“ FIREBALL
L3 Wiz
As I walk through devastated landscape only one thought burns in my head. Revenge.I was a normal adventuring wizard, dungeon delving and putting out innocents fires. Ha, fire.After years of trying to find out what happened, the truth is unfolding for me, a second word has entered my vocabulary. Castinlig. a name put to the scorched earth. The one who did this.
He was too powerful and too greedy.He summoned the king of the djinn and a supposedly perfect wish w incredible power behind it. Fire ball now has a 100 mile radius and is locked at 7d6. I didn't know this when I cast it for the first time in days. My party was wiped out and I would have been too except my ring of total fire resistance saved me. But not my friends.
I scavenge for food and a potions, really all I can and have to do.I will find him.
( a solo game for a l7 wiz)”
“ On route from Geli to Nekrass the characters meet a peasant boy on the road. He's wandering in the direction from which they've just come. If this seems a little bit incongruous, they may wish to ask him a few questions. He's perfectly willing to talk: he's called Lamish and he's run away because he knows he is the heir to the throne of Geli and his parents didn't believe him. How far is his home? About five weeks walk from here. How much has he eaten? Nothing. Has he drunk? Only from the filthy roadside ditches. In short, it's a wonder he is still alive. And yet he seems perfectly healthy.
Is he a thief, waiting for travellers to trick? Is he lying because there's something more sinister under all of this? Is he telling the truth? And anyway, what should the characters do? Do you take him to Geli? Do you try to find his parents? Or leave him to make his own way?”
“ The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... 'Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate' reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...”