Board 8 > Dungeons and Dragons A.I assisted CYOA -- A tiny Pint.

(+) Yeah! (+)

Character sheet for Pint:

*****
Pint
Class: Monk
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Race: Forest Gnome
Gender: Male
Age: 40
Background: Outlander
Level: 1
Player Name: User
Stat
Score
Modifier
Saving Throw
STR
8
-1
+1
DEX
16
+3
+5
CON
14
+2
+2
INT
12
+1
+1
WIS
15
+2
+2
CHA
8
-1
-1
(Bold indicates proficiency)

Proficiencies & Languages

• Armor: None
• Weapons: Simple weapons, shortswords
• Tools: Woodcarver's Tools, Lute
• Languages: Common, Gnomish

Racial Traits

• Darkvision: You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light.
• Gnome Cunning: You have advantage on all Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma saving throws against magic.
• Natural Illusionist: You know the Minor Illusion cantrip. Intelligence is your spellcasting ability for it.
• Speak with Small Beasts: Through sounds and gestures, you can communicate simple ideas with Small or smaller beasts.

Key Stats
| Stat | Value | Details |
|---|---|---|
| HP | 10 / 10 | (8 + CON mod) |
| AC | 15 | (10 + DEX mod + WIS mod) |
| Initiative | +3 | (DEX mod) |
| Speed | 25 ft | |
| Hit Dice | 1d8 | |
| Proficiency Bonus | +2 | |
| Passive Perception | 12 | (10 + Perception bonus) |

Class Features (Monk)

• Unarmored Defense: While you are wearing no armor and not wielding a shield, your Armor Class equals 10 + your Dexterity modifier + your Wisdom modifier.
• Martial Arts:
• You can use Dexterity instead of Strength for the attack and damage rolls of your unarmed strikes and monk weapons.
• You can roll a d4 in place of the normal damage for your unarmed strike or monk weapon.
• When you use the Attack action with an unarmed strike or a monk weapon on your turn, you can make one unarmed strike as a bonus action.

Background Feature (Outlander)

• Wanderer: You have an excellent memory for maps and geography, and you can always recall the general layout of terrain, settlements, and other features around you. In addition, you can find food and forage for yourself and up to five other people each day, provided that the land offers berries, small game, water, and so on.

Spellcasting (Gnome Magic)

• Spellcasting Ability: Intelligence
• Spell Save DC: 11
• Cantrips Known: Minor Illusion

Weapons
| Weapon | Atk Bonus | Damage/Type | Properties |
|---|---|---|---|
| Spear (Walking Stick) | +5 | 1d6+3 Piercing | Thrown (20/60), Versatile (1d8) |
| Dart | +5 | 1d4+3 Piercing | Finesse, Thrown (20/60) |
| Unarmed Strike | +5 | 1d4+3 Bludgeoning | |

Skills
| Skill | Mod | Bonus | Proficient |
|---|---|---|---|
| Acrobatics | DEX | +5 | Yes |
| Animal Handling | WIS | +2 | |
| Arcana | INT | +1 | |
| Athletics | STR | +1 | Yes |
| Deception | CHA | -1 | |
| History | INT | +1 | |
| Insight | WIS | +2 | |
| Intimidation | CHA | -1 | |
| Investigation | INT | +1 | |
| Medicine | WIS | +2 | |
| Nature | INT | +1 | |
| Perception | WIS | +2 | |
| Performance | CHA | -1 | |
| Persuasion | CHA | -1 | |
| Religion | INT | +1 | |
| Sleight of Hand | DEX | +3 | |
| Stealth | DEX | +5 | Yes |
| Survival | WIS | +4 | Yes |

Personality

• Trait 1: I place no stock in wealthy or well-mannered folk. Money and manners won't save you from a hungry owlbear.
• Trait 2: I feel far more comfortable around animals than people.
• Ideal: The natural world is more important than all the constructs of civilization. (Neutral)
• Bond: I suffer from awful visions of a coming disaster and will do anything to prevent it.
• Flaw: I am too enamored of ale, wine, and other intoxicants.

Roleplaying Notes for Pint:
Core Concept:
Pint is a walking contradiction. He is a disciplined Monk whose inner peace is constantly at war with his love for a strong drink. As a Forest Gnome and Outlander, he is more at home in the deep wilds than any city, preferring the honest company of beasts to the complex deceptions of people. This reclusive nature is spurred on by a heavy burden: he is haunted by visions of a coming catastrophe, a secret that pushes him into the wider world he so distrusts. He is a small, quiet creature on a massive, urgent quest, blending profound natural wisdom with a very worldly vice.
Verbal Style:

• Vocabulary: Simple, practical, and direct. He speaks with an earthy vocabulary, often using metaphors from nature to explain his points ("That noble is as trustworthy as a fox in a hen house."). He likely has little patience for fancy words or titles.
• Tone: Generally quiet and observant, his voice is often a low murmur. He is blunt and can seem rude due to his low Charisma and disregard for social niceties. His tone becomes more animated and open when discussing animals or nature, but can turn grim and intense if the topic of his visions comes up.
• Conversational Focus: He will almost always steer conversation toward practical, survival-oriented matters. Hes the one asking "Is this water safe to drink?" while others are discussing politics. He is not one for small talk and will likely just stay silent if he feels a conversation is pointless.
• Sentence Structure: Short and to the point. "Bear passed here. Two days ago. Big one." He states observations as facts rather than weaving them into a narrative.

Mannerisms (Guidance):

• Constant Observation: His head is always on a quiet swivel, eyes scanning the horizon, the tree line, or the rafters. He'll often tilt his head like a curious bird when listening.
• Interaction with Gear: He would be frequently seen fiddling with his "walking stick," perhaps unconsciously checking the flask at the bottom. When idle, he might pull out a piece of wood and a knife and begin whittling with his Woodcarver's Tools.
• Animal Affinity: He actively avoids eye contact with people he distrusts, but will happily sit and try to communicate with a stray cat or a squirrel, using the soft chirps and clicks of his Speak with Small Beasts feature.
• Movement: His movements are typically precise, fluid, and silentthe result of his Monk training. However, if he has recently indulged his flaw, he might have a slightly exaggerated, weaving quality to his walk, a stark contrast to his usual grace.

