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The purpose of this thread is for artists to share their work with the intent of finding clients, and for other members of the community to find and commission artists for custom artwork.

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Recently I've joined a new campaign as a player. One of the players is my good friend. The other 4 and the DM are new people I've never met before in my life.

I've been very excited to finally be a player. The campaign was interesting, the DM was good, and there was very good chemistry between the players from day one. The whole group is heavily roleplay-based, and we just clicked instantly like a bunch of theater kids we are. We are all in our 20s, including the DM.

The problems started when my friend mentioned our campaign where I am the DM. It was during that little friendly talk when preparing for the session. My friend is a bit of a happy bubbly chatterbox, so they excitedly shared with other players the adventures they had a couple of days prior as their other character. It was an important moment for their story and they were so so inspired and still in that headspace. Then they proceeded to talk about how awesome I was and how I did such a good job as a DM. I said something along the lines of "ha ha yeah but don't forget you're CharX now, not CharY" to gently get them back to the current campaign.

Then I turn away from my friend and I see the DMs face drop. And nothing has been the same ever since.

Every time my character makes a plan, it ends up not working for reasons I couldn't forsee or control. I play a support healing and buffing character, but every time we're in battle I'm the first to be targeted, whether the enemy is intelligent enough to take the support down first or not, whether I stand closer or further away from the battlegrounds. NPC refuse to give me important information no matter how I word the question but happily give it to the rest of the party even if the question was rude or meta. I never get any dm specials, like an npc that has ties to me because of my backstory or a spotlight moment, while other players get this a lot.

This was not an issue before. It only started to happen when it became known I also DM. And every time my friend mentioned "our game" later it kept getting worse.

Now I admit I have never mentioned this before, and perhaps it was seen as withholding information or misleading behavior. But we barely talked with this DM outside of direct game-related communication. I just didn't think it mattered I guess.

I have never been disruptive it this game. I have never corrected the DM about rules or anything. I'm very animated and theatrical, but this whole group is. In battle I track the initiative and conditions and sometimes I say something like "hey DM, this goblin is still burning" or "hey player, you're up next and your Blindness is over", but I only do it because it's easier for myself to keep track this way, and as a bonus it takes away the cognitive load from everyone else. At our first battle encounter (before the Cursed Talk) the DM actually thanked me for doing this.

Now how can I approach the issue without it getting worse?

I don't think it's reasonable to tell somebody "hey I think you're jealous. Why don't you like me?"

I've tried to ask if I needed to change something in my playstyle or character to better accommodate the narrative. I was told everything is fine.

I've already asked my friend to avoid this topic in conversations at this table, but it's seems to be on their mind a lot and it slips here and there. Plus other players have started to ask me polite questions about DMing or my campaign.

Man, all I wanted to do was to be a little guy doing little quests in his little life. 😢

This month i decided to make some modular Goblins! I need to do the math but there is several hundreds variations possibilities I think?. With magnets you can swap clothing pretty fast or you can just create a whole group of different variations.

It wasn't as fun as creating Unique Heroes or bosses, but it was interesting to come up with multiples goblins designs. There is just so many faces you can do ^^ I might do another version for a different color group of goblins later on, but right now im doing a modular set for Bandits!

If you are into this kind of thing, I released 2 of the first Goblin Variations already and i plan to release the rest over the next few weeks/month or so!

Check out patreon to follow my paper adventure, and if you want to test my paper minis i have a free different Goblin up for grabs to!

ENjoy!

OH, use sound for the magnet Snap, it is satisfying ^^

I'm super super excited as this is my first DND character! I got to draw him before the campaign and yes I know he looks strong I THINK HES COOL 🥲

My favorite side story is below! I know I'm not the best writer and it's a bit generic or repetitive. I'm used to poetry so it's a bit of a mess. 😮‍💨

Morning settled slowly over the valley beneath the Aether Peaks, the pale light of early sun slipping between the mountain ridges and washing across the scattered rooftops of the village. Thin clouds clung to the higher slopes where snow still lingered year-round, and a quiet wind carried the smell of pine and cold stone down into the valley below.

