Green Flame Rising (Exalted vs Dresden Files)

I wouldn't call the gains "marginal". The average success number at DC 6 is 12. The average success number at DC 3 is 18 for 20 dice of key ability with no specialty. That's moving into next tier of success, and for something that can save lives, the "juice" is definitely "worth the squeeze". Remember, Molly only didn't use CCC abuse for training with the good brother out of practical issues, not out of any moral objections or worries.

This is, honestly, an invented problem. And "it can save lives" trumps most other issues.

I am fairly sure that 3 hours is WITH TTC effect (which is passive - we always benefit from 5 times crafting time reduction; the active part is to manifest tools). @DragonParadox please confirm or deny.

Also, in regards to questions - we really need to know what the rebels' plan is. That's the most actionable intelligence. They have to have a plan to neutralize Greater Akuma somehow. We need to know how.

Now that it is not midnight with me writing from (sleepy) memory, here is what paths of power says about the time it takes to make alchemical substances:

Time: Any alchemical procedure requires at least an hour, and in general it is one day per level of the effect, though levels in excess of this subtract (so an alchemist with twice the required rating can do the work in hours, one with three ranks and perform a level two procedure in a day, etc.) Mastered recipes do this calculation at rank one higher than the alchemist has.


So Level 1 potion would be an hour/5 from TTC so that is 12 minutes to make the foam. The healing potion is mastered so you count as having 3 dots for the purposes of it, Molly would be able to do it in a day if she were mortal/5 with TTC that is 4.8 hours, 4 hours 48 minutes.
 
Now that it is not midnight with me writing from (sleepy) memory, here is what paths of power says about the time it takes to make alchemical substances:

Time: Any alchemical procedure requires at least an hour, and in general it is one day per level of the effect, though levels in excess of this subtract (so an alchemist with twice the required rating can do the work in hours, one with three ranks and perform a level two procedure in a day, etc.) Mastered recipes do this calculation at rank one higher than the alchemist has.

So Level 1 potion would be an hour/5 from TTC so that is 12 minutes to make the foam. The healing potion is mastered so you count as having 3 dots for the purposes of it, Molly would be able to do it in a day if she were mortal/5 with TTC that is 4.8 hours, 4 hours 48 minutes.
OK, important question then: what time is it right now?

At nearly 5 hours to brew, we very much won't have time for anything else.
 
Huh, I expected we'd be attacked tonight.

They know we are on their trail from Tuzi.
They know they are vampires andhave issues with sunlight.
They keep two groups seperated, almost inviting us to take them out piecemeal during the day.

This night was their last chance to take the offensive and it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

But now it's too late, sunrise is in less than an hour I believe?

Now I believe this is a trap within a trap.

We got what Lady Eiko thought was the plan, but what if the Greater Akuma has a different plan?
 
Huh, I expected we'd be attacked tonight.

They know we are on their trail from Tuzi.
They know they are vampires andhave issues with sunlight.
They keep two groups seperated, almost inviting us to take them out piecemeal during the day.

This night was their last chance to take the offensive and it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

But now it's too late, sunrise is in less than an hour I believe?

Now I believe this is a trap within a trap.

We got what Lady Eiko thought was the plan, but what if the Greater Akuma has a different plan?
There are definitely independent plans at work here. At least two (loyalists and rebels), possibly three (loyalists, rebels, Emma-O through his Greater Akuma). We need to know them.

OK, so two hours before dawn. Much more manageable than I expected.

I'll make an updated plan in aniut half an hour. Cut some questions.

How much does making 1 dot potion cost in terms of Essence and WP?
 
Also, in regards to questions - we really need to know what the rebels' plan is. That's the most actionable intelligence. They have to have a plan to neutralize Greater Akuma somehow. We need to know how.
You're assuming they have a plan, rather than a loose desire that they bring into everything they do but never really have the opportunity to fill unopposed.


[X] Uju32
 
You're assuming they have a plan, rather than a loose desire that they bring into everything they do but never really have the opportunity to fill unopposed.
Here is the question and the answer:
You ask your second questions: What is the nature of the mission the author's group is on?

To uncover and make use of more powers like your own/To be free of Emma-O through the auspices of your power
"The nature of the mission" implies that there is some planning at least. The rebels are on this mission to free themselves of Emma-O.

[x] Plan working through dawn
-[X] His apartment using Little Chicago (Safer, but guarantees giving away his identity if caught)
-[X] Ask questions to improve the ritual before Harry starts
--[X] Use the Crown on Little Chicago, asking for ways to hide the manipulation of the leylines.
--[X] Have Harry write down the ritual he's planning to do. Use the Crown to ask what flaws are present in the ritual. Communicate them to Harry and, if possible, help him to correct them (use Occult Excellency if appropriate).
--[X] Use the image of Ping Tom Boathouse to ask the question "what are the flaws of the ritual meant to be invoked in this location today?"

-[X]Craft potions, using Dresden's laboratory, if it doesn't disturb Dresden's own preparations
--[X] 3x Healing Potions, 3 potions
--[X] Alchemical Aerosol Mist, to combine with Holy Water, as many as we can
--[X] Use Occult Excellency and, if needed, active form of Tool Transcending Constructs
--[X] Use Boiling Sea Mastery and Cracked Cell Circumvention (ask Brother Devsimar or Mouse to stop if you try to leave before finishing the potions)
-[X] After finishing potion crafting, ask questions about the opposing faction using the video recordings of 12 wan kuei we have
--[X] "what are the abilities of the Kakuri's Will on Earth"?
--[X] "Who among the forces of Kakuri sent on this mission is planning to use your power to free themselves of Emma-O?" If the question reveals that at least one of the traitors was caught on camera, use their recordings for the next questions
--[X] "How are the ones trying to escape Emma-O's grasp through this mission plan to accomplish this?"
--[X] "Why does the person in this image look sick?" (to be used on a wan kuei who looks particularly unwell)

-[X]Ask MIchael to:
--[X] Get holy water from St Mary's and Murphy-size chainmail from home

--[X] Ask Charity to call Molly's school to excuse her absence
-[X] Provide your allies with images of kakuri's servants. Use images from the recordings obtained by cyberdevils where you can, and passive form of TTC to draw images where you can't.
-[X] Spend as much time as possible dispersed in bleach

-[X]STUNT: You walk up the stairs from Dresden's lab, hair still dripping oil on the floor. At the top of the stairs Mouse inspects the potions in your hands before moving out of your way to reveal the occupants of the room. Your father is helping lieutenant Murphy adjust to wearing a chainmail. Brother Devsimar is meditating quietly, Lydia napping on the sofa, Mister on her lap, and Harry and - you raise an eyebrow - Thomas are conversing in low tones. "Done?" "Yup. Hey Thomas." As Lydia begins to stir, you grab a Whopper off the table and bite into it, scratching Mouse behind the ear.

Ok, essence economy:
Start with 8 motes.
-3 motes for ritual questions, with +2 motes from essence renewal (at the very least "how to hide leyline manipulation" should trigger it). That's 7 motes on the balance.
Potions crafting: 2 motes for active TTC and excellency, 2 WP for alchemy (one for healing potions, one for factory mist). We are at 5 motes and 7 temporary WP.
Essence is restored at dawn +5 motes. We are at 10 motes.
We spend 4 motes on questions about rebels. We are now at either 6 or 8 motes, depending on whether anything in the questions triggers essence renewal.

Overall, fully within acceptable ranges.

The time is 4:30+5 +0.5 hours, i.e. roughly 10 hours. Should be doable.
 
"The nature of the mission" implies that there is some planning at least. The rebels are on this mission to free themselves of Emma-O.
On a mission isn't exactly a precise term. It could be split because the group is divided, or because everyone in it who still owns part of their own soul is constantly looking for any opportunity to get out.

That answer also doesn't specify anything about necessarily working well with anyone else. Could be that the "plan" is that everyone wants to steal the exaltation for themselves so they can use it to escape, and that the mutual desire to do so is being used to keep any individual from actually pulling it off.
 
On a mission isn't exactly a precise term. It could be split because the group is divided, or because everyone in it who still owns part of their own soul is constantly looking for any opportunity to get out.

That answer also doesn't specify anything about necessarily working well with anyone else. Could be that the "plan" is that everyone wants to steal the exaltation for themselves so they can use it to escape, and that the mutual desire to do so is being used to keep any individual from actually pulling it off.
Possible, yes. We need to know, because depending on whether there is a plan and an organized rebel faction within this group, or if it's only one guy who hopes to get lucky, our actions would differ. We can afford this mote. Worst case scenario we end with 6 motes. 6 motes is more than enough to start fighting: Shintai + VLE + Melee excellency is 4 motes. Add GSNB, that's 5 motes. Fairly sure we can one-shot mooks at this level. So, +2 motes from Murder is Meat. Fairly affordable essence economy.

And it'll take us at least half an hour to move to lady Eiko's hotel, so that's 8 motes at minimum at the start.

So, yes, we can afford to spend power here.
 
