D20 Collective Metal Dice Subscription

Amazing first set!!!

Love you guys, just not a huge fan of the double colored dice.

Player killer for sure!

i was told that i would not recieve the same set of dice and i have been. it has also been impossible to reach someone to talk to about it. everytime i send an e-mail to ask for a correction of some sort i am given this review box. so it looks like you will recive duplicates and that d20 collective doesnt care because they have your money already, or at least that is the impression that i am given.

You feel bittersweet as the farmer’s cart you are riding on rolls into the city. Your staff is clutched in one hand, and your bundle of possessions in the other; you travel light, but your heart feels like a stone in your chest as you smile at the farmer, thank him, and offer him a gold coin for his trouble. “Don’t you worry about that.” he waves you off, “It wasn’t out of my way, and I prefer having company, even if it doesn’t choose to speak.” You duck your head, thank him again, and begin walking firmly down one of the nearby avenues. After traveling a few blocks, and realizing you are thoroughly lost, you stop and sit on a public bench for a moment to collect your thoughts. You have been traveling aimlessly for the last eight months, picking up odd jobs here and there in small towns and villages to keep your money pouch sated, and your bones from showing through. You want to go home, but you know you never can again. A cloud sprout ambles into view from around the corner. It notices you, smiles its strange, skull-splitting grin, and waves at you as it passes. You wave back, your mouth feeling too tired to form a smile. The sun will be unpleasant soon, but the morning chill still clings to the mossy stone of the old city cobbles. You convince yourself that you should move, and finally heave yourself off the bench. You almost trip over the cloud sprout. It is standing right next to you, and barely comes up to your knee. Its upturned face, and squinty eyes stare into your soul. “Excuse me.” you mutter, “I didn’t mean to bump into you there.” “No problem.” it rasps, “I washn’t being very vishible.” “I suppose not.” you pause for a moment. “Well anyway, I must be going.” “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” “Oh, of course I do.” you lie, “I have very important business to attend at…the docks.” “The docksh are clozhed today.” the cloud sprout points out. “I have a propozish’in for you if you’re intereshted.” You roll your eyes. Of course the docks would be closed today, for no reason. “Fine, what do you want?” The cloud sprout’s squinty eyes narrow to fine slits, “I have a pesht I’m having trouble getting rid of. Nashty blighter down at my flower zhop. If you can exshterminate my problem, I’ll give you a job, and a playsh to shtay.” “What kind of pest?” you ask, suspiciously. “A necromansher.” the cloud sprout proclaims, as though it is pointing out a clock on a wall. “You want me to kill a necromancer for you?” “Yesh.” “What in the world gives you any idea I could kill a necromancer?” “You’re shpeshul.” the cloud sprout sniffs, “You have a lot of untapped potenshul in that bumbly big head of yoursh.” “That seems manipulative.” you point out, “I really don’t want to get mixed up in your problems, especially if it will likely get me killed, and used as a thrall in a skeleton horde.” The cloud sprout crosses its stubby arms and pouts. “Besides that, how do I know you aren’t a necromancer, or working for one?” “You don’t need to be sho dishagreeable.” the cloud sprout says, “I jusht want to get my home back, sho I can keep shelling flowersh and make a living. You don’t have to be mean, inshinuating I’m shome kind of pshychopathic madman.” Its voice rises, and it widens its stance as it glares at you venomously. “You don’t even have to kill the necromansher, you could jusht ashk her to leave, and if she doeshn’t you can at least be a witnesh, and you can inform the proper authoritiesh, becaushe no one hash been lishening to me, and I’ve been wandering around without a home for the pasht four daysh!” The cloud sprout looks angry, but you can tell it is tired, and seems genuinely in need of help. Its aggressive posture hides the pain of having been crying out for help in a crowded city with no one willing to help. You feel like trash. Not…the same feeling you normally get when you feel like trash, mind you, but a new feeling, like you could…not be trash. Or you could wind up falling victim to a horrible scam and die, but your gut is telling you that you would rather die a well-meaning fool than a callous genius. “Fine.” you say, “Where’s your shop?” The cloud sprout steadfastly does not answer you, and the distrustful glint in its eye cuts you deeply. “I’ll just stand out in the street and call inside.” you say, a hollow edge creeping into your voice. “The necromancer probably won’t go outside, right? They’re hurt by sunlight?” “I wouldn’t know.” the cloud sprout huffs, “I’m not a ghoul.” “Well anyway, she probably won’t do anything with people watching. We can see if there’s some way to take her down, or expose a weakness or something.” The cloud sprout grunts. You flap your