Surprised nobody has responded to this yet. I can think how other characters might respond to this situation, but I'm trying to be respectful of your character here and not just pick the silliest thing imaginable.

(A) might not be appropriate for someone of Pint's background. He's obviously going to be upset over the spilled drink, but probably also sensible enough to recognize he won't get anything out of those two.

(B) sounds amusing. It's a subtle way to settle the score, befitting of someone of his background.

(C) would be what some other monk might do, but Pint loves his booze a little too much to allow this intrusion to go unpunished. Plus, they're loud and obnoxious and broke his "anchor."

(D) would be funny, but I don't *think* it's in character, and Pint's low charisma score suggests it likely won't go over well. Even if he wins over others in the crowd with the most wry, sardonic satire, it'll be lost on the two oafs.

Of these options, I prefer option B.

You've chosen B, a path of cunning and misdirection. A classic gnomish solution.

Instead of confronting the two brutes directly, you decide to appeal to their more primal instincts. You remain seated, your expression unreadable, and subtly reach out with your mind. You recall the scuttling, scratching sounds of the oversized wharf rats you've seen scurrying through the city's alleys. It's a sound that makes even the toughest sailor jump.

You weave the illusion, casting the sound so it seems to emanate from the floor right behind Grak and Borin's heels. It's not just a single squeak, but a frantic, multi-layered scratching and chittering, as if a whole nest of the creatures is about to swarm out from between the floorboards.

Grak is in the middle of bellowing an order at the bartender when the sound erupts. Two more of the strongwhat in the Nine Hells was that? His head snaps down, and he takes a clumsy, startled step away from the bar, peering at the grimy floor.

Borin, the scarred man, is even more reactive. With a yelp that is surprisingly high-pitched for a man his size, he hops up onto the rung of a nearby barstool, pulling his feet up as if the floor were lava. Rats! I hate rats! he squeals, his tough-guy facade melting away in an instant.

The sudden commotion draws a few curious glances, but most of the tavern patrons either didn't hear the localized sound or assume the two men are just drunk. Grak, seeing nothing, glares at his companion.

Get down, you fool, theres nothing there, he growls, though he continues to eye the floorboards with suspicion. He takes another step back from the bar, his movement clumsy and agitated. In doing so, his boot heel comes down squarely on the instep of a half-orc who had been quietly nursing his drink at the bar.

The half-orc is built like a stone wall, with a jaw that could crack coconuts. He had been ignoring the commotion until Grak's full, considerable weight landed on his foot. A low, dangerous growl rumbles in the half-orc's chest. He slowly turns, his yellow eyes fixing on Grak with a look of pure murder.
You, the half-orc says, his voice like grinding stones, have made a mistake.

Grak, flustered from the phantom rats and embarrassed by his friend, puffs out his chest. Watch where youre putting your feet, greenskin! he snarls, making a terrible situation infinitely worse.
The half-orc stands up to his full, impressive height, towering over Grak. The tension around the bar skyrockets. The halfling bartender ducks behind the counter. It seems your small illusion has inadvertently lit a much larger fuse.

What do you do?

• A. Stay put and enjoy the show. This is no longer your problem, and it's far more entertaining than your drink ever was.
• B. Try to de-escalate. You started this, after all. You could stand up and try to reason with the half-orc and the two humans.
• C. Take advantage of the distraction. While all eyes are on the confrontation at the bar, you could try to swipe a full tankard from a nearby table.
• D. Prepare for a fight. You slide your walking stick into your lap and subtly shift your weight, ready to spring into action if the violence spills over in your direction.
• E. Anything else.

D

You've chosen D, the path of prudent readiness. A wise choice in a place like The Rusty Flagon.

You watch the tableau at the bar with the keen, detached focus of a hawk observing rabbits. The half-orc's promise of violence hangs in the air, thick and heavy as the tavern's smoke. Grak's foolish bravado is the spark, and the half-orc is a barrel of black powder.

This is not your fight. You have no quarrel with the half-orc, and your issue with Grak was over a mere splash of ale. Intervening would be illogical. However, you know how quickly tavern brawls can spread, consuming the entire room in a chaotic whirlwind of fists and broken furniture. Getting caught in the middle of it would be an inconvenience you'd rather avoid.

With a fluid motion that is nearly imperceptible, you shift on your stool. Your hand drops from the table and closes around the shaft of your walking stick. You pull it from its leaning position against your seat and lay it horizontally across your lap. The smooth, worn wood feels familiar and comforting. You adjust your posture, planting your feet firmly on the grimy floor, balancing your weight on the balls of your feet. You are a coiled spring, silent and still, but ready to erupt into motion at a moment's notice.
Your eyes remain fixed on the unfolding drama. The half-orc flexes his hands, his knuckles popping with a sound like cracking walnuts.

My foot, the half-orc growls, his voice dangerously low, was right where it belonged. Your boot, however, was not.

Grak, not one to back down, shoves the half-orc in the chest. Are you deaf, greenskin? I said move!
It is the last mistake Grak will make for a while. The half-orcs response is not a word, but an action. A massive, green fist blurs forward, catching Grak square on the jaw with a sickening crunch. Graks eyes roll back in his head, and he crumples to the floor like a sack of wet grain, completely unconscious.

Borin, seeing his friend go down, lets out a roar of rage and leaps from his barstool perch, launching himself at the half-orc. The brawl has officially begun. A nearby table is overturned as another patron tries to scramble out of the way. The fight is on.

The two active combatants are Borin and the Half-Orc. They are about 15 feet away from you, near the bar. The rest of the tavern is a chaotic mix of people scrambling to get away, and a few drunks cheering them on. It seems for now, no one has noticed or paid any mind to you.

What do you do?

