Amorkca

I found this link...
 
https://www.humblebundle.com/software/maps-bonanza-software?hmb_source=search_bar
 
 

I found this link...
 
https://www.humblebundle.com/software/maps-bonanza-software?hmb_source=search_bar
 
 

Acrobatics can be a useful in-genre tactic. Is the unmovable character directly in front of something their opponent needs to take? Flip right over his head. The Champions genre book suggests allowing "appropriate unlikely actions" from things like Acrobatics and Combat Maneuvers that would suit the genre and be particularly stylish.   (See Champions 6E p. 55.) Optionally, relatively minor actions that would normally require an Attack Action can be performed as a Half-Phase action instead. So you'd be well within your rights to have an acrobatic opponent flip over "Captain Invincible," grab the item in passing, and land right back in front of him. You might even allow him to then toss the item to a waiting partner.

To me, bare mechanics don't feel magical. Neither does resource management -- and from the beginning, D&D has been very much a game of resource management (gold, hit points, spell slots). The magic comes with the description and context. This is why all the writing about magic I've done for HERO spends so much word count on defining how a style of magic works, what it can and can't do, and describing each spell.
 
Since we're talking clerics as heal-bots, let's take the basic cure wounds spell. It doesn't matter whether this is defined as "3d6 BODY Aid" or "Restores hit points equal to 1d8 + spellcasting ability modifier." It's just a game resource.
 
If I want magic -- no, a miracle -- I might start with a myth how the gods shaped the first mortals from clay and breathed life into them. (It's a classic, go with it.) So a cleric who heals someone touches the person and says, "From clay were you made; to clay now return, that the Maker's hand shall repair you." And the area around the wound briefly turns into clay that flows back together before returning to intact flesh.
 
Okay, players won't want to describe this every time. But just describing it once might help convey a sense that the character isn't just a resource to manage.
 
I should note that the very latest D&D supplement, Tasha's Cauldron of Everything, suggests letting players customize the descriptions of their characters' spells, to make characters more distinctive. For instance, a sorcerer (wild talent spellcaster, more or less) who's a farmer. When he casts magic missile, he evokes chickens of magical force that fly at his targets to scratch and peck. A refreshingly HERO-ish attitude, I think!
 
Dean Shomshak

Lots of good stuff.
But in the end I believe people are reading too much into it. 
 
Cleric was one of the original "classes" for a game that had just invented the concept. 
There were only Fighting Men, Clerics and Magic Users. 
With the game heavily influenced by straight up grognard wargaming I really doubt that very much if any of the mental gymnastics usually hinted at ever happened.
Things were just as straight forward as the books text. 
Fighting Man - Ugh hack
Magic User - merlin blastum
Cleric - a little heals and smack me some undead. 
 
I remember the first D&D game I played in The Bunker in Texas in 1975.  I remember the year because it was the Bicentennial and Fort Hood had some very cool demonstrations and parades.   That was back in the day when a Army units were two or three times the size of a modern unit.
 
Anyway, we made characters and got pretty beat up by some skeletons and then TPK'd by a sabre-tooth tiger that found us before we could heal up.  
We were blown away by the whole Play Character concept.  Up till then we had only played historical miniatures and counter based wargames.   The idea of playing an individual hero in a story was mind boggling at the time.
 
50+ years later we pick it apart based on thousands of RPG books and years of hind sight and add in interpretations that literally didn't exist. 
 
It is like the THACO thread. 
Every RPG system in existence that includes any die rolling has their version of THACO.  Period. 
THACO was simply the reference point from which all to hit calculation were based.  THACO was simply the first RPG one and borrowed a lot from wargames of the time.
Heck Hero references its system at 11 or less and uses DCV and OCV to modify the chance of a hit instead of AC modified by Class driven to hit. 
 
Sometimes there is not an ulterior motive and things are actually what they appear to be.   
 
 

Trese held a bottle of water out to Jason. When he accepted it, she hoist herself up on a desk. They looked out over the broken cityscape in silence.
 
“Tomorrow is the day,” Trese finally said.
 
“Yes.”
 
“It's a crap shoot with long odds.” Jason nodded. “Aren't you afraid of dying?”
 
Jason's chin sank. “No.”
 
Cocking her head to the side, Trese smiled. For a second Jason could imagine that her face wasn't scarred. That she was as beautiful as she had always been to him. “Then what are you afraid of?” She reached over and took his hand. He gave it willingly.
 