Inside the Hüter home, the day had begun like most others.

In the small back room, Valdrik sat at a workbench beneath the window, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he leaned over a collection of tools spread across the table. A leather satchel lay open beside him, its seams split along one side where the stitching had finally given way after years of use. He worked patiently with a needle and heavy thread, drawing each stitch tight with practiced hands.

The faint golden sigils across his forearms pulsed softly with his heartbeat as he worked. They were dim now compared to the blinding glow they had once carried in the cavern beneath the forest, but they had never truly faded. Thin lines of gold curled across his skin like etched lightning, winding over muscle and bone as if they were a long weathered tattoo.

Valdrik hardly noticed them anymore.

He finished a stitch, pulled the thread tight with his teeth, and moved to the next.

From the front room came the quiet sounds of his mother, Freydis, moving about the house. A pot hung above the hearth where water had begun to steam gently, and the faint clatter of wooden utensils drifted through the doorway. Every so often he heard the soft rhythm of knitting needles tapping together where she sat beside the fire.

It was a familiar sound. One that had filled the house for as long as he could remember.

He paused long enough to flex his fingers before leaning forward again, reinforcing the satchel’s inner seam. The leather was thick and stubborn, but that was exactly why he liked it. Good tools should resist repair just enough to make the work satisfying.

Outside, the village was beginning to stir. The distant ring of a hammer striking iron echoed faintly from the forge down the road.

Valdrik glanced toward the window where the towering shape of the Aether Peaks stood against the pale sky.

His gaze lingered there longer than he meant it to.

Then came the knock at the door. Three heavy raps against the wood.

His mother’s chair scraped softly against the floor as she stood. “Coming,” she called.

Valdrik tied off the stitch and set the satchel aside, ears tuned to the knock. Almost certainly his uncle.

Since the incident, the village had turned strange around him and Freydis, sideways glances, hushed voices trailing off when he passed. The rumors chased him like smoke: He’ll outshine the whole bloodline… strongest Hüter in generations… Others spat the opposite: Why does he get the helm, the sigils, the favor? Special treatment for the boy who lost his father. What about the rest of us? Our own children?

Valdrik shook the memories away as the door creaked open.

Cool morning air slipped briefly into the house along with a familiar voice.

“Well, you look busy.”

“Morning, Haldren,” Freydis replied warmly.

“Morning, Freydis.”

Valdrik glanced at the bronze helm resting on the corner of his workbench.

After a moment, he picked it up and lowered it over his head.

The magic within Ægishjálmr stirred instantly, bending the light around him. His body faded from sight as the helm settled into place.

He stepped quietly into the hallway.

In the front room, Haldren was already removing his coat and brushing dust from his sleeves.

“Coffee?” Freydis asked.

“If you’ve got it.”

She poured him a cup from the kettle, steam curling upward as she handed it to him.

Haldren took a slow sip before glancing around the room.

“Where’s Val?”

“In the back. Fixing something again.”

Haldren snorted softly.

“That boy would rebuild the whole house one nail at a time if we let him.”

Freydis smiled faintly as she returned to her knitting chair.

“He likes knowing how things work.”

“That’s his father in him.”

The comment lingered between them for a moment.

Haldren leaned one shoulder against the table, staring thoughtfully into his cup. “You ever notice how much he’s starting to look like Eirik?”

“All the time,” she said quietly. “Especially when he’s thinking about something.”

“Same stare.”

“The mountain stare,” she said.

Haldren nodded slowly. “That’s exactly it.”

Her knitting paused in her lap.

“He used to get that look every time he looked at the peaks,” she continued. “Like he’d already started the journey in his head.”

Haldren’s expression softened slightly. “Eirik was always halfway up a mountain even when he was standing in the kitchen.”

She let out a quiet breath. “I still expect him to walk through that door sometimes.”

Haldren didn’t answer immediately. “Mountains keep their secrets,” he said after a moment.