• A. This is your chance. The distraction is perfect. You can now execute your plan to swipe a full tankard from an abandoned table.
• B. Intervene in the fight. You didn't want this, but a two-on-one (even with one down) isn't a fair fight. You could rush in to help the half-orc.
• C. You see the halfling bartender peering over the bar, looking terrified. You could use this opportunity to slip behind the bar and help yourself to a drink straight from the tap.
• D. Make a quiet exit. You slide off your stool and begin to stealthily make your way toward the main door, using the chaos as cover.
• E. Anything else.

C

I guess we're going to find out how much Pint really loves his drink if we do C. Personally I would have gone with D, assuming our author/DM would find some way to still get Pint caught up in the madness during our egress. C feels a little bold, but it's certainly the more fun answer...assuming there's a clear path to slip behind the bar.

Really leaning into that flaw here and gotta prep for the Drunken Master subclass.

You've chosen C, a path of opportunistic thirst-quenching. The chaos of others is your gain.

The brawl at the bar explodes into a beautiful, localized storm of violence. Borin, bellowing with rage, crashes into the half-orc. The two grapple, sending another table of drinks smashing to the floor. The patrons are in a frenzysome scrambling for the exits, others climbing onto chairs for a better view. All eyes are fixed on the two combatants locked in a brutal embrace.

All eyes, that is, except yours. You see the true prize. Behind the bar, the terrified halfling bartender, a fellow named Finn, has ducked down so low that only the top of his curly brown hair is visible. Hes completely focused on not being seen by the brawlers. The tapsglorious, gleaming spigots of potentialare completely unguarded.

This is an opportunity too perfect to ignore. With the fluid grace of your training, you slide from your stool. You don't stand, but rather drop into a low crouch, using the panicked crowd and overturned furniture as cover. You move like a whisper, your soft-soled boots making no sound on the filthy floorboards.

Since no one is currently looking for you or paying you any mind, you don't need to make a Stealth roll to get to the end of the bar. It's a simple matter of navigating the chaos. You reach the hinged flap that allows entry, lift it silently, and slip behind the long, wooden bar. The air back here smells of stale ale, sweet liqueur, and the faint, citrusy scent of cleaning solution. Finn the bartender is huddled at the far end, whimpering quietly to himself. He doesn't see you.

You are now behind the bar. An array of taps stands before you, and shelves of bottles of every shape and color line the wall. To your right, the fight continues to rage. Borin manages to land a solid punch on the half-orc's ribs, earning a grunt of pain. The half-orc retaliates by grabbing Borin by his tunic and slamming him back against the bar, rattling every bottle on the shelves.

You have a moment of peace in the eye of the storm. What do you do?

• A. Grab your original mug from the floor, give it a quick rinse, and pull yourself a generous pint from the nearest tap.
• B. Forget the beer. You spot a dusty, unlabeled bottle on a high shelf that looks far more interesting. You could try to climb up and grab it.
• C. Fill your entire waterskin with the strongest-looking dwarven ale you can find. A drink for now is good, but a drink for the road is better.
• D. Try to comfort the terrified halfling bartender. A kind word might earn you a free drink later, and it seems the poor fellow needs it.
• E. Anything else.

B

With proficiency in athletics and acrobatics I like the chances of being able to climb the shelf. It's risky, but gotta know what's in that bottle.

D

It'd be good to get on the good side of someone who knows the locals (and runs the tap!)

First to two wins!

Lets go for B. Makes sense for Pint.

You've chosen B, the connoisseur's choice. Why settle for the common swill when a mystery vintage awaits?

Your eyes, sharp and discerning, bypass the common taps and cheap liquors that line the lower shelves. You are a creature of the wild, drawn to things that are old, natural, and potent. Your gaze lands on it: a bottle on the highest shelf, almost hidden in the gloom near the ceiling. Its squat and dark green, coated in a thick layer of dust that speaks of long neglect. There is no label, only a simple cork stopper sealed with dark red wax. It promises forgotten histories and profound intoxication.
That's the one. The fight between Borin and the half-orc provides the perfect cover. Their grunts and the crash of their bodies against the bar are a symphony of distraction. You look at the shelves, seeing them not as storage, but as a cliff face to be scaled.
This will require some nimble climbing. Let's see how well you handle the ascent with an Acrobatics check.

Generated code
(1d20 + 5 = 17 + 5 = 22)
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download
Use code with caution.

With the explosive sounds of the brawl masking any noise you might make, you spring into action. You move with a practiced, vertical grace that would make a squirrel jealous. A foot on a barrel of cider, a hand on a shelf of whiskey, a quick leap to a row of gin bottlesyou flow up the wall of alcohol like water. The bottles rattle precariously but your touch is so light, so precise, that not a single one falls. Your small size is a huge advantage here, allowing you to use handholds and footholds that a larger person couldn't even consider.

In seconds, you are perched on the top shelf, crouched like a gargoyle among the dust and cobwebs. You reach out and your fingers close around the neck of the dusty, unlabeled bottle. It feels heavy, substantial. The wax seal is ancient, cracked with age but still intact. You've secured your prize.
From your high vantage point, you have a perfect view of the entire tavern. The brawl is escalating. The half-orc has Borin in a headlock, and Borin is wildly swinging a broken chair leg, trying to fend him off. But something else catches your eye. Standing near the main entrance, having just slipped inside, is a woman. She is tall and slender, wrapped in a dark cloak, her face obscured by a deep hood. Unlike the other patrons who are either panicking or cheering, she is perfectly still, her posture radiating an aura of calm, lethal focus. Her hidden gaze is not on the brawl, but sweeping the room, as if she is looking for someone.

You are crouched on the top shelf, hidden in the shadows, with a mysterious, ancient bottle of booze in your hand. The fight rages below, and a new, unknown player has just entered the scene.
What do you do?