“Of not dying.”
 
“I don't understand.”
 
Walking quietly up behind them, Kris crossed her arms and leaned on Jason's shoulders. His hand came up and held her arm. Kris reached down and lay her hand over Jason's and Trese's. “Survivor's guilt. He's afraid everyone else will die and he'll be the only one left.”

“It is nice to see how the mighty can still be brought low by the many.” Nightwing heaved himself to his feet. He stepped over a body. “Still, you weren't supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to be involved at all.”
 
Between a shattered lens, an eye rapidly swelling shut, and blood, it was hard for Nightwing to make out details. “Who are you?”
 
“Merely a facilitator. A middle man. I am afraid with your involvement that you have sacrificed your prize. As fast as you can fly, I doubt you are fast enough.” The gun in his hand barked in succession.
 
Hand outstretched towards the gun, Nightwing yelled, “No!”
 
“He may not be,” Lightning dropped several bullets, “but I am. There's a saying, you take on one Guardian, sooner or later, you take on all of us.”
 
The skylight shattered and Pulsar dropped through. “You missed one.”
 
“Non-fatal and I knew you were coming,” Lightning said. “So, Mr. Facilitator, let's do this the hard way.” Lightning moved. The gun barked once and then was spinning in place on the desk. “Cops on?” He tossed the man across the desk, bound.
 
Pulsar picked up the gun. “Let's not have him thinking he'll have any options. Bressler is enroute.” He walked over to Steph. “Hi.”
 
“Oh, god, it hurts,” she said quietly.
 
“Only for a moment, Miss Michaels. Only for a moment.”

Closing the book he had been reading, Jason watched Marlene lay their daughter down. She talked quietly to the babe and covered her with a blanket. Marlene came over, sat on the bed, slipped her shoes off, and slid under the covers with her back to Jason.
 
He set the book on the floor of the tent. Turning back, he asked, “Something wrong?”
 
“I'm mad at you.” He heard the teasing tone in his wife's voice.
 
Moving closer, his arm went over her. “What did I do this time?”
 
Rolling on her back, Marlene said, “You gave the first drawing you did of our daughter to Kate.” Jason smiled and kissed her. Accepting initially, Marlene put her fingers on Jason's mouth. “You aren't kissing your way out of this one.”
 
“You're wrong,” he said. “I gave Kate a drawing of Aaron and Sandy together. The first several that I did I gave to you.”
 
“Then why haven't I seen them?”
 
“Take it up with Beth,” Jason told her.
 
“Don't drag me into this,” Beth said through the wall of the tent. “Trying to sleep here.”
 
“Get over here, Bestie,” Marlene demanded with a laugh.
 
Beth groaned. A moment later she came around the divider. “What did I do?” Beth wore a thin t-shirt and shorts, leaving very little of her to Jason's imagination.
 
Patting the bed, Marlene invited Beth to sit. She did. “Jason's drawings of Sandy. Where are they?”
 
“How should I... I never gave you your book.” Beth looked hurt. “I'm sorry. It slipped my mind with you coming back.”
 
“What book?”
 
“Emily convinced Jason to do an art show while you were away. He had books printed. He did sketches for them.”
 
Marlene smiled. “What was yours?”
 
“You and me,” Beth smiled back. “What did you do with that one of me in blue?” she asked Jason.
 
“Gave it to your dad. Framed.”
 
“Can I go back to bed now?” she asked Marlene. Marlene sat up and hugged her.
 
“I guess so.”

Marlene opened the door. “Mr. Michaels, what can I do for you?”
 
Trying to smile, Brad winced. “Is your husband in? My mom and Steph are here. She... Steph, I mean, wants to see him. Thank him for fixing the...”
 
“Come in,” Marlene said. “Jason,” she called out. “Brad would like to speak with you.”
 
“Michaels,” Jason said coming from the bedroom. “What can I do for you?”
 
“My sister, my other sister is here with my mom. Steph would like to meet you.”
 
“Not a problem. Anything else?”
 
“My mom wants me to take them to lunch.”
 
“And?”
 
“She would prefer that I not go looking like I lost a fight.” Brad shuffled his feet and winced. “Could you fix me?” He looked at the floor. “Please?”
 
