[X] [The Game of Death] Curse of the Mad Monarch: It started with the titular game: designed by one of the more occult minded members of the club, the first time it was played tragedy followed, all the players involved were horrifically injured in the following week, one after the other, in the order they had lost, until only the winner remained, going on to gain great wealth. This would repeat: once a decade, a member of the Club would make a peculiar game that would bring misery, if not death, to the players. Each of these cursed games would be stored in a special section of the Lounges closets, occasionally brought out again by those ignorant of their dangers. That or dumb teenagers looking for a thrill. Every decade, at some point a Cursed Board Game will be created and bring misery and ruin to its players, starting with the Mad Monarch.
[X][The Cinema] Non-Flammable Reels: It was an unfortunate truth of cinema that sometimes film reels caught fire. Even the projectocorder had this problem: Mr. Barts solution? Developing a chemical treatment for film reels that would never catch fire…even if this resulted in the picture recorded having an off green tint. These reels would be shipped- for free- to customers who ordered a Projectocorder.
[X][Cut Corners] Scotty O' Rourke: A member of the audience who had been too close. A member of the Benevolent Lodge, his loss, whether injury or death, would be felt by the Lodge immensely, troubling the collection of mystery solvers and depriving them of a key member and (even if temporarily, but potentially permanently) depriving the organization of its moral core.
!!!!GOTHAM!!!!
From the Mystery Files of Fred Jones, Circa 2024
Guest Author: Norville 'Shaggy' Rogers
Name of Event: Arkham Lounge Fire of 1901
Date of Occurence: August 11th, 1901
Victims: Scotty O'Rourke
Cause: Improperly designed pyrotechnics.
Considering the person involved, Fred asked me to handle this one. None of the others like thinking of Crystal Cove much. I can't stop thinking of it.
In the original timeline, the group disbanded in the late twenties because of the death of their Scoob stand-in, an orangutan known as Mr. Peaches because he supposedly really liked peaches, which is fair, peaches are great, especially in a cobbler or in a pie.
Unfortunately, it looks like defeating the crystal cove entity and altering the towns timeline changed the organization's history too, and not for the better. In 1901, Scotty O'Rourke, their version of, well, ME, was caught in a fire.
The cause was a faulty pyrotechnics system: the Lounges main performer was doing a fire stunt using a device created by Abigail Gluck in less than a week, far too little time to test it or make sure it was safe, only for the thing to explode and douse the Lounge in burning fuel. Only Scotty had been in the splash-zone.
We don't know the exact amount of damage it did, but we do know how long he roasted: two minutes and five seconds before Mr. Peaches dragged him into Gotham Bay to douse the flames, something that caused the ape to suffer mild burns of their own.
When he finally reached Gotham Hospital, Scotty's face was described as resembling 'raw-meat that had been tossed directly on burning coals'. He had to be injected with a lot- and I'm talking enough to sedate a horse here- of morphine just to stop the screaming as they peeled his clothes off.
The whole thing gets worse from there, man, and there are a lot more nasty rumors and urban legends that I can't confirm but wish I didn't know about anyways, like the one where his teeth melted from the heat, or that one of his eyes-
Actually, I don't need to write that one down, I think. If anyone reads this and wants to know more, there's a page on Lexipedia, just keep in mind that you WILL give yourself nightmares.
Scotty O'Rourke lived, I'm just gonna say: the injuries were bad, though: he spent the next year recovering in Gotham General. Afterwards, he was unable to travel, unable to write without an assistant, and very not able to solve mysteries.
Without him, the Lodge came…unglued. Burlington blamed Gluck, Gluck blamed Josiah, and while it looks like Miss Blanchard and Mr. Peaches tried to keep the gang together, without Scotty they just…seperated. It kinda brings me down: makes me think of the times the gang nearly broke up.
'Course, unlike those guys, our friendship is made of PRETTY sterner stuff! Mystery Inc might occasionally need space, but we always get back together eventually.
Anyways, with the Lodge breaking up, its members started to go their own way. Scotty returned to Ireland, where he lived a pretty long life, supported by Josiah, who felt guilty enough to pay for the mans medical bills, but not guilty enough to admit wrong-doing. He wrote a few more books over his lifetime, mostly horror novels, before dying in the late forties, having successfully outlived Nazi Germany but, sadly, not the British Empire, who acted as a recurring antagonistic force in his works.