Possible, yes. We need to know, because depending on whether there is a plan and an organized rebel faction within this group, or if it's only one guy who hopes to get lucky, our actions would differ. We can afford this mote. Worst case scenario we end with 6 motes. 6 motes is more than enough to start fighting: Shintai + VLE + Melee excellency is 4 motes. Add GSNB, that's 5 motes. Fairly sure we can one-shot mooks at this level. So, +2 motes from Murder is Meat. Fairly affordable essence economy.

And it'll take us at least half an hour to move to lady Eiko's hotel, so that's 8 motes at minimum at the start.

So, yes, we can afford to spend power here.
I don't want to bank on MiM because we won't know if it works on regular Akuma/ageless immortals rather than exclusively the full package resurrective type until we actually try it on one.

I'd prefer to go in with no less than 9-10 if we can help it, because I expect that the answers to any traitor questions aren't going to include prepackaged minions waiting for us to pick them up. We'll most likely need to hit them with significant social pressure and do some fighting if we don't flip everyone.

At 9 we can spend up to 3 on social, 2 on combat buffs, reserve 2 for Shintai, and still have 2 left as buffer for if we need more at any point.

Going with your plan we have to win in 3 rounds if you're wrong or risk significant combat ability loss. Worse, we'd be exposing our mote economy vulnerability to the Akuma.

It's telling that their plans doesn't appear to include stuff like prolonged harassment or something. They don't want us to run, which is a factor, but knowing how readily we can run out of gas gives them a significant increase in viable tactical options.

As an aside, if we're sending Micheal for holy water it might be worth trying to get some holy oils too; specifically the oil of catechumens, once known as the oil of exorcism.

it's the stuff they use for baptisms, so they should have it in enough quantity to fill a water bottle for us.

If they're still doing it the way wikipedia describes it gets blessed once a year by a bishop during the Holy Thursday Mass and distributed to the local parishes. Seems like that and the explicit evil warding intent of that particular substance seems like it'd give it some extra kick against the greater Akuma.

It's a little ironic to use with BSM, but we might as well stack the deck as much as we can.
 
I don't want to bank on MiM because we won't know if it works on regular Akuma/ageless immortals rather than exclusively the full package resurrective type until we actually try it on one.
The literal part is "Spirits and Ghosts" for Essence Reg.

It's a weird Charm.
Every kill fills us as if we had just eaten a good meal.
Killing Ghosts or Spirits allows us to perma-kill them and regain Essence.
Perma-Killing a greater being (above Jaggling-level) that is not a CoD resets our Shintai.
 
The literal part is "Spirits and Ghosts" for Essence Reg.

It's a weird Charm.
Every kill fills us as if we had just eaten a good meal.
Killing Ghosts or Spirits allows us to perma-kill them and regain Essence.
Perma-Killing a greater being (above Jaggling-level) that is not a CoD resets our Shintai.
I was under the impression that it was sort of modified when it was shifted to full on soul killing things instead of sending them to hell. It's not clear if the more spiritual sort of immortal also qualifies for this even if they aren't a normal spirit.

DP's reply on this at least implies it's possible, since he said we wouldn't know until we tried. If it was flatly inapplicable to anything in this category of being then Molly's instinctive knowledge of the charm should make that clear.
 
Rules wise it was just the Infernal version of Ghost Eating Technique/Soul Eating Strike that didn't include the ability to hit the immaterial, except it had the weird thing that it sent those killed with it to hell instead of Annihilating them, though it did include the meal effect (because Infernal charms are weird).

However DP changed that to make it function like the other Permadeath charms and actually kill immortals.
 
I don't want to bank on MiM because we won't know if it works on regular Akuma/ageless immortals rather than exclusively the full package resurrective type until we actually try it on one.

I'd prefer to go in with no less than 9-10 if we can help it, because I expect that the answers to any traitor questions aren't going to include prepackaged minions waiting for us to pick them up. We'll most likely need to hit them with significant social pressure and do some fighting if we don't flip everyone.

At 9 we can spend up to 3 on social, 2 on combat buffs, reserve 2 for Shintai, and still have 2 left as buffer for if we need more at any point.
Note that I said "worst case scenario". We'll be at 6 points at ~ 10 AM, when we move to meet Eiko. If we spend an hour getting there, we'll be at 10 motes. If we have triggered essence renewal with some of the questions (like greater akuma abilities), we'll be at full tank.

As an aside, if we're sending Micheal for holy water it might be worth trying to get some holy oils too; specifically the oil of catechumens, once known as the oil of exorcism.
Oh, that's a great idea, yeah.

[x] Plan working through dawn
-[X] His apartment using Little Chicago (Safer, but guarantees giving away his identity if caught)
-[X] Ask questions to improve the ritual before Harry starts
--[X] Use the Crown on Little Chicago, asking for ways to hide the manipulation of the leylines.
--[X] Have Harry write down the ritual he's planning to do. Use the Crown to ask what flaws are present in the ritual. Communicate them to Harry and, if possible, help him to correct them (use Occult Excellency if appropriate).
--[X] Use the image of Ping Tom Boathouse to ask the question "what are the flaws of the ritual meant to be invoked in this location today?"

-[X]Craft potions, using Dresden's laboratory, if it doesn't disturb Dresden's own preparations
--[X] 3x Healing Potions, 3 potions
--[X] Alchemical Aerosol Mist, to combine with Holy Water, as many as we can
--[X] Use Occult Excellency and, if needed, active form of Tool Transcending Constructs
--[X] Use Boiling Sea Mastery and Cracked Cell Circumvention (ask Brother Devsimar or Mouse to stop if you try to leave before finishing the potions)
-[X] After finishing potion crafting, ask questions about the opposing faction using the video recordings of 12 wan kuei we have
--[X] "what are the abilities of the Kakuri's Will on Earth"?
--[X] "Who among the forces of Kakuri sent on this mission is planning to use your power to free themselves of Emma-O?" If the question reveals that at least one of the traitors was caught on camera, use their recordings for the next questions
--[X] "How are the ones trying to escape Emma-O's grasp through this mission plan to accomplish this?"
--[X] "Why does the person in this image look sick?" (to be used on a wan kuei who looks particularly unwell)

-[X]Ask MIchael to:
--[X] Get holy water and holy oils from St Mary's and Murphy-size chainmail from home

--[X] Ask Charity to call Molly's school to excuse her absence
-[X] Provide your allies with images of kakuri's servants. Use images from the recordings obtained by cyberdevils where you can, and passive form of TTC to draw images where you can't.
-[X] Spend as much time as possible dispersed in bleach

-[X]STUNT: You walk up the stairs from Dresden's lab, hair still dripping oil on the floor. At the top of the stairs Mouse inspects the potions in your hands before moving out of your way to reveal the occupants of the room. Your father is helping lieutenant Murphy adjust to wearing a chainmail. Brother Devsimar is meditating quietly, Lydia napping on the sofa, Mister on her lap, and Harry and - you raise an eyebrow - Thomas are conversing in low tones. "Done?" "Yup. Hey Thomas." As Lydia begins to stir, you grab a Whopper off the table and bite into it, scratching Mouse behind the ear.
 
[X] Yog

Murder is Meat's essence harvesting effect should certainly not work on Wan Kuei. It wouldn't in baseline ExWoD so there's no reason for it to here.

Greater Akuma are no more spirits than Molly is. Or Michael, or anyone with a soul.

WoD spirits' 'bodies' are made of essence, which is why you can harvest essence from their remains after dissipating them. A Wan Kuei's body is made of blood, bone, and flesh.
 
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Greater Akuma are no more spirits than Molly is. Or Michael, or anyone with a soul.

WoD spirits' 'bodies' are made of essence, which is why you can harvest essence from their remains after dissipating them. A Wan Kuei's body is made of blood, bone, and flesh.
They are ghosts, or almost, which might count.
And they have Chi, which is nearly Essence.

Call it a food-replacement, but it might still fill a metaphysical stomach.
 
Did you just double-post with over an hour delay?
No, I updated my post.

I wouldn't call the gains "marginal". The average success number at DC 6 is 12. The average success number at DC 3 is 18 for 20 dice of key ability with no specialty. That's moving into next tier of success, and for something that can save lives, the "juice" is definitely "worth the squeeze". Remember, Molly only didn't use CCC abuse for training with the good brother out of practical issues, not out of any moral objections or worries.
Base number of successes is 3.
Without BSM or CCC, you average 12, which is 4x base.
You're well into diminishing returns at this point in my opinion; there's only so much better you can make a healing potion.

This is, honestly, an invented problem. And "it can save lives" trumps most other issues.
See above.
Marginal gains. You get the most payoff going from 3 successes to 6 successes.
Quality doesnt just scale indefinitely.

Remember that Molly is supposed to be a teenage girl raised in Western society by devout Catholics.
Not an impersonal machine optimizing for theoretical efficiency. It can save lives is a good argument for making the potions. Its not a valid argument for arbitarily pumping up effort just to stack quality modifiers indefinitely.

Especially since part of your argument is that she should tell her teacher to attack her if she tries to leave the laboratory.


Also, like I pointed out? There's a Fallen Angel in the floor paying attention. One that reached out and touched us before.
There are good reasons not to give the ancient demiurge a refresher of all our current powers, just in case it doesnt remember them from when it was still a member of the Angelic Host with access to Angel Wikipedia.

