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/tg/ - Traditional Games


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[ERROR] No.12093574 [Reply] [Original] [4plebs] [archived.moe]

I am starting a Bard for my next campaign and I need some portraits/inspirationals.

>> No.12093579

>> No.12093591

>> No.12093600

>> No.12093603

Famous Bards

>> No.12093619

>> No.12093622

Multiclassing with Paladin

>> No.12093629

>> No.12093633

>>12093603
that tier list is shit awful. stop posting it. honestly.

>> No.12093634

rolled 89, 76, 90, 32 = 287

multi-classing wizzard

>> No.12093635

>> No.12093644

>> No.12093645

Alternately, you could play something that isn't gay and useless.

>> No.12093650

>> No.12093663

Epic level bard.

I thought I would never get a chance to post this/

>> No.12093665

rolled 6 = 6

here have a bard with a funny backstory.

>> No.12093670

>> No.12093674

>> No.12093676

>>12093663
You're always free to start a rap thread.

>> No.12093683

>> No.12093686

>>12093676

Doesn't the janitor get rid of those now?

>> No.12093688

>> No.12093690

>>12093629

>> No.12093694

>> No.12093705

>> No.12093712

>> No.12093722

secks macheen


>religious, loidemer

>> No.12093730

>>12093645
PF bards are God Tier.

>> No.12093734

>>12093622
Not enough drum playing bards

>> No.12093746

>>12093663
I should put these in the same folder.

>> No.12093748

Proof bards can also be liches.

>> No.12093753

>> No.12093765

>> No.12093776

perma drunk bard best bard

>> No.12093785

>>12093746
Attention white people:

please stop trying to rap.

>> No.12093791

dragonborn bards, instant god tier

>> No.12093798

>together lagemon

>> No.12093806

>> No.12093809

>>12093746
Did a Doom comic just make a reference to MF Doom?

That's fucking weird

>> No.12093832

>> No.12093844

>>12093809
>>HURR WHAT IS PHOTOSHOP

>> No.12093845

>> No.12093850

>> No.12093852

>>12093844
I'm willing to believe it's not photoshopped

>> No.12093859

>> No.12093861

Multiclass barbarian/bard

>> No.12093874

>>12093785
attention nigger stop rapping the rest of the civilized world hates that shit

>> No.12093876

>> No.12093890

Be sure to get your bard this skill

>> No.12093892

>reproduced, cathucte

what

>> No.12093909

>>12093785

To be fair, a buddy I know is one of the most hipster people ever and is a freestyle God, so white people can rap and not be wiggers.

>> No.12093912

How many other bards are going to be in this group?

>> No.12093924

>> No.12093937

>> No.12093940

What race is OP going to be?

>> No.12093946

>> No.12093955

Another bard skill

>> No.12093962

>> No.12093970

Be carefull with bard skills

>> No.12093972

>> No.12093993

>High level bard/fighter

>> No.12093994

>ectomycorrhizas finsup

Well, now your bard has a name, OP

>> No.12094002

>>12093622
There was a story about a bard pretending to be a paladin actually. It was pretty awesome, with two alternate endings.

>> No.12094016

This.

>> No.12094019

>> No.12094028

>>12093686
We have them so rarely that I really can't say.

>> No.12094033

>> No.12094051

rolled 74 = 74

I have that bard-lich musical duel writefaggotry somewhere, should I copypasta it?

>> No.12094068

>> No.12094069

>>12093912
My favorite bard pic.

>> No.12094082

>>12093705
Fuck yeah, Megabard!

Does anyone remember his real name? I remember seeing it sometime along with links to videos of his.

>> No.12094090

>>12093861
Back in my day, we called that a Skald. Best fuckin' kit in the Handbook, in my opinion.

>> No.12094094

What system will be used?

I think the Pathfinder books have better options than this.

>> No.12094120

>> No.12094131

BRACE FOR COPYPASTA.

The Duel

The room was pitch black, for its lone inhabitant required no light: it had windows, but all they showed was more darkness, only very infrequently illuminating the room with an occasional lightning. The silent humming that could be heard in the room was constant, eternal, accompanied by the sound of scribbling, which very rarely ceased as the writer stopped to think of what to write next, perhaps muttering a few words and thinking of how they came together, before once again continuing his work and his humming.