Blanchard remained in Gotham for awhile: until 1912, when she moved to Metropolis to open a women's shelter. She lived until, according to Daphne, 1958: supposedly, her ghost still haunts the building she lived in.
Gluck bounces around a lot before returning to Germany. I don't know what happened to her then: I don't think she ever made the Kriegstaffebots. Burlington…mostly the same as the original history: he wound up slowly isolating himself over the decades, especially after Mr. Peaches passed, before dying alone in his home outside Crystal Cove.
It would be another several decades before a new mystery solving team would take their place. In the aftermath, without the Lodge, the Lounge lost a fair amount of money: didn't matter who they blamed, the place had in one awful night became a bad memory for them, forcing the Lounge to find new investors. Only a few newspapers would comment on the situation: Josiah would, by and large, skate by legal and social consequences other than losing some of his friends and the loss of income. Which sucks, but that's how it works, I guess: enough money and friends and you become immune to consequence so long as the person you hurt isn't important enough.
!!!!GOTHAM!!!!
Titans Communications
Raven: Beast Boy, I can't find the bird-seed.
Beast Boy: Sorry Rae, I had a problem with the birds downtown and needed a way to bribe them. I'll pick up some more on my way back to the tower.
Raven: Logan, those seeds were imported and contain a medically approved blend designed to be easily digestible for elderly parrots. That bag was supposed to last me two months. It cost 2,000 dollars.
Cyborg: 2000 $$$$?!?! WTF, THAT MUCH 4 SUNFLOWER SEEDS?
Raven: Cy, your caps lock is on. Also please learn to use actual words. And yes, two thousand dollars: Sancho can't eat regular bird seed.
Starfire: Oh, is the sweet feathered baby ill? I can reschedule our playdate in the park if you wish so he can recover, friend raven.
Raven: He's fine, Star: he's just old. Don't reschedule: he needs the exercise, and judging by his size, Silkie probably does too.
Robin: Do you have any more feed? I can call Bruce if you need money to purchase more.
Raven: I don't have any more bags of seed, no, but I don't need any money. He can eat scooby-snacks: they aren't healthy except as a treat but a day of snacks shouldn't hurt him. I'll just need to have the next bag shipped overnight. Thanks for offering.
Robin: NP.
Cyborg: Yo, ur bird eats dog food???
Beast Boy: Hey man, don't diss Scooby Snacks: those things are great! Especially the bacon flavor.
Cyborg: ITU were a v***n?
Beast Boy: Bro did you really censor vegan. And yeah, but Scooby Snacks don't have any meat products in them: they have eggs and some are made using milk but they're from free roam farms so its not rlly a big deal, you know? Also vegetarian, not vegan: if I had to eat my wheaties with soy milk I'd probably kill myself.
Raven: Logan.
Beast Boy: Ack. Look, I'm sorry for using your expensive bird seed Rae: I'll pay it back ASAP.
Raven: You'd better. And next time, please ask first.
Cyborg: No srsly, can we go back 2 the fact ur bird can eat dog treats bt cannot eat normal bird seed. BB eating them I get bcaus hez like part dog already.
Robin: People eating scooby snacks isn't weird in general: they taste pretty decent.
Cyborg: Robin plz tell me u dont eat dog treats 2.
Robin: My favorite flavor are the cheeseburger flavored.
Raven: Sancho likes the jungle fruit assortment pack.
Starfire: Where would one purchase these 'Scooby Snacks' and would they happen to have mustard flavor?
Robin: No, but they have pretzel flavored ones. I know the guy who created the recipe though, I'll ask if he can make some mustard ones.
Beast Boy: Wait, u know famous TV chef and exercise guru Shaggy Rogers?
Robin: He occasionally helped us with cases back in Gotham.
Cyborg: U and batman were hlpd by a TV chef named 'shaggy rogers'???
