I hate the use of the word "ablesim" because it is a fake woke word but I do think art that can finally be made by crippled people give AI art a purpose beyond helping those who did not have a head start like the others.
Sorry you have to deal with that shit man. Hope you can at least enjoy the rest of Christmas after.Man I'm fucking tired
>tons of fucking carts spread out
>a fellow cart attendant called out due to health issues meaning schedules had to be changed
>be the only guy out there getting carts in the afternoon because why not
>pull a cart that was bit car and it accidently hit the guy's car
>dude yells at me and wants to tell the manager and wants to go see if his car got damaged
im tired man
All you need to do is edit Supergirl with Bulma and you would have a perfect fitting image to describe this night's episode of OBD brawl.
Elmara shifted her pack to better conceal the small spell-things she’d taken into her palm, and trudged up to the gate.
“Halt, woman,” the swordcaptain of the guard said offhandedly. “Your name and trade?” Elmara faced the officer across the gate and said politely, “The first is none of thy affair; as to the second, I work magic.”
The armsmen drew back, their boredom gone in an instant. Halberds flashed as they came down over the gate to menace the lone woman. The swordcaptain’s brows drew together in a frown that had made lesser men turn and run, but the stranger stood her ground.
“Mages who do not serve our king are not welcome here,” said the swordcaptain. As he spoke, his men were moving steadily sideways around the ends of the gate, weapons at the ready, moving to encircle Elmara with steel.
El ignored them. “And what king might that be?”
“King Belaur, of course,” the swordcaptain snapped, and Elmara felt the cold point of a halberd prodding her lower back.
“On your knees, now,” the swordcaptain snapped, “and await our local lord mage, who will demand to know further of your business. Best you use a more respectful tongue with him than you did with us.”
Elmara smiled tightly and raised one empty hand. She made a small gesture and replied, “Oh, I shall.”
Behind him, the first gasps began; and the point probing at her spine was suddenly gone. All around, the guardsmen staggered, cried out or vomited, white-faced, and sank to their knees. One kept going, bonelessly, to the turf, his halberd dropping from loose, empty hands.
“What—what’re you doing?” the swordcaptain gulped, face tightening in pain. “Magic—?”
“A small spell that makes ye feel what it is to have a sword sliding through your guts,” the young, hawk-nosed maid said calmly. “But if it confuses thee …”
The swordcaptain felt a sudden twinge in his stomach, and in the same instant there was a flash in the air before him. He stared down—to see a shining steel blade standing forth from his belly, his own dark red blood running down the blade. He choked, clutched a vain hand to quell the wrenching, searing pain in his stomach—and then the sword and the pain both vanished.
The warrior stared down in astonishment at the unmarked leather over his belly. Then his eyes rose slowly, reluctantly, to meet those of the young woman, who smiled at him pleasantly and raised her other hand.
The guardcaptain paled, opened his mouth to say something, jaw quivering, and then fled, followed a moment later by the rest of the guard. Elmara watched them go, smiling a little, and then walked on along the road, toward the inn.
I had to run the station completely alone today and I have a double shift scheduled for tomorrow
I'm seriously considering calling in sick because I know my coworkers just went out and got smashed and didn't come to work because of it.
Medical reasons I'm fine with covering. Personal fuckups/stupid decisions, that's 10000% on you and I'm not gonna get fucked over because of someone else's stupid ass choices
The sign above the door said Myrkiel’s Rest, and merchants had told her it was the best (near the only) inn in Narthil. Elmara found it pleasant enough, and took a chair against a wall at the back of the room, where she could see who came in. She ordered a meal from the stout proprietress and asked if she could use a room for a few breaths, offering a regal if she could do it undisturbed.
The innkeeper’s eyebrows rose, but without a word she took Elmara’s coin and showed her a room with a door that could be barred. When Elmara returned to her seat, humming the verse “O for an iron guard!” her meal was waiting, hot butter-bread and rabbit stew.
It was good. She was most of the way through it when the front door of the Rest burst open, and armsmen with drawn swords pushed in. An angry-looking man in robes of red and silver strode in their midst.
“Ho, Asmartha!” the splendidly garbed man snapped. “Who is this outlaw you shelter?” With an imperious jerk of his head, he indicated the young woman sitting in the corner. The innkeeper turned angry eyes on Elmara, but the hawk-nosed maid was calmly licking the last sauce from a rabbit bone, and paid no heed.
Motioning his armsmen to stay around him, the man in robes strode grandly toward Elmara’s table. Other diners stared and hastily shifted their seats to be well out of the way—but close enough to see and hear all they could.
