I was about to type up this whole thing about wanting to know what everyone’s weapons are in the bureau but I typed “i wonder what johanns strife specibus is” and I decided that post did not need to see the light of day.
so i’ve decided that my personal fun project for the next however long is going to be a little comic recording my party’s (link to drawing of them all) D&D campaign
i figure it’ll be a low-pressure and relatively painless way for me to re-introduce myself to drawing sequential art? i’ll definitely enjoy doing it for myself and as a thank-you for my DM, and I hope it’ll be somewhat entertaining to you guys too ;o;
here’s a preview panel, i’m gonna post the first “page” later tonight. the art is kind of lookin’ like this for now but is liable to change.. i kind of want to try some pencil/pen and ink wash as well, sometime
really don’t understand the thing where people assume that any and all depictions of female suffering are probably because the author enjoys watching people suffer or doesn’t care about their female characters, given that when I identify with a female character I have to make a special effort not to, like, have someone cut her tongue out or something just so she can be Badass and Persevere and I can Vicariously Persevere through her
Usually, one thinks of the opposite or natural foe of a Necromancer as being some sort of white mage or cleric (or sometimes paladin).
But what if the natural enemy of the Necromancer is the Bard?
In combat there’s no contest, but the secret of bards is they weave the big magic, they weave the story-magic and the song-spell. And when a dwarven mine collapses or a dragon scours a city or the Edmund Fitzgerald wrecks in a storm there’s a bard there to weave a mournful folk-song about the event.
The bard’s song or tale memorializes the lost but it also binds the event into a tale, the wild chaos of life and death tamed by the structure of narrative and verse. All sealed with an ending and reinforced by the retelling.
And when the Necromancer pulls forth his scepter of bone and calls to the souls of the lost to rise in his service, he receives no answer. The dead do not rise because that’s not how the story ends. Too many people have heard it. Too many voices have sung it. The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
DM: “What’s your AC, [bard]?” Bard: “Uh, I’m not sure.” DM: “Well, what armor are you wearing?” Bard: “Barding armor… duh.” Most everyone else: “…. barding armor?” Bard: “Yeah. Armor just for bards? I guess it has musical stuff?” DM: “Barding armor is… for horses. You’re wearing horse armor.” Other bard: “WHAT? I’m wearing that too!”