“They shouldn’t keep people.” she argued.

“No,” he agreed.

Silence settled for a few seconds. Valdrik took this time to reposition behind them, still invisible.

Then she asked, “Did Eirik ever tell you why he left the helm for Val?”

Haldren shook his head. “No. But he didn’t leave things like that without a reason.”

“He trusted Val with it.”

“He trusted Val with more than he probably should have,” Haldren continued, “he was just a boy.”

She smiled faintly, “That sounds like something you’d say about him too.”

Haldren chuckled, “Fair.”

Freydis’ tone shifted slightly, “He carries a lot.”

“He’s strong enough for it.”

“That’s not what I worry about.”

Haldren glanced toward the hallway.

“He doesn’t talk about what happened in that cave,” she continued. “Not really.”

“He will eventually.”

“Or he’ll bury it.”

“That’s also possible.”

She looked down at the yarn in her lap.

“I just don’t want him doing everything alone.”

Haldren took another sip of coffee.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “we can start by dragging him outside to hit things with a hammer.”

Her smile returned.

“That does seem to help.”

Haldren raised his voice slightly.

“You planning to eavesdrop all morning, or are you coming out here?”

Valdrik removed the helm.

The invisibility collapsed instantly.

His mother barely looked surprised.

Haldren grinned as he turned to look at Valdrik.

“You’re getting quieter with that thing.”

Valdrik set the helm on the table. “You were talking about my father.”

“We were,” Haldren said.

Valdrik poured himself a cup from the kettle.

“You’re early.”

“Training day.”

“I assumed.”

Haldren glanced at the faint sigils on his forearms.

“They are still not doing anything, are they?”

“Not really."

“Not really?”

Valdrik shrugged, “I’m still figuring that out.”

Haldren smirked, “That’s a polite way of saying you have no idea.”

“That is exactly what I said.”

Freydis shook her head with a quiet laugh.

“You two are impossible.”

Haldren jerked his thumb toward the door, “You ready?”

Valdrik picked up the helm again, “Always.”

The training yard behind the forge was still empty when they arrived.

The ground was packed flat from years of practice, and the wooden posts lining the clearing were scarred from countless blows.

Haldren grabbed a heavy training hammer from the rack.

Valdrik stepped into the ring and lowered the helm over his head.

Unlike most helms, Ægishjálmr had no visor and no eye slits. The metal covered his entire face smoothly, yet the world remained perfectly clear around him. The magic within the helm bent light itself, allowing the wearer to see through the bronze as though it were not there at all.

Haldren watched him with mild amusement.

“That thing still feels wrong every time I see it.”

“It works.”

“So does a brick if you throw it hard enough.”

Valdrik lifted Runenblitz.

“Are you planning to talk all morning?”

Haldren rolled his shoulders, “Just warming up.”

They circled.

The first clash of hammers rang across the yard like a struck bell.

Haldren moved with surprising speed for a man his age, his strikes heavy and relentless. Each blow carried the weight of decades at the forge, and something else beneath it.

Something older. Haldren's pilgrimage went more or less as expected. Unlike Valdrik most of him people got faint and simple gifts. Haldren was one of those people. He has extreme strength and durability. Even the strongest of Valdrik's attacks won't injure him.

He makes the perfect fighting-mate.

“You fight like a smith,” Haldren said between strikes.

“That is what I am.”

“No,” Haldren replied. “Your father fought like a warrior. You fight like you’re solving a puzzle.”

Valdrik vanished.

The helm bent the light around him and his body faded from view.

Haldren snorted, “Ah yes. Hide behind the helmet.”

Valdrik reappeared beside him with a sudden strike.

Steel rang again.

Haldren caught the blow and shoved him backward.

“You know,” he said casually, “your father never needed tricks like that.”

Valdrik’s jaw tightened beneath the helm. “He also never taught me how he fought.”

Haldren shrugged, “Maybe he expected you to figure it out.”

They traded another flurry of strikes. Dust kicked up beneath their boots. The air filled with a tension that Haldren seemed intent on creating.