“A word with you, wench!”
Elmara raised her eyes, over another bone. She inspected it, set it aside, and selected another. “Ye may have several,” she decreed calmly and went on eating. There were several sniggers and chuckles from around the tables—quelled by the cold and steady glare of the finely robed man as he turned on one boot heel to survey the room.
“I understand you style yourself a mage,” he said coldly to the seated woman.
Elmara put down another bone. “No. I said I worked magic,” she replied, not bothering to look up. After a few long breaths more, as she unconcernedly gnawed at a succession of bones, it became clear she had no intention of saying anything more.
“I’m speaking to you, wench!”
“I had noticed, aye,” Elmara agreed. “Say on.” She picked up another bone, decided it was too bare to suck on a second time, and put it down. “More beer, please,” she called, leaning to look past the crowd of armsmen. There were more sounds of mirth from the watching diners.
“Raztan,” the robed man said coldly, “run your blade into this arrogant whore.”
Elmara yawned and leaned back in her chair, presenting an arched belly to Raztan, who did not fail to miss it, his steel sliding in so smoothly that he overbalanced and fell on his face in the young woman’s bowl of stew. Everyone in the suddenly silent room heard the point of the blade scrape the plastered wall behind the young woman. Elmara calmly pushed her plate and bowl aside and selected a toothpick from the pewter holder before her.
“Sorcery!” one of the armsmen spat, and slashed Elmara across the face. No blood spurted—and the blade swung freely through the hawk-nosed face, as if it were only empty air. The watchers gasped.
The robed man curled his lip. “I see you know the ironguard spell,” he said, unimpressed.
Elmara smiled up at him, nodded, and wiggled a finger. The drawn swords around her twisted, sang, and became gray serpents. Horrified armsmen watched the fanged heads turn and arch back to strike at the hands that wielded them! With one accord, the armsmen flung down their weapons and leaped back. One man charged for the door, and his run became a thundering rush of booted feet as his comrades joined him. All around the guards, their blades, normal swords once more, clattered to the floor.
The man in robes drew back, face pale. “We shall speak again,” he said, his haughty voice a trifle uncertain, “and when we d—”
Elmara raised both her hands to trace an intricate pattern in the air, and the man turned and strode hastily back across the room, toward the door. Halfway there he halted, swaying, and the watchers heard him snarl in fear and frustration. Sudden sweat moistened his brow as he strained to move … but could not advance another step. Elmara rose and walked around to face the frozen man. Frightened eyes swiveled to watch her come.
“Who rules here?” she asked.
The man snarled at her wordlessly.
Elmara raised an eyebrow and a hand at the same time.
“M-Mercy,” the man gasped.
“There is no mercy for mages,” Elmara told him quietly. “I’ve learned that much.”
She turned away. “I ask again: who rules?”
“I—ah … we hold Narthil for King Belaur.”
“Thank you, sir,” Elmara murmured politely, and started back to her seat.
The man in robes, suddenly released from magical restraint, lurched and almost fell, took three quick steps toward the door, and then spun around and snarled a spell, his dagger flashing into his hand. The watching townsfolk gasped. The robed wizard’s blade and all the discarded swords on the floor leaped up in unison and hurtled through the air toward Elmara’s back in a deadly storm of steel. Without turning, El murmured a soft word. The steel points so close to claiming her life swerved away, flying back at the mage.
“No!” the robed wizard cried frantically, snatching at the handle of the door. “Wha—”
The blades thudded home in a deadly rain, lifting the man’s body off his feet and carrying him past the door. He fell, kicked once, and then lay still, the blades a shining forest in his back.
Elmara took up her cloak and pack. “Ye see? Mercy continues in short supply. Nor among mages, I’ve learned, is there overmuch trust,” she added and went out into the street.
In the first book he has spells like Fly, Hold Person, Lesser Ironguard, and spells that generate light or fire. He seems to prefer subtle spells. He wields enormous supernatural power and his magic operates on a different plane from the rest of the characters. There are instances like moving air to slow a free-falling elevator or creating ice to float himself out of the water while drowning.@Papa Nier Remind me, does Elminster have any preferred spells he uses often?
Besides Elminster's Evasion, obviously.
>more health than an adult dragonElminster should know every Cleric spell up to 2nd level. Wizards can learn spells that classify as Wizard spells by writing them down in their spellbooks.
There is no official statblock for Elminster in 5e apart from this homebrew one.
In 3e he has 369hp and is a level 35 adventurer. Fighter 1, Rogue 2, Cleric 3, Wizard 24 and Archmage 5>more health than an adult dragon
Damn.
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