Robin: Him and his talking dog, yeah
Beast Boy: HIS WHAT
Cyborg: HIS WHAT
____________________________________________________
From the diary of Amadeus Arkham, Oct 29, 1901
Dear Diary, I find myself troubled. First, the better news, so that I can gird myself for detailing how my harassment has advanced. Cyrus Pinknie Pinkney and Solomon Wayne. Both met in bars other than my cousins: no doubt if he knew, he'd be offended, but I still can't bring myself to enter the place lest I find myself vividly recalling the smell of burning flesh.
The pair are interested in my project: the former in many ways reminds me of a version of myself, older and more bitter because of the mainstream rejection of their ideas and lack of opportunity to put them into effect, an iteration of Amadeus Arkham who never had a Josiah to support them, albeit one who considers their craft more of an art than a burgeoning science. They work as an architect, a designer of buildings. The latter is an older gentlemen nearing his sixties: stern, and perhaps less racially enlightened than I would prefer, though not to the point where he condones the actions of those white hooded jackasses hounding my cousin. He considers himself a man of science, albeit the science of crime, law, and human evil. Mr. Wayne is a judge of some standing, and well read: he has apparently seen some of my papers and has been following my studies with interest.
I, of course, invited the pair to join myself and Miss Blanchard to discuss their contribution. Mr. Wayne is willing to give me a steady flow of taxpayer money as well as a large donation from his own personal fortune as a major patriarch of the Wayne Clan- his only stipulation is that I am to expand the asylum to house a considerable criminal population. He wishes to reduce the population of Blackgate to those whose crimes absolutely cannot be explained by some defect of personality: the sort of criminal whose actions can only be explained by possessing dark sanity. Others, whose acts might be explained by a failure in mental hygiene would be treated at my asylum, where we might attempt to find a way to rehabilitate them, or at least provide more humane treatment than the dark pit that is Blackgate.
I also learned the pair are also believer in higher forces in the cosmos: Wayne apparently believes that one way that evil might be banished is by harnessing these forces and drawing upon them through various occult rites. The man has apparently read extensively on ways one might protect ones-self from malign forces, such as certain talismans and exotic rituals, while Pinkney believes that one could perhaps use a certain aesthetic in construction to drive away malign forces, a sort of architectural gargoyle principle that calls to the lowest, most dreary darkly lit portion of the soul.
I believe this portion of the discussion put Miss Blanchard ill at ease despite my attempts to reassure her.
We will, of course, need a considerable wing for these inmates, as well as security. It is a good thing that we have found ourself in the company of a skilled architect: not only is Cyrus willing to create this complex, he also wishes to try his hand creating an indoor village of sorts, among various other amenities the asylum might require, of his architectural style but incorporating some of the arcane lore provided by myself and Wayne. We have agreed on a green-house where we can keep the able-bodied and sufficiently able-minded busy as well as grow fresh food for the patients, a clock-tower to help the residents keep time, and even an island-wide sewer system.
It will take several years before construction on any of these finishes, however.
In other news, more letters have come in: I don't know who my mysterious harasser is, but they've escalated their threats. This time, they promised to hurt Mother, stating they will throttle the life from her unless I cease my association with Miss Blanchard. I haven't informed Marianne of this.
I am starting to get worried. These lurid rants continue to contain more and more details of my daily life: it is clear I'm being followed. I have begun to lose sleep over this: in the night, I awake, terrified at the sensation of being watched. I have not found any real evidence of such: my room is on a high enough floor of the manor that a person would have to be a dexterous climber indeed to reach it, and I've taken to blocking my door at night with a shelf to keep it closed on top of triple locking the door. And yet still the fear remains, and even intensifies when I leave the island.
I cannot go to the authorities: it is clear from their treatment of Josiah they would not help. And yet, I am beginning to fear for my life.
!!!GOTHAM!!!
BATCOMPUTER IS POWERING UP…
…
…
PLEASE ENTER LOGIN
USERNAME: BKARLO
PASSWORD: REMEMBER
…
…
WELCOME, CLAYFACE. YOU CURRENTLY HAVE (GUEST) ACCESS
Karlo, it's Red Hood. I heard Batman was giving you a shot. Because of that, I'm going to go ahead and tell you that I do not consider you off the hook for all the fucked up shit you have done. The moment you screw up and Batman decides to stop protecting you, I've got a solvent bullet with your name on it. However, in the interests of redemption or whatever, until then I will no longer be actively trying to kill you. However, going forward, you do not go near the East End or Bludhaven without informing me ahead of time: if its an emergency, use either Oracle or the big man to get ahold of me. DON'T fuck this up, Karlo.