Were there any light in this room, the observer could have seen the countless shelves full of books, scrolls, notes, texts of arcane knowledge. There were many strange items, doubtlessly magical, potions full of weird liquids that no sane man would ever think of drinking, and upon all the walls had been nailed large paintings and pictures of people long since dead, practicers of ancient arts... and in the midst of this all, there was a table, and at that table sat the once-man, now a dead unholy being, endlessly scribbling his notes and humming, waiting...

Beyond the mighty civilized kingdoms, beyond the vast dangerous wilderness, beyond treacherous mountain ranges, in the middle of endless wastelands... stood a tower. And within this tower, at its topmost floor, there was an echoing sound as somebody knocked the door. And Abraxus the lich stirred. "Come in."

The door opened with a heavy creak, and one of his skeletal servants stood upon the doorway. "Master," it whispered silently, "There is a traveller outside, approaching us..."

His hand moving with the speed of lightning, Abraxus grabbed his crystal ball from the edge of the table. With a single stroke of his fingers on its surface, it began to show a picture of a man. The lich observed, and felt himself getting truly excited for the first time in a long time... "I will go outside," he croaked to his servant. "Do not disturb me."

>> No.12094140

>>12094131
The sun had long since set, leaving this land ripe for conquest by the darkness and storms. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, foreshadowing the events soon coming, as if the nature itself was aware of the mighty battle that would ensue within minutes in these lands. Elia's long, golden hair fluttered in the wind, the night chill making him shiver all over, but he pressed on.

He was a young human being, over six feet tall and extraoridinarily handsome, with perfect face, shining blue eyes, well-cared goatee, and golden hair magnificent enough to deserve a second mention. He wore the fancy clothing of a nobleman, dark red coat and pants, with much frills and assorted decorations all over, quite unfitting for the long travel in the wilderness, and for some reason quite clear and in very good condition, despite the journey. His boots were made of leather, likewise fashionable and far more suitable to city life than these wastelands.

And there was the tower. It stood in the landscape like a black bony finger, hundreds of feet tall, pointing at the black sky. In the flash of lightning, he saw the lone figure in its doorway: the lich had come out to face his challenge, its pervading aura of evil radiating at Elia and making him shiver. He didn't particularly care about the horrifying evil of the undead being, not seeking to destroy him for what he was: instead, he knew that the lich held vast knowledge and treasure, of particular subjects of his interest, and they would be his.

>> No.12094149

>>12094140
Abraxus surveyed his opponent with much fascination. It was clear to him that this mortal was mighty indeed - even powerful enough to defeat him, perhaps. It had been decades since he had felt like this, decades since his last true challenge. Being a lich was boring, he had found long time ago: they never told him how boring it would be. These encounters were his only amusement these days, and perhaps one small part of him was also waiting for the inevitable defeat at the hands of some mighty adventurer.

He was not wearing robes, nor mighty magical jewelry, as most others of his kind would have. No staff was he armed with, no wands of awesome power or black blades dripping with unholy energies. He was wearing a dirty, ragged outfit, consisting of a jacket, pants, and boots, all made of leather and all black as night. A dark red headband, old and dusty, circled around his skull. In one of his hands he carried an old, strange device, unknown to the uncivilized kingdoms of today, the means of its manufacture long since lost, and crackling with powerful magics that manifested themselves as an aura of purple.

His other hand had rested in his pocket, until it came out, carrying a pair of sunglasses, which the lich placed upon its empty eye sockets. He spread his feet into the battle stance, firmly gripped his guitar with two hands, produced a pick from somewhere, and began to play.

>> No.12094155

>>12094149
The very first note struck like lightning, sending a minor but fierce electrical current through Elia, nearly throwing him off-balance. The music began relatively calm, and the winds likewise calmed down briefly, only to quickly pick up speed, throwing the weather back into the state of near-storm as well. Lightning flashed and struck the ground in an increased frequency, but any sound of thunder was utterly covered under the loud, fast-paced noise that the lich was doing. It was beautiful, in its way: fantastic, wonderful music, quite different from anything Elia had ever heard before, and also quite a bit louder. Despite the unholy energies that pervaded the very core and being of the lich, the stuff it played was utterly devoid of anything profane: it was magical and pure, almost holy.

