![]() Three does not a party make, though, and I was low on options. At least Wyll agreed, reluctantly, to join us. I told poor, put-upon Zevlor to naff off, rejected a (frankly, very needy) Shadowheart for the third time, and thoroughly demoralised some children, all on the roll of my dice. ![]() I'd murdered a wizard in distress trying to wrest him from a literal doom spiral but recruited a sharp-fanged fop who'd threatened to spatchcock me? What next, you little bastard?Īfter a bruising goblin battle – having only a melee rogue and a sorcerer with a penchant for polymorphing into sheep will do that to you – my remaining optimism dissolved into goo. I stared at the teeny cube perched on my desk. I can't quite believe he agreed to tag along on my dice roll's asking after that. But then that pasty rotter pinned me to the ground, his knife at my neck – it seemed only fair that my dice made me try (and fail) to both twist his arm and headbutt him. Gently now, I thought, as I tiptoed forward. I approached, afraid for him, before rolling a one: an offer of help. "Hey! I need some help!" Astarion called nearby. This couldn't be happening, I was still solo. "This couldn't be happening, I was *still* solo."
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