The British Legion won't like this at all |
“The negative DM on these retired adventurers’ saving throws for morale, should they be forced to dismember the mortal remains of their former companions-in-arms in brutal close combat, would undoubtedly drive many of them screaming from the field of battle,” warned defence chieftain General Sir David, son of Richard. “There seems to be no depravity to which Murdoch will not resort in his unhallowed plans for gameworld domination.”
Enraged NPC villagers have spoken of their horror and revulsion when they discovered that the cackling megalomaniac employed a host of magic-users – under the command of his hated lieutenant, Rebekah the Witch - to read the innermost thoughts of not only their favourite bards and beautiful princesses, but even of younglings carried off by the dreaded paedo plague he had been taunting them with for years.
So far, however, many yokels continue to sit torpidly in their hovels, helpless to resist the baleful influence of the network of scrying windows which he has sent into their homes, draining their INT with bewitching visions of their fabled heroes disporting themselves playfully in the fields.
“We call upon Jeremy Cnut, the court jester, to wrest control of BScryB from this wicked monster immediately, before it turns all our churls into turnips,” urged the village’s pitifully few player characters with more than 5 points of WIS remaining.
1 comment:
I'm particularly fond of the phrase "churls into turnips".
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