A light mist covers the drowned soil, smothering the world under a soft blanket. The faint cries of birds can be heard overhead, piercing the deafening hush that has fallen over the land. She is a land in pain and mourning, gouged by a wall of water, mud and debris. Nothing remains standing but a few trees, snapped in half by the immense force but refusing to release their hold on the place of their birth. Countless rivulets scar the landscape where the water has retreated downhill, leaving behind only small pools in the feet-deep layer of mud.
At first glance only birds have been left alive, the black shapes of crows fluttering as they feast on the many twisted corpses of man, horse and wild beast. But fortunately, this is not so.
To six figures, spread no more than fifty feet apart, the world is still a cold, dark and wet place. Their eyes have been smeared shut, and only some divine blessing must have prevented them from landing face-first in the mud as the water deposited them on the side of a hill. They are weak and drenched in thick mud, but they are alive. And perhaps, the only ones to have lived through the nightmare which destroyed the lush lands of young Ulrynth.
First off, you have lost everything that was not (tightly) secured to your body or carried in pouches. This means no weapons; no gold, no water, no horse, no stylish hat with a feather on top, no squires, and whatever else you may have on/with you.
For examples of stuff you haven't lost: (empty) pouches, shields and armor are considered secured to your body.
Oh, and do not simply discard your (magic) items. The (magical) properties of your items may be viewed as a personal ability instead of a property, so if have a +1 longsword of butterflies on your item list, any new sword you will acquire can count as a +1 longsword of butterflies if you so desire. Other than that, normal mechanics apply. (So no switching from a +1 longsword of butterflies to a +3 longsword of ladybugs as a free action if you have both, you'll still need to sheathe and draw)
Secondly: I'll need everyone to roll Endurance. If you roll 15 or higher, take the HP at the end of the prologue encounter, add your HS value, and decrease your total remaining healing surges to 3. If you roll below 15, take the HP at the end of the prologue encounter, lose you HS value (minimum of 1HP left), and decrease your total remaining healing surges to 2.
"Sari!"someone cries out, and Cini Paras's eyes snap open to the dim light of a ruined world. Above her, a crow flies away.
"Sari? You here?"
I'm alive, Espi thinks, then: Who else? What else? She lurches to her feet, barely, and takes a few, staggered steps. Thick slabs of mud slip of her body as she brushes herself off, pats herself down. Some mud cakes her left eye, and she leaves it there. Her body is undamaged and back to its natural form, but her dagger--a Tamahumari artifact from her mother--is gone, along with her cloak and pack.Only two throwing knives, strapped to her thighs, remain.
And nothing else, Espi realizes, gazing at the flat plane of death that remains. Merricci, the Ulrynthians: Nothing survives. Well, not nothing. One man -- a Cetan Highlander, if she is correct, and a giant of old in stature -- looks out at the devastation.There is no such thing as an end, Espi reminds herself, as other survivors arise. If we survived, then others...
Sergeant Cini Paras waits quietly, though, and says nothing.
If, on a desert night, a traveler, outside the town of Balic, leaning from the steep slope, without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow (in a network of lines that interlace) on the carpet of sand illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story down there awaits its end?
Iton stretches, mud dripping from his frame. He considers wiping it off his face, but by the look of him, it would only be moving mud around. None of his bones were broken. Plenty of bruises, but no breaks. A small miracle.
Turning, he sees a girl. One eyebrow raises up for a moment, the only thing close to emotion on his face. But the figure is a little too small to be Cassilda.
"Wrong girl."
Seriously, though, you should check out the PbP Haven. You might also like Real Adventures, IF you're cool.
Knights of W.T.F.- Silver Spur Winner
4enclave, a place where 4e fans can talk 4e in peace.
Cassilda groans. Silently she begs just a few more seconds of sleep. It is cold and her head feels as if it is stuffed with wool. Come to think of it, everything aches. In fact, the more the seconds tick by, the more aches and pains make themselves felt all over her entire body. *What in the…* Confused memories begin to trickle back in and she tries to open her eyes. It takes a few tries for they feel as if they are pasted shut.