I am fairly sure that 3 hours is WITH TTC effect (which is passive - we always benefit from 5 times crafting time reduction; the active part is to manifest tools). @DragonParadox please confirm or deny.
Also, in regards to questions - we really need to know what the rebels' plan is. That's
No current suggestion there is anything like an organized plan.
Or even an organized group of rebels as opposed to just people each having some sort. This is a Hell where paranoia and betrayal among the lowlevel staff is cultivated by policy of Emma-O; most people plan for themselves.

Now that it is not midnight with me writing from (sleepy) memory, here is what paths of power says about the time it takes to make alchemical substances:

Time: Any alchemical procedure requires at least an hour, and in general it is one day per level of the effect, though levels in excess of this subtract (so an alchemist with twice the required rating can do the work in hours, one with three ranks and perform a level two procedure in a day, etc.) Mastered recipes do this calculation at rank one higher than the alchemist has.

So Level 1 potion would be an hour/5 from TTC so that is 12 minutes to make the foam. The healing potion is mastered so you count as having 3 dots for the purposes of it, Molly would be able to do it in a day if she were mortal/5 with TTC that is 4.8 hours, 4 hours 48 minutes.
I was also looking at Storm Front, and it took Dresden two hours to make that escape potion + a love potion.
I'll quote most of the scene:
Bob the Skull grumbled something in Old French, I think, though I got lost when he got to the anatomical improbabilities of bullfrogs. He yawned, and his bony teeth rattled when his mouth clicked closed again. Bob wasn't really a human skull. He was a spirit of air—sort of like a faery, but different. He made his residence inside the skull that had been prepared for him several hundred years ago, and it was his job to remember things. For obvious reasons, I can't use a computer to store information and keep track of the slowly changing laws of quasiphysics. That's why I had Bob. He had worked with dozens of wizards over the years, and it had given him a vast repertoire of knowledge—that, and a really cocky attitude. "Blasted wizards," he mumbled.
"I can't sleep, so we're going to make a couple of potions. Sound good?"
"Like I have a choice," Bob said. "What's the occasion?"
I brought Bob up to speed on what had happened that day. He whistled (no easy trick without lips), and said, "Sounds sticky."
"Pretty sticky," I agreed.
"Tell you what," he said. "Let me out for a ride, and I'll tell you how to get out of it."
That made me wary. "Bob, I let you out once. Remember?"
He nodded dreamily, scraping bone on wood. "The sorority house. I remember."
I snorted, and started some water to boiling over one of the burners. "You're supposed to be a spirit of intellect. I don't understand why you're obsessed with sex."
Bob's voice got defensive. "It's an academic interest, Harry."
"Oh yeah? Well maybe I don't think it's fair to let your academia go peeping in other people's houses."
"Wait a minute. My academia doesn't just peep—"
I held up a hand. "Save it. I don't want to hear it."
He grunted. "You're trivializing what getting out for a bit means to me, Harry. You're insulting my masculinity."
"Bob," I said, "you're a skull. You don't have any masculinity to insult."
"Oh yeah?" Bob challenged me. "Pot kettle black, Harry! Have you gotten a date yet? Huh? Most men have something better to do in the middle of the night than play with their chemistry sets."
"As a matter of fact," I told him, "I'm set up for Saturday night."
Bob's eyes fluttered from orange to red. "Oooooo," he leered. "Is she pretty?"
"Dark skin," I said. "Dark hair, dark eyes. Legs to die for. Smart, sexy as hell."
Bob chortled. "Think she'd like to see the lab?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter."
"No, seriously," Bob said. "If she's so great, what's she doing with you? You aren't exactly Sir Gawain, you know."
It was my turn to get defensive. "She likes me," I said. "Is that such a shock?"
"Harry," Bob drawled, his eye lights flickering smugly, "what you know about women, I could juggle."
I stared at Bob for a moment, and realized with a somewhat sinking feeling that the skull was probably right. Not that I would admit that to him, not in a million years, but he was.
"We're going to make an escape potion," I told him. "I don't want to be all night, so can we get to work? Huh? I can only remember about half the recipe."
"There's always room to make two if you're making one, Harry. You know that."
That much was true. The process of mixing up an alchemical potion is largely stirring, simmering, and waiting. You can always get another one going and alternate between them. Sometimes you can even do three, though that's pushing it. "Okay, so, we'll make a copy."

"Oh, come on," Bob chided me. "That's dull. You should stretch yourself. Try something new."
"Like what?"
Bob's eye sockets twinkled cheerfully. "A love potion, Harry! If you won't let me out, at least let me do that! Spirits know you could use it, and—"
"No," I said, firmly. "No way. No love potion."
"Fine," he said. "No love potion, no escape potion either."
"Bob," I said, warningly.
Bob's eye lights winked out.
I growled. I was tired and cranky, and under the best of circumstances I am not exactly a type A personality. I stalked over, picked up Bob by the jaws and shook him. "Hey!" I shouted. "Bob! You come out of there! Or I'm going to take this skull and throw it down the deepest well I can find! I swear to you, I'll put you somewhere where no one can ever let you out ever again!"
Bob's eyes winked on for a moment. "No you won't. I'm far too valuable." Then they winked out again.
I gritted my teeth and tried not to smash the skull to little pieces on the floor. I took deep breaths, summoning years of wizardly training and control to not throw a tantrum and break the nice spirit to little pieces. Instead, I put the skull back on the shelf and counted slowly to thirty.
Could I make the potion by myself? I probably could. But I had the sinking feeling that it might not have precisely the effect I wanted. Potions were a tricky business, and a lot more relied upon precise details than upon intent, like in spells. And just because I made a love potion didn't mean I had to use it. Right? It would only be good for a couple of days, in any case—surely not through the weekend. How much trouble could it cause?
I struggled to rationalize the action. It would appease Bob, and give him some kind of vicarious thrill. Love potions were about the cheapest things in the world to make, so it wouldn't cost me too much. And, I thought, if Susan should ask me for some kind of demonstration of magic (as she always did), I could always—

No. That would be too much. That would be like admitting I couldn't get a woman to like me on my own, and it would be unfair, taking advantage of the woman. What I wanted was the escape potion. I might need it at Bianca's place, and I could always use it, if worse came to worst, to make a getaway from Morgan and the White Council. I would feel a lot better if I had the escape potion.
"Okay, Bob. Fine. You win. We'll do them both. All right?"
Bob's eye lights came up warily. "You're sure? You'll do the love potion, just like I say?"
"Don't I always make the potions like you say, Bob?"
"What about that diet potion you tried?"
"Okay. That one was a mistake."
"And the antigravity potion, remember that?"
"We fixed the floor! It was no big deal!"