arms. “Well, lead the way, Mr….uh…” “I’m not talking to you.” the cloud sprout says. Regardless, it starts waddling down the street, and, with nothing else to do, you follow it. The city is quieter than you have come to expect in your travels, and most everyone you see on the street is friendly, if not particularly engaging. You find yourself enjoying the sense of…not exactly belonging, but not being despised or dismissed. The cloud sprout looks back at you from time to time, its frowny little mouth showing off its many sharp teeth when it twitches to make sure you are still following. It leads you through a maze of progressively smaller streets until it arrives on a fairly busy street in a narrow, poorer neighborhood. Sure enough, you can make out a flower shop about a block away. There are quite a few hanging baskets of flowers on racks out front, and there is a woman running to and fro with a watering can, looking lost. “That’sh her.” the cloud sprout whispers, “She may look harmlesh, but she’s a diabolical shervant of evil!” You nod. “You’d best keep out of sight, then.” “Be careful.” You begin casually walking toward the shop, trying not to attract too much attention to yourself as you join the scattered crowds. As you get closer, you find there isn’t anything evidently off about the woman, or the flower shop. There are a variety of gardening tools strewn about, and some of the plants are still waiting to be hung up. It looks like the sign out front says, “Pickle’s Pots” and there is a plank of wood hung below it that says, “& Friends”, though in less skillfully stylized script. As you are staring up at the sign, wondering if your cloud sprout companion’s name is “Pickle”, or if he represents the “& Friends” side of the business, the woman notices you. “Oh, a customer!” She drops the watering can, which immediately topples and spills out on the paving stones. Ignoring it, she scurries over to you with an anxious grin. “Can I get you any help?” She pauses, her grin falters. “Thing. Help. Can I help you with anything?” A nervous laugh pours from her lips, and her face takes on a slightly more genuine tone. “Sorry; I haven’t had my morning tea yet, today.” “Oh, ha!” you say, suddenly caught off-guard now that she is up close. “Uh. Flowers! I was looking for flowers.” “Well, you’ve come to the right place!” the woman gestures grandly, “Welcome to Pickles and Friends! And Pots.” She hesitates. “Pickle’s. Pots. And. Friends.” she says, slowly. “Sorry, his name is Pickle, not Pickles.” she giggles drunkenly, “That would be silly; he’s only one pickle. He’s not here right now, but I am, and I can get you some flowers.” She puts on a sophisticated voice, “For your ladyfriend, perhaps?” “Uh, no, I just…” You realize you probably should have pretended to have a ladyfriend to give the flowers to; what kind of manly fellow such as yourself goes out to purchase flowers just because? “I’m getting them for a friend. Of mine.” you finish, lamely. “Oh, good!” the woman turns around with a swish of her skirt, and dashes to the nearest rack of hanging baskets. “Over here, we have chrysanthemums, and over here — ” As she turns to run to another rack of baskets, the woman slips on the wet paving stones; her left ankle twists awkwardly to one side, her right leg flies out from under her, and she emits a startled squeak as she falls sideways into the decorative shrubbery out front, and the waiting shears left haphazardly leaning nearby. You gasp, your heart lurching at the suddenness of her accident. Instinctively, you approach her groaning form, and ask, “Are you…alright?” She whimpers, “No.” and tries to prop herself up, hissing with pain. When she notices the garden shears plunged into her side, she begins making piteous yelps of distress, and she reaches for the handle with unsteady arms. “No!” you cry, “Don’t pull it out!” But it’s too late. With a shudder, the woman casts the shears onto the pavement at the foot of a shocked little peasant boy who was playing with an inflated sheep’s bladder nearby. “You’ll be okay.” you find yourself soothing, as you try to put pressure on the wound. Blood gushes forth in unwelcome quantities as the woman chokes a sob. “No.” she whispers, “I didn’t want it…to be…like this…” Her eyes stare listlessly at the sky, and her body ceases trembling. You numbly hold her limp form in your arms, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. A few minutes ago, you didn’t even know this woman existed, but now you can’t imagine living in a world without her. “You have shlain the beasht!” the cloud sprout unexpectedly cries behind you, “You have vanquidshed the wicked foe!” “‘Wicked’?” a man in the gathering crowd asks, “What do you mean, ‘wicked’? You know you’re talking about our Ariel, right?” “Yes, that poor girl is the sweetest, most caring and loveliest…” a washerwoman trails off, sobbing. “How could you, Pickle?” the little boy from earlier cries, “And where have you been? She’s been forced to tend the shop without you almost all week!” “She ish not what she sheems!” the cloud sprout replies, pointing direly at the woman in your arms. “She ish a devioush necromansher! A foul fiend shent from the very furthesht