Slowly she reaches up with one hand to scrape the mud away from her face, allowing her to breathe better. She can only use the one hand, for her other arm hangs limply from her side. Finally, she is able to open her eyes, blinking painfully several times in an attempt to focus her eyes and see what is going on around her. Memory returns along with her sight. There was a battle and her side was winning, except suddenly the land rose up around them, scraping them off like fleas on a dog.
Mud covers her like icing covering a cake, leaving her looking like a dirt popsicle. Damn, her staff is gone. She feels a stab of sorrow at its loss, for it held sentimental value to her, but she is quick enough to realize she is alive when she could easily have died along with so many others. She hasn’t been able to survey the battlefield but she is smart enough to realize she doesn’t hear much of anything. If there were a lot of survivors, there would be men and women crying out to each other, and crying out in pain. The fact that there is an eerie silence over everything fills her with a cold fear that causes her to break out in goose bumps despite the heat of the day and the warmth of the mud encasing her.
“Iton?” Or, at least that is what she tries to say. Her voice comes out in a croak and she ends up coughing and hacking weakly. The harsh caw of a crow tells her that not everything is dead. There is some relief in that. She rolls over, only then realizing that once more Corporal Tucker had saved her life. This time, he did not make it through. She closes his open, staring eyes with her one good hand and sigh. The sigh turns into a hacking cough as her lungs try to clear themselves of any remaining traces of water, mud, and debris.
“Sari?”
Cassilda sags in relief as she hears a voice she was half fearful of never hearing again, sucking in a sob of relief. She tries to call out again, coughs, and makes another attempt between coughs. Finally, her body appears to be weary of hacking and she is able to call out. “ITON, Brother!” Evidently, her lungs are not as done as she thought for a coughing fit takes over her and she turns, wearily hacking up bits of mud and spitting it back toward the ground.
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
Hearing Cassilda cry out, Iton locks on to the source of the noise. If she hadn't called, he might never have seen her. She was nearly buried alive. Iton makes his way to her, his long legs eating ground between strides even as the mud tries to eat him back. Reaching into the muck, he finds an arm and gives it a gentle tug, to see if she is truly stuck or only lightly covered.
As he does, he gives a slight smile.
"Figures you'd follow me here, too."
Seriously, though, you should check out the PbP Haven. You might also like Real Adventures, IF you're cool.
Knights of W.T.F.- Silver Spur Winner
4enclave, a place where 4e fans can talk 4e in peace.
Izzy snaps awake and into full clarity as only a soldier trained to be awake from a full sleep could possibly do. She waits a moment before opening her eyes, searching back in her memory for the last thing she remembers. Carefully, she wiggles different appendages, insuring proper working order. Hearing voices, her eyes snap open -- or rather, they try to, only they are caked with mud. She sits and scraps it off, then looks around.
Her mind reels for a moment at the damage of the surrounding landscape. She blinks a few times as she takes it in, and then she hears voices again. Reaching for her sword, she is disconcerted to find it missing, along with her spear. Her body protests as she rises to her feet, a little wobbly on the shifting mud plane. She sees a giant of a man standing a bit away, and a smaller woman near as well. Another voice comes from behind her and she can make out another woman clawing her way free of the mud. Friend or foe, she cannot say, but it seems the field of battle has been leveled, and by forces greater than either side possessed. Her shoulders sag as she thinks of Lucas and her 'family' -- the Wrecking Crew had been accepting of her when no one else was, but looking around, she didn't think any of them had survived.
Her eyes begin to scan the debris, searching for a glint of metal that would indicate a weapon. She felt naked and vulnerable without her sword, and not knowing if the others were enemies or not wasn't helping matters.
The big man suddenly comes vaulting over the mud, briefly getting sucked in but with sheer strength pulling free. Izzy drops into a defensive crouch, but he ignores her, instead going to help the woman struggling in the mud behind her. She relaxes a bit, but not much.