Marlene smiled to Jason and gave him a quick nod. “I would point out, Michaels, that you did lose that fight.” Brad nodded. “Have a seat.” Jason wiped his hands off on a rag he had draped over a shoulder.
 
Brad made his way to a chair and gingerly sat. “Everything hurts.”
 
“Do yourself a favor. Next time call for help before the fight starts.” Brad nodded again. Jason held his hand out. “Hand.” Brad placed his hand in Jason's. Fingers lightly touching Brad's forehead, Jason let his power flow.
 
* * * * *
“Christ, Michaels. Did Kris check you over?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Half your ribs were cracked. Go get cleaned up. I'm going to sit for a few before I go down.”
 
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Brad made his way to the door and let himself out.
 
“It's a start,” Marlene said with a smile. Jason sat, lay his head back, and waited for his body to deal with the damage.

Ran into another Hero player at the con.  They live within reach so we spoke of touching bases and trying to get a game going. 
 
Con networking for the win!

Jen took the simple expedient of tying her hair back, slipping on loose pajama bottoms, and tossing on a t-shirt. Riding the elevator down to the common floor, she yawned. She scratched the back of one leg with the slipper on her other foot.
 
“Please tell me there's coffee,” she mumbled.
 
“A full urn,” Mentor replied.
 
“Thanks for that.” The door opened and Jen headed towards the common room. Mother and sister were sitting, talking with Ash and Charley. Jen headed straight for the coffee.
 
“Why do you look like you just woke up? It is almost noon.”
 
“Really, mom? Just woke up? I think I've been awake almost fifteen minutes now.” Jen took her coffee to one of the other couches and sat.
 
“Out late on another adventure?” Steph asked.
 
“Yeah. The great adventure of studying and doing homework,” Jen said. She fought the urge to be testy. She wasn't entirely sure she was successful.
 
“Don't be snippy,” Steph shot back. Nope. Not being successful.
 
Jen yawned again. “Sorry, Sis. Long night with the books coupled with an unexpected family visit. Why didn't you call ahead?”
 
“I'm sorry, Jen,” her mom said. “We were in the area and thought we would stop in. Where's your brother?”
 
“Probably still sleeping,” Jen said.
 
“I'm not.” Brad's left eye was not-quite swollen shut. His left arm was in a sling, the hand drawn up near his right shoulder. A bruise from a bullet showed near his collarbone. “It just takes me a little longer to get from place to place right now.”

Herez
Master List of Disads.zip

This?
Master List of Limitations.doc

I have the .hdp files for it as well.

Turning from side to side, Lisa Sheffield checked her reflection in the mirror. She smoothed her skirt. Her makeup was minimally done. Reaching for lipstick, her eyes shifted to white then back to her natural color. Her hand was flat on the top of the dresser.
 
“Shit.”
 
“Are you alright?” Mentor asked.
 
“Yes. Just a vision. Barely a blip, but fairly important. Rouse Brad. Tell him his mother is coming.” Lisa left her bedroom, rapped on Jen's door, and went inside. “Hey, time to get up.”
 
Bare back uncovered, grumbling, Jen buried her head under a pillow.
 
“None of that,” Lisa said, pulling the pillow off Jen's head.
 
“Whas the probem?” Jen mumbled.
 
“You've got about ten minutes to make yourself presentable. Your mother and Steph are inbound.”
 
Jen rolled over. “Shit.”
 
“That's what I said.”
 
Jen eyed Lisa. “What are you all dressed up for?”
 
“Lunch date in an hour.”
 
“Oh, right,” Jen yawned. “Whassisname.”
 
Lisa took Jen's hand. “Exactly.”
 
“Think it will go anywhere?”
 
“Yes. To a restaurant and a free meal. Beyond that, I'm not counting on it.” Lisa tugged Jen up to a sitting position. “Come on. Motivate. Get yourself presentable.”
 
Jen stretched. “I don't wanna.”

Brad pulled his gray McLaren 570S Spider into the drive of his parents' political home in the suburbs of Washington DC. Jenny hopped out and not-quite ran to the door. Brad turned the car around, expecting an abrupt departure. Shutting the engine off, he sat for a moment before getting out. He pocketed the keys, sighed, and walked slowly towards the door Jenny had disappeared into.
 
“Hello, Netty,” he said to the cook when he entered.
 
“Master Bradley,” Netty said in greeting. “They're waiting for you in the parlor.”
 
