Role Play > Alice Campaign
Naethra
Ordos:
Tiefling Warlock
Age: 23
Height: 5 ft, 5 inches
Weight: 145 lbs
Languages: Common, Elvish, Infernal, Sylvan
Patron Deity: Seln
Appearance:
Naethra could pass as a willowy human woman at a distance, were it not for her prominent curved horns and long, fleshy tail. She has a slim build, with shoulder-length black hair, soft grey eyes, and fair, human-like skin. She has to cut a hole in every pair of trousers she wears to accommodate the flexible, fleshy tail that sways down behind her feet. Two long horns grow from her forhead, sweeping back over and behind her hair, and over the last few year a second pair have begun to grow just behind the first, curving outward and backward in a pattern that may someday make them ram-like, but for now they’re still rather small. Her finger and toe-nails are shiny and black, and would grow into something resembling claws if she didn’t regularly grind them down. She was born with a forked tongue, and spent many years in her childhood practicing to speak without a lisp or noticeable inflection. Naethra is acutely ashamed of her daemonic heritage, and tries to hide it when she can, or at least chose clothes that don’t emphasize her unusual endowments.
Background:
Naethra never felt comfortable in her skin. She was born to uncertain parents in the fortified city of Ythrilheim, once a bastion of the great Solheim Empire but now largely cut-off, isolated and insular. A small tiefling population had long been tolerated in the city, the more normal looking ones even welcomed by the elves who governed the magical place, but most lived in slums that spiraled out from the main academy and towers.
Naethra tried to fit in, distancing herself from the tieflings in the slums, working hard at odd jobs in the academy and reading everything she could get, eventually becoming a research assistant for a minor wizard. She never did manifest a useful magical skill, but she poured herself into books about the world before, of the lost cities and kingdoms, and she admired the elven students and wizards, envious of their elegance, their beauty, and longevity. It was that wistful envy that led her to the old books on the Feywild, of the possibly mythic progenitors of the elves and their immortal lords.
She had been eking out an unremarkable life, tolerated in the academy if not welcomed anywhere, when some damned fool in the shanty-towns summoned something unspeakable. When the ashes settled, almost six hundred people were dead. The council blamed a tiefling warlock, dabbling in forbidden arts, and overnight Naethra’s life fell apart. She was politely but firmly ejected from the academy, cast onto the city streets where she found herself distrusted by her kin and the city-folk alike. As mobs began moving against the tiefling slums, she decided to take a chance. She signed up with a survey party, scouring the world outside the walls for resources or information. It would be dangerous work, but the city wasn’t safe for her, and she thought she might be able to win back some acceptance if she performed well.
She regretted the decision almost immediately. She couldn’t hide her heritage and could only quietly suffer the scorn and abuse of her comrades. Five nights into her first expedition, the party’s camp was attacked by unwholesome, unnatural beasts. Naethra ran, darting into the wilds, and soon became hopelessly lost. She wandered, alone, for three days, hiding and foraging and using every scrap of miscellaneous knowledge she could recall to survive. Starving and terrified, on the third night she began to plead, quietly babbling half-remembered prayers from her childhood and lines from the fae books she had so adored in Yrathil.
A figure approached her in the gloaming twilight, impossibly elegant, impossibly beautiful, and utterly terrifying. She looked vaguely like an elf, but far greater, far older, and much more primal. Naethra spoke, collapsed on her knees before this figure and begged, and the lady laughed. Naethra has a hard time remembering what happened then… she was kissed on her forhead, the sensation sending shivers down her spine and tail, unlike anything she had ever felt before. It left a lingering spark within, filling her mind with strange knowledge and whispering secrets to her in her dreams. The figure pointed and Naethra walked as beckoned, without knowing why. She found herself in a walled hill-fort, on the borders of a holdfast, amongst people who had never heard of Ythrilheim.
That was a little over two weeks ago. Since then she has been fervently practicing her newfound powers, coming to terms with the magic that has suddenly entered her life. She’s come to realize that she made a pact that night, alone in the forest. She doesn’t know what the terms are, what was owed or what was given. Part of her is terrified by what she has gotten herself into… but her fear is balanced by hope. Maybe, just maybe, if she can impress her patron, perhaps she could leave this ruined world, and live like the ageless elves and fae in their glorious wild realm?
For the moment, though, she needs traveling companions. People she can work with to find someplace safe. She doubts she can ever go back to Ythrilheim, but maybe she could find her way to safety somewhere else while she comes to terms with the pact she’s entered.