"And the—"
"Fine, fine," I growled. "You don't have to rub it in. Now cough up the recipes."
Bob did so, in fine humor, and for the next two hours we made potions. Potions are all made pretty much the same way. First you need a base to form the essential liquid content; then something to engage each of the senses, and then something for the mind and something else for the spirit. Eight ingredients, all in all, and they're different for each and every potion, and for each person who makes them. Bob had centuries of experience, and he could extrapolate the most successful components for a given person to make into a potion. He was right about being an invaluable resource—I had never even heard of a spirit with Bob's experience, and I was lucky to have him.
That didn't mean I didn't want to crack that skull of his from time to time, though.
The escape potion was made in a base of eight ounces of Jolt cola. We added a drop of motor oil, for the smell of it, and cut a bird's feather into tiny shavings for the tactile value. Three ounces of chocolate-covered espresso beans, ground into powder, went in next. Then a shredded bus ticket I'd never used, for the mind, and a small chain which I broke and then dropped in, for the heart. I unfolded a clean white cloth where I'd had a flickering shadow stored for just such an occasion, and tossed it into the brew, then opened up a glass jar where I kept my mouse scampers and tapped the sound out into the beaker where the potion was brewing …
"You're sure this is going to work, Bob?" I said.
"Always. That's a super recipe, there."
"Smells terrible."
Bob's lights twinkled. "They usually do."
"What's it doing? Is this the superspeed one, or the teleportation version?"
Bob coughed. "A little of both, actually. Drink it, and you'll be the wind for a few minutes."
"The wind?" I eyed him. "I haven't heard of that one before, Bob."
"I am an air spirit, after all," Bob told me. "This'll work fine. Trust me."
I grumbled, and set the first potion to simmering, then started on the next one.
I hesitated, after Bob told me the first ingredient.
"Tequila?" I asked him, skeptically. "Are you sure on that one? I thought the base for a love potion was supposed to be champagne."
"Champagne, tequila, what's the difference, so long as it'll lower her inhibitions?" Bob said.
"Uh. I'm thinking it's going to get us a, um, sleazier result."
"Hey!" Bob protested, "Who's the memory spirit here! Me or you?"
"Well—"
"Who's got all the experience with women here? Me or you?"
"Bob—"
"Harry," Bob lectured me, "I was seducing shepherdesses when you weren't a twinkle in your great-grandcestor's eyes. I think I know what I'm doing."
I sighed, too tired to argue with him. "Okay, okay. Sheesh. Tequila." I got down the bottle, measured eight ounces into the beaker, and glanced up at the skull.
"Right. Now, three ounces of dark chocolate."
"Chocolate?" I demanded.
"Chicks are into chocolate, Harry."
I muttered, more interested in finishing than anything else, and measured out the ingredients. I did the same with a drop of perfume (some name-brand imitation that I liked), an ounce of shredded lace, and the last sigh at the bottom of the glass jar. I added some candlelight to the mix, and it took on a rosy golden glow.
"Great," Bob said. "That's just right. Okay, now we add the ashes of a passionate love letter."
I blinked at the skull. "Uh, Bob. I'm fresh out of those."
Bob snorted. "How did I guess. Look on the shelf behind me."
I did, and found a pair of romance novels, their covers filled with impossibly delightful flesh. "Hey! Where did you get these?"
"My last trip out," Bob answered blithely. "Page one seventy-four, the paragraph that starts with, 'Her milky-white breasts. Tear that page out and burn it and add those ashes in."
I choked. "That will work?"
"Hey, women eat these things up. Trust me."
"Fine," I sighed. "This is the spirit ingredient?"
"Uh-huh," Bob said. He was rocking back and forth on his jawbones in excitement. "Now, just a teaspoon of powdered diamond, and we're done."
I rubbed at my eyes. "Diamond. I don't have any diamonds, Bob."
"I figured. You're cheap, that's why women don't like you. Look, just tear up a fifty into real little pieces and put that in there."
"A fifty-dollar bill?" I demanded.
"Money," Bob opined, "Very sexy."
I muttered and got the remaining fifty out of my pocket, shredding it and tossing it in to complete the potion.
The next step was where the effort came in. Once all the ingredients are mixed together, you have to force enough energy through them to activate them. It isn't the actual physical ingredients that are important—it's the meaning that they carry, too, the significance that they have for the person making the potion, and for those who will be using it.
The energy from magic comes from a lot of places. It can come from a special place (usually some spectacular natural site, like Mount St. Helens, or Old Faithful), from a focus of some kind (like Stonehenge is, on a large scale), or from inside of people. The best magic comes from the inside. Sometimes it's just pure mental effort, raw willpower. Sometimes it's emotions and feelings. All of them are viable tinder to be used for the proverbial fire.
I had a lot of worry to use to fuel the magic, and a lot of annoyance and one hell of a lot of stubbornness. I murmured the requisite quasi-Latin litany over the potions, over and over, feeling a kind of resistance building, just out of the range of the physical senses, but there, nonetheless. I gathered up all my worry and anger and stubbornness and threw them all at the resistance in one big ball, shaping them with the strength and tone of my words. The magic left me in a sudden wave, like a pitcher abruptly emptied out.

"I love this part," Bob said, just as both potions exploded into puffs of greenish smoke and began to froth up over the lips of the beakers.
I sagged onto a stool, and waited for the potions to fizz down, all the strength gone out of me, the weariness building up like a load of bricks on my shoulders. Once the frothing had settled, I leaned over and poured each potion into its own individual sports bottle with a squeeze-top, then labeled the containers with a permanent Magic Marker—very clearly. I don't take chances in getting potions mixed up anymore, ever since the invisibility/hair tonic incident, from when I was trying to grow out a decent beard.
"You won't regret this, Harry," Bob assured me. "That's the best potion I've ever made."

"I made it, not you," I growled. I really was exhausted, now—way too tired to let petty concerns like possible execution keep me from bed.
"Sure, sure," Bob agreed. "Whatever, Harry."
I went around the room putting out all the fires and the kerosene heater, then climbed the ladder back to the basement without saying good night. Bob was chortling happily to himself as I did.
I stumbled to my bed and fell into it. Mister always climbs in and goes to sleep draped over my legs. I waited for him, and a few seconds later he showed up, settling down and purring like a miniature outboard motor.
I struggled to put together an itinerary for the next couple of days through the haze of exhaustion. Talk to the vampire. Locate missing husband. Avoid the wrath of the White Council. Find the killer.
Before he found me.
An unpleasant thought—but I decided that I wasn't going to let that bother me, either, and curled up to go to sleep.
Basically, Dresden took two hours to make two potions simultaneously before bedtime.
One very low tier(love potions are supposed to be easy) and one mid to high tier(the escape potion that blends a superspeed and teleportation effect effects)simultaneously.

Its a useful benchmark to compare the newbie wizard with a knowledgeable advisor on the one hand?
With the Exalt who has a speed charm and an Excellency.

Second example is Fool Moon, as a backdrop for the conversation about werewolves:
"What are we doing, now?" Bob sniggered. "More weight-loss potions?"
"Look, Bob," I said. "That was only to get me through a rough month. Someone's got to pay the rent around here."
"All right," Bob said smugly. "You going to get into breast enhancement, then? I'm telling you, that's where the money is."
"That isn't what magic is for, Bob. How petty can you get?"
"Ah," Bob said, his eye lights flickering. "The question is, how pretty can you get them? You aren't a half-bad wizard, Dresden. You should think about how grateful all those beautiful women will be."

I snorted and started cleaning off a space on the center table, stacking things up to one side. "You know, Bob, some of us aren't obsessed with sex."
Bob snorted, no easy feat for a guy with no nose or lips. "Some of us don't take a real, working body and all five senses for granted, either, Harry. When's the last time you saw Susan?"
"I don't know," I responded. "Couple weeks ago. We're both pretty busy with work."
Bob heaved a sigh. "A gorgeous woman like that, and here you are, down in your musty old lab, getting ready to do more ridiculous nonsense."
"Precisely," I said. "Now, shut up and let's get to work."
Bob grumbled something in Latin, but rattled a few times to shake the dust off of the skull. "Sure, what do I know? I'm just a pathetic little spirit, right?"
"With a photographic memory, three or four hundred years' worth of research experience, and more deduction capacity than a computer, Bob, yeah."
Bob almost seemed to smile. "Just for that, you get my best effort tonight, Harry. Maybe you're not such an idiot after all."
"Great," I said. "I want to work up a couple of potions, and I want to know everything you know about werewolves."
"What kind of potions, and what kind of werewolves?" Bob said promptly.
I blinked. "There's more than one?"
"Hell, Harry. We've made at least three dozen different kinds of potions down here ourselves, and I don't see why you wouldn't—"
"No, no, no," I growled at Bob. "Werewolves. There's more than one kind of werewolf?"
"Eh? More than one kind of what?" Bob tilted his skull over to one side, as though cocking an invisible hand to his ear bones.
"Werewolf, werewolf."
"There wolf," Bob replied solemnly, his voice seething with a hokey accent. "There castle."
I blinked at him. "Uh. What the heck are you talking about?"
"It's a joke, Harry. Stars almighty, you never get out, do you?"
I eyed the grinning skull and growled in frustration. "Don't make me come up there."
"Okay, okay. Sheesh. Aren't we grumpy tonight?" Bob's jaws stretched in a yawn again.
"I'm working another murder case, Bob, and I don't have time to goof around."
"Murder. Mortal business is so complicated. You never hear about murder charges in the Nevernever."
"That's because everything there is immortal. Bob, just shut up and tell me what you know about werewolves. If there's a bunch of different flavors, tell me what they are." I got out a notebook and a fresh pencil, then a couple of clean beakers with alcohol-flame burners to heat whatever liquid I put in them.
"All right," Bob said. "How much do you know?"
"Exactly nothing about werewolves. My teacher never covered that with me."
Bob barked out a harsh little laugh. "Old Justin had a lousy sense of just about everything. He got what was coming to him, Harry, and don't let anyone on the White Council tell you any different."
I stopped for a moment. A sudden rush of mixed feelings, anger and fear and mostly regret, washed through me. I closed my eyes. I could still see him, my teacher, dying in flames born of my will and anger. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Hell, the Council even suspended the sentence on you. You were vindicated. Say, I wonder what ever happened to Elaine. Now there was a sweet piece of—"
"Werewolves, Bob," I said, in a very quiet, very angry voice. One hand started to hurt, and I saw that my fingers had clenched into a fist, the knuckles turning white. I turned my eyes to him, glaring.
I heard the skull make a gulping sound. And then he said, "Right. Okay. Werewolves. And, uh, which potions did you want?"
"I want a pick-me-up potion. A night's rest in a bottle. And I want something that will make me imperceptible to a werewolf." I reached for the notebook and my pencil.
"First one's tough to do. There's nothing quite like a decent night's sleep. But we can make some super-coffee, no problem."
He spouted out the formula to me, and I noted it down as he went, my handwriting too dark and angular. I was still angry from the mere mention of my old master's name. And the welter of emotions that rushed up with my memories of Elaine wouldn't subside for an hour.
We all have our demons.
"What about the second one?" I asked the skull.
"Can't really be done," Bob said. "Wolves have just got way too much on the ball to hide from every one of their senses without doing some major work. I'm talking, like, a greater Ring of Invisibility, not just a Shadowcape or something."
"Do I look like I'm made of money? I can't afford that. What about a partial-hiding potion, then?"
"Oh, like a blending brew? Look like an unobtrusive part of the background, something like that? I would think that would be the most useful, really. Keep you from being noticed to begin with."