“Thanks, Netty.” Brad left the kitchen and went down the hall. He listened. Not to the words, but to the voices. He heard Jenny asking questions. His father and mother tried to answer her. Will tried to get a word in.
 
But not Steph. Brad frowned. Stephanie tended to be the loudest of the four and always had something to say on every subject.
 
He entered the parlor. “Where's Steph?”
 
“That's what we wanted you here to discuss,” Senator James Michaels, his father, said. “She's been kidnapped.”
 
“First Jen. Now Steph. This family is cursed,” Will muttered.
 
“Have they made contact?” Jen asked.
 
“Yes. Don't involve the police,” the Senator said. “Further demands will follow.”
 
Crossing his arms, Brad leaned against the inside of the archway. He shot a quick look at Jen. “How did they contact you?” she asked.
 
“They sent us a video recording on a memory stick,” his mother answered.
 
“I want to see it,” Jen said.
 
“It's in my office. The computer is on,” his father said. Jen headed back towards the hall. She gave Brad a quick nod on the way by. He saw her pull her phone out of her pocket when she was out of sight of her parents.
 
Brad watched his family. His mother and father looked at each other. Will tried to disappear into the sofa. “So, what's the plan?”
 
“We wait until they make contact again. We find out what their demands are. We keep her safe.”
 
Shaking his head, Brad said, “There's not a damned thing we can do that will keep her safe if they decide to harm her. In the meantime, business as usual. There's nothing wrong. Keep your career safe.”
 
“What's that supposed to mean?” James demanded.
 
“Same thing it always means, Dad. Your career is what is important. Not Jen when she was taken. Not Steph now. Hey, Will, got any plans to be kidnapped so Dad can schedule around it?”
 
“You're out of line!”
 
“Am I?” Brad asked.
 
“Got it!” Jen said running past Brad.
 
“Where are you going?”
 
“Business as usual, Dad. Living up to your expectations. Jen's got schoolwork to do. I've got a date tonight. Feel free to call when you'd like me to stop by for another ten minutes.” Brad turned. “Gotta go.”

“What do you think of Darian?”
 
“First impression?” Sharon nodded. Jason shifted the Diablo into a higher gear. “I don't like him. He reminds me of Michaels. Feels he has a need to prove himself to everyone. Who throws a punch like that at someone they just met?”
 
“I'm sorry. That was kind of my fault. I told him you were one of my students.”
 
“What happened to teaching self-control and discipline? That was what I needed.”
 
Putting her head back, Sharon said, “Darian's an inner city kid. No father figure. A lot of anger. He has one younger sister. When I first met him, he was doing anything he could for money to take care of her. He has the fire, so I offered to train him. He's worked his way up through the ranks. Two years now, he's been undefeated.”
 
“So, he is better capable of taking care of his sister.”
 
“She's in law school now. Due to take her bar exam this year or next year. Two kids that have done good with a little direction in their life.” Jason nodded. “Wanda is supposed to be in town today or tomorrow. Coming in to see the fight. That was a nice counter strike, by the way. Darian said he never saw it coming.”
 
“He's too focused on dropping his opponent with that first shot.”
 
“Agreed. A bad habit I haven't been able to break him of. Or any of his other teachers.”

Vampires lack of reflection, depending on how far into the legends you want to go, didn't cast reflections in mirrors due to the fact that, back then, mirrors were made of glass and silver. Silver was the reflector. Similar thing to werewolves/silver bullets. Silver inherently doesn't like evil things.

Then again, they could be hiding their actual true potential. They let a hit get through here and there to see what you are capable of.

The posters and marquee read three fights were scheduled for the next night. With six fighters to choose from Jason didn't like the odds of picking Sharon's student at random. He was given a lanyard with a pass dangling from it. He was further given rudimentary directions on how to find Sharon.
 
“Could have told me who your student was,” Jason said to himself. “'Excuse me, but could you direct me to the sexy blind blonde trainer?' That would so not go over well with you.”
 
Stopping at an intersection of halls with people moving up and down all of them, Jason looked around. He tried to find any indicator of where he should be headed.
 
“You look lost,” a woman said. Jason turned to face her. “Jason?” With a squeal, Shannon Welles threw herself at him. When he caught her she wrapped her legs around his waist, and her arms around his neck. “What are you doin' here? And where be my girl Leah?”
 
