/u/VinesAtMidnight's posts
[WP] You awake suspended above your bed. Unable to move, unable to cry out. The room is filled with a bright light, and you can make out faint silhouettes. An alien abduction? Tears in your eyes, you almost give up hope when I scaly hand pulls you to safety. The monster under your bed is not happy.
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[WP] You've been abandoned on the battlefield, the enemy closing in. Forsaken by heaven and countrymen, you retreat to the deepest corner of your mind. If your gods won't help, perhaps the inner dark will. You cry out to the void. It answers.
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[EU] What should be good news has morphed into a suspicious trend. Gotham has gone quiet. Many Arkham Asylum inmates have been transferred, whereabouts unknown. Many criminals vanished from the streets. All were metahuman. Batman has only one lead, a name. The SCP Foundation.
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[WP] You are a powerful psychic. As such, your perception has revealed many mythical/supernatural beings living amongst humankind. This thing standing before you, however, certainly isn't human. It's not even of Earth. It looks you dead in the eyes. It knows you know.
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[WP] The fae woman eyes her target from across the dim bar. She motions him to come sit. "What's your name, handsome?" but something is wrong. He gleams back at her with inky eyes and the void bleeds from where his mouth should be as he answers.
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[WP] You are brought to the afterlife and are quickly swarmed by angelic beings studying you in hushed murmers. They quickly part way for the god chiefs. Death speaks, "They're not in any book or account. Thought you might want a look at them." The gods turn to you, puzzled.
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[WP] In this world, steeds and humans share a unique bond. Equines of various types are attracted to souls that are compatible with theirs. Heroes often meet pegasi or unicorns. Guardians pair with war horses...You're approached by a pale horse.
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[WP] Their iron steeds screech across the lands, billowing smoke and steam. Even their common soldiers can use staves that cast metal and fire. They use a strange form of magic. Our best scribes can't translate their runes. It's called math. The Orcs have fallen. The Humans are headed for us now.
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[WP] Your journey has come an end...or so you thought. In his dying moments the Demon King reaches out to you, "Please. Please, take my crown, my sword. Do what I could not."
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