Cassilda groans as she tries to stand under the weight of all the mud stuck to her. “Hold on, let me get this off.” The relief in her voice at seeing him is evident and she grins in response to his easy banter. “Of course I followed you here. Someone has to make sure you serve out your entire five years.” She winks at him, but it turns into furious blinking as mud slips down and glops into her eyes.
“Damnitallanyway!” She had tried to reach up with her right hand, having forgotten, in the thrill of knowing Iton is alive, that the arm is broken. “Hold on, let me get some of this mud off me and then I should be able to get up.” She mutters words of magic, moving her hand down over her. It is almost as if her hand were some kind of scrape, for the mud flows away from her in sheets. It takes her almost a minute before she is fairly clean and able to stand without the mud sucking her back toward the ground. She uses her magic to remove the majority of mud on Iton as well. If he complains or resists, she will tell him she is being practical. They won’t last long helping others if they are weighed down by mud.
She looks around, seeing the devastation for the first time from a standing position. Her eyes look like saucers and her mouth hangs open in shock. “By all the gods!” She looks at Iton, then reaches over and claps him firmly. “Praise the gods we are alive!” She looks around once more at the landscape, searching for signs of movement. “We cannot be the only ones, can we?” No, there is a woman wandering not too far off, and another just sitting in the mud and looking like a statue, except for the blinking eyes. Cassilda takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and gives Iton a look he has seen plenty of times before. She is putting on her “game face” and will now, most likely, go out and help aid any others until she falls over in exhaustion.
Using prestidigitation to remove majority of mud and allow her to get moving and get to helping others. She will also use it on anyone they come across. She isn't going to clean everyone up completely, just enough so that the mud and dirt isn't a hindrance.
Prestidigitation: [p159] (At-Will power | Arcane | Standard Action | Ranged 2 | Effects: Move up to 1-lb of material; Create a harmless sensory effect, such as a shower of sparks, a puff of wind, faint music, or a strong odor; Color, clean, or soil items in 1 cubic foot for up to 1 hour; Make a small mark or symbol appear on a surface for up to 1 hour; Produce out of nothingness a small item or image that exists until the end of your next turn; Make a small, handheld item invisible until the eoynt. **Nothing you create with this cantrip can deal damage, serve as a weapon or a tool, or hinder another creature’s actions. This cantrip cannot duplicate the effect of any other power. | Special: You can have as many as three prestidigitation effects active at one time.
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
The cleric's eyes flutter, and he stares into the face of Eloa. His sister in the faith smiles a wicked grin at him, and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the banners hanging from the walls, bearing the image of the Lord's Eye. The familiar wardrobe sits in its spot to the left, and a small writing desk occupies part of the right wall. His clothes lie folded neatly over the back of the wooden chair before the desk, and Eloa is leaning over him, her eyes aglow with a mixture of mischief and relief.
I'm safe... I'm back north...
He tries to sit up, but his body feels heavy. It's as if his weight has multiplied.
Eloa, why do I feel so odd?
The woman does not answer. Instead, she continues to stare deeply into his eyes, one of her hands playing with the holy symbol around her neck as she does. Zarja feels nothing but confusion as she remains silent, and repeats his question. When she continues to just stand there, he reaches a hand up to clasp her shoulder...
And clutches nothing but air, as the sun beams down on his face.
Zarja blinks and gasps in surprise, and as his eyes take in the sights around him, he realizes the past few moments have all been a dream. He finds himself once more in Valegard, but no longer on the wall. Tilting his head, he sees destruction on either side. Ravens hop about over what he can only assume are corpses; they pack together in spots, eager for a space from which to claim their share. The sight would normally stir disgust within Zarja, but now, he can feel nothing. The chaos of the wall's collapse and the eldritch abomination that came roaring to the attack have driven everything from his mind. Each moment, his mind slowly regains clarity, until he forces himself into a sitting position.
As he does, he shifts a chunk of debris off his chest; that the block had not crushed his armor and lungs was a miracle. He takes a few moments to slowly flex his fingers, move his arms and legs, and check his form for any life-threatening wounds. He's banged up, badly, but looking over his form, he sees nothing to indicate he's about to bleed out. What he does notice is the absence of his mace, as well as his holy symbol. Both seem to have been flung aside in the chaos; at that moment, Zarja wants nothing more than to have them by his side once more.
