You are Zingarian, living in a village of fishermen aside the Thunder River. You are blessed, with 29 being creation points, in that your mother was raped by a passing demi-god leading a army, and you are bastards. You are triplets, your sister Sofi having already left the village after killing a number of people with magic. You have 20 skill.
Brontispa and Turton are created
The brothers are pausing by the river at the village wharf when it occurs to them that they haven't seen anybody else their age in the village lately. Which is odd, because there happens to be a glut of oddly-similar children exactly your age in the village. And while the hole cohort never really socialized well, it's just not that big of a village so the gap in the demographic is a bit eerie.
Brontispa and Turton head over to their mother's tent, and wait awkwardly while the random male gets dressed, leaves some grams of gold, and wanders away. She regards her sons blearily. "What the hell are you two still doing in the village? Didn't you know that the crazy psychic crone foresaw that bounty hunters from the capital at Kordava would be coming to kill all youngsters that resemble you? Go! Flee!"
A beacon of maternal guidance, she is not.
I use 'alter thought' on her: "We'll need gold for our journey. Give us all of your gold."
Dave 10:43, 8 October 2011 (MDT)
It works, of course, because Brontispa has considerably more willpower than his mother. But considering that she is scraping out an existence as a prostitute in a small village, all the money she has is the money she just earned - 30 grams of gold in irregular fragments of coins. She gives it to Brontispa and Turton apologetically. "I'm sorry there's not more I can do for you. You should hurry!"
Hee hee hee... I'm going to hell.
--Dave 17:06, 8 October 2011 (MDT)
I intend for Hell to be a set of playable levels - assuming you can find a willing god or suitably powerful priest to summon a portal.
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