• A. Stay put. Your hiding spot is perfect. You can uncork your prize and take a swig while you watch things unfold.
• B. Try to get a better look at the newcomer. From your position, you could try to use your gnomish darkvision to pierce the shadows of her hood and see her face.
• C. Create a distraction to test the newcomer. You could use your Minor Illusion cantrip to create the sound of a shattering window near the back of the tavern to see how she reacts.
• D. Now is the time to leave. You've got what you came for. You can try to stealthily climb down and slip out the back door through the kitchens while everyone is distracted.
• E. Anything else.

E: Slip back down to floor level, stay behind the bar, consider your escape options, and also try to get an eye on the woman from there, perhaps from the access flap you passed through earlier.

You opt for a more cautious approach, blending observation with repositioning. A fine tactical choice.

Clutching the heavy, dust-covered bottle to your chest with one arm, you begin your descent. The journey down is as challenging as the climb, requiring you to move backward and trust your footing on the precarious shelves. The ongoing brawl is a perfect symphony of cover for your movements.

This will require another feat of nimbleness. Let's see if you can get down as quietly as you got up with an Acrobatics (Dexterity) check.

(1d20 + 5 = 14 + 5 = 19)


You move with the silent confidence of a forest creature. You are not so much climbing down as you are flowing. Your feet find purchase on the necks of wine bottles and the sturdy edges of wooden crates. You move like a drop of shadow, landing on the grimy floor behind the bar with no more sound than a falling leaf. The whimpering halfling, Finn, is still huddled at the far end, completely oblivious to your silent passage.

Crouched low, you are now in the heart of the tavern's command center. The world from this angle is a forest of chair legs and scurrying boots. You take a moment to assess your exits. The main door is a non-starter; the mysterious woman is standing there, a silent wolf guarding the sheep pen. The grimy alley window is across the common room, requiring you to break cover and cross at least twenty feet of open, chaotic space. That leaves the most promising option: a swinging door at the end of the bar, behind Finn. The smells of boiling cabbage and grease waft from itthe kitchen door. A classic escape route.

With your exits mapped, you turn your attention back to the woman. You creep along the length of the bar, your prize bottle tucked securely under your arm. You reach the hinged flap you used to enter and lower yourself to peek through the gap between the flap and the bar's frame. It gives you a narrow, but clear, line of sight to the entrance.

You focus, trying to pierce the gloom of her hood and glean any detail you can. This will call for a Perception (Wisdom) check.

(1d20 + 2 = 16 + 2 = 18)

Your gnomish eyes, accustomed to the deep shadows of the forest floor, adjust to the dim light. From this low angle, you peer up at the figure. For a moment, the chaos of the brawl intensifiesthe half-orc finally throws Borin over the bar, and he lands with a tremendous crash not five feet from you, out cold. The commotion causes the cloaked woman to shift her head slightly, and a sliver of light from a lantern catches her face.

The shadows of the hood recede just enough. You see a pale, sharp jawline and high cheekbones. Her ears are delicately pointed, hinting at elven blood. Her eyes, however, are what hold you. For the briefest second, you see one of them clearly: its a striking, cold grey, like a winter sky, and it scans the room with an unnerving, analytical precision. She is not a passive observer; she is hunting. You also notice that her cloak is well-made but travel-worn, and at her hip, nestled amongst several pouches, is the polished wooden stock of a hand crossbow.

She is a half-elf, she is armed, and she is searching for someone or something in this tavern with the focus of a hawk. Her gaze sweeps past the brawl, dismisses the cowering patrons, and continues to methodically scan the room.

You remain crouched and hidden, the cool glass of the bottle a solid weight in your grasp. What is your next move?

• A. The coast is clear, for a moment. Make a break for the kitchen door, get out the back, and disappear into the alleys of Oakhaven with your prize.
• B. Try to get her attention, but indirectly. Use your Minor Illusion to create an imageperhaps a specific symbol or objecton a nearby table to see if she reacts to it. This could tell you what she's looking for.
• C. It's time to sample your reward. You stay hidden, carefully uncork the ancient bottle, and take a very quiet, very deep swig.
• D. The half-orc has won the fight and is now standing, breathing heavily, over the two unconscious forms of Grak and Borin. You could pop up from behind the bar and offer him a drink, a gesture of solidarity that might win you an ally.
• E. Anything else.

A

A lot has happened. Its very easy for things to go south if we stay. Lets leave while were still undetected.

Metagaming a little, it's tempting to assume that the half-elf chick is going to progress the main quest...but she could also be the big bad or a lieutenant of who is trying to bring about the calamity Pint foresaw. (Or none of the above.) In Pint's position, he's probably more likely to see her as potentially adversarial until more is known, especially with how he's more of a loner-in-the-woods type, so (A) seems like a fine choice.

Though I suppose I would like to know a little bit about how and why Pint came to be in that particular establishment.

You've chosen A, the path of expedient escape. The prize is secured, the risks are assessed, and the wilderness of the city alleys calls to you.

With the image of the half-elf's cold, calculating eye burned into your mind, you make your decision. This tavern has offered up all the entertainment and bounty you require. It's time to vanish.

You stay low, the heavy bottle tucked under one arm like a cumbersome egg. Your target is the swinging kitchen door at the far end of the bar. The only obstacle is the terrified halfling bartender, Finn, who is still curled into a ball, facing away from you. You need to slip past him without raising an alarm.

You take a deep breath and move. This calls for silence and subtlety. A Stealth (Dexterity) check is in order.

(1d20 + 5 = 18 + 5 = 23)

You are not a gnome; you are a shadow. You are a whisper of movement on a dirty floor. You glide past the whimpering halfling, your passing stirring the air so little that it doesn't even rustle his curly hair. He remains completely unaware, lost in his own fear. Your hand finds the greasy wood of the kitchen door. You don't push it open in a way that would make it swing and squeak. Instead, you press gently, controlling its arc, and slip through the gap you create. The door swings silently shut behind you.

You are in the kitchen. The sudden change in atmosphere is jarring. The roar of the tavern is muffled, replaced by the hiss and bubble of a large pot over a hearth fire and the overwhelming smell of boiling cabbage, old grease, and singed meat. The room is a disaster zone of dirty dishes, spilled flour, and vegetable peelings. A cleaver is embedded in a massive, stained chopping block. But across the room, past the simmering pot, you see it: a heavy, wooden door, barred on this side. Freedom.