“I'm here looking for someone.” Jason looked at his watch. “Leah is in London. Probably having a dinner of bangers and mash with a pint to wash it down. Laying the island girl act on a little thick, aren't you?”
 
“What's Leah doing in London?”
 
“European tour. Haven't you been in touch with Renea?”
 
Shannon slid down. “Ah, well, uhm, ghosting. Nothing I'm contractually signed for through the agency until next month.”
 
“Leah is on a two week tour of Europe. Officially, the tour starts on Monday. Renea wanted you to go along.”
 
“Who are you looking for?”
 
“Sharon Anderson.”
 
Shannon smiled. “This way. She be trainin' mah man.”
 
“Shannon,” Jason said with some annoyance.
 
She grinned. “He likes it.”
 
“I like the Jersey girl that lost her accent.”
 
Leading him down a hall, Shannon said, “You're no fun.”
 
“Which is why I'm dating Leah. She has a way of pulling the fun out of me.”
 
Shannon slipped her arm through his. “And to think you could have had me.”
 
“Or Celeste.”
 
“Now, that, Mr. Scott, is a nasty thought. Celeste doesn't deserve you. And you sure as hell don't deserve her.” She pushed through a door.
 
“Hey! What are you doing with my girl?” Jason looked at the man that had called out. Six foot, black, two hundred, maybe two hundred twenty pounds of muscle.
 
“Relax, Darian. This is Jason Scott. Leah's boyfriend.” Shannon broke away.
 
“Oh.”
 
“And he's here to see me,” Sharon said.
 
“You a fighter, Scott? You got the look of a fighter.”
 
“Only when I have to,” Jason replied. “Darian Powers. Heard of you. Not from Sharon.”
 
“You ranked? Got a belt?” Darian persisted.
 
“Black today. Sometimes a brown one.” Jason shrugged. “Or an orange one.”
 
Darian came closer. “Darian, don't,” Sharon warned. Darian's fist slammed into Jason's palm with a loud smack.
 
“You always lead off with a fast strike,” Jason said. “Leaves you open to people that know what to look for.”
 
Smiling, Darian said, “You're alright.” Jason pushed his other hand closer to Darian's neck so the other man could feel his fingertips pressing against his artery. “You could be a contender,” he said, looking down at Jason's knife hand.

Coming out of her room wearing a short kimono-style robe and her hair damp, Dani pulled a slice of pizza out of the box and warmed it in her hand. Trese sat on a sofa. The TV was on, but the sound was so low it could hardly be heard.
 
“What's wrong?”
 
“I get the feeling Jason wanted me out of the way for some reason.”
 
Dani chuckled. “This wasn't Jason. This was Charles. I've got a list of mandatory items to get for you. At least three dresses. Different colors. Different styles. Shoes as necessary. Slacks. Blouses. Hosiery. Jeans. Whatever. With enough wiggle room that I can get a few things, too.” Trese frowned. “What? Do you have an aversion to clothes shopping?”
 
“Just wondering what I've gotten myself into,” Trese said quietly.
 
“Normally, I'd go out, but I have to be up early. And if we did go to the places that I'd usually go, I would have to answer to Jason or Charles about why I was there with a sixteen year old. Pizza?”
 
Trese waved it off. “Had enough for now.”
 
Talking around pizza in her mouth, Dani said, “I figure after I get back we'll head out and start the fun stuff. We can start the shopping, see what's what. Want to see a movie? Concert? Museum?”
 
“I guess,” Trese answered noncommittally.
 
“We could talk about what you've gotten yourself out of,” Dani offered.
 
Trese wrapped her arms closer about herself. “Where's your mom?”
 
“Here in LA right now. She travels a lot. Always has. Doing one job or another.”
 
“Where's your dad?”
 
“Dead. He was killed on a job when I was little.”
 
“What kind of job?”
 
Giving a half-smile, Dani said, “Would you believe me if I told you he was a spy?”
 
“Really?”
 
“Yeah. Had a stepdad for a while. He disappeared. No one seems to know where he got off to. I got bounced around a bit as a kid. Lived with my dad's parents while I was in high school. For stability. My summers were either in New York or here. I annoyed Jason when he was in high school. I used to tag along with him a lot. He and Charles are family.”
 
“How often do you see your mom?”
 
“Whenever I can. You'll meet her tomorrow. She'll be having dinner with us.”
 
“What does she do?” Trese asked, turning to face Dani.
 