"Sure," I said. "I'll take what I can get."
"No problem," Bob assured me, and rattled off another formula, which I jotted down. I checked the ingredients list, and thought that I had them all in stock among the countless containers on my shelves.
"Fine. I can get started on these. How much do you know about werewolves, Bob?"
"Plenty. I was in France during the Inquisition." Bob's voice was dry (but that is to be expected, considering).
I started on the first potion, the stimulant. Every potion has eight parts. One part is a base liquid to hold the others and provide a medium for mixing. Five parts are symbolically linked to each of the five senses. One is similarly linked to the mind, and another to the spirit. The basic ingredient to the stimulant potion was coffee, while the base for the scent-masking potion was water. I got them both to boiling. "Lot of werewolfery going on then?"
"Are you kidding?" Bob said. "It was werewolf central. We had every kind of werewolf you could think of. Hexenwolves, werewolves, lycanthropes, and loup-garou to boot. Every kind of lupine theriomorph you could think of."
"Therro-what?" I said.
"Theriomorph," Bob said. "Anything that shape-shifts from a human being into an animal form. Werewolves are theriomorphs. So are werebears, weretigers, werebuffaloes …"
"Buffaloes?" I asked.
"Sure. Some Native American shamans could do a buffalo. But almost everyone does predators, and until pretty recently, wolves were the scariest predator anyone around Europe could think of."
"Uh, okay," I said. "And there's a difference between types of werewolves?"
"Right," Bob confirmed. "Mostly it depends on how you go from human form to wolf form, and how much of your humanity you retain. Don't burn the coffee."
I turned down the flame beneath the beaker of coffee, annoyed. "I know, I know. Okay, then. How do you get to be a wolf?"
"The classic werewolf," Bob said, "is simply a human being who uses magic to shift himself into a wolf."
"Magic? Like a wizard?"
"No," Bob said. "Well. Sort of. He's like a wizard who only knows how to cast the one spell, the one to turn him into a wolf, and knows how to get back out of it again. Most people who learn to be werewolves aren't very good at it for a while, because they keep all of their own humanity."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Bob said, "they can reshape themselves into the form of a wolf, but it's pretty much just topology. They rearrange their physical body, but their mind remains the same. They can think and reason, and their personality doesn't change—but they don't have a wolf's instincts or reflexes. They're used to being sight-oriented bipeds, not smell-oriented quadrupeds. They would have to learn everything from scratch."
"Why would someone do something like that?" I said. "Just learn to turn into a wolf, I mean."
"You've never been a peasant in medieval France, Harry," Bob said. "Life was hard for those people. Never enough food, shelter, medicine. If you could give yourself a fur coat and the ability to go out and hunt your own meat, you would have jumped at the chance, too."
"Okay, I think I've got it," I said. "Do you need silver bullets or anything? Do you turn into a werewolf if you get bitten?"
"Bah," Bob said. "No. Hollywood stole that from vampires. And the silver-bullet thing is only in special cases. Werewolves are just like regular wolves. You can hurt them with weapons just like you can a real wolf."
"That's good news," I said, stirring the potion. "What other kinds are there?"
"There's another version of a werewolf—when someone else uses magic to change you into a wolf."
I glanced up at him. "Transmogrification? That's illegal, Bob. It's one of the Laws of Magic. If you transform someone into an animal, it destroys their personality. You can't transform someone else without wiping out their mind. It's practically murder."
"Yeah. Neat, huh? But actually, most personalities can survive the transformation. For a little while at least. Really strong wills might manage to keep their human memories and personality locked away for several years. But sooner or later, they're irretrievably gone, and you're left with nothing but a wolf."
I turned from the potions to scribble in my notebook. "Okay. What else makes a werewolf?"
"The most common way, back in France, was to make a deal with a demon or a devil or a powerful sorcerer. You get a wolf-hide belt, put it on, say the magic words, and whammy, you're a wolf. A Hexenwolf."
"Isn't that just like the first kind?"
"No, not at all. You don't use your own magic to become a wolf. You use someone else's."
I frowned. "Isn't that the second kind, then?"
"Stop being obtuse," Bob chided me. "It's different because you're employing a talisman. Sometimes it's a ring or amulet, but usually it's a belt. The talisman provides an anchor for a spirit of bestial rage. Nasty thing from the bad side of the Nevernever. That spirit wraps around a human personality to keep it from being destroyed."
"A kind of insulation," I said.
"Exactly. It leaves you with your own intellect and reason, but the spirit handles everything else."
I frowned. "Sounds a little easy."
"Oh, sure," Bob said. "It's really easy. And when you use a talisman to turn into a wolf, you lose all of your human inhibitions and so on, and just run on your unconscious desires, with the talisman-spirit in charge of the way the body moves. It's really efficient. A huge wolf with human-level intelligence and animal-level ferocity."
I eyed Bob, and gathered up the other ingredients for the stimulant potion: a morning donut, for taste; a cock's crow, for hearing; fresh soap, for smell; bits of a washcloth, for touch; and a beam of dawn sunshine for sight; a to-do list, for the mind; and a bit of bright, cheerful music, for the spirit; and the potion was simmering along nicely.
Bob said nothing while I added the ingredients, and when I was finished I said, "Most people don't have the strength to control a spirit like that, I'd think. It would influence their actions. Maybe even control them. Suppress their conscience."

"Yeah. So?"
"So it sounds more like you'd be creating a monster."
"It's effective," Bob said. "I don't know about the good or the evil of the thing. That's something that only you mortals worry about."
"What did you call this flavor again?"
"Hexenwolf," Bob said, with a strong Germanic accent. "Spell wolf. The Church declared war on anyone who chose to become a Hexenwolf, and burned a huge number of people at the stake."
"Silver bullets?" I asked. "Bitten and turn into a werewolf?"
"Would you get off this 'bitten and turn into a werewolf' kick, Harry?" Bob said. "It doesn't work that way. Not ever. Or you'd have werewolves overrunning the entire planet in a couple of years."
"Fine, fine," I sighed. "What about the silver bullets?"
"Don't need them."
"All right," I said, and continued jotting down information to put together for Murphy in a report. "Hexenwolf. Got it. What else?"
"Lycanthropes," Bob said.
"Isn't that a psychological condition?"
"It might also be a psychological condition," Bob said. "But it was a reality first. A lycanthrope is a natural channel for a spirit of rage. A lycanthrope turns into a beast, but only inside his head. The spirit takes over. It affects the way he acts and thinks, makes him more aggressive, stronger. They also tend to be very resistant to pain or injury, sickness; they heal rapidly—all sorts of things."
"But they don't actually shapeshift into a wolf?"
"Give that boy a Kewpie," Bob said. "They're just people, too, but they're awfully fierce. Ever heard of the Norse berserkers? Those guys were lycanthropes, I think. And they're born, not made."
I stirred the stimulant potion, and made sure it was at an even simmer. "And what was the last one? Loop what?"
"Loup-garou," Bob said. "Or that was the name Etienne the Enchanter used for them, before he got burned at the stake. The loup-garou are the major monsters, Harry. Someone has cursed them to become a wolflike demon, and usually at the full moon. That someone's got to be really powerful, too, like a major heavyweight sorcerer or a demon lord or one of the Faerie Queens. When the full moon comes, they transform into a monster, go on a killing spree, and slaughter everything they come across until the moon sets or the sun rises."