You dart across the kitchen, your feet navigating the mess with practiced ease. You reach the door and, with a bit of effort, lift the heavy iron bar from its brackets. The wood groans in protest as you pull it open, and you slip out into the narrow alleyway behind The Rusty Flagon.

The cool, sea-sprayed air is a welcome relief. The alley is tight, flanked by the high, grimy walls of the tavern and an adjacent warehouse. It smells of brine, refuse, and rain. The sounds of the city are more distant here, a muted backdrop to the drip of water from an overhanging eave and the distant cry of a gull. You have escaped. You are alone. In your hand, you hold your prize: the ancient, mysterious bottle.

You lean against the cold, damp brick of the tavern wall and take your first real breath of freedom since the brawl began. The bottle feels cool and solid in your grasp.

What do you do now?

• A. Open the bottle! The suspense is killing you. You find a seat on a nearby crate, uncork it, and finally sample the mysterious liquor.
• B. Find a safer place first. This alley is exposed. You should find a more secluded spota rooftop, a sewer entrance, a quiet nook you know ofbefore you investigate your prize.
• C. Examine the bottle more closely. Before opening it, you can take a moment to study the wax seal, the glass, and any markings for clues about its origin or contents.
• D. Think about what just happened. A half-elf hunter in the tavern, a brawl you inadvertently started... this feels like it could be connected to the dark visions you've been having. You could take a moment to meditate and see if you can make sense of it.
• E. Anything else.

Note: We've been rolling really well. I've given the a.i the following instruction just to be sure:

Before we make that choice, I would like to ask something. I would like you to not fudge any rolls, and let the dice fall where they may.

It responded: Thank you for the clarifications. I can absolutely agree to those terms.

On Dice Rolls: I will not fudge any dice rolls. All outcomes, whether they are glorious successes or catastrophic failures, will be determined by the simulated roll of the dice. The story will be shaped by these moments of pure chance, for better or for worse.

Consider this the end of the tutorial.

If we were playing this in the traditional manner I'd assume she was there as a party member but yeah could be trouble also. I think A is good, go "investigate" the bottle and Pint will cross paths with her again

Edit: A is my choice for the previous scenario, not the current one above me.

B feels right.

Q. Seduce Billy Ray

I didn't realize this was being generated by A.I. -- kinda wondered what A-point-one was in the title. Also, I noticed that Pint seems to be a dice-rolling god. So if this is primarily AI-generated, how much of this are you doing?

I'm inclined toward C, but I could be persuaded to do B. I guess the question is how curious and booze-loving do we think Pint is versus how prudent a monk with 15 WIS would be.

I do none of the writing! Truth is, the a.i starts to lose "context" after a while and forget what came before, but if you periodically feed it the character sheet, session overviews, inventory in a new prompt you can keep going indefinitely and it will be good all the way through. Also, I'm still experimenting with tweaking how it runs it for better games. I've also done one personally where we're a pirate bard entertainer and one where we're a straight-laced investigator, and they all feel very different stories.

If more people like this over time, I will pose the character creator prompt that interviews you and makes it into a character sheet and fill a world with potential party members, npc's and villains that board 8 created. Everyone can put themselves or their favorite character into the world and we can play out the story.

^ That sounds potentially cool

Votes B: Find a safer place

You've chosen B, deciding that prudence is the better part of valor... and of drinking. An open alley is no place to let your guard down, especially not with the image of that hunter-elf fresh in your mind.

You clutch the bottle tighter. The allure of its mysterious contents is strong, a siren song to your flaw, but your survival instincts are stronger. This alley feels like a throatnarrow, damp, and easily choked. You need to find a place where you can truly be alone, where the city's prying eyes can't find you.

Your Outlander's mind, so used to mapping forests and mountains, adapts to the urban terrain. The alleys of Oakhaven become your canyons, the rooftops your mesas, the labyrinthine streets your dense woods. You have a knack for this, for seeing the hidden paths and secret spaces that others overlook. Tucking the bottle securely into your simple pack, you set off, moving with purpose through the city's shadowed arteries.

You bypass the main thoroughfares, sticking to the maze of back alleys and narrow passages. You scramble over crates, duck under low-hanging clotheslines heavy with laundry, and leap silently across gutters running with questionable water. The city is a living thing around you: you hear the clang of a distant blacksmith's hammer, smell the sweet scent of baking bread from one window and the acrid stench of a tanner's yard from another. You see a stray cat watching you from a windowsill, and you give it a slow, respectful blink before moving on.

Your instincts guide you away from the noisy commerce of the central districts and toward the quieter, older parts of the city. After about ten minutes of weaving through the urban wilderness, you find yourself presented with a few promising options for a secluded sanctuary.

Where do you choose to make your temporary nest?

• A. The Rooftop Eyrie: You've spotted a series of crates and barrels stacked against the wall of a tall, forgotten warehouse. It would be a challenging climb, but it would lead to a flat, isolated rooftop offering a commanding view of the surrounding district and a guarantee of privacy from the ground.
• B. The Anchorwood's Embrace: Your path has led you to a small, neglected green space behind an old temple to a forgotten sea god. At its center grows a truly ancient tree, an Anchorwood, its base a gnarled fortress of thick, exposed roots. You could easily slip into the hollows between the roots, disappearing from sight entirely, surrounded by the quiet dignity of the old wood.
• C. The Undocking: You find yourself near the less-traveled fishing docks. Beneath a long, rickety pier, a forest of thick, mossy pylons creates a dark, damp cavern. The rhythmic sound of the lapping waves would cover any noise, and the deep shadows would offer perfect concealment from anyone not specifically looking for you.
• D. Keep Searching: None of these spots feel quite right. You could continue your exploration, trusting your instincts to lead you to an even better location.
• E. Anything else.

