Reality Hopping
In this story you can hop between realities following these rules:
No more then
- 1 a Day
- 6 a Week
- 20 every 4 weeks
- 50 every 12 weeks
- 180 every 48 weeks
These measurements are based on your home reality.
Your home reality is the one where you start your journey from.
When you hop to another reality you switch your mind with anybody who is there already.
If you hop to a different reality then your home reality from another reality then:
Reality 3 contains you.
Reality 2 contains the person from reality 3
Your home reality contains the person from reality 2
If someone dies then the person whose reality he/she home reality changes to that of the person who died. (Using the example above , if the person in your home reality dies your home reality becomes reality 2. If the person in reality 2 dies then the home reality of the person from reality 2 becomes
3.)
Written by Catprog on 22 August 2004
Life as a Hero (almost)
You find yourself in a pub. No particular description at all but it has all the features of a standard pub. Dancing girls, old angry Scottish bartender and a shadowy figure in the corner. Yep and here you are just standing there in street clothes. Or at least thats what you thought you were in. You look down and your cloaked. You have on a brown cloak with one button securing it close. Where do you go from here?
Written by Razortail on 20 September 2005
Sigh...Times Are Tough
The smell of bread, beer and pipeweed smoke is quite prevalent. You figure, the best way to start any adventure is to take in some local scuttlebutt. You have a seat at the bar. The bartender comes over.
"Och, will doan't be breudn an' selkin, ye ferry," he bellows over the roar of catcalling and the hiss of secret conversations, "Whet'll ye have?"
Oh, yes... you're teetotal, and you don't think they're going to be serving juice at this pub. Plus, you have no money. Hmm...
"I'll have an order of rumors with a small side of secrets,"you reply. Nice.
The barkeep rolls his eyes and moves on, barking to a fellow bar-sitter "Lass, git on oavrr an' talk THA' lad's ear off for awhoile... sounds like 'e WANTS et."
Soon an impossibly gorgeous, Spanish-sun burnt, Raven's wing haired woman is leaning over on the seat next to you.
"Looking for a bit of local lore, are you?"
You nod.
"Well," she begins, leaning in confidentially, "they say that the tomb up the hill's really an entrance into a real dungeon, which houses an unimaginably powerful sword."
This is good. She goes on.
"Also, a group of adventurers is looking to suit up and head to the new province of Kerrokov, by way of Baldur's Gate. There's no telling what's up there, but the raw materials and unharvested natural wealth alone could make a prince out of any pauper, they say."
Nice, nice.
She continues.
"Finally, they say a group of werebeasts has come over the Orilvindian pass just north of town. It's feared that they may start to cause trouble as soon as tonight."
Whoa, that's bad. You... have no weapons. Or do you? you search your cloak and simple clothes underneath.
Nope. This guy must've been just starting out. Huh. Werebeasts. You'd best keep an eye out...
And then it becomes staggeringly obvious that this woman IS one of the werebeasts.
Written by Mr.Peaches on 28 February 2006
