hillside shone the last rays of daylight, a thin narrow horizon stretching out, to Kendra's mind, to infinity. Her feet dug deep into the loose rocks of the hillside, scattering them down behind her as she climbed higher and higher, farther from the fallen, farther from her fellows who had trusted her so well. Shame rose up in her, doubt -- and in that moment, Kendra's fate was sealed with one final spell.

A rotting Melek shaman, its reptilian visage clothed behind ancient wraps, rune-inscribed and cracking with wear, rose up from amongst the horde and held Kendra in its grasp from afar, before turning her about at its wordless command, hollow sockets staring balefully into the woman's glazed eyes, before with a closing of its hand, It commanded them close forever.

It is said that one hot afternoon in Maribeh, a small party of three departed from Ephia's Well to an unhallowed mass grave west of the city. None of the three were ever heard from again. But those who knew her speak sometimes of Kendra, the once-faithful, once-true knight who, on the coldest of nights, in the shadow of the valleys, can be seen among the dead, walking with purpose and the surest of confidence in her new fell masters. Now, they say, she marches with Melek.

[Inquire of Mr. H. Jeebies by correspondence at the Krak Des Roses.]
#4
With my previous journal discarded in haste upon the startling revelation of its fell powers, I now continue my thoughts and observations in this book. Rest assured, you have not been lost to the wastes, never to fulfill your purpose. I am here to fill you with inanity that knows no limits, save those of your page count.

Shall we?

That I very nearly met the same legal fate as the ill-fated Velen Volandis is nothing short of mortifying. I find myself now with the idle time necessary to properly dwell and obsess on this meaty package of self-doubt. It was a matter of minutes or hours that kept me from sharing in the lions' feast. In truth, the degree to which these folks have come to fear the Djinn is staggering and I'm not sure I understand it fully.

Ultimately, it is up to me to conform to the norms and understand their reasoning. I'm not a revolutionary, although now that I think of it, where are the revolutionaries?
#5
This is my overdue apology for having a public breakdown and offending a lot of my friends and/or cowriters here.

I've put it here with my "I'm Back" post so as to not make a scene about it.

Some of you more than others are owed a personal apology, and I'll hear anyone out who wants to make their feelings heard, in PMs.

I know "let's move past it" is a pretty selfish position for the offender to take, but I think it's the best approach here.

Sorry for being me. More specifically: I'm sorry for being ableist, obnoxious, and egotistical. I'm sorry for spoiling the fun and betraying confidences.
#6
Skink and Dunekit were the absolute best of friends in the wide wild wastes. They had trekked together through unfathomable leagues of dune and debris. They had combed the deepest crevices and climbed the highest of sunny rocks. Everyone from the oasis knew them as adventurers supreme. But one day, a letter arrived with a very different sort of mission attached.

"Magistrate duty?!" they exclaimed, reading in parallel the letter that Hooth the Postowl had delivered.

"Why, first of all, neither of us are eligible to vote in Lily's Basin," continued Skink, his wild unkempt hair frizzing in a panic, "Nevermind the fact we're both wanted for brooking!"

"Which, I insist, is a false charge," added Dunekit, sitting tensely on the basking stone with his paw on the letter. "We've not seen Zara since the day all those squirrels came back to life. We certainly didn't eat any of them and if we did I'D LIKE TO SEE THE EVIDENCE."

Hooth, who'd remained nearby in case the pair had questions, as they often did, stretched his long rainbow wings and gasped. "Okay, so like, are you going to do it?"

"We can't go, or we'll be arrested. It's obviously a trap." Dunekit dug his claws into the letter, imagining his father's portrait on its face.

Skink, however, was less concerned with consequences. "I kind of want to see what happens. It says here: we're supposed to oversee the trial of two entomologists, each claiming they've discovered a new type of beetle. If it is a trap, Dunekit, then it's a cunningly-devised one."

"Hooey!" vented the perturbed postowl, "You're both, like, not going 'cause, like, you're both, like, Cosmic Chickens, and you're too scared to face up to the truth."

That did it: the pair had a fragile sense of self-image that couldn't stand the challenge to their bravery. Skink and Dunekit looked at each other, nodded, and resolved to go and face the summons to serve as Magistrates-for-the-day.

The pair set out from the basking stone before setting in to a leisurely pace across the dunes. Along the way, Skink tried talking with the bugs he found instead of eating them right away, discovering that most of them had keen legal insights from their years as articling students. Dunekit, meanwhile, was grateful for the break in the pair's dynamic of always bouncing every thought off each other and enjoyed the relative silence.

By the afternoon, Skink and Dunekit arrived at the oasis called Lily's Basin, a crescent-shaped sliver of silvery water glistening in the sunlight, pushed up from an underground spring. Their they took in a drink before asking directions to the Magistratium where the trial would be held.

Skink was the first to notice on arrival just how big a crowd was gathered outside. "Wow Dunekit, you'd think finding a new beetle would be some really big deal around here!"

Dunekit began to reply, but Skink's voice had drawn the crowd's attention. They turned, revealing torches, pitchforks, and expository signs calling for the pair's imprisonment.