reachesh of the underworld!” “She was born just down the block from here!” a man calls, “If she’s from the underworld, I’m a hopping toad!” You gently disentangle yourself from the woman’s corpse, and shakily find your footing again. “You’re wrong, Pickle; this is no necromancer.” “No!” Pickle’s face is turning red through the pale green, though a glimmer of doubt shines through. “I shaw it! She ish meddling with death, I tell you!” Despite his insistence of the woman’s guilt, you can see tears welling up in Pickle’s eyes. Murmuring arises, mostly from the crowd, regarding this claim. Some seem to be asking for proof, some are flat-out denying it. All discourse suddenly stops, however, when the woman’s body twitches. A collective gasp rises from the crowd, and a few people whimper in fear, as the corpse begins convulsing on the stones. You stare in horrified fascination as the dead woman is thrown hither and thither, her back arching and her hands grabbing at the air. A shriek! You can’t tell if it is Ariel’s body, or someone in the crowd, but whoever it is, the tormented wail mirrors the cry of your heart. Then, as quickly as it began, the seizing stops. Ariel lies there for a moment, still as death once more, and then she opens her eyes. “Oh.” she says, “Ow.” Everyone is silent as the dead woman sits up, looking, if not none the less for wear, much more alive than she was moments ago. She looks around in confusion, smiling at you faintly as your eyes meet. Suddenly, she cries out, “Pickle!” Pickle squawks in surprise as Ariel pounces on him and hugs him close to her chest. “I’ve missed you so much, Pickle!” she sobs, “I thought you might have died! Where have you been?” Pickle’s mouth moves, but, either from shock or lack of air, no sound escapes. “Oh, Pickle! It has been so hard managing the shop with you gone!” Ariel continues, burying her face in Pickle’s leafy hair, “I don’t know if I’m even cut out to be a florist! I can’t seem to do anything right, and I think I undercharged all my customers yesterday. Of course, I might have overcharged the ones the day before, and I keep forgetting to water things, and at this point, I’m just selling plants so they don’t die from neglect!” You desperately want to give Ariel a hug, and tell her she’s doing a fine job, but you look down at your sleeves, and notice they are covered in her blood. You feel a little lightheaded. Pickle finally manages to lever himself into a position to gather a lungful of air. He then uses this air to shout, “What are you?” “What?” Ariel looks down at Pickle, confusion tingeing her tearstained lashes, “What do you mean?” “You — well — you were — Well, you were dead!” Pickle shouts. “Oh, come now.” Ariel murmurs, “I just…fainted. You know how I have those little fainting spells from time to time.” “No!” Pickle insists, “You fell on a pointy thing, and died!” Ariel blinks and looks around, seemingly seeing everyone and everything around her for the first time. “Why is everyone standing around?” she asks, “And…oof, looks like I left the garden shears out again.” She laughs, and bumps her forehead with her palm, “Bonk! I’d better get that put away before…before.” She looks closer at the shears. “Oh, goodness! Did someone cut themselves?” “You did!” Pickle cries, “Don’t you remember?” “No! Where did I cut myself?” Ariel looks herself over, seeming rather concerned at how much blood is on her skirt and blouse, and simultaneously missing the jagged hole under her arm. “Did I do it when I fainted?” “You tripped, and fell.” you find yourself saying. “You…pulled the shears out, and it looked like you might have bled out and died.” She looks at you, blushes, and says, “Whoops! That’s not good! I’m so sorry; do you need anything finding help?” She pauses. “Anything. Help finding anything.” “Ariel, I saw you die four daysh ago.” Pickle looks less scared now, and more worried. “I think you brewed a pot of the wrong tea leavesh, and axshidentally poishoned yourshelf.” “Probably just too much chamomile!” Ariel laughs. “I didn’t get a good look at it, but I know you get that Shweet William and Hemlock confushed shome timesh.” Ariel is looking more distressed by the minute, and she seems a little spooked by the concerned onlookers. “I-I think I have to go lie down.” she stammers, “I don’t know what’s going on. Could you mind the shop…while I get things sorted out?” “Shertainly.” Pickle says, “You go get yourshelf cleaned up and I’ll bring you shome tea.” Ariel puts Pickle down and, with a last, shy smile and hesitant wave at the remaining onlookers, flutters into the recesses of the shop. Pickle stands there on the pavement, looking after her. “Well, that washn’t quite what I exshpected.” “Me neither.” you reply. “Do you shtill need a job?” Pickle asks. Your gaze roves from the bloody shears, to the pool of blood on the stones, to the blood on your sleeves. “Do you have an extra room, even with your resident necromancer?” “Of courshe!” Pickle’s eyes light up, “You hold the fort here for a minute while I go get shome tea, and I’ll be right back to shtart teaching you the wondersh of plant hushbandry.” You smile, for the first time in a long time feeling like it is genuine.