Ordos:
Money
62gp
57gp worth in jewelry and odd, portable valuables
21sp
Inventory
Common Clothes (worn trousers, boots, belt, and tunic)
Leather Armor
Spear
Daggers (x2)
Knife
Light Crossbow (and 20 bolts)
Arcane Focus (a crystal orb that fits in the palm of her hand, connected by gossamer silver chains to a bracelet and two rings)
Backpack
Crowbar
Hammer
10 pitons
10 torches
Tinderbox
10 days rations (Currently 9 and one half days remaining)
Waterskin
50ft rope
Ink & Quill
Ordos:
Spells
Cantrips
-Eldritch Blast
-Blade Ward
-Thaumaturgy (racial)
1st Level
-Faerie Fire (pact)
-Hex
-Armor of Agathys
Powers (once per long rest)
-Fey Presence (pact)
Invocations
-Agonizing Blast
(Adds Charisma modifier to damage rolls for Eldritch Blast)
-Eldritch Sight
(Casts Detect Magic on self at will without using a spell slot)
darlingng01:
Tankard Time
GM: The serving girl yelps as a goblin pinches her butt. She hurries to the counter and fills Tankard from the regular tap. The ale rests inside fuzzing softly.. the head billowing up around the rim.. The goblin smiles at the drink that is set down in front of her. She takes a long drink.. her lips on the rim feel like a lovers caress. Tactics spring to mind.. Tactics like using the wider base to ensure that the ale doesn't spill even when the table is shaken..
Naethra the tankard: Of course that was just silly. Her base was circular, and she was weighted so that she would fall or rattle to the center, if not tipped over and forced to disgorge her wonderful, delectable contents. Also; she was a tankard, and incapable of actually shifting her weight. Also, also; she wasn't a tankard, and why the hells was she thinking like a cup? Naethra tried to anchor herself, like using her solid base to stay upright, only for her mind. She wasn't a piece of wood! Well, okay, she was mostly plant now. Entirely plant? It was complicated. But with effort, focusing on the matter at hand... what really struck Naethra was just how small she was. Her entire being could fit between this goblins hands. Her lips felt enormous, warm and soft, caressing so much of her rim...
GM: The goblins hands wrap around the tankard pulling her up to her lips again pleasure surging through the cup as it does what cups are meant to do. It's almost like.. she's been distilled down.. everything taken away but purpose and pleasure in fulfilling it. The lips on her rim are heaven sent..this goblin drinking of her.. some kind of higher being?
Naethra the tankard: Was this what worship felt like? Being so small, so helpless, given glorious significance by something so much greater? Being drunk from... at first it felt like Oric's lips on her womanhood, when she lost control after the dryad. But it was different, so much more... more than just simple pleasure (although, yes, absolutely like, as though her rim had become analogous to her old pussy), but... purpose. No... no! She had to think. Think about things other than the goblin's warmth, her softness, the ebb and slosh of ale within her... think... like about the bar-wench. The goblin pinched her ass. The celestial being drinking from her was an asshole. That... that was a fact worth holding onto.
GM: The tankard is tipped back.. back back.. the contents draining from it.. lips now greedily sucking away as the contends slide away.. then... The goblins gasps licks her lips and slams the tankard down on the table... and a wash of pleasure fires through every tiny foam flecked inch of her..Orgasm was shy of expressing it.. The tankard fulfilled it's purpose to the one it served.. Refreshment.. was .. Delivered...
Naethra the tankard: She felt like cheering. Like howling in pleasure. Like singing and screaming and building a cathedral to this moment and sensation. This felt glorious. Dimly, Naethra tried to take in her surroundings. The table. The goblin. The bitch (the figurative one who'd drunken from her and the literal one who was the reason she was a tankard right now). Every fragment of thought was a battle. She wanted to just bask. Bask in purpose fulfilled. In simplicity. In sheer pleasure... but she remembered being the tree, and shuddered to think of what else she might lose if she did that again. (Figuratively, of course. Tankards can't shudder. Physically she just sat there, feeling the last few droplets fizzle and evaporate, evidently not worth the hassle of trying to collect.) Idly, she wondered what it would feel like to be full of Gwen... but even that thought was a struggle against the sheer, glorious, sublime glow of her purpose fulfilled.
GM: Then a serving girl claims the Tankard and carries it back dropping it into a pile of similar empties next to a pool of sudsy water.. She had done good.. and soon the renewal..
