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Rocket your D&D 5E and Level Up: Advanced 5E games into space! Alpha Star Magazine Is Launching... Right Now!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Mallus" data-source="post: 4654855" data-attributes="member: 3887">Here are some edition-free examples!Setting 'flavor' from the initial player's handout:One of the resident deities is the Eroded God – an enormous figure of carven stone, its features worn away long before it came staggering up out of the surf. It can’t actually speak in anything other than an unintelligible mumble, but the priesthood will happily translate for a modest fee. It’s worked a number of minor miracles over the years (curing the sick, calling down bolts from the blue, and such-like), but it has a difficult time staying focused on such tasks. By and large it is content to set in its temple, listening to music and watching scantily-clad women dance, making the occasional prophecy or pronouncement. Or what is assumed to be such. 'Flavor' in actual play -- done via campaign message board post. [Me] - Yatagan goes inside and pays his respects to the god. He stoops, grunts, and otherwise struggles to remove his boots while leaving on the bulk of ironmongery. Setting his axe down next to his boots, Yatagan approaches the massive chair upon which the Eroded God sits in apparent boredom.[DM] - Standing, the God would probably be about 20' tall. Seated as He is, He is still a fairly awesome sight. He's sprawled back on a marble throne, clutching a enormous cask of boiling ale in one hand, the vapors from which are coiling about His featureless head. On an elevated stage, a half dozen bored looking women are dancing, and occasionally removing an item of clothing.As Yatagan enters, He straightens a little in His throne, and passes one hand back across His head.[Me] - "Nice place" he says in a loud voice. Looking up at the Eroded God he adds, "Say, have you lost weight?" He then struggles further to kneel down, touching his snout to floor in reverence.[DM] - "Abbabgobbamuuggaworgleduddapogengrumpicweilbagoodablegged. Burrumpuggeg."The prelate dozing on a padded bench by the God's feet sits up, and barely manages to avoid toppling to the ground."The God speaks!" he calls out, frantically. "Ah...ah...'Greetings, brother. I offer My apologies for the trouble, and assure You that no offense was intended. The skeins of Fate are twisted, for She is'...ah...'...a woman of questionable virtue. Make Yourself at home, and would You like something to drink?'"The priest is looking about frantically as he speaks, trying to determine exactly what the hells is going on.</blockquote>

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