A sudden little chill went over me, and I shivered. "What else?"
"Supernatural speed and power. Supernatural ferocity. They recover from injuries almost instantly, if they become hurt at all. They're immune to poison and to any kind of sorcery that goes for their brain. Killing machines."
"Sounds great. I guess this hasn't happened all that often? I'd have heard something by now."
"Right," Bob said. "Not often. Usually, the poor cursed bastard knows enough to shut himself away somewhere, or to head out into the wilderness. The last major loup-garou rampage happened around Gevaudan, France, back in the sixteenth century. More than two hundred people were killed in a little more than a year."
"Holy shit," I said. "How did they stop it?"
"They killed it," Bob said. "Here's where the silver bullets finally come in, Harry. Only a silver weapon can hurt a loup-garou, and not only that, the silver has to be inherited from a family member. Inherited silver bullets."
"Really? Why would that work and not regular silver?"
"I don't make the laws of magic, Harry. I just know what they are and have an idea of when they're changing. That one hasn't changed. I think maybe it has something to do with the element of sacrifice."
"Inherited silver," I mumbled. "Well. We'll just have to hope that this wasn't a loup-garou, I guess."
"If it was a louper, you'd know," Bob said wisely. "In the middle of this town, you'd have a dozen people dead every time the full moon came around. What's going on?"
"A dozen people are dying every time the full moon comes around." I filled Bob in on the Lobo killings, giving him all the information Murphy had given to me, and started on the next potion. Into the water went the ingredients: plastic wrap for sight; a bit of plain white cotton, for touch; a little deodorant for smell; a rustle of wind for hearing; a leaf of plain old lettuce, for taste; and finally I threw in a blank piece of paper, for the mind, and some elevator music for the spirit. The ingredients were boring. The potion looked and smelled boring. Perfect.
"Lot of dead people," Bob commented. "I'll let you know if I think of anything good. I wish I knew something else."
"I want you to learn more," I told him. "Go out and see what else you can round up on werewolves."
Bob snorted. "Fat chance, Harry. I'm a spirit of intellect, not an errand boy." But when I said the word "out," Bob's eyes glittered.
"I'll pick you up some new romance novels, Bob," I offered.
Bob's teeth clicked a couple of times. "Give me a twenty-four-hour pass," he said.
I shook my head. "Forget it. The last time I let you out, you invaded a party over at Loyola and set off an orgy."
Bob sniffed. "I didn't do anything to anyone that a keg wouldn't have done."
"But those people didn't ask for you to get into their systems, Bob. No way. You had your fun, and I'm not letting you out again for a while."
"Oh, come on, Harry."
"No," I said flatly.
"It would only be one little night o—"
"No," I said again.
Bob glowered at me and demanded, "New romances. None of those tatty used ones. I want something off the bestseller list."
"I want you back by sunrise," I countered.
"Fine," Bob snapped. "I can't believe how ungrateful you are, after everything I've done for you. I'll see if I can get someone's name. There might be a spirit or two who could get you some juicy information." The orange lights that were his eyes glittered and then flowed out of the skull in a misty cloud of lambent illumination. The cloud flowed up the ladder and out of my laboratory.
I sighed and set the second potion to simmering. It would take another hour or two to cook the potions, and then to shove the magic into them, so I sat down with my notebook and started writing up my report. I tried to ignore the headache that was creeping up the back of my neck toward the crown of my head, but it did little good.
I had to help Murphy nail the killer, whoever it was, while avoiding any trouble with the FBI. Otherwise, she was out of a job, and even if I didn't end up in jail, I would be out of a living myself. Johnny Marcone's man had been killed, and I would be a fool to think he would stand idly by and do nothing in response. I was sure the gangster would rear his head sooner or later.
Two hours to cook two potions.

Huh, I expected we'd be attacked tonight.

They know we are on their trail from Tuzi. They know they are vampires and have issues with sunlight.
They keep two groups seperated, almost inviting us to take them out piecemeal during the day.
This night was their last chance to take the offensive and it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

But now it's too late, sunrise is in less than an hour I believe?
Now I believe this is a trap within a trap.
We got what Lady Eiko thought was the plan, but what if the Greater Akuma has a different plan?
Not easy to pull off.

We've been on the move since yesterday, with no evidence of our stopping anywhere for long enough to let them arrange anything.
And contrary to what Hollywood portrays, arranging a moving ambush of a moving target is a nontrivial affair, with a very high chance of fumbling.

And when we stopped moving it was at Dresden's place, where the wards are intense, and there's a Foo Dog in residence.
Its a great way for your greater akuma to end up in a fight with no support.
The juice wouldnt have been worth the squeeze.
 
They are ghosts, or almost, which might count.
And they have Chi, which is nearly Essence.

Call it a food-replacement, but it might still fill a metaphysical stomach.

Wan Kuei are no more ghosts than regular people are. Regular people have chi as well, they just don't know how to use it.

Murder is Meat's essence harvesting doesn't work on Exalts, who are people in physical bodies who have taken the Second Breath and so can use supernatural energies.

No current suggestion there is anything like an organized plan.
Or even an organized group of rebels as opposed to just people each having some sort. This is a Hell where paranoia and betrayal among the lowlevel staff is cultivated by policy of Emma-O; most people plan for themselves.

Either way, we need to know; as it significantly changes our own planning. And there's a strong suggestion there is a plan to use the Exaltation to free themselves, which means they think know have a way both to do that and survive betraying the Will.

Every bit of information we gain is very useful for planning the attack. Even knowing they have no plan, as it means we can offer them one.
 
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Wan Kuei are no more ghosts than regular people are. Regular people have chi as well, they just don't know how to use it.
They kinda are.

They can survive physical death, with their soul finding back to their body.
Here's the little death:
Final Death and Torpor
Having died once * Kuei-ji n are not eager to die again , not; , ar e the y eas y t o kill. Kuei-ji n hav e th e sam e numbe r o f Healt h Level s an d tak e damag e i n th e sam e fashio n a s Kindred . A Kuei-ji n reduce d t o torpor , bu t wh o stil l ha s Ch i i n he r body , die s — he r sou l passe s fro m he r bod y t o haun t th e surroundin g Mirro r Lands . Th e sou l can b e see n an d affecte d b y individual s wit h th e appropriat e powers . Kuei-j i n cal l thi s stat e "Th e Littl e Death:" - . '.;. ' ',;_. ' < ' ^ . ;'\ S i ; • * * J . •%. ~ Th e spiri t i s relativel y impoten t i n thil'situatio n an d can d o nothin g excep t floa t nearb y an d try t o restor e it s corpse. Restorin g on e (an d onl y one ) Healt h Leve l t o th e corps e cost s on e Ch i an d take s a numbe r o f night s equa l t o th e vampire' s permanen t Yin . Onc e thi s tas k ha s bee n accomplished , th e vampir e ma y ris e an d continu e it s existence . I t ha s on e an d onl y on e poin t o f Chi , an d th e vampir e mus t mak e a shado w sou l rol l /;(seep , 151 ) t o determin e whether , upo n rising , th e Hu n o r P' o i s i n conlfoTo f th e corpse . :
Okay, copying from my version of the book is sometimes atrocious, but the point is that their soul hangs around their body if they are reduced to zero health and can revive it with a bit of Chi.
That means true-killing them would dissolve that soul (or at least take a chunk out of it) and give us Essence, by my guess.

There's even a flaw that leaves a Wan Kuei detached from their own body and forces them to find a new corpse to inhabit if they die.
 
As an aside, if we're sending Micheal for holy water it might be worth trying to get some holy oils too; specifically the oil of catechumens, once known as the oil of exorcism.
Fair enough.
Editing and reposting plan.

===
Updated plan.

VOTE
[X]Plan Alchemical Solutions
-[X] His apartment using Little Chicago (Safer, but guarantees giving away his identity if caught)
-[X]<Molly>Tool Constructs to draw images of Eiko, the 17 kueijin and their minions for allies to recognize
-[X]Crown Questions: 4m Essence
--[X]Ping Tom Boathouse: What are the flaws of the ritual meant to be invoked in this place today?. Tell Harry
--[X]Video recording Kuejin 1: Who among the war party this kuejin belongs to has hopes/intentions to escape/betray Emma-O ?
--[X]Video recording Kuejin 2: What are the known abilities of Kakuri's Will on Earth?
--[X]Video recording sick-looking Kuejin 3: Why does he and others like him look ill?

-[X]<Michael>Holy water and holy oils from St Mary's and Murphy-size chainmail from home
-[X]<Michael>Ask Charity to call Molly's school to excuse her absence
-[X]<Molly>Alchemy + Occult Excellency + Tool Constructs: 3x Healing Potions: -1WP, -2m Essence
-[X]<Molly> RVD for Essence regen
-[X]STUNT: You walk up the stairs from Dresden's lab to find your father and Murphy gone. Brother Devsimar is meditating quietly, Lydia napping on the sofa, Mister on her lap, and Harry and - you raise an eyebrow - Thomas are conversing in low tones. "Done?" "Yup. Three done. Hey Thomas." As Lydia begins to stir, you grab a Whopper off the table and bite into it, scratching Mouse behind the ear. "I'd like to see the body at the morgue, but we wait for Dad and Detective Murphy."



Status at beginning: 8/12 Essence, 9/9 WP
Expenses: 6m, 1WP
Estimated time expended: ~7 hours(Potions ~4.8 hours + 75 minutes Essence regen + 50 minutes making dossiers + 15 minutes buffer)

Estimated start time 4.30 am(word of QM)
Estimated end time 11.30 am



RATIONALE
Im assuming Molly can brew several potions at once because thats what Dresden said in Storm Front chapter 8:
"We're going to make an escape potion," I told him. "I don't want to be all night, so can we get to work? Huh? I can only remember about half the recipe."
"There's always room to make two if you're making one, Harry. You know that."
That much was true. The process of mixing up an alchemical potion is largely stirring, simmering, and waiting. You can always get another one going and alternate between them. Sometimes you can even do three, though that's pushing it. "Okay, so, we'll make a copy."
Alchemy is a Key Ability because Int + Occult.
It took Dresden around two to three hours to make two potions simultaneously in canon, an escape(teleport) potion and a love potion.

Current WoG is 4.8 hours for brewing Level 2 potions.

RVD for regenning Essence after we finished brewing the potions.
Assuming we burned our Essence pool down to 3/12, we recover 5 Essence at dawn, which means we need 1.25 hour to get back to 12/12 Essence, assuming none of our questions gave us Essence back.


EDIT
Holy oils added to Michael fetch quest from St Mary's.
Timeline estimates updated.
 
They kinda are.
They can survive physical death, with their soul finding back to their body.
Wan Kuei have both a Hun and Po.
The jury is still out on whether MiM would categorize them as human or spirit.