Naethra the tankard: The tankard tried to remember it had a plan. Why did it have a plan? Someone would refill her. Maybe was her first. Was that an important step? Maybe she'd be refilled with ale from the cute new cask! She was so sexy and beautiful as an elf. Which was a very odd thing for a tankard to think. Oh, because she's Naethra! She kept forgetting that... She really hoped that pill didn't require some sort of counter-agent... they'd never find her in this pile. Or in a cupboard. How many other former tieflings might be stocked in this place?
GM: Before long hands grab the tub of Tankards and dump them into the soapy water.. Strong hands grab and run a rag over you cleaning you up.. renewing you.. making you ready for another round. You are set with many of your sister tankards in a row awaiting the bar keep to fill you again.
Naethra the tankard: Clean! And renewed and refreshed and ready! Soon she'd be filled again! And... and maybe... was it getting harder to remember? Her name was Naethra. No last name. She recalled Ythrilheim. There were a few inns, but she didn't frequent them. Did they have tankards? How many used to be people? Did it feel so good for them, too? At least, for the moment, anticipation was easier to think through than use, or the fulfillment after use. How long had passed? She tried to sense, to get a feel for what was happening. Were the goblins still there? How long was she supposed to stay a tankard? And when would someone fill her again?
GM: The tankard is grabbed by the Inn keeper Gavin.. Her hands were strong, rough, but confident.. She is placed under the new kegs tap and slowly the brew inside, the highest quality, starts to fill the tankard it's foam and aroma becoming the all of it's world..
Naethra the tankard: Again! And... was this the new one? What was her name? Why would a cask have a name! Oh, right, because it was her teammate! She flirted with her a few times, but she'd always been to embarrassed or afraid to embrace her... but this! She felt her fluid fill her, pour into her, giving wonderful purpose to her hollow center. She grew heavy with ale, feeling it flow and fizz within her. She wondered if Gwen could feel anything different about this container, or if she was just another Tankard to her now?
GM: A serving girl grabs the Tankard of the good stuff and brings it to the gnoll.. who seems to wiggle in her chair a moment. Then she takes you and breaths in the scent of the ale inside you her lips so close teasing you.. near the edge of doing what you must do.. but trapped their waiting for her lips..
Naethra the tankard: Oh, no... or, oh yes! Or... this is who she was hiding from. This is why she's a tankard. If she can go undetected... or, does not thinking like a tankard tip her off? What does she sense? She likes the brew, though... sheès savoring it. So close. She's so full and ready and eager, and soon her wonderful contents will meet those lips, and she'll serve her purpose and the great drinker will be refreshed! Her lips on her yearning wooden rims... wait a second... she has the head of a wolf. Wouldn't she just lap up the ale? That would still work, though! No contact on her rim, but her tongue would plunge into her, and soon it'd be licking her insides clean, and she'd give the glorious wolf-woman her sacred ale! As long as she doesn't notice...
GM: Her mouth is.. surprisingly flexible as her lips do purse up and take a sip.. she sighs in pleasure as she drinks getting foam on her nose.. Then.. she stops and sniffs.. sniffs at you.. You can almost feel the warm air against your very thoughts.. trying to find anything out of place!
Naethra the tankard: Think tankardy thoughts! Tankardy thoughts! Oh, gods this feels amazing! Fear and joy filled Naethra, even as the amber ale she was actually filled with emptied her. She felt so helpless. Utterly inanimate, entirely within her enemy's hands... she'd happily worship those if she wasn't careful. But now she was sniffing... for what? Did she like the brew? Could she taste something off in the ale that came from a sexy elf bard? Could she smell her through the wood and suds? She tried to think Tankardy thoughts, to enjoy the sensation of lips on her rim, the warmth of her nose within her round hollow, the sublime joy of purpose, having delivered refreshment to her colossal, glorious master. Tankard was so happy, welcoming that almost erotic haze, that warm glory of purpose fulfilled.
GM: She takes another long drink then runs her fingers around the rim.. "hmmm...You wouldn't happen to know where those adventurers are would you?" Was she speaking to you.. was she speaking to someone across the table you couldn't even comprehend being so utterly helpless in the gnolls hands.. all she had to do was drop you in a bag.. Could she be on to you.. could you still have a chance?