"Oh shit, it was a trap after all!" yelled Dunekit, shortly before a net was thrown over the both of them. They were cast into a deep dungeon in a flurry of a hurry, leaving their heads spinning from the suddenness of it all. Eventually, after some hours had passed, they looked at each other, ready to accept their fates and discuss it frankly.

"Hooth set us up; that rainbow son of a bitch." Dunekit growled with impotent fury and dragged one razor-sharp claw across the uneven brick floor. "I'm going to pull his eyeballs out through his as-"

Skink interrupted, "We can't know that for sure! Hooth is our friend, and he may have goaded us into showing up here, but it's our own fault for choosing to have fun. The law matters."

"The law does matter," agreed Dunekit. "We were fools not to see our culpability in these crimes. Those squirrels would still be dead if we hadn't let Zara out of the cave."

All of a sudden, the creaky metal door of the dungeon cell swung open, revealing the silhouette of a massive man. "It's time," he uttered, before stepping back and gesturing out into the hall.

And so, Skink and Dunekit were summarily executed, not for brooking with dark forces (which only they knew about), but because they were intellectually and culturally devoid of any value to anyone. Who did I even write this for?


The End
#7
In the heart of the desert, amidst towering sand dunes, the notorious outlaws Skink and Dunecat found themselves embarking on an intellectual journey. They assumed the roles of esteemed lecturers in the prestigious University of Colors, and readied to engage in the most spirited debate of the century.

Skink, perched atop a rock, adjusted their tiny spectacles and began with a mischievous grin. "Greetings, fellow scholars! Today, we shall delve into the profound realm of colors and their impact on our perception of the world. As an adventurous skink with a zest for life, I must express my undying affection for the mesmerizing shade of emerald green!"

Skink's tail wagged with excitement, resembling a miniature green flag fluttering in the wind.

Dunecat, with an air of scholarly poise, gracefully walked to the front of the "lecture hall," tail swaying gently behind. "Salutations, my esteemed colleagues and curious minds! While I appreciate Skink's adoration for the vibrant emerald green, I find solace in the soothing embrace of azure blue."

Dunecat's whiskers twitched as they spoke, adding an air of thoughtful contemplation to their presence.

With lively banter and a touch of wit, Skink and Dunecat engaged in a spirited dialogue, presenting their arguments with enthusiasm and intellectual fervor.

Skink, leaping from rock to rock, exclaimed, "Ah, but dear Dunecat, green is the color of life and vitality! It symbolizes growth, harmony, and the very essence of nature itself. Imagine the lush green foliage and the joy it brings to our desert home."

Dunecat, reclining in a sunbeam, countered with a calm yet determined voice. "Indeed, Skink, green has its merits. However, azure blue represents tranquility, serenity, and the vast expanse of the sky. It invites us to dream, to ponder the mysteries of the universe, and to find solace in its cool embrace."

Skink's scales shimmered with excitement, ready to present a counterargument. "But Dunecat, think of the verdant oasis and the respite it offers to creatures weary from the scorching sun. The vibrant green of life's tapestry holds the promise of abundance and rejuvenation."

Dunecat's eyes narrowed playfully. "Ah, my dear Skink, while the oasis may be a delightful sight, let us not forget the tranquil blue of a peaceful night sky, adorned with twinkling stars. It invites us to reflect upon the vastness of the universe and our place within it."

As their debate continued, the sun began its descent behind the dunes, casting a purple glow over the desert sky. Skink and Dunecat, engrossed in their discussion, found themselves meandering through the shifting sands, their voices echoing in the twilight.
#8
The Adventures of Skink and Dunekit

Once upon a time, in a vast desert wasteland, there lived two unlikely friends named Skink and Dunekit. Skink, the tiny and adventurous skink, scurried across the sandy dunes, his curiosity leading him to new discoveries, his ebon locks flowing in the breeze. Dunekit, the playful dunecat with a blunt personality, trotted alongside Skink, always ready to join in the day's adventure, but often just too good for it if you know what I mean.

One sunny day, as Skink and Dunekit met at their favorite basking spot atop a sun-kissed dune, Skink looked up at the sky, flicked a tiny hand through his rich black mane, and exclaimed, "Dunekit, look at the endless possibilities that lie before us! I wonder what mysteries this wasteland holds."

Dunekit stretched lazily and replied, "Mysteries? Ha! All I see are endless sand dunes and scorching heat. But if you're up for it, let's see what trouble we can find today." With that, he discarded the eaten corpse of another skink nearly indistinguishable from his friend and the two set off.

After briefly setting on again when Skink forgot his sandals, they set off again on their exploration, Skink noticed a group of colorful birdos fluttering above. Skink's eyes widened with excitement, "Dunekit, look at those birds! I wonder what stories they could tell us."

Dunekit scoffed, "Stories? They probably just squawk about their next meal. But let's see if they know any shortcuts through these dunes."

Skink approached the birdos and chirped cheerfully, "Hello, beautiful birds! Have you traveled far? We're in search of adventure and knowledge."

