Mitchell Daily

@mitchelldaily.bsky.social

172 Followers 334 Following

SpEd teacher, but IEPs aren’t the only things I write. TTRPG designer. Mennonite/low-key heretic. he/him. Black Lives Matter. Salem, Oregon. https://mitchelldaily.itch.io/

Into the Oddish Red and Blue version books, Vileplume Mountain zine, and False Star and Mime House pamphlets on a wooden table.
Modified Goldeen Pokemon Red Version sprite so that it's wearing a horned skull, is colored in purples, and has tattered fins.
Static or glitch filled background with pixel art of a star shape vaguely visible through the noise. Sitting on the background, the Pokemon Unown spelling: BEWARE FALSE STAR
Pixel art of a vague outline of Starmie in a starry void, the gem and gold in the center most visible.
Skeleton with hands folded in front of it in priestly robes adorned with horseshoes, clovers, and a motif of three iron nails grouped together. Three nails pierce into its skull and out of its eye socket. Each bent elbow has three nails piercing it. Text reads: If strongest in Luck, you are a Wager Cleric In Service of Lady Luck Station When called to the church, each Wager Cleric chooses how they will serve their Lady. There is much work to be done to balance her scales. Evangelist: Educate and Charm Bring Luck to those who have none Paladin: Protect and Collect Tear Luck away from cheats Priest: Guide and Heal Conduct Luck’s rites and rituals
Robed skeleton with its own skull floating over its outstretched hand, a wisp of smoke or fire trailing back to the top of its spine poking out of the robe. A gnarled three-pronged staff is in its other hand. Reads: If strongest in Magic, you are Aberrant Heresy and Sacrifice Patron You gained your power through the invocation of a heretical force greater than yourself. Demon: Blood-Soaked Soil Old One: Seeing Beyond Fey Noble: Verdant Blessing Mythic Sorcerer: Great Magic
Picture of a fancily dressed skeleton with a big hat with a feather, a star pendant, a flared, tattered cape, armored boots with heels, and a hand held out palm up as if holding up a cup for a toast. Text reads: If strongest in Heart, you are a Honeytongue Sweet, sweet words Face Honeytongues can be found wearing a variety of faces suited to a variety of places. Socialite Thriving in the world of nobles, galas, coin, and class. Underworld Fixer Thriving in the world of charlatans, cons, lies, and reputation. Free Spirit Thriving in the world of beasts, foraging, nature, and instinct.
Art of a skeleton with a wide-brimmed hat, rifle slung to their back, dark-lensed glasses on their face, and a grappling hook on their hip. Reads: If strongest in Wits, you are a Professional Getting the Job Done Right Mentor Someone taught your everything you know and made you the Professional you are today. They’re probably dead now. Freelance Adventurer Delving dungeons, dismantling traps, fighting monsters Royal Inspector Unraveling conspiracies, monitoring enemies, infiltrating crime rings Mage Hunter Dispelling curses, studying spells, battling sorcerers
Skull headed mech in red and black. Text in an extreme, metal-inspired font reads: Mecha TTRPG Experience 35 games for $20
Hooded, armored figure in a mask, armed with a big, dripping knife, cords with sharp tips hanging off of them and knives protruding from between fingers, bones and spine showing in gaps of armor and skull peeking out from behind the mask. Reads: If strongest in Grace, you are a Cutter. Knife and Key. Legends Every Cutter was once a child hearing stories of master thieves and assassins. Vormin Princeslayer Flashing Knives Jack of Shadows Unseen Specter Stranger’s Mask Empty Vaults and Cells Thorn of Rose Towers Footsteps Across Rooftops
Skull headed mech in red and black. Text in an extreme, metal-inspired font reads: Mecha TTRPG Experience 35 games for $20
Art: Skeleton in armor holding a chipped great ax wearing several swords. Text: If strongest in Might, you are a Sellsword. Bloodied Steel for Sale. Four Masters The Four Masters are considered the progenitors of all modern martial combat. Your Sellsword surely studied the ways of one of them. Karkarath the Ruthless: Rage and Abandon Giant Goffum: Strength and Resolution Pazzur of the Lightning Edge: Speed and Precision The Tortoise Lord: Patience and Protection
Photograph of a man sitting on a rock surrounded by water alone. Arrow pointed at the man reading You and arrow pointing out to the horizon reading Games. Big text says Solo Tabletop Bundle.
Squirrel with an eye patch and scars. Reads No Nut November: Squirrels of the Post-Apocalypse
Reads Dreygur Bloom and created for the one-page rpg jam with a skull against a black background.