B seems like the most comfy place for Pint, so that one.

You've chosen B. The Anchorwood's Embrace. Your gnomish heart, soothed by the call of nature, leads you to the ancient tree.

You turn away from the cold stone and rickety docks, drawn by a scent your soul recognizes: damp earth and living wood. You follow it through a narrow, winding passage that opens unexpectedly into a small, forgotten courtyard tucked behind a weathered stone temple. The temple itself is clearly old and abandoned, its windows boarded up and its stone facade crawling with ivy. But the centerpiece of the courtyard is what truly captures you.

It is an Anchorwood tree, a species known for its deep, stubborn roots and longevity. This one is a titan, a patriarch that must have been a sapling when Oakhaven was just a collection of fishing huts. Its bark is a craggy landscape of grey and green, and its canopy spreads wide, a leafy cathedral that filters the afternoon sun into a soft, dappled green light. But its true glory is at its base. The roots, thick as a man's waist, have erupted from the earth, twisting and coiling into a gnarled fortress of wood. They create a series of hollows and nooks, perfect hiding places shielded from the outside world.

A profound sense of peace settles over you. This is a place of power, of quiet, ancient strength. It feels more like home than any building in this city. You easily find a perfect hollow, a natural armchair formed by three massive roots. You slide into the space, your back resting against the cool, rough bark. The overgrown grass and fallen leaves provide a soft cushion. From here, you are completely invisible to anyone who might pass by the courtyard's entrance, yet you can see out into the small, sun-dappled clearing.

The sounds of the city are a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves in the sea breeze and the lazy buzz of a fat bumblebee investigating a patch of wildflowers. You finally feel safe. Reaching into your pack, you retrieve your prize. The dusty, dark green bottle feels solid and cool in your hands. The red wax seal is an unanswered question.

Now, in the sanctuary of the ancient Anchorwood, you can finally give the bottle your full attention.
What do you do?

• A. The moment has arrived. You crack the wax seal, uncork the bottle, and take a deep, experimental swig of its contents.
• B. First, a closer look. You carefully wipe the dust away and examine the bottle from top to bottom, looking for any maker's marks, inscriptions on the glass, or clues hidden within the aged wax seal.
• C. The half-elf hunter, the brawl... it all feels significant. You decide to set the bottle aside for a moment, close your eyes, and meditate. Perhaps in this tranquil place, you can find some clarity regarding your visions and whether today's events are connected to them.
• D. You notice a squirrel chittering on a branch above you, its tail twitching curiously as it watches you. You could use your ability to Speak with Small Beasts to ask it if it has seen the cloaked half-elf or any other unusual figures pass this way.
• E. Anything else.

B. Let's give this thing a look

After all that excitement, C doesn't seem like a bad decision, either. Might finally get some insight on the backstory.

D. I'm curious about the quest too; I feel Pint's the sort to turn to animals for news, though.

Two votes to win!

Also a second cyoa has started that is deadly, difficult and frankly, a challenge just to stay alive.

https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/boards/8-gamefaqs-contests/81007944

Feel free to join that one too and thanks for the interest, I'm having so much fun with this.

D.

You've chosen D, an excellent use of your natural gnomish abilities. The bottle can wait; information is the currency of survival.

You set the heavy bottle down carefully in the soft loam beside you, its mysterious nature momentarily taking a backseat to the living world around you. You turn your full attention to the creature in the branches above. It's a red squirrel, its coat the color of a fiery autumn leaf, its tail a magnificent plume that twitches with nervous energy. It's clutching a nut between its tiny paws, watching you with black, bead-like eyes.

You don't speak in Common or Gnomish. Instead, you Purse your lips and let out a series of soft, chittering clicks, a sound that is part birdcall, part insect buzz. It's the language of the undergrowth, a dialect understood by the small and the swift. You hold out an open, non-threatening hand and tilt your head, mirroring the squirrel's own curious gesture.

The squirrel freezes, its chewing stops. Its tail gives a sharp flick. It recognizes the sounds. This is not the loud, clumsy noise of a big person. This is something familiar.

*You soften your sounds, adding a low, gentle whistle. You create a simple idea in your mind and project it through your gestures: Friend. No-threat. Just-watching. You then gesture toward the entrance of the courtyard and try to form a more complex picture: Tall. Quiet. Cloak-like-shadow. Did you see? *

The squirrel processes this. It drops its nut, scampers a little further down the branch, and lets out a rapid series of agitated chirps. Its tail flags wildly, pointing back in the direction of the main street you came from.

Through the exchange of sounds and gestures, you understand its simple message. Yes, it saw the shadow-walker. Not long ago at all. The tall, quiet one passed the entrance to this very courtyard, moving with a silence that the squirrel found unusual and alarming. It smelled not of soil or tree, but of cold iron and distant rain. The squirrel hadn't liked it.

*You press the question, making a climbing motion with your fingers and pointing upwards. Which path? High or low? *

The squirrel's tail flicks decisively toward a specific direction, away from the docks and deeper into the older, more residential part of the city. It chatters emphatically, conveying a clear image: the shadow-walker didn't stay on the ground. It moved to the "stone-cliffs," the rooftops. It was fast, like a hunting cat, and disappeared over the gables of an old, three-story building with a crumbling chimney. The squirrel had been so alarmed it had run here, to the safety of the Anchorwood.

So, the half-elf is nearby. She is moving across the rooftops, heading away from the port. And she moves like a predator on the hunt.

The squirrel, having delivered its message, suddenly remembers its dropped nut and scurries off to find it, its duty done. You are left alone once more in the quiet hollow, the silence now feeling heavier with the knowledge you possess. The mysterious bottle rests beside you.

What do you do now?

• A. Forget the bottle for now. The hunter is close. You could follow her trail, climbing to the rooftops to see where she is going. Her hunt might be connected to your visions.
• B. This new information makes leaving the city seem like a good idea. You'll open the bottle, take a quick drink for the road, and then head for the nearest city gate.
• C. Now, more than ever, you need to know what's in this bottle. It's the only tangible thing you've gained today. You uncork it and take a drink, hoping it might provide courage, clarity, or at least a pleasant buzz.
• D. You'll stay put. The Anchorwood is a safe, defensible position. Let the hunter go on her way. You'll wait here, enjoy your drink, and let the danger pass you by.
• E. Anything else.