Please enter query
RED HOOD
Access denied!
BUTLERMAN
Access denied!
CLAYFACE
Access Denied!
BASIL- This message is meant to send if you try to access your own file. Don't- you won't like what you find. It will not benefit you: most of it is psychological, social, and tactical analysis that is almost certain to trigger your psychological conditions to read. And most of it is very classified.
OPAQUE SHADOW
Access Granted! The following file was authored by Batman.
The Opaque Shadow. A supercriminal, one of Gothams first, who targeted the Ku Klux Klan in the very early 1900s. Exact abilities are unknown: minimum highly skilled chemist and engineer. Highly athletic. Non-zero probability of being either skilled illusionist or genuine magic user.
The first instance of them being recorded in papers was when they robbed a bank in the bowery district, targeting deposit boxes that allegedly belonged to members of the Ku Klux Klan, though my own investigation indicates that there were at least five boxes that were mistakenly targeted. During this robbery they sprayed multiple security guards with a chemical that caused severe hallucinations, seizures, mild chemical burns, and permanent neural damage.
The second instance is disputed: a handful of newspapers and letters I've located have made reference to an event involving a police precinct with ties to the organization being targeted being deliberately infested with rats, though the lack of surviving details other than barside rumors means that even if true, it's likely unrelated. According to information from this era, the Klan in Gotham had numerous enemies, after all, even if the most infamous one that the city still remembers is the shadow.
The act that would rocket them into infamy, however, was the robbery of the SS Prudence, one of the several cargo ships owned by Kane Shipping, alleging they financed several high ranking members of the Klan.
[There is fairly significant evidence to support this claim: research indicates that prior to 1925 the family had several connections to figures either associated or in the organization. That was the year the newfound family patriarch Jeremiah Kane married the jewish Katherine Cobblepot, whom he later converted for: presumably, his old associates didn't approve - Oracle Notes.]
The ship was transporting a variety of goods: timber, spices, metal, and various other items, only some of it owned by the Kanes themselves. It was exactly two hours and seventeen minutes from reaching Gotham Harbor, sailing north from Bludhaven. The vessel was approached by a series of smaller boats that, when they reached the ship, piled ladders up the side.
The SS Prudence had been boarded by the Opaque Shadows minions, who seized the ship, threatening its crew into allowing them to steal several cargo crates full of gold and silver bullion as well as assorted other precious metals, dozens of pieces of high quality art that the Kanes had been moving, and a variety of other very expensive items and pieces of cargo, which they hauled off before breaking a hole into the ships hull and sinking it.
[This would result in a period of economic instability for the Kanes: they had just lost one of their most valuable ships, to say nothing of the great deal of money that had been taken from them, and the very angry, very wealthy customers who had lost their valuable goods they had paid the Kanes to move.
It would result in one Chalmer Chill making a move to usurp the Kanes status as the shipping magnate of Gotham by using their own economic influence to attempt to freeze the Kanes out, refusing to do business with the Kanes and convincing many of his affiliates to do likewise, citing their affiliation with several German ran-businesses, making an attempt to buy the family out. Only the stubbornness of the Patriarch of the time and their connections to the other First Families prevented them from going under: at the end of the day, as wealthy as Chill was, he was still new money, little better than a carpet-bagger seeking to usurp wealth that 'wasn't his': it was this collaboration that would lead to the increasing familiarity with the Cobblepots and the growing romance between the then-young Jeremiah Kane and Katherine Cobblepot.
At any rate, Mr. Chill would eventually relent, giving in and once more doing business with the Kanes, but only after getting a formal agreement with the Kanes to begin limiting the amount of business they would do with 'certain proscribed nationalities' several years after enacting his little embargo - Butlerman Notes.]