"Secure line?" Denny shouts, his voice muffled from inside the exo's cab. "Secure line?" you repeat to Ren in the pit. "Line secure!" he responds. You repeat to Denny, and he nods. You yell, "Stand clear!" and give Denny a thumbs-up when you hear a resounding "Clear!" from the men on the ground. There's a ratchetting sound, and the exo moves forward, digging its massive hands into the earth and pulling out bucketful after bucketful of dirt out of the designated spot. You watch from the protected bubble in its right knee as it works, and slowly the hole becomes deeper and deeper. You prefer working on construction jobs for buildings with subbasements; it takes longer, and you get to listen to your daughter's piano practice, audiobooks, and, your personal favorite, the traffic. "'...Lewis are going to the store afterwards' Darryn said, 'I hope nothing comes of' — " "Deming for Hollis." your radio crackles. "Go for Hollis." "What do you get." You sigh. "When you cross a cantaloupe, a dog, and a young human?" "I don't know, what?" You know. You just know he's going to be very put out if you guess it straight off. "A porcupine!" You stare at your radio, then give a quick glance at the exo's left knee. There's Deming, grinning like a fiend. He's baiting you. You rally yourself. "A what?" "A porcupine!" he repeats. "Because genetics is weird! Get it?" "Your face is weird." you shoot back. "How do you get a porcupine from a plant, an animal, and a human?" "I dunno, they just come out like that." "Dude, the answer is supposed to be 'a melon-collie baby,' not 'porcupine'." You can hear him trying to compose himself. He's still chortling when he presses the call button again. "Well, it wouldn't be nearly as funny if you were expecting it, would it?" You reflect that it sure wouldn't, but you also feel more confused than amused. You consider telling him that, but decide to go for an exaggerated eye-roll instead. "You're no fun, Hollis." You return your attention to the dig site. Not much progress. It's another two hours until lunch. You look at your watch. Two hours and forty minutes. One hundred and sixty minutes. Sixteen times six is...thirty six...ninety-six, nine hundred sixty, nine thousand six hundred? Is you math right? That seems an excessive number of seconds, but they'll tick down fast. You don't remember if you brought a hot dog or spaggoli for lunch. You really feel like spaggoli. You hope you weren't in a hot dog mood last night when you packed your bag, but you could always just eat spaggoli when you get home from work tonight. The hole looks much deeper than it should. You should try to focus more. You turn your audiobook back on. The dirt can become mesmerizing, and the bend and sway of the exo's shuffling gait is infuriatingly lulling as it works its way into the soil. Your radio crackles again. "Deming for Hollis." "This better not be another terrible joke, Deming." "I think I just saw a skull." You sit up. "A what? In the dirt?" The emergency stop bell sounds. "It's definitely a skull. I'm going to go check it out." "Make sure you clip in, buddy." you find your inflection seems hollow, and Deming doesn't respond. You watch as he slides the dome off the knee and begins climbing down the ladder. He pointedly clips his line onto the top rung, then turns to you and give a thumbs-up. You smile and return the motion. Your radio crackles again. "Who pulled e-stop?" "Deming." you reply. You can't be sure who it is, but it's probably Denny. "He says he saw a skull in the dirt." "Oh." there's a pause. "What if I just kept digging? No one would ever know." You feel cold. "What, with Deming down there?" "Someone would know about that. No, just cover over the bones; nobody'll miss them." You roll your eyes. Deming has made it down to the exo's boot. He carefully clips onto another spot, and hops down. He reaches for his shoulder unit. "Radio check, this is Deming. Can you hear me?" crackles through your radio. "Loud and clear." you return. "What do you see?" There is a pause, while Deming shuffles around in the dirt. He pulled e-stop with a full handful of clay, so little bits of it are sprinkling down from time to time, and he brushes it off his helmet absently. "I know I saw it down here." his voice sounds petulent. "Do you need a shovel?" you ask. "No. Maybe its in this handful." "You could let Farrough sort it out." "I guess." he starts back toward the boot with a sulky plod to his steps. You watch him for a moment before scanning the ground yourself. There's not much out of the ordinary; just brown and black and gray down in the pit. There's not even any water, which is nice; there's supposed to be a storm tomorrow, and you're looking forward to hopefully not dealing with it. Your attention goes back to Deming. It looks like he's just in the process of tripping. He stumbles forward, his helmet rolls off, and he sprawls forward. "Hollis to Deming. Are you okay?" Deming looks up at you. He reaches for his shoulder unit, but before he can, the ground underneath him gives way. He reaches for the solid ground, but is too far away. As he slides into the yawning pit, you lock eyes, and the fear in his spurs you to action. You slide your glass panel open and hook your rope onto a ladder rung. You reach for the call button and gabble a prorated version of events. You slide down the ladder as quickly as you can, heedless of the alarms wailing above you. You hook onto the lowest rung of the ladder and carefully crawl your way to the collapsed pit. Deming is dangling from the rope. He looks you in the eye, pulls out a pair of clippers, and cuts his rope. As he falls into the darkness, a resounding roar sounds from the pit. You lie there, dumbfounded, before the ground disappears from under you and you find yourself falling into an endless abyss.

