Revision as of 22:34, 27 August 2025

Corsairs Campaign (← links | edit)
Session 108 Prep (transclusion) (← links | edit)
Session 108 Killed by a flumph (← links | edit)
Session 109 Prep (transclusion) (← links | edit)
The Snapping Line (← links | edit)
Session 119 (← links | edit)
Session 120 (← links | edit)
Session 121 (← links | edit)
Session 122 (← links | edit)
Session 124 (← links | edit)
Session 125 (transclusion) (← links | edit)

The Snapping Line (tavern) Owner

Medium humanoid, Chaotic Neutral

Armor Class 10 (natural armor)
Hit Points 10 (2d8)
Speed 30 ft.

STR	DEX	CON	INT	WIS	CHA
14 (+2)	12 (+1)	16 (+3)	10 (0)	14 (+2)	13 (+1)

Saving Throws —
Skills —
Damage Vulnerabilities —
Damage Resistances —
Damage Immunities —
Condition Immunities —
Senses passive Perception 10
Languages Common
Challenge 0 (10 XP)

Actions

Unarmed Strike. Melee Weapon Attack: +4 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 4 (1d4 + 2) bludgeoning damage.
Serving Tray Bash. Melee Weapon Attack: +4 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 5 (1d6 + 2) bludgeoning damage.
Heavy Mugs. Ranged Weapon Attack: +3 to hit, range 20/60 ft., one target. Hit: 4 (1d4 + 1) bludgeoning damage.

Additional Info

Appearance Abe stands tall and barrel-chested, with a weathered face etched by years of sun and sea. His salt-and-pepper beard, streaked with golden highlights, frames a twinkling blue eye and a perpetually lopsided grin. A faded tattoo of an anchor dances on his muscular forearm, a relic from his days at sea. Though now retired, callouses still cling to his broad hands, reminders of hauling nets and battling storms. His attire is a mishmash of practicality and comfort: sturdy boots, patched trousers, a well-worn fishing vest over a loose linen shirt, and a captain's hat perpetually perched at a rakish angle.
Voice/Mannerisms
Bond
Ideal
Flaw
Info A fair meal for a fair days pay
Equipment

@@ Line 30: / Line 30: @@
 |legendary_actions =
 |roleplaying_notes =
-|image = Abe Fallstaff.png
+|image = Abe Falstaff.png
 |campaign = Corsairs
 | appearance = Abe stands tall and barrel-chested, with a weathered face etched by years of sun and sea. His salt-and-pepper beard, streaked with golden highlights, frames a twinkling blue eye and a perpetually lopsided grin. A faded tattoo of an anchor dances on his muscular forearm, a relic from his days at sea. Though now retired, callouses still cling to his broad hands, reminders of hauling nets and battling storms. His attire is a mishmash of practicality and comfort: sturdy boots, patched trousers, a well-worn fishing vest over a loose linen shirt, and a captain's hat perpetually perched at a rakish angle.