He turned to the wall full of dials. Little clock faces with words like “Residual Natural Law Flow,” “Fey/Chaotic Quotient,” and “Harmony:Discord” engraved on plaques below them stared down at Scale. The numbers were all wrong. He walked over to his chalkboard and scraped several of the values from the wall onto the surface with a yellowed piece of chalk. He took his fingers from the chalk and it danced around the board on its own, confirming Scale’s fears. The magical balance was far outside acceptable thresholds.
A young man with just a shadow of stubble along his jaw and chin cleared his throat, descended into a cough, and rasped, “We’ll go in two teams to sweep this vein.” A hefty hack and a spit cleared the dust from the sheriff’s voice. “Deputy Hazel, Lakespuns, and Squire Peck will ride riseward with Ket Astor to where this vein meets the Scar and work their way back out.
Thunder rumbles, panoply of power, As Prince Poet tumbles from his tower. Poet Crone, she narrows eyes so chilling, Eyes for Glass with heart set on his killing.
Swarm’s lips silenced him, wasps tickling his neck and tangling in his hair. Following the guidance of gentle yet eager pressure on his shoulders, Fiber sank to his knees, coming eye level to the dripping honeycomb in Swarm’s abdomen. His vines and Swarm’s hands steadied him there. He leaned forward and stuck his tongue into the honey.
The pair sat next to each other on an icy hill, gazing at the purple spot on Pensive’s surface that was spinning faster and faster, stirring the clouds around it. Glass produced two handheld telescopes and passed one to Bright. He watched the clouds of ice and vapor scream through the atmosphere. He watched emerald wyverns dive in and out of the chaos, dodging bolts of white hot lightning that superheated minerals swept up in the storm, turning them to glass.
But Buttercup the loyal hound answered, “Ken thou which villain doth plot thy demise this day? Not who refracts with his skin the dear sun’s soft ray, Poetry streams from my mouth where my bark hadst been, Daniel, thine eyes have deceived thine young mind again. Misery now wears the Poet’s foul face.” Daniel, heart pounding in his chest, opened his mouth to reply and was forced to say, “Glass only gazes through wicked contraption here. Woe to us, Buttercup, death now descends I fear. Fly with me back to our home in the shade we know Shelters our people from villain that strikes his blow. Why can’t I shut my obstreperous mouth?” Daniel breathed relief through his nostrils when he managed to clamp his jaw shut, the strange word “obstreperous” already slipping out of his vocabulary, and broke into a sprint back towards town.
He saw the prayers of aliens to their alien gods. He saw suns exploding, stripping the atmosphere off of worlds across their galaxies. He saw the afterglow of the universe’s conception. He saw the light of other universes peeking through holes in space.
They reached the river, which had transformed into a stampede of raging bulls made of rushing water and foam. As Daniel watched, one of the bulls leaped up, slammed into the log spanning the river, and splashed across the log bridge. The bridge shuddered but held. Daniel did not slow and heard Buttercup panting just behind him. Daniel’s feet pounded down the worn wood as more watery bulls crashed into the log, exploding into a heavy spray that threatened to knock Daniel off his feet. Finally, his feet reached the mossy bank of the other side, and he allowed himself a glance over his shoulder.
Glass saw a world where Bright forgave him, a world where he surrendered to Bright’s embrace. He saw a world where he gave Bright everything he wanted, forever warming his bed and keeping his tower standing tall. He saw a world where they ruled together, but never in each other’s way. He saw a world where he grew restless against the boundaries Bright placed around him. He saw a world where Bright’s volatility would burn away whatever delicate peace Glass crafted. He saw a world where Glass and Bright ended up in the same place they were now. There simply was no world big enough for both of them.
Glass crashed like a hailstone through the University’s Great Hall window. He was late to Arcane Properties of Advanced Compositions, hadn’t prepared his thesis, and his body ached from bruises and cuts. He limped through the University’s corridors as they stretched and twisted around him. At least here he was free of him. His mother and sister never truly escaped. “I’m in the Discord,” Glass reminded himself, and his threadbare, gray University robes were replaced by his robes of silver with red soaked into the bottom fringe. He conjured a mirror and stepped through it.
Red, drown in the Red you have pricked from the world’s earthy flesh. Red is the soil where we’ll bury your treacherous body. Red are the worms that will eat your merciless corpse. Red is your stolen prize.” The Ghost of Old Poet’s Rebuke Is this the thanks I earn for wise-ruled time? That you’d show not the decency to rhyme? In red I give you all you could desire. In red I light your enemies afire. Your insolence now blinds your foolish eyes. Your mercy promises to spell demise. Regret not all it cost when you have won, But taste the red of victory well done.