After less than a minute of playing, the undead bard began to sing. It was not the kind of voice one had learned to expect from one of his kind, not a croaking whisper uttered with great difficulty: no, it was a powerful, booming sound, one that echoed across the wastelands with tenfold power compared to the thunder around it. He sang of his conquests while he was still alive, how he had ruled entire kingdoms with his power, how his presence and his music had left people trembling in the ancient times. He sang of how he had defeated the aspect of a dwarven god of rock, how he had annihilated continents with an army of enthralled dragons, how he could shatter mountains and drive ocean to retreat, how he had conquered death itself. And he sang of his opponent, of the inevitable destruction of this mortal, how he would be less of a threat to him than a bug to a giant.

>> No.12094159

>>12094155
The ground kept shaking for a long time after he had stopped, and it took a while for the wind to quiet down. Elia had been brought to his knees, breathing hard, panting and sweating, in front of the laughing lich. Getting up after the attack took an intense effort from him, his whole body aching and chilling, but his opponent generously waited for him to rise, observing him the whole time. Now back up and balanced, the young man raised his own weapon, an old, darkwood violin, and his counterattack began.

It was indeed powerful, but in a very different way than what his opponent had played. Whereas Abraxus had done music that could shake the ground and conjure massive storms, Elia's playing calmed the world down once more, slowly driving away the storm clouds and exposing the light of moon and stars to bathe the ground and the musical duelists. His bow, and the hand guiding it, became like blur as he increased the speed and pace: 'twas a fast and happy tune that seemed to banish the darkness and death from this entire valley. The illumination cast by the moon was further enhanced, empowered beyond its mundane limits, casting no shadows to the barren, flat world, only shining its light as bright as the sun, but much gentler and sweeter.

He did not sing: his music spoke for itself. The message was more unclear and abstract, depending upon its receiver to make up what it meant. And Abraxus did not hear words of conquest or death in there: the music carried him words of life, and living, and joy, the words of beauty and bliss instead of death and torment. The words reached him as well, and touched him in a way he had not felt for a long, long time indeed. He had dropped his instrument and fallen down without noticing it himself... and despite the discomfort, he almost laughed. Here was a challenge worthy of him, one the like of whom he had not met for centuries. He was having so much fun!

>> No.12094171

>>12094159
He picked up his guitar from the ground once more, and stood up. Elia likewise stood at the ready, having stopped his playing to wait for his opponent: once the other was ready and began playing once more, so did he. The warm-up was over now: it was time for the true battle.

And so the fiddle and the guitar made their duel. Living against dead. Bow against pick. Two warriors met at the fields of glory, two musicians played until destruction, and only one would ever survive. Like the two blades of mighty swordsmen would quickly become blur in the battle until they were completely indistinguishable from each other, the wonderful performance of the two instruments mixed up and became one. Neither tried to overshadow the other: instead, they completed each other, worked together in perfect harmony to create fantastic music worthy of gods.

Indeed, to a casual observer, it did not look like a duel at all. Often, one player would willingly step down, silencing and toning himself to the background, allowing the other to take the lead: the loud and magnificent music played by the lich would all so suddenly decelerate, until it was but barely distinguishable - yet still essential - and merely accompanying the violinist in his epic solo, only to just as suddenly switch places, as the guitar would pick up again and the fiddle tone down in its turn.

>> No.12094180

I have to post this picture anytime there's a bard thread.

>> No.12094181

>>12094171
Once, even, both instruments stopped entirely, and there was only silence for many moments, occasionally broken by dramatic and very appropriate thunder. And then, for the first time that night, the living bard broke the silence of his mouth and sang: his was a tenor, somewhat more high-pitched than his opponent, but no less powerful, and it sang of glory, of victory and wealth, silently at first but quickly picking up. The dead bard joined in, himself about death and pain, but also about challenges to overcome and living in the moment. And the bow found itself on the strings again, slowly adding more to the performance, with the pick not coming far behind. Both began silent, but they did not slowly work themselves back to the loudest setting: instead, they went there immediately, at one moment serene and calm, at the next boisterous, louder than hell.

