The following is a one-on-one gaming session. It is a free-form
role-play through the origin of an After the Collapse character: Ian
MacKlellan.

It has been edited for content, grammar, entertainment value, and to
protect the innocent.

DM: As you slowly come to, something warm and
wet slides out of your mouth and fingers.

Player: ...

DM: You stagger, holding a hand to your pounding head, shaking it as
your vision clears. Something...


This is another character origin story played out between a game master and a player. It has been editted for content, entertainment value, and to protect the names of the innocent.

You should know before starting that the Mecha Knights are an order of warriors who wear power-armor (at various levels of sophistication) and hold true to ancient knightly values.

Game Master: You and your brother are squires to an
aging Mecha Knight named Sir Thomas. You live in a village...


This is another character origin story played out between a game master and a player. It has been editted for content, entertainment value, and to protect the names of the innocent. It is also the first of two parts, as it was much longer than the previous two.

You should know before starting that the Gunslingers are an ancient group of wandering marksmen, specialized in fighting with two-pistols. They are rather obviously inspired by Stephen King's own Gunslinger, Roland. Those...


The field before him was deceptively empty. Wind blew in the tall, wild grain hiding the concrete bunkers and sealed silo-openings that Patrick Dawnflight knew were there. Above him the clouds were sparse and stringy, but off to his left a fog was resting on the hills to the east. The way the wind blew today would tell whether or not that fog came down into the broad valley. He breathed deep, and under the heavy, dry scent of the grass were other smells - gun oil, brass, and the sweat of...


.
Life on your own is full of dirt. Away from the Colony, away even from villages and what safety and succor they can provide, the dirt gets into your hair and your hat and your hide. When you cross a stream, mud cakes on your boots, and when you clean your catch, the blood that won't wash out of your clothes makes a brown stain, a more lasting testament to the soil than the soil itself can provide. Though the air may be clean, the work of walking and chopping and living raises dust...


This is the first story published here, I think, that's a collaborative effort between Alarin and me. He started this, sent it to me and said "Write the next part. Here's how it should end." Hopefully it turned out alright.
-Karak


Jason clutched the precious package to his chest and ran from the madness behind him. He used a parking stop to vault over a low fence and tore across an open lot, making for the abandoned apartment complex ahead.

He had seen zombies...