Destiny rolls with disadvantage. The dragon has spectacles. Heaven has forms. A dragon has misplaced the Moon — again — and someone has put a price on getting it back.
A twenty-chapter comedy RPG played with a d20 and three stats: Moxie, Mercy and Mayhem. You pick an archetype, make terrible decisions, and are judged by a court that has reduced every dragon present to the size of a teapot by ancient statute.
Underneath the paperwork it is a story about worth — about a villain who believes everything precious should have a price, and a dragon who hoarded the Moon because losing things frightened him.
Misplaced the Moon
Arrives at your breakfast table “wearing tiny spectacles and the expression of a dragon who has definitely not hidden a moon behind the sofa.” He treated it like part of his hoard, because losing things frightened him.
Fallen angel
Storm-grey wings, flawless manners, and a teacup labelled “World's Okayest Omen.” Pours the last of the tea when everyone is tired.
A tavern that is also a shapeshifter
He keeps becoming a chair whenever conversation grows difficult. Also a coat rack, a witness stand, and one judgmental coat hook. His story ends with him standing without becoming anything else.
The villain
Believes everything precious should have a price. Names one for Crumpet's loyalty, Malachi's redemption, Gerald's identity and your happy ending. His monocle cracks when asked whether eternity includes tax.
Blew the Seventh Trumpet six trumpets early
Mountains are putting on name tags. Seas are rehearsing boils. The objective is to cancel the apocalypse without embarrassing Pip for eternity.
Celestial bureaucracy
Blushes so brightly that three minor constellations file for shade. Stamps your quest APPROVED, then stamps it again because the first stamp was crooked. Arrests the villain for improper lamination.
VP of Eternal Deliverables
The Appraiser's chief enforcer. His phylactery is a quarterly performance dashboard and his skeleton interns circulate action items. Defeated across three increasingly awkward rounds of performance review.
Dragon Court of Extremely Small Claims
Voids a lien with a claw-stamp that briefly eclipses the sun. At the turn, she removes her spectacles, discovers she wore two pairs, and rules that remorse is not ownership — but it may begin repair.