On the one hand, it is inarguable the targets deserved it: as much as I can't approve of violence, the efficacy of peaceful means to dismantle hate organizations is questionable at best, seeing as how the Klan somehow still exists today, even if it no longer has the unchecked power it once did, and the act did cause several members of Gothams wealthy to reconsider at least their public association with the organization, at least in the short term. On the other, this hijacking didn't actually target the Klan itself, and all of the people directly injured were just shiphands trying to make a living, several of whom were forced to endure drifting for several hours before rescue, either in lifeboats or in the frigid shark infested waters of outer Gotham, and there is evidence that at least a few didn't make it. Thankfully, as Marcus Aurelius once wrote, I am not obligated to have an opinion on this. 'These things are not meant to be judged by you'. A man committed a crime in order to hurt an evil organization for unknown motivations, and in the process got several people hurt.
There is a morality to all actions, but I am not required to ascribe it.
The exact value of the material stolen is unknown due to the ship sinking and a great deal of its remaining cargo perishing in the interim, but considering it included several crates of bullion bound for the Gotham Mint, it's estimated that the money was anywheres from thirty seven to five hundred million dollars worth of material. According to criminal legend, the vast majority of it is in one place: a private room in the Lounge, locked behind a door, rented in perpetuity by the Shadow, who would hide the key: criminals are a superstitious lot, and many believe it can only be found by the Opaque Shadows heir, the criminal that finally destroys the Klan for good.
I can, at least, confirm some of this story thanks to my association with Clark Kent and Superman: there is a room in the Lounge that contains a massive amount of gold. It only opens for two (known) keys. The first is the Lounge Masterkey, which opens every door on the St. Majeste but one. The second is the Abigail Suite Key.
The Abigail Key is property of the Roth family, an heirloom passed down alongside the family Black Parrot, Sancho. This key opens the one room the Lounge Masterkey doesn't: the family cabin, willed in perpetuity to Abigail Roth and her descendents for their exclusive use. Why this key works for the treasure room is unknown.
Presumably, there is a third key to open the door, though I don't know its location. Maybe it will never be found.
Alright, dear reader, we're taking a pause here. Here we come to the first of our changes: from now on, this, the skein of fate, etc etc is a different turn than the AP stuff. From now on, we'll call this the influence phase.
Now we have our hotspot. These aren't really changed: little details and choices of those in the Lounge you can tweak to your preference. The menu has gotten a little bigger, but we didn't get rid of the fries: they're still here, waiting. This time, your serving is a little heartier than usual: you robbed a ship, and that means you got yourself quite a treasure. Enough that Josiah can't spend it, at least not legitimately. You see, dear reader, there is this thing known as 'dirty money': the dirtier the money, the less legitimately you earned it, the harder it is to spend it legitimately. And unfortunately, crates full of gold bullion and rare art are some of the hardest money to clean.
Meaning you have a genuine criminal treasure on your hands. The good news is, its a criminal treasure in the hands of a master criminal: if you can't use the money legitimately, you'll just need to spend it illegitimately. It's time, dear readers, to expand your franchise. [Hotspot]
[ ] The Rat Bank: The Opaque Shadow would collaborate with the Rat Piper: in exchange for increasing the Rat Pipers pay and introducing him to other figures in the underworld, the Rat Piper would manage the fortune Josiah had gained, using it to finance the schemes and heists of other criminals of class as well as bankrolling "charitable malice" directed at figures the Shadow considered to be scorned, as well as tending to the finances of any other thief looking to utilize the Banks services.
[ ] The Under-Vault: Zelda Crane was always looking to expand her scientific franchise. The chemist knew several others who felt the same way. The Opaque Shadow would invest, using their access to the still in-construction Asylum to build a hidden facility deep, deep, deep in the caves underneath the island, creating a hidden research facility supplied by the Shadows smuggler associates to develop technology for the shadow created by Crane and forty other disgruntled Gotham U graduates.
[ ] The Shadow Arsenal: The Opaque Shadow would make a deal with the Ring: they would receive a very large investment, and in return, the Ring would make sure the Opaque Shadow received his own little slice of the Arsenal as his personal fiefdom that he could use to both launder money and provide the criminal any manufacturing capacity he might require.
____________________________________________________________
Josiah came to a stop upon firefly island. Shivering, the man clambered out, followed shortly by Davis Jacobs on another boat. The man had been hard to contract: keeping him on after…after the incident had been difficult. He had been forced to pay Davis more money: agree to put more money into safety.
