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I really miss Dead Rising, so I’m throwing my hat in the ring again. We’re not doing zombies this time, but another form of cataclysmic world ending. I’m starting the game just before the badness starts, and we’ll play through the fall of the world. Game System: M&M 3e Game Name: Shadows Rising Rating: R+ Theme: Modern Apocalypse House Rules: None yet. Number of PCs Desired: Eh? I dunno, min 3, max 20? Something like that. ST Posting Frequency: 1/week, maybe more if I keep my upward trend Player Posting Frequency: 1/week during plot posts, 1/3 days during combats Starting PC Power Level: PL 7 standard Open to New Players: Sure Setting Description: Life is normal. The world keeps spinning, but changes are coming, and the PCs better be ready. What to Expect: Create a PC who is an expert or professional with survivability. They can be military or a survivalist, a scholar, mechanic, or any skilled individual. Even someone active in the SCA would be a good choice. The apocalypse will start during the first post of the game, and we’ll eventually get to Dead Rising levels of world ruination. Plan accordingly. (No, no one may have a nuke, not even a little one.)
Date: Olarune the 6th, 998YK Location: Off the coast of Sharn Dawn broke over the bow of the good ship Springtime Belladonna, and Isstia knew this by the faint tingle of irritation that the sunlight gave her, even down in the cargo hold. She had completed her exercise and training for the moment and was resting, keeping her breathing quiet enough that nothing short of a hound would hear it – and the Springtime Belladonna kept a ship’s cat instead, to deal with rats. The cat never hissed at her, but it never stuck around long enough for Isstia to get to know it well either. It, and Soluzek, were the only two faces she’d seen on her journey. The secret knock at the wooden panels was given, and Soluzek herself made her way into the small stretch of the cargo hold that Isstia had carved out. The female elf wasn’t like her – Soluzek’s skin was pale and a little freckled, and her hair was red with black streaks. She had strange gods – something called the Undying Court – but she had recognized in Isstia a kindred spirit, and had kept her hidden and helped her on her quest. Soluzek sat crosslegged on the floor. She pulled out a small package of jerky. “Here. It’s your favorite. I was saving it for today; it’s the big day. We’re going to be docking at Sharn by the end of the day.” Isstia knew little of Sharn; she knew that it fed ships to and from Stormreach, the city of the pale strangers, and she knew that it was where her quarry had travelled. But what Soluzek had told her still seemed fantastical – buildings the size of small mountains, flying skiffs, people of all races pressed together. All roads led to Sharn, the saying went. Including the roads travelled by the killers of her tribe, and the thieves of the holy totem of Vulkoor.