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D and D Campaign StarterThis'll work for any humanoid, civilized races. It also works better with younger PC's.
You are near your hometown, a diverse little settlement, never growing in populace more than several hundred, but going back many, many generations, back to elves originally driven out by humans, in a field. You are enjoying yourselves, just being there, living. You are apprentices in your respective fields.
Suddenly, you feel the ground below you give, and you are falling
[PC's roll a reflex save against DC-15, losers role 1d8 damage, 3 and below are crippled in one leg, and move at ½ speed, 1s are crippled in both legs, and have a speed of 1, unless helped, which then moves at ½ speed. Winners take 1d4 damage]
[Winners] You manage to roll when you hit the ground absorbing the impact, but still hurt yourself a bit from the sheer height.
[Losers, 3/b] You manage to make a slightly soft landing, but you hear a crack, and a searing pain erupts from your leg. I
Fanon Backstory-Roland Wallace I'm a dead man.
I killed and have been killed,
They lured me in with promises of plasmids and money.My greed led me to agree and to become a tester.This cost me my life.
They took me through their facilities, to a sterilized room, where I was strapped to a table. They started telling me it was for safety, but I was starting to wonder who's safety it was for. The nurse pulled out an audio diary, to keep a record of results.
"Enrage plasmid test for Fontaine Industries," said
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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