"You know." Bresdon remarks, "You look rather dashing posed like that." "Shut up." You know he's just making fun of the precarious position you find yourself adopting with one foot propped on the side of the coffin, a loose bundle of papers stacked on your knee, your rifle angled uncomfortably against your side, and a massive book, two smaller books, and a pencil somehow crammed into your arms while you try to decipher the symbols plastered on the coffin's occupant's chest. "That's a...deleter. Why is there a deleter here?" "Beats me." Bresden sniffs. "Why is there a coffin in an old automotive warehouse?" "Probably a lot sale." Deutena crumples a paper from the desk she's searching through, and deftly throws it into the waste bin. "'Buy a car! You have to take this coffin, too.' Happens all the time." "Did it happen to you?" Deutena glares at Bresden over her mirrored sunglasses. "No. Remember, I have ONE car, and I got it from Hendricks; why would he have a coffin?" You lose interest in the conversation, as you hoped you would, and your eyes begin following the paths of the markings on the dead man's chest. You try not to think about how strange his face looks, or wonder how he came to be mummified; if what you are reading is correct, the body might be an earlier experiment in suspended animation. You can't make out some of the lines from desiccation and smudging, but you really don't want to...touch the body. You try your pen, and it kind of helps. The dry skin is strangely tough, and bumpy. You move a portion of what you assume is powdered shirt out of the way to reveal something that looks like two flat batteries glinting out of the mummy's sternum. Your pulse quickens. From your endless hours of research, you have learned that most recovered stasis experiments from this era are either decomposed beyond recognition, or have been frozen as an additional measure, often thawing out to decompose. In either case, the metal implants corroded away into next to nothing, and none of the subdural data files could be accessed. "Bresden, would you throw me a taser?" You ask, scarcely able to take your eyes off the shiny, uncorrupted nodes before you. If you can just bring the electronics circuitry online, maybe you can copy the software configuration to your pocket calculator so it can begin decrypting the data. "Are you kidding me?" "Quickly!" You hiss, "We don't know how much time we have left before someone walks by and sees our bikes!" "Fine." He sighs, "But I don't guarantee it'll knock him down." "That's exactly what I need." You say, catching the tiny device deftly with one hand. Some papers fall off your knee when you plug your calculator into the taser's charging port, but, as you lean forward to carefully arrange the prongs so each one touches a node, you don't care. You have a wealth of knowledge at your fingertips, all you need is one tiny spark. The memory of the button clicking against your thumb replays in your mind over and over again. You feel bored of it. An intense weariness weighs on you as you click the button for the fifth time, feeling a tactile "bump," followed by a little fizzling sound. Bump, fizz, bump, fizz. Bump. Fizzzzzzzz Someone is shaking you to wake you up for school, but you didn't get any sleep last night. "Hey, wake up! You gotta go!" Is that your mom? "Tell them I'm sick." You moan. You have to get back to...something. You were dreaming about something, but you can't think for the awful ringing in your ears as the world slowly swims your way. Muffled gunfire and shouting heave into your consciousness, but still all is eclipsed by that awful ringing. More like a squealing, like someone put a dog whistle up to your ear, but louder, and just pitched so you could hear it. You curl yourself into a ball, and put your hands over your ears, but nothing helps. Dust covers everything, and you can't see vey far. It smells like ammonia. Some grating sound rumbles from over your left shoulder, and you find yourself being bodily lifted, and turned around to face... The Most Hideous Thing You Could Possibly Imagine. It looks like it may have once been a man, but its face is a mass of crinkled ridges and it doesn't seem to have eyes save for an eerie green glow behind the shriveled remains of where its eyelids should be. It pulls you close with its dusty umber arm, and Breathes In Your Face. Its jaw drops and a foul, dusty must flows out its lipless maw. The light in its eyes brightens, and the screeching in your ears intensifies. You inhale despite yourself, and begin screaming in between coughing. You struggle, and kick, managing to catch the monster in its midriff before it hurls you through the chain-link fence to sprawl on the concrete fifty feet away. You scramble to your feet, blindly choose a direction and begin running.