Naethra the tankard: The tankard felt content in its users hands... claws... the tankard... was suddenly having real trouble thinking of herself as the tankard. The euphoric haze wasn't holding up so well this time, what with the very scary (and so much bigger than her) gnoll-queen holding her. Running her finger along her rim, teasing her... did she tease every object she used, just on the off-chance it used to be a person? The tankard was certain they'd enjoy it... not that there was much else she or they could do. Just... be. Just be small and practical and entirely at the mercy of those animate enough to use her.
GM: She takes another long drink seemingly distracted by something under her.. Another swallow.. and empty! The tankard is set down once more having done it's duty.
Naethra the tankard: Oh, thank the gods! Or her fae patron. Or the Lady of Excess. Really, whatever entity happened to be listening to the thoughts of a tankard. Now, without that prospect looming over her, the peaceful pleasure of purpose served and renewal overcame her. Soon she'd be washed and refilled! And then some new owner would lift her up in their powerful hands, caressing her, holding her diminished, practical form as she received sacrament from their lips, her precious cargo flowing, her sacred duty fulfilled.... at least until she turned back. She hoped.
GM: As she predicted she is picked up.. carried to the tub.. and washed.. the bar maid using a pink cloth to get her clean then placed once again along side her sisters.
Naethra the tankard: Clean! Rubbed down, her yearning rim wiped and ready, and placed alongside others like her, just like her. No one would be able to tell one form the other by sight. Were any others thinking these thoughts? Did she know someone who turned into pink rags? Did the wizard even become an object? Maybe she should have tried to pass... there didn't seem to be an alarm going up, so no one had been detected... or if they had, then they had just been quietly pocketed. And, then again, the wizard didn't get to feel what being filled, drunk and then wiped off with a team-mate felt like...
GM: The tankard is pushed slowly down the line as the others are filled and passed out.. it seems the goblin army likes to drink.. then just as the tankard is reached for.. it's held and set back down.. "Thanks the gods.. they are out of our hair for now... " The tankard sits.. ready.. next to so many others.. as the people inside.. start to clean.
Naethra the tankard: Finally! That had been one of the most intense experiences of the tankard's life! Err... of Naethra's. Drat, she hadn't been able to pick up anything useful. It would have been a great opportunity to eavesdrop if she hadn't been so preoccupied with being filled... glorious, refreshing, wondrous ale fizzling within her, soft lips caressing her sensitive rim, the sublime communion of flow and purpose.... no, no that was over. And soon they'd reverse the effect! Err... unless it reverses on its own. And, come to think of it, it had better reverse on its own, because she was pretty certain they had no idea where she was. Gavin didn't even see her change, and it was one of the goblins who picked her up. So, there was probably a time limit. One that'd be expiring any minute now. Aaaany minute now. Surely, they kept track of how many tankards they had. Right?
GM: Hours pass... then the goblins start to return.. and you are fetched.. filled.. and handed to a green skinned patron who starts to drink from you again.. All of those feelings rushing back.. with the dinner rush.. drank.. drank.. and slammed once more empty on the table.
Naethra the tankard: Ah, this was clever. Keep her inanimate for when they inevitably double-backed! That made sense, and it was a sensible and not horrifying explanation for why she was still a drinking-mug after what must have been hours. Certainly they hadn't forgotten her, she mused in her brief windows of introspection between worshipful service and euphoric afterglow. Certainly this was part of the plan, and not how they get new odds and ends around here. Certainly, she was supposed to have been used to serve nine pints to seven different goblins over the course of an afternoon and evening. Certainly it couldn't be any longer than that... right?
GM: Eventually.. the sun starts to descend..the light filters orange as dishes are piled up on a table next to that comfortable padded chair. You are lucky to be being pulled out of the water.. set down next to at least 15 of your twins. Gavin walks over and sinks into the chair, "Gods.. I hope they enjoyed their boring day in the stock room.."
Naethra the tankard: Oh, finally! How long had it been? Things got awfully blurry for a while there... she sort of phased out in the water. That can't be a good way to treat wooden vessels. But it was over! It... it had to be! She'd been a tankard for what felt like ages, served twelve total pints (gods could those green girls drink), and been washed by dunk, rag, and skirt-hem. She recognized the chair as Oric, but... why were there so many other tankards? Did he just not know which one she was? Hopefully she had a way of figuring it out. Being a tankard was fun (at least when it wasn't horrifying), but this would be a really good time to be a person again. Or a plant... damn, she needed to get that figured out... but she needed to not be a cup first...