Astor heard footsteps behind him and saw Paula tense. “I told you not to come back today,” the bartender said to someone over Astor’s shoulder. “It is you,” slurred a gruff voice behind Astor, a voice Astor knew. Astor felt the mix of frustration and despair stewing in his gut roil. His molars clenched tight and he spun on his stool, his hand perching on the pistol at his hip. “Hello, Hop. I believe Paula asked you to leave.” Hop, with spit in his bushy salt-and-pepper beard and a nose like a knot in a tree, stared at Astor with wild eyes. His shirt was missing a button and his hairy belly showed through it. His hair lifted from his head in breeze-swept strands. “‘Hello, Hop,’” he mimicked. “That’s all you have to say to me after you went out to kill my boys.” Astor shivered with rage. “I didn’t kill your sons.”
Daniel giggled as he was still young enough a man not to have forgotten how to make such a sound. His trusty companion Buttercup, an aging hound, spry but for the slightest limp after a long walk, had woken him by hopping on the bed and licking his face. Daniel, son of Arthur, rose from his bed as he had done every day of his sixteen years, under the eaves of Spring’s tower on a mild morning ushered in by vibrant, lusty birdsong.
At that moment, the roof of the palace was torn off. The room filled with the sound of a million-voice choir screaming in a rapturous forte. The walls and pillars of the throne room warped out of physics and reason before snapping back into place. Two sets of interlocking rings of jeweled eyes spun, flipped, and twisted around each other. Within each set was a blue flame that took a vague estimation of a many-winged human form, a sword held at the end of something like a limb. The flames darted around within their rings like a hummingbird trapped in a cage. “BE AFRAID,” the chorus sang. “The Discord will not tolerate this transgression!” hissed Screams of the Slaughtered Lamb/Child. “DO NOT SPEAK OF TRANSGRESSION TO US, DEMON! THE FIRMAMENT HAS SEEN THE BLASPHEMY OF ONE HERE AND WILL HAVE REVENGE!” The angels descended like meteors, their swords flashing at the Glasses and the demon prince. Screams of the Slaughtered Lamb/Child pitched forward and vomited fleshy worms. Each writhing tendril grew until their mouths, ringed with saw blades and human teeth, were large enough to swallow a man standing tall.
The Borrower’s shop was nearby in the Imperial Quarter of the city, down a flight of shadowy stairs from the main street level. The door set into a wall underneath the backside of a respectable bookstore bore little identification besides the words “Borrow, Barter, Pawn” written in black paint only a shade darker than the wood the door was made of. The door opened on a cluttered room with stacks of books, boxes, knick-knacks, and weapons, some on shelves and others rising from the floor, most obscured by a thick layer of dust. Lamps perched on the walls and hung from the ceiling with no apparent pattern, drawing weird shadows from the stacks in all directions.
Dark smoke rose from the red veins spider-webbing across Bright’s skin. “Poet taps the Discord in a bid against you, but there isn’t one ripple in the Discord, there are two. So, I’m left wondering, does this apocalypse that I have staked myself against find its champion in the most competent wizard I know, the one closest to me? Is there a glass dagger hovering over my heart?” Bright took Glass’ head in his hands, his fingers pushing firmly into Glass’ skin, and pushed Glass’ head back. His twin-sun eyes burned into Glass’ silver irises. “And if there’s any chance of that, what options are left to me?” Glass’ face remained placid. “You have asked me twice if I have betrayed you, so hear me the second time when I say that I haven’t.” Sorrow etched into Glass’ face, making him look a few years closer to his actual, ancient age. “Please, don’t ask me again.”
The glass let off a hot glow. Glass’ heart swooned. “Uranium and lead?” Bright laughed and clapped his hands. “I knew you’d get it right away. But that’s not just any uranium.” He put his hand on Glass’ lower back and pointed out towards the sun, barely more than a large star at Pensive’s distance from it. “I got it on Chaste. Have you ever been? It’s so hot, lead runs like water. Here, have a taste.” Bright filled Glass’ cup with wine and then his own. Glass sipped his wine, mouthfuls alternating between sweet and dry and melancholy, watching the wyverns snap up mouthfuls of electrified dragonflies. Tendrils of warmth snaked through his veins, and kaleidoscopic lights danced on the edges of his vision. When the wine was gone, Glass took a bite out of the cup, crunching the shards between his teeth, rolling them across his tongue, savoring the rich earthiness of the uranium and the sweetness of the lead.
Words and dice in an old, dank dungeon. Reads Dungeon Crawl Bundle as well as a bunch of marketing phrases like Huge Deals!
Cover image. Skull with an arrow going through the eye sockets. Reads: The Mighty, the Lucky, and the Dead Playtest Guide version 0 point 2 point 0 by Mitchell Daily
Reads Dungeon Crawl Bundle, Huge deals! Great games! Tapletop and more! and diseño gráfico es mi pasión, with pictures of dice in front of a classic dungeon/prison background (gray stone, a single barred door.
Book on a table next to a signature from the author. Cover reads The Sapling Cage and Margaret Killjoy. A skull sits in the middle of a golden cage with leaves, vines, and branches.