Sean Does Games

This post is a bit early, but I figured why not publish it since it's ready to go. This is another gnome NPC. It might be off the beaten path, but I thought it was a neat idea.  Battlespring Umbodoben ( BATTLE-spring um-BOW-da-bin ) "Nothing will stop this lovely once I've installed the full scale version of my fire infused clockwise momentified water cooled long biter hyperdrill extension encasement unit and reinforced the armor plating with this here dragon scale." Battlespring (N) is a competitive, 66-year-old, male rock gnome who enjoys a good brawl as much as he enjoys tinkering. It should come as no surprise then that he is devoted to the gnome sport of construct fighting, an inventively brutal pastime that pits clockwork inventions against each other in no-holds-barred pit-fight matches for fun, profit, and inebriation. His artificial champions have won a respectable number of bouts but he has not yet qualified for Regionals or any other champion

I know that the image projected in Dungeons and Dragons 5e regarding gnomes is that they're generally upbeat, good-natured folks. They're a little high strung and they get themselves into all sorts of trouble, but it's a fun sort of high-strung and a good kind of trouble. Sort of. If you dig a little into previous editions of D&D, however, you find a little more nuanced description. So, for this  NPC, I'm explorer the darker side of gnome society. I'll also be summoning a gnome deity that I haven't seen in the 5e releases so far. Beware! Bloodfang Menren (BLOOD-fang MEN-ren) "The Glutton will rip you, little gnome, and fill his belly with your innards.” Bloodfang (CE) is a cruel, 87-year-old, female whisper gnome who considers gnome civilization a plague that must be scoured from the land. Abandoned by her family when she just a little child and reject by her burrow for reasons she still doesn't understand, Bloodfang was left to scr

Welcome to Skyfell “Beyond this land be uncharted skies infested with nightmares.” This is the only truth a traveler will find at no cost when risking respite in the knavish airship harbor known as Highwater. It can be heard from every pirate, mercenary, adventurer, outcast, and rogue skulking about the shady taverns and inns that litter its sprawling urban landscape. A few drinks might summon a tall tale from the talkative; a warning about the gargantuan sky monsters that sail out of The Tempest to ruin the bodies and souls of the unfortunate for example or a yarn about a vast treasure jealously guarded by tribes of feral gnomes and tree-hugging firbolgs on one of the thousands of islands of the Piruna Fields. A few coins tossed into the mix might manage to loosen foolish lips, bringing light to a bit of political intrigue, lost lore, or arcane secrets best left to the shadows. Such indiscretions, however, are likely to earn an arrow in the back, a dagger through the throat, or