Standing up, he casts his gaze about, and spots a few forms off to the side. Allies or enemies? It makes little difference to him now.
"Protector, preserve us all. This madness... has changed everything."
"I don't like X, they should remove it." "I like X, they should keep it." "They should replace X with Y." "Anybody that likes X is dumb. Y is better." "Why don't they include both X and Y." "Yeah, everybody can be happy then!" "But I don't like X, they should remove it." "X really needs to be replaced with Y." "But they can include both X and Y." "But I don't like X, they need to remove it." "Remove X, I don't like it."
Until you've had an in-law tell you your choice of game was stupid, and just Warcraft on paper, and dumbed down for dumber players who can't handle a real RPG, you haven't lived.
Lady and gentlemen.... I present to you the Edition War without Contrition, the War of the Web, the Mighty Match-up!
We're using standard edition war rules. No posts of substance. Do not read the other person's posts with comprehension. Make frequent comparison to video games, MMOs, and CCGs. Use the words "fallacy" and "straw man", incorrectly and often. Passive aggressiveness gets you extra points and asking misleading and inflammatory questions is mandatory. If you're getting tired, just declare victory and leave the thread. Wait for the buzzer... and....
One, two, three, four, I declare Edition War Five, six, seven eight, I use the web to
D&D should not return to the days of blindfolding the DM and players. No tips on encounter power? No mention of expected party roles? No true meaning of level due to different level charts or tiered classes? Please, let's not sacrifice clear, helpful rules guidelines in favour of catering to the delicate sensibilities of the few who have problems with the ascetics of anything other than what they are familiar with.
Just a quick note on the MMORPG as an insult comparison...
MMORPGs, raking in money by the dumptruck full. Many options, tons of fans across many audiences, massive resources allocated to development.
TTRPGs, dying product. Squeaking out an existence that relys on low cost. Fans fit primarily into a few small demographics. R&D budgets small, often rushed to market and patched after deployment.
You're not really making much of an argument when you compare something to a MMORPG and assume people think that means bad. Lets face it, they make the money, have the audience and the budget. We here on this board are fans of TTRPGs but lets not try to pretend none of us play MMORPGs.
Something like Tactical Shift is more magical than martial healing.
Telling someone to move over a few feet is magical now? :|
I weep for this generation.
Given the laziness and morbid obsesity amongst D&Ders, being able to convince someone to get on their feet, do some heavy exercise, and use their words to make them be healthier must seem magical.
The stench of an unburied biomass begins to fill the air. Scents are but a sense and slave to the sentience, Espi reminds herself. Still, though: it is difficult to ignore.
Around her, the other survivors begin to stir. The large brute suddenly sprints over to a figure almost entirely buried and mud and pulls her free. Espi smiles as the figure magicks the mud off her face: Sergeant Cassilda, a devout and fairly gifted wizard, and a regular, if rather unimportant, fixture at command meetings.
So she has a loyal companion.
Cassilda doesn't seem to recognize Espi, though, as she goes around and, unsurprisingly, begins to sift through the other survivors. The war wizard was exhaustingly dedicated to charity, Espi remembers. She also notices another woman, unrecognizable in allegiance, crouch warily in the mud, and instantly takes a liking to the unknown soldier. The woman is alert and focused, as if the catalysm was another lifetime ago.
Useful.
She saunters over to the barbarian and kneels down. "I'm with the Forward River, if that's still a thing. You a friend or what?" she asks in her usual, slow drawl. Behind her, another man, heavily armored and nearly as tall as Cassilda's friend, stands up and offer a prayer to -- ah, Protector. Order of the Lord's Eye...
Espi does not dwell, however, and turns back to the female soldier with a shrug. "But I guess that's about to get a lot more confusing. You know what happened?"
If, on a desert night, a traveler, outside the town of Balic, leaning from the steep slope, without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow (in a network of lines that interlace) on the carpet of sand illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story down there awaits its end?
