❖ Turn 1
The Purple Land, Year of the Wandering Crane
First, the dice. Everything in the open.
CHARACTER CREATION ROLLS
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Attributes (3d6 each):
STR: 3+4+2 = 9
DEX: 5+2+3 = 10
CON: 4+1+6 = 11
INT: 6+4+3 = 13 (≥13 → +1 language)
WIS: 5+6+4 = 15 (>13 → +1 inactive miracle slot)
CHA: 6+5+2 = 13
HP (1d6): 4
Starting gold (3d6 × 10): 4+3+5 = 12 × 10 = 120 gp
Gear purchased: leather armor (20), writing kit (8), plain
robes (2), rations ×7 (7), waterskin (1), torches ×6 (1),
rope 50 ft (1) → 40 gp spent
─────────────────────────────────────────────
╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ VOTHROG · The Wise · Level 1 · 0 XP ║
╠══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ ATTRIBUTES ║
║ STR 9 ║
║ DEX 10 ║
║ CON 11 ║
║ INT 13 ── Heretic-Scholar [Vocation] ║
║ WIS 15 ── Slug-Man [Species] ║
║ CHA 13 ── Congregation of the Unwashed [Affiliation] ║
║ ║
║ HP 4/4 · AC 2 (leather) · AV 10 · ST 7 ║
║ +2 ST vs magic/mind · Heals at 2× normal rate ║
╠══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ MIRACLE SLOTS (1 slot → 1 active + 2 inactive) ║
║ [ACTIVE] "Speak Truth to the Wretched" ║
║ [inactive] "Bind the Spirit of Oppression" ║
║ [inactive] "The Poor Shall Inherit" ║
╠══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ EQUIPMENT ║
║ Quarterstaff (1d6) ║
║ Leather armor (beneath plain traveling robes) ║
║ Pamphlets ×12 ["The Slime-Lords Drink What the ║
║ Wretched Weep" — unsigned, hand-copied] ║
║ Writing kit (ink, quills, blank folios) ║
║ Rations ×7 days · Waterskin · Torches ×6 ║
║ Hemp rope 50 ft ║
║ ║
║ COIN 80 gp ║
╠══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ LANGUAGES ║
║ Common · Slug-Men High Tongue · Low Caste Argot ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝
Note: You can adjust this before committing to your first action — attributes, miracle wordings, groups, gear, all of it. Once you act, it’s locked.
Scene One: The Copper Ghetto, Before Dawn
The Yellow City never truly sleeps, but at this hour it only half-wakes. The God River exhales its low-tide rot across the rooftops. Somewhere below, cockroaches the size of terriers scratch through a refuse pile. The yellow stones of the Brahmin temples catch the last stars.
You are crouched on the flat roof of a dyewright’s shop, watching.
Twelve people came to tonight’s meeting — eleven slipped away when the Watch lanterns appeared in the street. You spoke to them of the divine spark housed in every body, crab-shell or slug-flesh or human-born. You told them the opium that dulls their suffering was designed to dull it. You told them the High Tongue of the slug-men is not the language of heaven, only the language of property. They listened. Some wept. You pressed six pamphlets into six pairs of hands.
The thirteenth attendee did not escape.
Three storeys below, at the mouth of the alley that runs between the dyewright’s and a collapsed tea warehouse, Krah-Moh stands backed against crumbling yellow brick. He is a free crab-man — no house-collar, which is already suspicious in this quarter at this hour. His shell is dull ochre, pitted with old work-scars. He cannot speak Common. He cannot run fast enough.
Two Watch constables stand six feet from him, copper lanterns swaying. One has a hand on his short sword. The other is writing something in a ledger.
┌────────────────────────────┐
│ DYEWRIGHT'S ROOF │
│ [YOU] │
└─────────────┬──────────────┘
│ (3 storeys)
┌─────────────▼──────────────┐
street │ alley mouth │ street
──────►│ [WATCH] [WATCH] [KRAH] │◄──────
│ │
└────────────────────────────┘
The constable with the ledger looks up toward the roof — not at you specifically, just checking. His lantern-light doesn’t reach this high.
The pamphlets under your arm are enough to earn you a flogging. They are enough to earn Krah-Moh the slave-collar he escaped. The Watch down there doesn’t know what they’ve stumbled into yet. They found a free crab-man out after curfew; that’s all. For now.
You have three options that announce themselves clearly, and the world doesn’t promise there aren’t others.
You could descend and intercede — a slug-man’s word still carries weight, even in plain robes, even at this hour. You are what the Watch serves. For now. You could speak as one of them.
You could use the miracle — your voice, amplified and sharpened by the working you call Speak Truth to the Wretched, aimed at Krah-Moh below. You don’t know what truth would come out of a crab-man who cannot speak Common, but the miracle has its own logic. It costs 1 HP.
You could go. Leave him. The congregation is more important than one man. Müntzer’s voice is a small and ugly thing inside you: he knew the risk. Slip north across the rooftops, toward the canal quarter, where the rest of your cell is scattering.
The constable with the short sword takes a step toward Krah-Moh. The crab-man’s claws flex — instinct, not threat — and the constable’s hand tightens on the hilt.
What do you do?
◆ Vothrog HP 4/4 · Yellow City, Copper Ghetto rooftops · Krah-Moh cornered below; Watch hasn't looked up yet
↑ All turns · Turn 02 →