B

D

So what are we thinking at this point? Malevolent or just essential quest NPC?

A

C (sorry lol someone else can decide)

I'm thinking she'll be friend, not foe, or at least will share a common goal, but still hesitant

A

You've chosen A. The pull of the mystery is stronger than the allure of the drink. Your visions of a coming disaster have instilled in you a grim sense of responsibility, and this hunter, moving with such purpose, feels like a thread in that dark tapestry.

You give the Anchorwood a silent, thankful nod. It was a good resting place, but rest is a luxury you cannot afford. You carefully stow the heavy bottle back in your pack, ensuring it's padded by your bedroll. Leaving the profound peace of the tree's embrace, you slip back out of the forgotten courtyard and into the alleys.

You move with renewed purpose, your mind fixed on the squirrel's directions. You find the building it described easily enough: a three-story former merchant's house, now looking slightly dilapidated, with a brick chimney that is indeed crumbling near the top. This was her entry point to the city's high ground.

Now you must follow. The wall is a sheer brick face, but it is old and weathered. There are drainpipes, sturdy ivy vines, and stone window ledges that offer a perilous ladder for one with the right skills and courage.

You see the wall not as an obstacle, but as a puzzle. Your monk training takes over. You don't need raw strength; you need balance, momentum, and flow.

Let's make an Acrobatics (Dexterity) check to see how this ascent goes.

(1d20 + 5 = 11 + 5 = 16)

Your ascent is a beautiful, vertical dance. You leap from a crate to a windowsill, your small hands finding a firm grip. You scurry up a thick curtain of ivy, your feet barely seeming to touch it. Then, a daring swing off a loose drainpipe carries you across a section of bare brick, and you land silently on the ledge of a second-story window. You move with an efficiency that is both breathtaking and utterly silent. In less than a minute, you pull yourself over the final edge and onto the slanted, tiled roof.

The world changes up here. The claustrophobic alleys give way to an open expanse of sky. A steady wind whips at your clothes, carrying the scent of salt and chimney smoke. Below you, the city of Oakhaven is a sprawling mosaic of slate roofs, bustling streets, and tiny, scurrying people. The sounds are different, toothe dull roar of the city is now accompanied by the lonely cry of gulls and the flapping of a nearby banner.

Now, to find the trail. The half-elf is skilled, but you are a child of the wilderness. Your eyes, trained to spot a broken twig or a displaced stone, now scan the urban landscape for similar signs.

This is a job for your Outlander skills. You'll need to make a Survival (Wisdom) check to find any trace of the hunter's passage.

(1d20 + 4 = 19 + 4 = 23)

To the untrained eye, the rooftops are just a jumble of tiles and chimneys. To you, they are a story waiting to be read. Your senses, honed by years in the wild, pick up on the impossibly subtle clues she left behind. You see a patch of moss on a tile that is scuffed, but not broken, indicating the passage of a light, careful foot. You spot a single, dark grey thread snagged on a loose nail on a ridge linea thread from a cloak, perhaps. A small scattering of displaced grit near the edge of the next roof shows where she landed after a leap.

The trail is clear to you, a ghostly path leading across the rooftops deeper into the city. She's moving quickly and with confidence, leaping from roof to roof, using the high ground to navigate unseen. She seems to be heading towards the Amulet District, a wealthier part of the city known for its artisan shops, enchanters, and libraries.

You have her trail. You are about fifty yards behind her, a silent, gnomish shadow pursuing a deadly, elven one.

What do you do?

• A. Follow the trail as quickly as you can. You need to close the distance and see what her target is in the Amulet District.
• B. Follow, but with extreme caution. You hang back, keeping a greater distance. It's more important not to be seen than it is to catch up quickly.
• C. Use your Minor Illusion cantrip to try and get her attention from a distance. You could create the sound of a dropped crossbow bolt or a hawk's cry on a rooftop ahead of her to see how she reacts.
• D. Abandon the chase. This is getting too dangerous. You've followed far enough. It's time to head back down to the streets and find a different path out of the city.
• E. Anything else.

A

B

Interesting that it so precisely states Pint is 50 yards back. How in the world could he know that unless he's got a visual?

B

B

Thought about voting C but, looking it up, Minor Illusion is only 30 ft. We'd have to get right behind her to aim it in front of her.

You've chosen B, the path of the patient predator. Speed is a tool, but stealth is an art. You will shadow the hunter, but from a safe distance, valuing secrecy above all else.

You let the trail grow a little cold, giving the half-elf a comfortable lead of a hundred yards or more. You don't need to be breathing down her neck; you just need to keep the ghostly breadcrumbs of her passage in sight. You become a part of the rooftop's ecosystem. You are not a gnome on a roof; you are the shadow that clings to the chimney, the silence in the lull between gusts of wind.

The chase is a test of your discipline. Your body wants to move quickly, to flow across the tiles in an acrobatic display, but you force yourself into a slow, deliberate rhythm. A few steps, then pause, hiding behind a wide brick chimney stack, peering around the edge to reacquire the trail. You leap a gap between buildings only when you are certain there is cover on the other side. You are the echo, not the sound.

This will be a prolonged test of your ability to remain unseen. Let's make a Stealth (Dexterity) check to see how well you maintain your cover during this cautious pursuit.

