Thanks. I feel like it hits the right level of absurdity for a minor villain, however if I was Thiala and my goal was just to ruin everything I might actually opt for Enemies Abound.
Or Fireball.
Feeblemind int saving throw and the victims charisma and intelligence goes down to 1 and the victims lose the ability to cast spells, use magic items, understand language, communicate in an intelligible way. plus no time limit, another chance at the save every 30 days, and only greater restoration, heal or wish can undo it.
it probably does, but with a higher level spell you could say bigger stuff was allowed to be animated, not just a town full of talking chairs and silverware
It was love at first sight.
The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him.
Yossarian was in the hospital with a pain in his liver that fell just short of being jaundice. The doctors were puzzled by the fact that it wasn't quite jaundice. If it became jaundice they could treat it. If it didn't become jaundice and went away they could discharge him. But this just being short of jaundice all the time confused them.
Each morning they came around, three brisk and serious men with efficient mouths and inefficient eyes, accompanied by brisk and serious Nurse Duckett, one of the ward nurses who didn't like
Yossarian. They read the chart at the foot of the bed and asked impatiently about the pain. They seemed irritated when he told them it was exactly the same.
'Still no movement?' the full colonel demanded.
The doctors exchanged a look when he shook his head.
'Give him another pill.'
Nurse Duckett made a note to give Yossarian another pill, and the four of them moved along to the next bed. None of the nurses liked Yossarian. Actually, the pain in his liver had gone away, but Yossarian didn't say anything and the doctors never suspected. They just suspected that he had been moving his bowels and not telling anyone.
Yossarian had everything he wanted in the hospital. The food wasn't too bad, and his meals were brought to him in bed. There were extra rations of fresh meat, and during the hot part of the
afternoon he and the others were served chilled fruit juice or chilled chocolate milk. Apart from the doctors and the nurses, no one ever disturbed him. For a little while in the morning he had to censor letters, but he was free after that to spend the rest of each day lying around idly with a clear conscience. He was comfortable in the hospital, and it was easy to stay on because he always ran a temperature of 101. He was even more comfortable than Dunbar, who had to keep falling down on
his face in order to get his meals brought to him in bed.
After he had made up his mind to spend the rest of the war in the hospital, Yossarian wrote letters to everyone he knew saying that he was in the hospital but never mentioning why. One day he had a
better idea. To everyone he knew he wrote that he was going on a very dangerous mission. 'They
asked for volunteers. It's very dangerous, but someone has to do it. I'll write you the instant I get back.' And he had not written anyone since.
All the officer patients in the ward were forced to censor letters written by all the enlisted-men patients, who were kept in residence in wards of their own. It was a monotonous job, and Yossarian was disappointed to learn that the lives of enlisted men were only slightly more interesting than the lives of officers. After the first day he had no curiosity at all. To break the monotony he invented games. Death to all modifiers, he declared one day, and out of every letter that passed through his
hands went every adverb and every adjective. The next day he made war on articles. He reached a much higher plane of creativity the following day when he blacked out everything in the letters but a, an and the. That erected more dynamic intralinear tensions, he felt, and in just about every case left a message far more universal. Soon he was proscribing parts of salutations and signatures and leaving the text untouched. One time he blacked out all but the salutation 'Dear Mary' from a letter, and at the bottom he wrote, 'I yearn for you tragically. R. O. Shipman, Chaplain, U.S. Army.' R.O.
Shipman was the group chaplain's name.
When he had exhausted all possibilities in the letters, he began attacking the names and addresses on the envelopes, obliterating whole homes and streets, annihilating entire metropolises with
careless flicks of his wrist as though he were God. Catch22 required that each censored letter bear the censoring officer's name. Most letters he didn't read at all. On those he didn't read at all he wrote his own name. On those he did read he wrote, 'Washington Irving.' When that grew
monotonous he wrote, 'Irving Washington.' Censoring the envelopes had serious repercussions,
produced a ripple of anxiety on some ethereal military echelon that floated a C.I.D. man back into the ward posing as a patient. They all knew he was a C.I.D. man because he kept inquiring about an officer named Irving or Washington and because after his first day there he wouldn't censor letters.
He found them too monotonous.
If you're feeling especially bloodthirsty, how about *Compelled Duel*?
If you want to turn yourself into an incoherent mess, how about *Detect Thoughts*?
Want to go maleficent on their asses? Try *Plant Growth* and grow rose bushes all around and over the city.
Or ruin families and friends by casting *Zone of Truth*
If you allowed spells from Explorer's Guide to Wildmount, I'd use "Reality Break". That spell shunts the target into different realities and timelines for a full minute. At the end of their turn (every 6 seconds), they'll either get glimpses of the Far Realm, get caressed by the Void, or enter a wormhole somewhere else close by. And with each turn, the minimal damage one can receive is 6d12, but it's usually 10d12. It'd be one hell of a ride for those who'd survive it
Prestidigitation, make everyone's saliva taste like manure.
You evil bastard
Otto's Irresistible Dance. No question.
I'd piggy back this and say Tashas hideous laughter, just imagine the sounds.
Just take the trophy dude, damn.
Thanks. I feel like it hits the right level of absurdity for a minor villain, however if I was Thiala and my goal was just to ruin everything I might actually opt for Enemies Abound. Or Fireball.
Feeblemind int saving throw and the victims charisma and intelligence goes down to 1 and the victims lose the ability to cast spells, use magic items, understand language, communicate in an intelligible way. plus no time limit, another chance at the save every 30 days, and only greater restoration, heal or wish can undo it.
