I have a surname, or I used to. This is all very confusing. Maybe I’m in a coma or something and I’m going to wake up with a fascinating story for my therapist. Boy its dark in here. Deacon began to reach out and feel around his surroundings. He could hear muffled conversation from somewhere in front of him, but he was still a bit groggy. There was also some kind of shiny gold blinking light in the bottom right corner of his vision.

  “The hell is that” he said. As he paid closer attention to it, words started appearing in front of him:

Be Advised: You have reached the mortal limit of the banished stat Luck. At the mortal limit you will see an increase in riches found. At the Earthly limit you will uncover lost information more easily. At the Skybound limit actions taken will be in your favor when they ought not to. As the first person to reach Skybound in Luck in ten thousand years you have gained 2 levels.

Level Up: Each level gives one attribute point. You now have fifty-two undistributed attribute points.

Forgotten Class: you have chosen a forgotten class. Since there are no trainers, and this class no longer has a skill tree associated with it you are granted the perk: Trailblazer

Trailblazer: this perk allows you to create your skill tree as you learn appropriate skills and abilities…. Trailblazer has been modified by Rule Breaker…this perk allows you to create your skill tree with any ability you choose to learn. A prompt will appear when an ability is available to learn.

Incoming Message from Your Patron- I see that luck stat is working out already. -Cheshire.

“What the Fuck!?” screamed Deacon. That may have been a mistake since the sound of muffled voices are getting closer. Feeling around his environment, Deacon gets the sensation that he is in some sort of crate but can’t find a latch or seam. Deacon begins to worry if there is enough air in here when a seam of light starts to appear to his right. Taking the initiative, he pushes against what he assumes is the lid. He stumbles out only to be met with a sword to his throat, a knife at his guts, and what appears to be an arrow pointed at his chest.

Stolen novel; please report.

Armand Desentes slams the door behind him.

  “Ok that should be far enough. Those things stopped chasing us 4 turns back. Typhus, what’s in this room.” Armand looks around to find Typhus fiddling with a chest while a pretty elvish woman is searching racks of weapons. The room seems to be quite large with a sarcophagus in the back and several canopic jars strewn about a dais. The woman is covered in leather garments with a short bow strung over her back and a hip quiver.

  “Elle, Typhus is in one of his lock picking fugue states what have you found?” Elle turns to speak.

  ”There are several low-quality weapons in here but you normally don’t see that in a burial chamber this deep into a catacomb. I’d go as far as to say this room makes no sense.”

  “Perhaps it’s the burial chamber of an old warrior that wanted to be close to his weapons?” Armand says.

  “Any warrior worth a 4th level burial chamber wouldn’t be caught dead, pun intended, with these weapons. It’s like someone put this here to be found, which makes me think trap.” She replied.

  “I got it!” exclaimed Typhus. The stocky bearded man pulls out a pair of average quality boots and some wool clothing. They look like pants and a shirt.

  "This is garbage loot.” Said Typhus.

  “Do you two hear that scratching sound?” Armand Asks. Armand draws his sword and starts heading to the back of the room.

  “I’m calling it now, trap.” Elle says.

  Typhus falls in step behind him while Elle knocks an arrow. The scrabbling sound continues while the party zeroes in on the sarcophagus. All three hear a muffled voice come from the sarcophagus. Armand gestures over to the latch and Typhus begins to lift it with a dagger. There is a slight pop, and a seam is exposed before the lid flies open to reveal a brown skinned man with short, faded hair in a pair of tighty whiteys.

  “What the fuck!” he says.