It wasn't ideal. Thankfully, money was, at the moment, not an issue. The pair of them hauled material, Josiah leading. In the sky, the sun was beginning to set. They had a few hours. "Here," Josiah said as they reached the trio of huts, giving a dry swallow, realizing what he was trying to do was insane, the magicians' fear just barely outweighed by his ambition: if this worked…
Setting the material down, Davis gave a nod, lips pursed, still confused as to what his employer was up to. "Alright." With that the man pulled a pair of hammers from his toolbelt, tossing one to Josiah, who deftly caught it. He may not have been a professional carpenter, but he had enough prop-making experience to make him a dab hand at wood-working. Together, using assembled wood and nails, they would on the spot hammer together a bar of sorts: a boxy square, one with no immediate means of ingress, an intentional design choice.
Once it was finished, the pair of them nodded in satisfaction, before retreating back to the boats. "Alright, have fun, Professor, with…whatever this is," Davis muttered as he climbed into his own vessel and beginning to paddle.
"Not that kind of gathering," Josiah muttered as he grabbed a chest and several lamps, carefully balancing them as he quickly made his way back to Firefly Square Bar. Reaching it, he set the chest down on the counter. Climbing up and over, once he was on the other side the magician would take the lanterns and begin setting them all across the countertop, lighting them quickly to help illuminate the small structure, giving Josiah a clear view of his surroundings. Then, he would open the chest, pulling out his drinking glasses and setting them aside and placing the various drinks he had brought underneath his counter: absinthe, witches brew, moonshine, wine, and assorted other multicolored bottles.
And, lastly, pulling out a bell. Now, the sun was low indeed: the roar of the cicadas echoed through the swamp, a chirping million insect chorus, a million gators snapping, the occasional ember of a firefly visible in the rapidly darkening night. Raising his bell, Josiah rang it, the high pitched reverberations echoing into the night.
As the crescent shaped moon rose in the east, every twenty minutes Josiah would ring his bell, waiting, waiting. Just three rings would be all it took: in the shadows, he saw a shape approaching, a large, lumbering silhouette. "Ah, Mr. Grundy, I presume," Josiah said, quickly pouring and mixing a glass, a cocktail he had invented mixing normal crane brew with absinthe and honey. "Would you happen to care for a…"
He slowly trailed to a stop as the figure came into sight. It was not Grundy. It was, in fact, a titanic frog, walking on its hind legs, green skin slick with amphibious oils and water, bulging eyes going in different directions.
Making a croaking noise, it took the glass of cocktail, putting it into its mouth and beginning to chew, shattering the cocktail glass Josiah had used, the magician watching on dumbly as the frog proceeded to swallow the crunched up remains of the vessel drink and all. Blinking, the frogman gave a long, loud croak before walking away into the night, leaving Josiah behind to try and comprehend what had just occurred.
"What?" He asked, confused, met with only silence. Eventually, he recomposed himself, returning to the ringing of his bells, resolving to perhaps wonder about the Gotham Frogman for another time.
Eventually, when the moon reached its zenith, he heard a splashing noise in the difference, even as the temperature of the air around them began to chill. Shivering, Josiah noted wryly that at least his drinks wouldn't be served warm.
The form that he saw approaching now in the darkness was almost hulking, a vast and stumbling shadow. The closer it grew, the easier to see: the gray and chalky discolored skin. The brine rotted teeth. Waxy flesh, half melted, exposing muscle and bone. Clothes dripping black with mold and rot. "...Born…on a…"
"Hello, Mr. Grundy," Josiah repeated, coughing, doing his best to ignore the smell of rot and death that wafted off the walking corpse. "Care for a drink?"
"...Grundy…?" The thing said, pausing, and Josiah noted the bullethole in its head was gone, somehow healed despite the sheer impossibility of it.
"Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday," Josiah said, repeating the nursery rhyme, as he poured a drink. "I don't know your actual name, so I'll instead refer to you by the same name of that little rhyme you're saying." He held up the glass, a perfect recreation of the cocktail he had made the frogman. "Drink?"