And as both instruments and both singers quickly approached crescendo, so did the nature itself join in. It had not been silent at all during their battle, of course, the thunder and lightning contributing for its own part, but until now it had refrained from shaking the earth and loudly cracking the ground with great fissures, spilling forth clouds of toxic fumes with great power and might, the red-hot magma glowing from the depths and shining on the battleground in bright red. Wind billowed the hair of the bard, and the jacket of the lich, guiding the mighty black storm clouds across the fields, and allowing the moon to bask the earth with silver gleam, here and there, quickly changing place, teaming up together with the now very frequent flashes of lightning, and the hot red from the deep, to conjure a mighty lightshow upon the land and the sky.

>> No.12094183

>>12094181
...And it was over. Almost too quick to fathom. There was no quick fading out in their music: both the playing and the singing had ended abruptly, at their greatest apex, and aside from an occasional thunder, the wastes were silent once more. Elia was facing the ground, as if bowing to an invisible audience, as if listening for the applauds of hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of phantoms and ghosts. Abraxus, for his part, was standing in full, holding his guitar with one hand, while the other was raised high up to the sky, his index and little fingers fully extended, his head likewise thrown back to face the high heavens...

And then, agonizingly slowly, his knees bent, and he fell to the ground with nary a sound, without otherwise breaking his stance in the slightest. There was a loud, blissful sigh, and the lich's jaw dropped, his fleshless mouth opening full, and he breathed out, for the first time in centuries, and for the last time in his life. The breath was coloured in silver, and glimmered as if stars, lingering in the air for a long while, before falling back to the ground next to the undead bard. And he allowed himself collapse in full, and was gone.

Elia approached his body leisurely, without hurry: by the time he had reached it, it was fully gone, only dust remaining of the might of Abraxus. Only dust, his guitar, and his fiddle. It was the last one the bard now picked up, looking into it, almost sadly, and said he:

>> No.12094185

>>12093574
In my brother's game, there's an npc that occasionally accomanies us that's a bard that uses bad puns instead of songs. It's kind of silly, and wouldn't match the tone of all games, and might get really irritating if it was a constant thing, instead of just an occasional joke, but I think we all like it a lot.

>> No.12094189

>>12094183
"I do not understand: For thy final resting place,
why pick the pick?
Why not the guitar, thy most precious tool?
Why, 'tis the most perfect instrument I have ever set my eyes upon!
So why, lich? Why not inhabit it?"

The wind howled as a response, like a pack of wolves, or a horde of restless dead. The thunder had ceased, the ground shook no more, it was but the bard, his thoughts, and the howling wind. And then, the whisper came, barely audible to his ears... from the pick:

"Indeed, young bard, 'tis a magnificent piece!
Yet my soul can not settle upon it,
I could not put my spells in it,
I could not make it my phylactery.
The reasons are twofold:

"One, the lich is an unholy being, and so am I.
Yet the guitar is a holy, sacred artifact,
One of the most blessed upon this earth!
Once I became this thing of horrors, I could barely wield it,
let alone inhabit it.

"Two, even this life is not eternal.
One day one like you would have defeated me,
and were I living in that guitar at that time,
its destruction would have been guaranteed.
Thou, as a fellow musician, must understand:
Oh, the sin and shame that would have been!"

>> No.12094195

>>12094189
He did understand, and he nodded. And with that, the pick that held the being's soul cracked, and shattered... a loud, long sigh followed, and the undead horror was finally gone from this world, for good.

The lich's undead servants, and all trace of his pervasive presence, had left from his tower. Elia spent the remainder of the night there, slumbering peacefully: in the morning he left, returning with a massive cart and servants and henchmen, loading them full with treasure, most of them the notes Abraxus had scribbled during his days of loneliness.

And so the story of Abraxus the lich bard ended, but a new story spawned from it, its protagonist leaving the tower for the last time, his new guitar on his shoulder, the sunglasses looted from the dead being covering his eyes from the light of the sun.

>> No.12094205

>> No.12094227

2nd edition Bard portrait is best bard. Look at this fucker. He walks into battle holding an instrument while wearing a ridiculous outfit, and he just doesn't give a shit.

>> No.12094404

That was beautiful

>> No.12095087

Ore no uta wo kike!

>> No.12098238

bump

>> No.12098272

>>12094227
He is a true patriot

>> No.12098285

>>12094227
God, seriously. That face is the epitome of not giving a fuck.

>> No.12098372

Take that, OP

>> No.12099511

rolled 21 = 21

>>
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