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Iron Fist vol. 1 Flurry of Blows

  1. clintsylvania
    clintsylvania
    Doom Pool: 2d6

    You are Iron Fist. Born Daniel Rand in New York but orphaned in the icy mountains by your father's mad pursuits of the mystical city K'un-L'un. Your mother's sacrifice kept the wolves at bay long enough for the archers to save you. The years of training you endured was onerous. The hits were not only physical but in the words of the fellow students. You were an outsider. You were white. You were different. That difference was your greatest strength. Their words tempered your mind into steel. The hits tempered your skin into stone. When you conquered the dragon, Shou-Lao, your fists were tempered into things like unto iron.
    ...
    The neon lights fill the bedroom of Danny Rand. The car lights trickle down the lit streets of Midtown, New York City. Reds. Yellows. Oranges orbs of luminescence bleed into the mind of The Living Weapon. Is it boredom? Is it faint disconnect that keeps Danny Rand awake at night? The silence of the mind would be meditative usually but now, it seems, to just feel like a void. In the silk sheet draped bed behind Danny rests Misty Knight. Her curvaceous form covered by the fabric but ever inch visible. Beyond cityscape and restless motions of an insomniac city, stands your father's legacy; Rand Industry. It was his gift to you; your shackles of this earth. With a faint glint, Danny notices some thing... something in the sky. Something dark...
    Maybe the silence in his mind boredom. Maybe the stillness is from restlessness. Maybe... just maybe... it is the calm before the storm.
    (make your roll.)
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