(1d20 + 5 = 15 + 5 = 20)

Your patience pays off magnificently. You move with such quiet purpose that you barely seem to exist. At one point, you see the cloaked half-elf stop dead on a ridge ahead. She crouches, her head slowly scanning the rooftops behind her. You freeze instantly, flattening yourself behind the peak of a gabled roof, becoming one with the tiles. Her sharp, grey eyes sweep directly over your hiding spot, but you are so still, so utterly a part of the architecture, that she sees nothing amiss. After a long, tense moment, she seems satisfied and continues on her way. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

The trail leads you from the weathered, practical rooftops of the lower districts to a much more elegant landscape. You have entered the Amulet District. Here, the roofs are made of clean red terracotta tiles, the gutters are crafted from gleaming copper, and ornate, magically-lit lanterns hang from the eaves, casting a soft, steady glow even in the daylight. The air itself feels cleaner, tinged with the faint, electric scent of arcane workings.

Her trail ends abruptly. You follow her tracks to the edge of a wide, flat-roofed building that serves as a public bathhouse. From here, you have a clear view of the street below and the buildings opposite. And you see her.

The half-elf is crouched on the same roof as you, about forty feet away, near the opposite corner. She has found her perch. She's partially concealed behind a large, decorative stone planter, her dark cloak blending perfectly with the shadows. She is utterly still, and you realize she has drawn her hand crossbow. It's not aimed, but held at a low ready. Her attention is fixed, not on the street, but on a single building across the way: a slender, white stone tower that rises three stories high. It has elegant, arched windows and a small, wrought-iron balcony on the second floor. Her gaze is locked onto that balcony.

You are hidden behind a large ventilation shaft, a perfect vantage point. You are observing the hunter, who is observing the tower. A quiet, three-way standoff hangs in the thin, magical air of the Amulet District.

What is your next move?

• A. The hunter is focused. This is your best chance to get closer to her position. You can try to stealthily creep across the roof to get within earshot, hoping to learn more.
• B. Forget the hunter for a moment; her target is the key. You focus all your attention on the white tower and the balcony she's watching. You can scan it for details, looking for any sign of life or anything unusual.
• C. You decide to bypass the hunter entirely. You could try to find a way down from this roof and approach the white tower from street level, perhaps finding a way inside yourself to see what's so important.
• D. Create a diversion. Using your Minor Illusion, you could create the sound of a guard patrol on the street below to see if it startles her or forces her to move, potentially revealing more of her intentions.
• E. Anything else.

I feel like now is the appropriate time for a minor illusion. Or go after the target, but it will probably be too late. What we need is the sound of a loud blaring foghorn right behind her so she jumps up, completely startled, staggers, teeters on the edge of the roof, and losing her footing and goes crashing down into the Amulet District below.

D

You've chosen D, to use your gnomish magic as a probe, testing the mettle of the mysterious hunter. An excellent way to gather information without revealing yourself.

You remain perfectly still behind the large, metal ventilation shaft, its cool surface a stark contrast to the tension of the moment. Reaching out with your mind, you pull on the subtle weave of magic, shaping it into a sound. You don't want a sudden, startling noise. You want something mundane, something that belongs in this district, but something that a person in her position could not afford to ignore.

You cast your Minor Illusion. From the street corner below, a new set of sounds begins to echo up the canyon between the buildings. It's the unmistakable rhythm of a City Watch patrol: the steady tramp of hobnailed boots on stone, the metallic clinking of chainmail shirts, and the low, gruff murmur of two guards making their rounds. You even add the detail of one of them clearing his throat loudly.

The effect on the half-elf is immediate and informative. She doesn't startle. She doesn't flinch. There is no panic in her movements at all. Instead, she simply... sinks. Her body seems to deflate as she presses herself lower behind the stone planter. She pulls the edges of her cloak tighter, melting into the manufactured shadow until she seems to vanish entirely. She becomes just another dark patch on the rooftop. Her hand crossbow is still held at the ready, but it's now tucked close to her body, hidden from any potential eyes on the street. Her head turns just slightly, tracking the the approach of your illusionary guards by sound alone.

She is a professional. She is patient. She is not easily rattled. Her reaction tells you that she is prepared for interruptions and knows how to deal with them: by becoming invisible until they pass.

You allow the sound of the marching boots to fade as if the patrol has turned a corner and continued on its way. After a full minute of absolute silence from the street, you see her slowly reappear. She rises from her hiding spot with fluid grace, her form coalescing from the shadows. She performs another slow, careful scan of the surrounding rooftopsincluding, once again, your positionbefore her cold, unwavering attention returns to the white stone tower and its second-floor balcony.

Your test was a success. You now know you are dealing with a highly skilled and disciplined operative, not some common thug. This makes her infinitely more dangerous... and more interesting.

You remain hidden. The hunter has resettled in her perch. The white tower stands silent and serene across the street. What is your next move?

• A. Now you know how cautious she is, the risk is clearer. Still, you could try to stealthily move to a new position, perhaps on an adjacent roof, to get a different angle on her or the tower.
• B. The hunter is a known quantity for now; her target is the real mystery. You will dedicate your focus entirely to the white tower. You can study the balcony, the windows, and the building itself for any signs of life, magical wards, or clues as to why it's so important.
• C. You've seen enough. This is clearly part of the city's shadowy business, and it may not be connected to your visions at all. You can quietly retreat, find your way back to the street, and leave this situation behind.
• D. Try a more direct illusion. Perhaps an illusionary bird could land on the balcony of the tower, or you could create the sound of a window opening. Something to force a reaction from the tower's occupants, rather than the hunter.
• E. Anything else.

Pretty much what I expected. I'll admit I was hoping for something a little more direct. I don't know that applying more illusions is going to help, though. It would be hilarious if we could just silently creep up to her without her knowing, and then just casually say something like "You come here often?" Obviously that's not my answer unless we're going silly mode.

Still, I do wonder if more direct intervention might be warranted, so I'm leaning in the direction of some kind of E response. I just dunno what, precisely. I guess the real question that needs to be asked is, "If she's here, staking out this window, why was she in The Rusty Flagon earlier?" Also, a hand crossbow does not have the power of a contemporary sniper rifle. Is the window she's eyeing open? Is it glass-covered? She might not have the power to take someone down without the bolt being poisoned.

TLDR: no response, just giving thoughts

B seems more like it would give us the answer to that question than anything we can do right now.