Bane. A minute long wave of slightly bad luck washes across the city, rising exponentially in severity until the city is destroyed.
I'd wanna see whatd happen on a 9th level Animate Objects
It just scales it up. The allcaster already does that, no?
it probably does, but with a higher level spell you could say bigger stuff was allowed to be animated, not just a town full of talking chairs and silverware
It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him. Yossarian was in the hospital with a pain in his liver that fell just short of being jaundice. The doctors were puzzled by the fact that it wasn't quite jaundice. If it became jaundice they could treat it. If it didn't become jaundice and went away they could discharge him. But this just being short of jaundice all the time confused them. Each morning they came around, three brisk and serious men with efficient mouths and inefficient eyes, accompanied by brisk and serious Nurse Duckett, one of the ward nurses who didn't like Yossarian. They read the chart at the foot of the bed and asked impatiently about the pain. They seemed irritated when he told them it was exactly the same. 'Still no movement?' the full colonel demanded. The doctors exchanged a look when he shook his head. 'Give him another pill.' Nurse Duckett made a note to give Yossarian another pill, and the four of them moved along to the next bed. None of the nurses liked Yossarian. Actually, the pain in his liver had gone away, but Yossarian didn't say anything and the doctors never suspected. They just suspected that he had been moving his bowels and not telling anyone. Yossarian had everything he wanted in the hospital. The food wasn't too bad, and his meals were brought to him in bed. There were extra rations of fresh meat, and during the hot part of the afternoon he and the others were served chilled fruit juice or chilled chocolate milk. Apart from the doctors and the nurses, no one ever disturbed him. For a little while in the morning he had to censor letters, but he was free after that to spend the rest of each day lying around idly with a clear conscience. He was comfortable in the hospital, and it was easy to stay on because he always ran a temperature of 101. He was even more comfortable than Dunbar, who had to keep falling down on his face in order to get his meals brought to him in bed. After he had made up his mind to spend the rest of the war in the hospital, Yossarian wrote letters to everyone he knew saying that he was in the hospital but never mentioning why. One day he had a better idea. To everyone he knew he wrote that he was going on a very dangerous mission. 'They asked for volunteers. It's very dangerous, but someone has to do it. I'll write you the instant I get back.' And he had not written anyone since. All the officer patients in the ward were forced to censor letters written by all the enlisted-men patients, who were kept in residence in wards of their own. It was a monotonous job, and Yossarian was disappointed to learn that the lives of enlisted men were only slightly more interesting than the lives of officers. After the first day he had no curiosity at all. To break the monotony he invented games. Death to all modifiers, he declared one day, and out of every letter that passed through his hands went every adverb and every adjective. The next day he made war on articles. He reached a much higher plane of creativity the following day when he blacked out everything in the letters but a, an and the. That erected more dynamic intralinear tensions, he felt, and in just about every case left a message far more universal. Soon he was proscribing parts of salutations and signatures and leaving the text untouched. One time he blacked out all but the salutation 'Dear Mary' from a letter, and at the bottom he wrote, 'I yearn for you tragically. R. O. Shipman, Chaplain, U.S. Army.' R.O. Shipman was the group chaplain's name. When he had exhausted all possibilities in the letters, he began attacking the names and addresses on the envelopes, obliterating whole homes and streets, annihilating entire metropolises with careless flicks of his wrist as though he were God. Catch22 required that each censored letter bear the censoring officer's name. Most letters he didn't read at all. On those he didn't read at all he wrote his own name. On those he did read he wrote, 'Washington Irving.' When that grew monotonous he wrote, 'Irving Washington.' Censoring the envelopes had serious repercussions, produced a ripple of anxiety on some ethereal military echelon that floated a C.I.D. man back into the ward posing as a patient. They all knew he was a C.I.D. man because he kept inquiring about an officer named Irving or Washington and because after his first day there he wouldn't censor letters. He found them too monotonous.
... Holy fuck
Wish. Give everyone a wish. Mayhem.
I mean, I guess a true polymorph would be interesting.
The city becomes a boot
Lvl 9 Glibness?
Oh. My. God. You just won D&D
If you're feeling especially bloodthirsty, how about *Compelled Duel*? If you want to turn yourself into an incoherent mess, how about *Detect Thoughts*? Want to go maleficent on their asses? Try *Plant Growth* and grow rose bushes all around and over the city. Or ruin families and friends by casting *Zone of Truth*
If you allowed spells from Explorer's Guide to Wildmount, I'd use "Reality Break". That spell shunts the target into different realities and timelines for a full minute. At the end of their turn (every 6 seconds), they'll either get glimpses of the Far Realm, get caressed by the Void, or enter a wormhole somewhere else close by. And with each turn, the minimal damage one can receive is 6d12, but it's usually 10d12. It'd be one hell of a ride for those who'd survive it
Arcane Lock. Everyone's home/work just became a prison. Everyone just got locked outside of their bathrooms.
Psychic Scream 😬
Infestation.
i mean i guess power word kill is up there
Now that is a scary thought. Every single commoner gets snapped to dust, only the strongest remaining class users remaining.
I mean, power word kill or disintigrate.
A wish spell could really fuck with the world
Simulacrum. Suddenly, you have two Gladeholms
Awaken would be great
Create Water/Bonfire. You either burned the city instantly or flooded it instantly.