The creature blinked its singular good eye. "Solomon Grundy…Born on a monday…" It said, repeating the words. "Solomon Grundy, born on a monday…Christened on a tuesday…"
"Married on a wednesday, took ill on tuesday, went to the doctor on friday, grew worse on saturday, buried on a sunday, yes." The magician responded, noting the comparative lack of reaction in the eye of the Grundy. It was like it understood what he was saying, but didn't understand the meaning behind the words themselves.
"Born on a monday…Solomon Grundy…" The creature was soon at the bar. Picking up its glass, it looked the liquid poured within over, bringing it to its nose and sniffing.
"Yes, yes, good, friend, drink," Josiah said, taking his own beverage and miming the gesture. The singular functional eye of the Grundy blinked, before mimicking the gesture, sending the liquid down its throat.
A moment later, the thing was hunched, coughing, hacking, gripping the wood of the bar. "Ah, I didn't take you for a lightwei-"
"GNRAAA!" The beast roared, continuing to hack as it gave a roar of anger, the liquid causing some unknown chemical reaction in the soup of the Grundy's partially reanimated brain. The next thing Josiah knew, the thing was roaring. "SOLOMON GRUNDY!" It said, slamming the counter with its fists as it began to try and smash its way to Josiah, coughing up liquid and spraying the poor magician in front of him.
Reacting quickly, Josiah scrambled out of the booth, grabbing a lantern as he began to run to his boat. Looking back, the Magicial was dismayed to see Grundy quite literally whallop the makeshift bar that had been erected into splinters to get at him, the creature struggling to breath. "BORN ON A MONDAY! CHRISTENED ON A TUESDAY!"
And the Grundy was moving at a far faster pace: Josiah had gained it's ire a second time. Drawing his pistol, Josiah fired a running shot, a cracking noise emanating as the Grundy fell to the ground, its knee shattering. "SOLOMON GRUNDY!" The revenant cried, roaring as it drug itself forward through the muck and mud with its bare hands. "TOOK ILL ON THURSDAY!"
"Sorry, my good man, but you seem to have taken ill to spirits. I'll come check on you when you've sobered up a bit!" Josiah exclaimed as he wound up having to leap over an alligator, the reptile snapping at the magician as he sailed over it, the poor unfortunate reptile getting caught in the Grundy's path. Wincing, Josiah turned his head back to his path, content that he didn't want to see a poor unfortunate swamp monster torn apart, the death-snarls of the creature echoing as it served as a convenient distraction.
It would not be long before he reached his boat, and once more he wasted no time paddling his way out of the moonlit swamp and back to the comforting lamplit shadows of Gotham. The whole time, a single thought on his mind: not fear, not anxiety, not wonder. No, Josiah had another feeling entirely joining him as he returned to his home on the water. That feeling was hunger.
Imagine how valuable this Grundy might be if he acquired it's services?
And scene. Alright, we have the hot-spot, dear reader. Now we get to the Skeins of Fate, Frame Carts, Etc. First, let's discuss some of the largest changes: with us now taking a three part turn structure, you no longer need to pick between a Skein of Fate and using the Frame Cards you've earned. You can play a maximum of one Frame Card per for now, not counting free card uses.
There we go. Now, this next part is gonna get some mixed feelings. I'm sorry to say that by allowing Josiah to skate by without consequences, you've changed the tenor of his story. Let us recap, dear reader: due to poor preparation for a fire stunt, a patron of the bar, an innocent member of the audience who had prior been on fine terms with the manager was horrifically burned. Josiah's negligence has caused horrific injury, and he didn't suffer a thing except for a worse reputation with a handful of people.
In real life, Josiah could likely avoid consequences all the way to the grave. This isn't real life, dear reader: he is bound by laws heavier than any in reality, the laws of narrative. I disdain the casual use of TV tropes phraseology, but this once I will indulge in it: you have yourselves a karma houdini in the leading role. The price for that is that he is going to get worse. You have characterized him as reckless, careless, greedy, and arrogant through your actions up to this point. Those are his vices, and until he has personally bought back the sympathy he has lost, those vices are more likely to creep their way into his actions, making him a darker character: not an out and out villain, yet, but someone more worthy of scrutiny and suspicion, one who is more likely to indulge his vices at the cost of others. And to be clear, dear reader, you can't bribe your way out of this with AP: Josiah needs to learn a lesson and enjoy character development.