Got the same set 3 times granted they fixed the issue. But canceled subscription after the third mess up. So my son and a friend got birthday presents of my repeat orders. I love all the die I got the sets are incredible

The window blinks twice. At least, you think it blinks. You decide to follow suit, and discover your temples are unhappy with movement. You wince, making the pain much worse. You groan, and discover more pain in your lower abdomen. You are on a bed that smells, old, musty, and bears a faint lingering of clothing you have left in the laundry machine for too long. Regrettably, you are not entirely sure how long you have been lying here, and you start to wonder if there is now disease coating your whole body. You tell yourself you are being paranoid — you became immune to disease years ago. Slowly, you roll over and try to ignore all the strange new sensations — all of them bad — covering your body in worrisome plenty. You cannot feel your right leg, no matter how much you shake it. It looks fine, and you can move your foot; it's probably fine that you can't feel it as though it isn't there. You are in a building you hope is condemned. There are holes in the drywall, and it seems the majority of that was caused by the abundance of runoff from the porous roof. There is a door hanging listlessly open, as though it is holding itself for you very politely. You take stock of your possessions, and find that you have a knife. It seems to be sheathed in your lower abdomen just to the right of your belly button; better leave it there until you really need it. You should probably move. To be fair, you aren't supposed to move if you have grievous injury, but you seem to be missing your phone, and if no one has found you in the amount of time you've been passed out, it's safe to assume no one will until long after you pass out for good. You slither off the bed, and pick yourself up off the floor in an arduous dance. The hallway beyond the door is empty, and you stumble out into a shaft of blinding daylight. The wall on the other side of the hall does not support your weight as you slam into it, and it begins its leisurely trip down. As your arms windmill to regain your balance, you dimly register that the wall is still falling. Down through the floor of the room opposite you. Down past countless floors in what you had assumed was a much shorter building. The floor trembles slightly when the section of wall finally makes impact somewhere out of sight. You take a deep breath and gaze out the hole in the floor. You can see through the outside wall of the hotel, to the broken earth below. "One floor at a time." You whisper.