Thankfully, you only need Agg to permakill a greater akuma.
Citation:
Greater Akuma Powers said:
No Little Death — If the akuma is slain in the Middle
Kingdom, her body blows into fine ash and her spirit flees to
Yomi to stand before her master and explain her failure. Unless
her owner chooses to destroy her for her failure, the akuma is
then clothed in flesh once again. The only way an akuma can
die the Final Death is for her to be destroyed in Yomi or entirely

by aggravated damage.
Thousand Hells page 114.
 
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No, I updated my post.


Base number of successes is 3.
Without BSM or CCC, you average 12, which is 4x base.
You're well into diminishing returns at this point in my opinion; there's only so much better you can make a healing potion.


See above.
Marginal gains. You get the most payoff going from 3 successes to 6 successes.
Quality doesnt just scale indefinitely.

Remember that Molly is supposed to be a teenage girl raised in Western society by devout Catholics.
Not an impersonal machine optimizing for theoretical efficiency. It can save lives is a good argument for making the potions. Its not a valid argument for arbitarily pumping up effort just to stack quality modifiers indefinitely.

Especially since part of your argument is that she should tell her teacher to attack her if she tries to leave the laboratory.


Also, like I pointed out? There's a Fallen Angel in the floor paying attention. One that reached out and touched us before.
There are good reasons not to give the ancient demiurge a refresher of all our current powers, just in case it doesnt remember them from when it was still a member of the Angelic Host with access to Angel Wikipedia.


No current suggestion there is anything like an organized plan.
Or even an organized group of rebels as opposed to just people each having some sort. This is a Hell where paranoia and betrayal among the lowlevel staff is cultivated by policy of Emma-O; most people plan for themselves.


I was also looking at Storm Front, and it took Dresden two hours to make that escape potion + a love potion.
I'll quote most of the scene:
Bob the Skull grumbled something in Old French, I think, though I got lost when he got to the anatomical improbabilities of bullfrogs. He yawned, and his bony teeth rattled when his mouth clicked closed again. Bob wasn't really a human skull. He was a spirit of air—sort of like a faery, but different. He made his residence inside the skull that had been prepared for him several hundred years ago, and it was his job to remember things. For obvious reasons, I can't use a computer to store information and keep track of the slowly changing laws of quasiphysics. That's why I had Bob. He had worked with dozens of wizards over the years, and it had given him a vast repertoire of knowledge—that, and a really cocky attitude. "Blasted wizards," he mumbled.
"I can't sleep, so we're going to make a couple of potions. Sound good?"
"Like I have a choice," Bob said. "What's the occasion?"
I brought Bob up to speed on what had happened that day. He whistled (no easy trick without lips), and said, "Sounds sticky."
"Pretty sticky," I agreed.
"Tell you what," he said. "Let me out for a ride, and I'll tell you how to get out of it."
That made me wary. "Bob, I let you out once. Remember?"
He nodded dreamily, scraping bone on wood. "The sorority house. I remember."
I snorted, and started some water to boiling over one of the burners. "You're supposed to be a spirit of intellect. I don't understand why you're obsessed with sex."
Bob's voice got defensive. "It's an academic interest, Harry."
"Oh yeah? Well maybe I don't think it's fair to let your academia go peeping in other people's houses."
"Wait a minute. My academia doesn't just peep—"
I held up a hand. "Save it. I don't want to hear it."
He grunted. "You're trivializing what getting out for a bit means to me, Harry. You're insulting my masculinity."
"Bob," I said, "you're a skull. You don't have any masculinity to insult."
"Oh yeah?" Bob challenged me. "Pot kettle black, Harry! Have you gotten a date yet? Huh? Most men have something better to do in the middle of the night than play with their chemistry sets."
"As a matter of fact," I told him, "I'm set up for Saturday night."
Bob's eyes fluttered from orange to red. "Oooooo," he leered. "Is she pretty?"
"Dark skin," I said. "Dark hair, dark eyes. Legs to die for. Smart, sexy as hell."
Bob chortled. "Think she'd like to see the lab?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter."
"No, seriously," Bob said. "If she's so great, what's she doing with you? You aren't exactly Sir Gawain, you know."
It was my turn to get defensive. "She likes me," I said. "Is that such a shock?"
"Harry," Bob drawled, his eye lights flickering smugly, "what you know about women, I could juggle."
I stared at Bob for a moment, and realized with a somewhat sinking feeling that the skull was probably right. Not that I would admit that to him, not in a million years, but he was.
"We're going to make an escape potion," I told him. "I don't want to be all night, so can we get to work? Huh? I can only remember about half the recipe."
"There's always room to make two if you're making one, Harry. You know that."
That much was true. The process of mixing up an alchemical potion is largely stirring, simmering, and waiting. You can always get another one going and alternate between them. Sometimes you can even do three, though that's pushing it. "Okay, so, we'll make a copy."

"Oh, come on," Bob chided me. "That's dull. You should stretch yourself. Try something new."
"Like what?"
Bob's eye sockets twinkled cheerfully. "A love potion, Harry! If you won't let me out, at least let me do that! Spirits know you could use it, and—"
"No," I said, firmly. "No way. No love potion."
"Fine," he said. "No love potion, no escape potion either."
"Bob," I said, warningly.
Bob's eye lights winked out.
I growled. I was tired and cranky, and under the best of circumstances I am not exactly a type A personality. I stalked over, picked up Bob by the jaws and shook him. "Hey!" I shouted. "Bob! You come out of there! Or I'm going to take this skull and throw it down the deepest well I can find! I swear to you, I'll put you somewhere where no one can ever let you out ever again!"
Bob's eyes winked on for a moment. "No you won't. I'm far too valuable." Then they winked out again.
I gritted my teeth and tried not to smash the skull to little pieces on the floor. I took deep breaths, summoning years of wizardly training and control to not throw a tantrum and break the nice spirit to little pieces. Instead, I put the skull back on the shelf and counted slowly to thirty.
Could I make the potion by myself? I probably could. But I had the sinking feeling that it might not have precisely the effect I wanted. Potions were a tricky business, and a lot more relied upon precise details than upon intent, like in spells. And just because I made a love potion didn't mean I had to use it. Right? It would only be good for a couple of days, in any case—surely not through the weekend. How much trouble could it cause?
I struggled to rationalize the action. It would appease Bob, and give him some kind of vicarious thrill. Love potions were about the cheapest things in the world to make, so it wouldn't cost me too much. And, I thought, if Susan should ask me for some kind of demonstration of magic (as she always did), I could always—

No. That would be too much. That would be like admitting I couldn't get a woman to like me on my own, and it would be unfair, taking advantage of the woman. What I wanted was the escape potion. I might need it at Bianca's place, and I could always use it, if worse came to worst, to make a getaway from Morgan and the White Council. I would feel a lot better if I had the escape potion.
"Okay, Bob. Fine. You win. We'll do them both. All right?"
Bob's eye lights came up warily. "You're sure? You'll do the love potion, just like I say?"
"Don't I always make the potions like you say, Bob?"
"What about that diet potion you tried?"
"Okay. That one was a mistake."
"And the antigravity potion, remember that?"
"We fixed the floor! It was no big deal!"