“Lots of things. Acrobat, detective, sensei, trainer, profiler, and general beater-of-badguys. One thing you should know before you meet her, she's blind. So if she acts in a way you don't expect, that's the reason for a lot of it.”
 
“How was she blinded?”
 
“In the same accident that killed my dad.”
 
“Oh,” Trese said quietly. “I'm sorry.”
 
“What about your parents?”
 
“I never knew my dad. Mom never said much about him. She was a mom. Cook, baker, mender of scraped knees. She played guitar in a band. I remember that. The purple shirt I wear, that was hers. It used to have the band's logo on it. Kind of a cool thing for a band from a Podunk town.”
 
“I thought I heard something about a stepfather.” Dani saw Trese shiver. “Another time. When we know each other better.” Trese nodded.

“You said water balloons!”
 
“Aye. An' I also mentioned color. The water had dye in it.”
 
“Obviously,” Dani said exasperated. One side of her face was blue. The other was yellow. There was a splash of green where the colors had overlapped. Very little of the walls and floor was white any longer. “This better wash out. I've got a casting call tomorrow morning.”
 
“Tallyin' up the score now,” Irish said. “Looks like a solid 91%, Theresa. That's your mark for any further attempts.”
 
“Okay,” Trese responded. Her shirt was mostly still white. A blue balloon got through on one side, while a red one had tagged her on the other. Her pants and boots were stained by splatters from blocking the balloons too low.
 
“Commence rinse.” Sprayer heads descended from the ceiling and began spraying the walls. The dye rinsed off easily, leaving gleaming white walls behind. With the walls cleared, the sprayers began on the floor. From the walls towards the center. Two others descended towards the girls and began rinsing them off.
 
“Oh, look,” Dani said. “Our first shower together.” Trese blushed. “Relax. I'm teasing.”
 
Trese took hold of the sprayer above Dani. “Turn around. Let me rinse your hair out.” Running her fingers through Dani's hair while spraying it, Trese said, “It's okay. What's the casting call for?”
 
“Police procedural. Episode work. I'm not sure what the actual part is. We go in, read, and they decide who they like best for whichever role. I could be a college student, a prostitute, the murder victim. Or I could be cut loose and all I'm out is the time it took to drive to LA and back. My turn,” she said, taking the sprayer from Trese.
 
“You'll be there for the whole day, Dani. Regardless of the outcome,” Jason said from the observation booth. “Take Trese with you. Do some clothes shopping for her.”
 
“Awesome!”
 
“I've reserved a suite for the two of you for a couple of days.”

Trouble is, this requires you to know the opponent's DCV.  The other way, you can just announce what DCV you hit, and the GM can announce whether or not you succeed. You don't have to know the DCV, or whether there were any modifiers, etc.

“So why am I wearing all white? And what's with these boots?”
 
Dani smiled. “Stop complaining. It's all part of the training exercise. The white will make your mistakes stand out better.”
 
“That doesn't explain these boots,” Trese complained.
 
“They will help you keep your footing in adverse conditions,” Dani explained. “Similar to what will go with your uniform. Here we are.” Dani led Trese into a white room.
 
“Ooh, I am just so going to disappear in here,” Trese said sarcastically. “I'll just blend into everything.”
 
“Except the ceilin' an' the observation windows, darlin'” Irish said from the observation station. “Now, your task is ta keep ye from bein' anythin' but white. The more of the floor an' walls ye can color the higher yer score will be.”
 
A robotic ball pitcher rolled out. “Our friend here will be tossin' water balloons at ye. I want ye to deflect them. No' out and out blocking, Theresa. Blocking will take more energy and strength than deflection. Ye understand?”
 
“Yes, ma'am.”
 
“Good. An' ye get bonus points fer everyone tha' ye can hit Dani with.”
 
“What!? I didn't agree to this!”
 
Irish smiled. “No flamin', dear.”
 
“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Trese said laughing. Dani fumed.

A friend recounted what happened to his character when he came out of the Houses of Healing.  They asked for a donation and he basically refused saying that the gods probably don't exist and he wasn't going to pay for them.  Well at the top of the stairs he trips over a silk scarf, rolls down the stairs, hitting every single carving and statue on the way, dislocating his shoulder, breaking a couple of ribs and the fingers of one hand.  Now he gives generously.  Still thinks gods don't exist, but goddesses:  Yeah they are totally real!