One of the birdos, a flamboyantly-appointed rainbow owl named Hooth, hooted with a mewling passion and replied, "Indeed, little Skink. We've seen many wonders in our travels. If you wish to find answers, seek the ancient ruins hidden deep within the desert. But beware, for strange beings are drawn to those sites."
Excitement filled Skink's tiny body as they relayed the owl's message to Dunekit. "Did you hear that, Dunekit? Ancient ruins and strange beings! Let's go and uncover their secrets!"

Dunekit narrowed his eyes and said cautiously, "Skink, I smell danger. But if you're determined, I won't let you face it alone. Just promise me you'll stay close; you're barely a morsel for the threats we'll face."

Skink grinned, "Of course, Dunekit! We'll face this together, like true friends always do. I'll enchant your steel, enhance your strength, enflame your tail, and ward you against, just, everyone. All of it."

And so, Skink and Dunekit ventured deeper into the desert wasteland, encountering treacherous sandstorms and scorching heat along the way. Spurred on as they were by the fiery passion of finding something to do, finally, they reached the ancient ruins, where eerie whispers echoed through the air.

Skink shivered, "Dunekit, do you feel that? Something's not right here."

Dunekit's ears twitched as he sniffed the air, "You're right for once, Skink. There's a peculiar energy in the air. Let's proceed with caution."

Skink bobbed his little lizard head in agreement. "Okay; we'll rest here and I'll put the spells on you again. Do you have oil?" But it had only been twenty minutes, so their rest was a fitful and restless affair that was more like a chore than a proper break from action.

As they explored the ruins, they stumbled upon an ancient lizardfolk named Zara, who had been trapped within the ruins for centuries. Her mummified remains were soiled with centuries of fell sorcery and sanitary neglect. Zara's voice quivered as she spoke, "Brave travelers, please help me escape this eternal prison. I can guide you through the treacherous paths."

Skink's heart filled with compassion, "We'll help you, Zara. Dunekit, what do you think?"

Dunekit's eyes narrowed, but he nodded, "Fine, but if you try anything funny, you'll regret it."

With Zara's guidance, Skink and Dunekit navigated through narrow passages, avoiding hidden traps and escaping ancient curses. Along the way, Skink saw things he had never seen before: mighty obelisks, ancient runic scripts, defaced paintings of once noble figures, all relics of an age long since passed. Zara proved to be an invaluable ally, sharing her wisdom and ancient knowledge.

In the end, as they emerged from the ruins, free from their ancient confines, Skink turned to Zara, gratitude in their eyes, a song in their heart, and dusty black tresses bobbing in the faint breeze, "Thank you, Zara. We couldn't have done it without you."

Zara smiled warmly, "And thank you both, Skink and Dunekit, for your courage and friendship. Remember, strength comes in all states of living, and true friends can conquer any challenge."

Skink and Dunekit nodded in agreement, before realizing they didn't understand what Zara said. Dunecat had certainly learned the value of being big or small isn't measured by physical size but by the size of one's heart, but then he'd learned that every week or so. Skink had discovered a fondness for relief carvings but otherwise remained unchanged as a person. And neither of them could fathom the complex moral quandries of intelligent necromancy, or the disconcerting legal liabilities which stem from their newfound friendship.

Their hearts filled with joy and newfound wisdom, Skink, Dunekit, and Zara ventured forth, ready to face whatever wonders and challenges the desert wasteland had in store for them. Together, they would continue to explore, learn, and make new friends, cherishing the values of bravery, compassion, and the power of undeath.

And so, their journey through the desert wasteland continued, reminding them and young readers alike that no matter how big or small, each individual has unique qualities to offer, and that you should not trust any skink with black hair.

THE END
#9
It seems like cooking on a campfire doesn't take into account the new Cooking skill ranks.

9 ranks - 1 (WIS) = +8 modifier

But instead, cooking on a campfire gives a -1 modifier total.
#10
Suggestions / Re: Perk Suggestion Thread
February 02, 2022, 09:30:30 AM
1/day Ooze Ioun Stone for Ooze Savant, instead of Crumble?
#11
They use metal weapons; just specific metal weapons.
#12
I absolutely agree. Monks too.
#13
Quote from: Diabl0658 on January 13, 2022, 08:47:34 PM
(say they cast a hold person and then a hasted ogre bandit runs over and kills the victim in a single round)?

I'd lol.
#14
No.  :)
#15
Suggestions / Re: Allow Rod Crafting
January 10, 2022, 01:56:50 AM
I don't see Barbarians with dispel rods as a bad thing any more than Divine Power rods in the hands of mages.

I'd respectfully argue that the complete inability of non-caster classes to access certain spells like Dispel creates an artificial difficulty that favours caster PCs.

The means to subvert this, as they exist already IG, are not equally accessible to all players based on skill level, activity, and game knowledge.

I do believe that there's precedent in pen and paper D&D, as well as items dropped in EfU, to put arcane/divine spells in the hands of non-casters.

The balance of EfU is a bone, already broken, that has set in an uncomfortable way. It needs to be rebroken in order to achieve a healthier and more comfortable outcome for the whole body.

The simplest, most ethical way to do that is to put more power in the hands of players and then dial it back to a reasonable level. If that leads to barbarian dispellism then so be it.