turkishronin
Arcane
Swen should play Postal 2 for more ideas about interactivity
Anybody knows what race is this guy? It seems to be first, faint thread of the story that will carry over to "Descent to Avernus" and "Tides Infernal".
He's too short for that - just slightly taller than Minsc.
Does this mean I’ll be able to make a build around throwing chairs?
Anybody knows what race is this guy? It seems to be first, faint thread of the story that will carry over to "Descent to Avernus" and "Tides Infernal".
Oni
Anybody knows what race is this guy? It seems to be first, faint thread of the story that will carry over to "Descent to Avernus" and "Tides Infernal".
but this guy later melds with the shadows (or teleports via shadows).
It's an oni (ogre mage). They can polymorph into a smaller humanoid and can cast:That's what I thought, but this guy later melds with the shadows (or teleports via shadows). Do Cambions do that?
At will: darkness, invisibility
1/day each: charm person, cone of cold, gaseous form, sleep
"See that table? You can throw that!"Does this mean I’ll be able to make a build around throwing chairs?
It's funny how the whole "developer mugs" emoticons are all the face of decline.
the tadpole turns you into a mindflayer but you retain control(extremely uncommon, considered a myth) -- adversary
I'm of the mind (LOL) that Illithids work better as an evil, unknown, sinister race that is capable of fucking your party up in ways never thought imaginable.
Less is more.
Anybody knows what race is this guy? It seems to be first, faint thread of the story that will carry over to "Descent to Avernus" and "Tides Infernal".
fixedDoS2 is actually the opposite. You stack damage on every chaIr and blast through everything.
The spider raced across the chamber floor, the gray rope waving out behind it. Abdul leaped high, clearing a couch — with a quick wheel the fiend ran up the wall, and the strand, leaping off the floor like a live thing, whipped about the bhaalspawn’s ankle. He caught himself on his hands as he fell, jerking frantically at the web which held him like a pliant vise, or the coil of a python. The hairy devil was racing down the wall to complete its capture. Stung to frenzy, Abdul caught up a table and hurled it with all his strength. It was a move the monster was not expecting. Full in the midst of the branching black legs the massive missile struck, smashing against the wall with a muffled sickening crunch. Blood and greenish slime spattered, and the shattered mass fell with the table to the floor. The crushed black body lay among the flaming riot of tomatoes that spilled over it; the hairy legs moved aimlessly, the dying eyes glittered redly among the corn.
Thugra Khotan laughed awfully, and wheeling, caught up something that crawled loathsomely in the dust of the floor. In his extended hand something alive writhed and slavered. No tricks of shadows this time. In his naked hand Thugra Khotan gripped a black scorpion, more than a foot in length, the deadliest creature of the desert, the stroke of whose spiked tail was instant death. Thugra Khotan’s skull-like countenance split in a mummy-like grin. Abdul hesitated; then without warning he threw his chair. Caught off guard, Thugra Khotan had no time to avoid the cast. The legs struck around his heart and stood out a foot behind his shoulders. He went down, crushing the poisonous monster in his grasp as he fell. Abdul strode to the altar, lifting Edwina in his blood-stained arms. She threw her white arms convulsively about his mailed neck, sobbing hysterically, and would not let him go.
“Bhaal’s devils, girl!” he grunted. “Loose me! Fifty thousand men have perished today, and there is work for me to do—”
“No!” she gasped, clinging with convulsive strength, as barbaric for the instant as he in her fear and passion. “I will not let you go! I am yours, by fire and steel and blood! You are mine! Back there, I belong to others — here I am mine — and yours! You shall not go!”
He hesitated, his own brain reeling with the fierce upsurging of his violent passions. The lurid unearthly glow still hovered in the shadowy chamber, lighting ghostlily the chair-skewered corpse of Thugra Khotan, which seemed to grin mirthlessly and cavernously at them. Out on the desert, in the hills among the oceans of dead, men were dying, were howling with wounds and thirst and madness, and kingdoms were staggering. Then all was swept away by the crimson tide that rode madly in Abduls soul, as he crushed fiercely in his iron arms the slim white body that shimmered like a witch-fire of madness before him.
Ah, Faerun...the setting from which Warhammer has ripped off so much, and people never realized it.