"What's the first thing that comes to mind when you look at me?" Adrienne asks, her voice devoid of hope. "Just, the very first thing. Spit it out." "Um." Jaime looks at the sheaf of employment papers on the desk in front of her in the hopes that they will tell her the correct thing to say. Traitorously, they do not. "Okay, structure." "Exactly." Adrienne looks defeated. "My hair looks like...wait, what?" "Structure." Jaime has the distinct impression this is not a normal response to the other woman's question, and she realizes probably no one else can see the grid overlaying her. Her mind races to compensate so she doesn't have to explain what she can see. "You look very much like you know what you can do, and you've structured yourself to perform to the best of your abilities." Adrienne blinks slowly, her features shifting in slight responses to the different emotions running through her mind. "I mean." She settles on cautious, with a heavy emphasis on looking like a caged animal. "I make balloons. For a living." "How interesting!" Jaime says. She is intensely distracted by the various portions of the grid lighting up as Adrienne stares at her. "How does that work?" "I have a tank of helium." Adrienne says, slowly, "And I use it to blow up balloons. And I wear a clown costume. It doesn't pay very much, and I need a second job." "So when did you find out your hair is made of bubble gum?" Jaime asks, desperately. Adrienne opens her mouth to object, then stops. "How did you know my hair is bubble gum? No one knows that."

Last set was 25%~50% larger dice very nice dice rolled well

Second time receiving this dice set. Emailed company. Great awesome customer service. They are sending another set I don’t have. Thank you so much for the awesome customer service…

Good weight

Was going great but got my first duplicate hope I don't get anymore since it says no duplicates

5 sets so far 2 went out as gifts. They all have rolled awesome

Forgot to get a photo of blood ritual. But it went to a friend for his birthday. Our game on Friday they were used all night and did him well

Awesome as usual. Will make a great gift for a friend and new gamer

This month’s dice is Greyhawk, and they are quite good! I am not sure how many dice sets we have gotten so far from the monthly dice subscription, but they have all been exemplary. They are perfect for gifts, and it is always a treat seeing what the newest set looks like. Greyhawk is a sophisticated name for this grey-copper set, and the dark grey is such a quality it almost looks blue. Good color combination, good dice, still a good product.