GM: Gavin groans and looks to one of her bar maids, "Go to the back.. get the pile of stuff in the back corner behind the bottle rack.. They were smart adventurers.. They'll have hid in the back then taken the disguise.. I'm not sure what it will be but it will be in the back, they were clearly smart enough to not change right in front of the door." Gavin seems to relax quite pleasantly in the chair..her plump rear sinking into the cushion.
Naethra the tankard: What? Oh... wait, where did they change? She was by a wall, wasn't she? Or was there another door? She... she had to figure it out. There wouldn't be a pile of stuff... or would there? If she could reverse even one person... well, that person could probably point out the rest! And... well, she couldn't see Gywn, and Gavin was sitting on Oric, apparently oblivious of the dwarf's change... then why was Tankard, err... Naethra, why was she here? Along with fifteen or so of her sisters?
GM: Gwyn was behind the counter tapped and still ready to go.. a dirty pink wash rag sat in a bucket under the counter.. The mage had fallen out of the window... and Red.. she'd sat down in the wardrobe last the tankard saw.. slowly turning red and clothey... Rather like one of the bar maids panties that have been flashed several times.. The bar maid comes back, "Nothing out of the ordinary.."
Gavin blinks, "What?.. Look again... that formula gets unstable after 12 hours.. without the counter agent... it might not wear off at all.."
Naethra the tankard: Oh... shit. Shit! Naethra tried to recall all the details about the pills, her companions, the... afternoon? Night? How long had it been? Okay... Gavin said there was a chance of it still wearing off. A chance. Not something she should wager on and, from the sound of it, not something Gavin wanted to wager on either. So... could she break the enchantment? How the hells could she do that? She tried to think of the most un-tankardy thoughts she could. Of reading a book. Of tapping magic. Of feeling the sun on her green hair... She tried to move, to fidget, to flex muscles she hadn't in gods know how many hours. What had happened to her clothes? She didn't drop her focus, so was it with her? Part of herself as a tankard? She tried to cast a spell. She knew a defensive cantrip, it should be noticeable. She tried to reach for the magic, to touch the font of fae power. To do anything.
GM: but in the end under the effect of the voluntarily taken alchemical compound... She was able to tap all of the powers of a tankard.. resting with her fellows.. ready for the round of drinking eager to feel the lips upon her.
Naethra the tankard: Okay... moving didn't work. Casting didn't work. Screaming didn't work. The good thing, she supposed, was that without a heart her panic was much less visceral. She tried to go over her options. The first one was, well, be a tankard. It... probably wasn't the worst think that could have happened to her here. It certainly felt nice, at times... well, most of the time. And she wouldn't have to actually do anything because, of course, she'd be a tankard. Maybe Gavin would eventually realize that she had one more in her stock than she should, but she wouldn't know which one, and it'd be too late by then. Her second option was to just hope. Hope that either the serum corrected itself and she turned back, or that that happened to one of the others. It.... was practically a lot like giving up, just without the willful abandonment of being a person.
Ordos:
Naethra 2.0
Bigger! Stronger! Sexier! Now a sorceress!
(I've uploaded a new character sheet to this post. I'll make things prettier tomorrow.)
Metamagic (Four Sorcery Points)
Empowered Spell
Quickened Spell
Heals 2 hp each time a sorcery point is used
Cantrips (4)
Firebolt (1d10 fire damage, ranged spell attack (d20 + charisma modifier + prof bonus))
Poison Spray (1d12 poison damage, target succeeds against a con saving throw)
Mage Hand (also a nifty little thing)
Friends (Advantage on charisma checks against a target, but the target realizes they were enchanted afterwards)
Level One Spells (3 spells known, 4 spell slots)
Chromatic Orb (ranged spell attack (d20 + 5, see above), plus for 3d8 damage of my choice, plus 1d8 damage for every spell slot above 1 I use to cast it… so 4d8 if I use a 2nd level slot, etc.)
Shield (reaction upon being hit by an attack or the magic missile spell: adds 5 AC against the triggering attack and lasting until the start of my next turn.)
Disguise Self (So she doesn't have to be turned into a ring again)
Level Two Spells (2 spells known, 3 spell slots)
Mirror Image (creates 3 images, if all three are up, attacks/actions against me are absorbed by an image on a d20 roll of 6 or higher. The roll becomes an 8 or higher for 2 and a 11 or higher for just one.)
Blind (single target makes a con saving throw or is blinded/deafened upon failure. Can make another con throw each turn to regain sight/hearing)
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