Then Haldren added quietly, “Or maybe he thought you’d never get the chance.”

Valdrik stopped.

The words struck deeper than the hammer.

Haldren stepped forward again.

“You don’t know if he died up there,” he continued. “But you train like someone who thinks he did.”

Something hot surged in Valdrik’s chest.

The sigils across his arms pulsed. As he grew more and more irritated. Lightning snapped across his skin.

Haldren’s eyes narrowed.

“That's new… what tricks are you usin-”

The pressure inside Valdrik built rapidly, like a storm gathering behind his ribs.

“Enough,” Valdrik said, cutting off his uncle's words.

But the power was already rising.

“BACK!”

Thunder erupted.

A violent wave of force blasted outward, hurling dust and loose stones across the yard.

Haldren was thrown off his feet and skidded backward through the dirt before finally stopping several paces away.

Silence followed.

The lightning faded.

Valdrik stood where he had unleashed the blast, breathing hard.

Haldren pushed himself upright slowly, brushing dirt from his beard. “Well,” he muttered. “Can’t say I've seen you use that trick before.”

Valdrik stared at his hands. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Haldren blinked. “You didn’t?”

Valdrik shook his head. “I felt… something building. But I thought it was just anger.” The sigils along his arms dimmed slowly. “I didn’t try to cast anything.”

Haldren studied him with growing interest. “You’re telling me that was an accident?”

“Yes.”

Haldren scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Well.” A slow grin spread across his face. “That’s a pretty good accident.”

Valdrik still looked unsettled. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“Maybe,” Haldren said. “But it did.”

He took a few steps closer. “And for the record… I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

Valdrik looked up. “About your father,” Haldren continued. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“I figured.”

Haldren nodded once. “Still. I’m sorry.”

Valdrik held his gaze for a moment.

Then he nodded. “Accepted.”

Haldren lifted his hammer again.

“Want to go again?”

Valdrik adjusted his grip on Runenblitz. “Always.”

Haldren’s grin widened. “Good.”

He raised his hammer.

And the training continued.

I’m saying this to all you folks out there who want to make a unique or edgy character: YOUR CHARACTER NEEDS TO HAVE MOTIVATION THAT WOULD MAKE THEM BE IN A PARTY IN WHATEVER WORLD YOU ARE IN. The attempt to make something different leads to other players and your DM trying to work around you and it stops being fun very quickly. The PC can be an asshole but they are your party’s asshole. If your character has trauma use it to fuel their growth not to slow down the party or constantly throw a wrench in whatever plans are already made. I am saying this as someone who has played with problem PC’s and tried to fix it in game but now we’re at the point where no one is having any fun because there is an evil “traumatized” character to refuses to actually do anything that party is doing.

They can be dark, edgy, whatever but they need to work as a team or you will be killing the fun of DND. ITS A TEAM SPORT! NOT A SOLO RUN!

Titans of the World

They once roamed the earth as the masters of the universe. They were part of other planes of existence when men, elves, dwarves, and other humanoids did not even exist. These elder guardians are so ancient that they exist only in far-fetched words, drawings, and tomes. But perhaps it is just a question of looking in the right place.

Hook. The characters have never heard of these creatures, or all they know are myths and crazy tales. However, they meet Malcolm, an eccentric scientist who claims to be a paleontologist. He does not explain what that means but he assures the heroes that his team just made an incredible discovery. However, the place seems to be too dangerous for miners, explorers, and historians. This man hires the characters to make sure the place can be explored safely; he offers a reward of 6,000 GP.

Download a free version of this map and read the rest of what we wrote for it on our Blog.

Not really sure If I will incoperate this alternate form for my fairy monk in game as I'm truly unsure how to really do so asude from rule of cool with no change to combat BUT I do like the idea of a form to replace their wings and since he is very bug like and takes inspiration from Indian culture why not many arms almost like the godess Kali :)) (I will post his usual form in the comments for anyone curious on the change)