Every set that I have received for my metal dice subscription has been absolutely amazing.

First roll on the d20 was a natural 20 . Great way to start

Got a set of metal dice for Christmas last year. So I signed up for your dice a month deal for 19.99 wouldn’t you know it the dice I got in the mail was the same I got for a Xmas present. I thought it was funny and that’s my luck. My son will have a set of metal dice now

This month’s Oathbreaker dice spicy hot! Or something. Reminds us a little of Loki. Particularly like the six die design; it reminds me of an old locked suitcase you found in the attic, and you’re not sure how to get it open, but there’s definitely something inside.

Great price and quality, these draconic justice dice i got for the subscription are my favorite out of any ive gotten so far, the tin did get banged up in the post but not terribly, yet they sent me a replacement tin free of charge with my next set anyways

Adore them, the price is extremely good for metal sets, I love how they roll, and the texture some of them can have is so unique- this set is one of my favorites, dragon slayer, they splatter red paint on them and they have a scaly texture. First roll was a 19, then a 20, a good omen

Cheap, quick delivery, good customer service, the dice are $10 cheaper than anywhere else, they will help you real quick in the case of accidentally sending a duplicate set (though the shipping label may get lost in your email) and the dice are high quality with a great unique texture to them

We got Prismatic Light, and it looks quite nice. My wife said she would like use it for a fae character at some point.

The dice are beautiful and wonderfully made, my only issue is I keep getting duplicates, I've gotten 3 Greyhawk sets and 2 bronze sets. I wouldn't mind some duplicates but while they are nice they are the most dull of the sets by far and the Greyhawk I got back to back making the reveal extremely anticlimactic. Over all its really good but the repeated sets prevent it from being great

I really don’t know where to start, from pricing to the speed of shipping and how helpful whoever is managing the twitter account is, this product is really nice and has great customer service, it got here from Arizona all the way to northeast Ohio in just 3 days, the set I got was the terminator dice which look great, my only issue is the foam they keep them in is a little too good at its job, and it can be a little hard to get them out of the case because of it, otherwise I’d highly recommend this subscription

The Draconic Deception dice have a nice heft to them, and are slightly larger than other dice we have gotten from the random dice subscription so far. They are a pretty blue textured die and they feel good to roll.

I love the two different colors on the dice that I got

The dice I got this month are Limitless Space, and are gorgeous. They feature steel gray blinds with glimpses to the galaxy beyond.

The dice I received for March 2021 have a nice heft to them, and they have a pleasant orange/green glow when placed under a blacklight. I found the glow-in-the-dark orange a refreshing change from other glow-in-the-dark dice I have gotten that seem to be exclusively green. So far enjoying the dice, and happy with the subscription!

I absolutely LOVE all the dice! I'm a truck driver so I'm out for a few weeks at a time and coming home opening the new dice is an extra treat. So far all the colours and designs have been gorgeous though 2 were an odd colour combination. The roll beautifully with crist edges I couldn't ask for more

Got these in my first subscription box. Love the pink and green!!!! Can’t wait to see what comes in my next one!!

Rolls well

I signed up for three months of a metal dice subscription and all three months were very different: the first was a beautiful rainbow and chrome style set, the second a nice copper, and the third blue-green with silvery edging. All of the sets were gorgeous, extremely well-made, and arrived quick as Hell. D20 Collective is just something else, friends, something rare and special.

The metal dice are quality and at the price of having this subscription, I feel I am getting a good value for the money spent.

The order came on time, and the dice are amazing!

Here is just some of the dice I got. Beautiful sets. All different 100% recommend.

Received dice for two months so far. Four sets, did get one set matching from both months. Which isn't a bad thing, I just gifted the matching set. With my first month I did also have a resin set of dice ordered. Which I didn't receive at first, but I let you all know and had them within 3 days.

The dice shipped faster than I was expecting and was actually a dice set I was looking at getting soon anyway. All in all, good experience!

Beautiful dice <3 can't wait for more.