But, dear reader, let us be clear: you do have tools for this. Character development IS possible: it will just require facing consequences. And you have about four different tools to help engineer those consequences.
Here are your Frame Cards, starting with your newest:
Predestined Pyre: The world could only be cold for so long. In every life, some fires must burn: pray that you never have to walk through one. But sometimes, an incineration was needed, whether to free soil up for new growth or to erase pesky evidence. Can cause one fire related accident anywhere in Gotham. The more destructive, the more power this card gains.
Full Moon over Gotham: Gotham is a liminal space, a city with one foot in the shadows. Josiah has, irrevocably, made sure that the St. Majeste also sails in dark waters: the Lounge is not a place of magic. It is a place of mystery, illusion, darkness, a place of madness and terrible supernatural horror, a mirror of Gotham itself. Craft a horror or dark supernatural themed event: it will occur on the next full moon. Increased potency for anthology style horror tales. Can be used for free without overwriting Skein of Fate opportunity ignoring cooldown once per in-game and out of game year, in Fall: this will produce a halloween event. 3 Turns Cooldown.
Hand of Madness, Web of Mania: You can whisper into the minds of your patrons susceptible to your influence, accelerating and manipulating their madness to achieve your desired fate, whether it be individual delusion or your specialty, cultivation of manias and obsessions, temporary or otherwise. Enhanced potency while drink selection is toxic or improving skills. Allows for manipulation of madness. 4 Turn Cooldown. 3 TURNS UNTIL CAN BE USED.
Treasurer of the Future: The Manager had embarked on a venture that had them acting as a major financier for one or more people and projects, and has reaped the fruit of illicit wealth. You could use your hold over the manager and their wallet to help grease development along. Enhanced potency when revenue is GREEN. Additional potency at BLACK increasing every rank after that (Current SILVER). Can spend an additional Manager AP upon a major venture that you are already backing: if the venture is criminal, gain additional AP to spend on it. No Cooldown, but costs LARGE amount of revenue.
And there you have it. You get to pick one of these and design your own random event (assuming you don't use Treasurer to get more manager AP next phase). Remember to workshop the idea with me: keep in mind the advice I've given. Action code is [Power of the Lounge].
Now we come to the Skein of Fate. To balance out the harsh and bitter flavor of what's going on with Josiah, I'm going to allow you to pick one unambiguously good thing to come from the Lodge breaking up. [Skein of Fate]
[ ] A Better Ireland: In the aftermath, Scotty O'Rourke would continue to write extensively, honing his craft and becoming an extremely well respected author, his corpus of work altering the course of the nations history by inspiring global sympathy with the Irish cause…as well as covertly funding nationalist organizations using treasure sent to him from a contact in America known as C. Chill, accelerating the cause of Irish independence.
[ ] The City of Gears and Light: Gluck would move to Paris, using Josiah's connection with french film-makers and work on the Projectocorder to help build her reputation in the city, helping them refine their cameras and building a reputation as an inventor and engineer of renown, eventually being commissioned by the French Government to help completely renovate the city.
-[ ] I want a Wonder. It can be a monument, It can be modern engineering marvels like a super factory, I'll even allow coming up with a new district of Paris. They just need to be conceptually interesting and technological. The aesthetic and thematics of the Wonder will reflect back onto Paris as a whole, so don't be afraid to get fancy.
[ ] Burlington Academic Program: Burlington would remain good friends with Mark Jacobs. Together, the pair of them would successfully grow the scholarship fund, expanding it from something that only helped those looking to get into education themselves into something that helped all African Americans looking to learn, young and old. Numerous fields of study would benefit from the influx of scholars and trained professionals, but one in particular would find itself flourishing.
-[ ] Pick a field of knowledge, whether professional (electrical engineering, locksmithing, beekeeping), academic (psychology, classical literature), scientific (entomology, mineralogy, etc), or scholarly (anthropology), etc. Until the death of rail in America, this field will see accelerated growth both in racial integration and in accumulation of knowledge.
Oh, and six hours moratorium. Beyond that, please note I'm taking a brief break on Arkham Lounge: for the next two weeks I'm going to be focusing on FerretQuest and to a lesser extent Eve of Destruction.