"And the—"
"Fine, fine," I growled. "You don't have to rub it in. Now cough up the recipes."
Bob did so, in fine humor, and for the next two hours we made potions. Potions are all made pretty much the same way. First you need a base to form the essential liquid content; then something to engage each of the senses, and then something for the mind and something else for the spirit. Eight ingredients, all in all, and they're different for each and every potion, and for each person who makes them. Bob had centuries of experience, and he could extrapolate the most successful components for a given person to make into a potion. He was right about being an invaluable resource—I had never even heard of a spirit with Bob's experience, and I was lucky to have him.
That didn't mean I didn't want to crack that skull of his from time to time, though.
The escape potion was made in a base of eight ounces of Jolt cola. We added a drop of motor oil, for the smell of it, and cut a bird's feather into tiny shavings for the tactile value. Three ounces of chocolate-covered espresso beans, ground into powder, went in next. Then a shredded bus ticket I'd never used, for the mind, and a small chain which I broke and then dropped in, for the heart. I unfolded a clean white cloth where I'd had a flickering shadow stored for just such an occasion, and tossed it into the brew, then opened up a glass jar where I kept my mouse scampers and tapped the sound out into the beaker where the potion was brewing …
"You're sure this is going to work, Bob?" I said.
"Always. That's a super recipe, there."
"Smells terrible."
Bob's lights twinkled. "They usually do."
"What's it doing? Is this the superspeed one, or the teleportation version?"
Bob coughed. "A little of both, actually. Drink it, and you'll be the wind for a few minutes."
"The wind?" I eyed him. "I haven't heard of that one before, Bob."
"I am an air spirit, after all," Bob told me. "This'll work fine. Trust me."
I grumbled, and set the first potion to simmering, then started on the next one.
I hesitated, after Bob told me the first ingredient.
"Tequila?" I asked him, skeptically. "Are you sure on that one? I thought the base for a love potion was supposed to be champagne."
"Champagne, tequila, what's the difference, so long as it'll lower her inhibitions?" Bob said.
"Uh. I'm thinking it's going to get us a, um, sleazier result."
"Hey!" Bob protested, "Who's the memory spirit here! Me or you?"
"Well—"
"Who's got all the experience with women here? Me or you?"
"Bob—"
"Harry," Bob lectured me, "I was seducing shepherdesses when you weren't a twinkle in your great-grandcestor's eyes. I think I know what I'm doing."
I sighed, too tired to argue with him. "Okay, okay. Sheesh. Tequila." I got down the bottle, measured eight ounces into the beaker, and glanced up at the skull.
"Right. Now, three ounces of dark chocolate."
"Chocolate?" I demanded.
"Chicks are into chocolate, Harry."
I muttered, more interested in finishing than anything else, and measured out the ingredients. I did the same with a drop of perfume (some name-brand imitation that I liked), an ounce of shredded lace, and the last sigh at the bottom of the glass jar. I added some candlelight to the mix, and it took on a rosy golden glow.
"Great," Bob said. "That's just right. Okay, now we add the ashes of a passionate love letter."
I blinked at the skull. "Uh, Bob. I'm fresh out of those."
Bob snorted. "How did I guess. Look on the shelf behind me."
I did, and found a pair of romance novels, their covers filled with impossibly delightful flesh. "Hey! Where did you get these?"
"My last trip out," Bob answered blithely. "Page one seventy-four, the paragraph that starts with, 'Her milky-white breasts. Tear that page out and burn it and add those ashes in."
I choked. "That will work?"
"Hey, women eat these things up. Trust me."
"Fine," I sighed. "This is the spirit ingredient?"
"Uh-huh," Bob said. He was rocking back and forth on his jawbones in excitement. "Now, just a teaspoon of powdered diamond, and we're done."
I rubbed at my eyes. "Diamond. I don't have any diamonds, Bob."
"I figured. You're cheap, that's why women don't like you. Look, just tear up a fifty into real little pieces and put that in there."
"A fifty-dollar bill?" I demanded.
"Money," Bob opined, "Very sexy."
I muttered and got the remaining fifty out of my pocket, shredding it and tossing it in to complete the potion.
The next step was where the effort came in. Once all the ingredients are mixed together, you have to force enough energy through them to activate them. It isn't the actual physical ingredients that are important—it's the meaning that they carry, too, the significance that they have for the person making the potion, and for those who will be using it.
The energy from magic comes from a lot of places. It can come from a special place (usually some spectacular natural site, like Mount St. Helens, or Old Faithful), from a focus of some kind (like Stonehenge is, on a large scale), or from inside of people. The best magic comes from the inside. Sometimes it's just pure mental effort, raw willpower. Sometimes it's emotions and feelings. All of them are viable tinder to be used for the proverbial fire.
I had a lot of worry to use to fuel the magic, and a lot of annoyance and one hell of a lot of stubbornness. I murmured the requisite quasi-Latin litany over the potions, over and over, feeling a kind of resistance building, just out of the range of the physical senses, but there, nonetheless. I gathered up all my worry and anger and stubbornness and threw them all at the resistance in one big ball, shaping them with the strength and tone of my words. The magic left me in a sudden wave, like a pitcher abruptly emptied out.

"I love this part," Bob said, just as both potions exploded into puffs of greenish smoke and began to froth up over the lips of the beakers.
I sagged onto a stool, and waited for the potions to fizz down, all the strength gone out of me, the weariness building up like a load of bricks on my shoulders. Once the frothing had settled, I leaned over and poured each potion into its own individual sports bottle with a squeeze-top, then labeled the containers with a permanent Magic Marker—very clearly. I don't take chances in getting potions mixed up anymore, ever since the invisibility/hair tonic incident, from when I was trying to grow out a decent beard.
"You won't regret this, Harry," Bob assured me. "That's the best potion I've ever made."

"I made it, not you," I growled. I really was exhausted, now—way too tired to let petty concerns like possible execution keep me from bed.
"Sure, sure," Bob agreed. "Whatever, Harry."
I went around the room putting out all the fires and the kerosene heater, then climbed the ladder back to the basement without saying good night. Bob was chortling happily to himself as I did.
I stumbled to my bed and fell into it. Mister always climbs in and goes to sleep draped over my legs. I waited for him, and a few seconds later he showed up, settling down and purring like a miniature outboard motor.
I struggled to put together an itinerary for the next couple of days through the haze of exhaustion. Talk to the vampire. Locate missing husband. Avoid the wrath of the White Council. Find the killer.
Before he found me.
An unpleasant thought—but I decided that I wasn't going to let that bother me, either, and curled up to go to sleep.
Basically, Dresden took two hours to make two potions simultaneously before bedtime.
One very low tier(love potions are supposed to be easy) and one mid to high tier(the escape potion that blends a superspeed and teleportation effect effects)simultaneously.

Its a useful benchmark to compare the newbie wizard with a knowledgeable advisor on the one hand?
With the Exalt who has a speed charm and an Excellency.

Second example is Fool Moon, as a backdrop for the conversation about werewolves:
"What are we doing, now?" Bob sniggered. "More weight-loss potions?"
"Look, Bob," I said. "That was only to get me through a rough month. Someone's got to pay the rent around here."
"All right," Bob said smugly. "You going to get into breast enhancement, then? I'm telling you, that's where the money is."
"That isn't what magic is for, Bob. How petty can you get?"
"Ah," Bob said, his eye lights flickering. "The question is, how pretty can you get them? You aren't a half-bad wizard, Dresden. You should think about how grateful all those beautiful women will be."

I snorted and started cleaning off a space on the center table, stacking things up to one side. "You know, Bob, some of us aren't obsessed with sex."
Bob snorted, no easy feat for a guy with no nose or lips. "Some of us don't take a real, working body and all five senses for granted, either, Harry. When's the last time you saw Susan?"
"I don't know," I responded. "Couple weeks ago. We're both pretty busy with work."
Bob heaved a sigh. "A gorgeous woman like that, and here you are, down in your musty old lab, getting ready to do more ridiculous nonsense."
"Precisely," I said. "Now, shut up and let's get to work."
Bob grumbled something in Latin, but rattled a few times to shake the dust off of the skull. "Sure, what do I know? I'm just a pathetic little spirit, right?"
"With a photographic memory, three or four hundred years' worth of research experience, and more deduction capacity than a computer, Bob, yeah."
Bob almost seemed to smile. "Just for that, you get my best effort tonight, Harry. Maybe you're not such an idiot after all."
"Great," I said. "I want to work up a couple of potions, and I want to know everything you know about werewolves."
"What kind of potions, and what kind of werewolves?" Bob said promptly.
I blinked. "There's more than one?"
"Hell, Harry. We've made at least three dozen different kinds of potions down here ourselves, and I don't see why you wouldn't—"
"No, no, no," I growled at Bob. "Werewolves. There's more than one kind of werewolf?"
"Eh? More than one kind of what?" Bob tilted his skull over to one side, as though cocking an invisible hand to his ear bones.
"Werewolf, werewolf."
"There wolf," Bob replied solemnly, his voice seething with a hokey accent. "There castle."
I blinked at him. "Uh. What the heck are you talking about?"
"It's a joke, Harry. Stars almighty, you never get out, do you?"
I eyed the grinning skull and growled in frustration. "Don't make me come up there."
"Okay, okay. Sheesh. Aren't we grumpy tonight?" Bob's jaws stretched in a yawn again.
"I'm working another murder case, Bob, and I don't have time to goof around."
"Murder. Mortal business is so complicated. You never hear about murder charges in the Nevernever."
"That's because everything there is immortal. Bob, just shut up and tell me what you know about werewolves. If there's a bunch of different flavors, tell me what they are." I got out a notebook and a fresh pencil, then a couple of clean beakers with alcohol-flame burners to heat whatever liquid I put in them.
"All right," Bob said. "How much do you know?"
"Exactly nothing about werewolves. My teacher never covered that with me."
Bob barked out a harsh little laugh. "Old Justin had a lousy sense of just about everything. He got what was coming to him, Harry, and don't let anyone on the White Council tell you any different."
I stopped for a moment. A sudden rush of mixed feelings, anger and fear and mostly regret, washed through me. I closed my eyes. I could still see him, my teacher, dying in flames born of my will and anger. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Hell, the Council even suspended the sentence on you. You were vindicated. Say, I wonder what ever happened to Elaine. Now there was a sweet piece of—"
"Werewolves, Bob," I said, in a very quiet, very angry voice. One hand started to hurt, and I saw that my fingers had clenched into a fist, the knuckles turning white. I turned my eyes to him, glaring.
I heard the skull make a gulping sound. And then he said, "Right. Okay. Werewolves. And, uh, which potions did you want?"
"I want a pick-me-up potion. A night's rest in a bottle. And I want something that will make me imperceptible to a werewolf." I reached for the notebook and my pencil.
"First one's tough to do. There's nothing quite like a decent night's sleep. But we can make some super-coffee, no problem."
He spouted out the formula to me, and I noted it down as he went, my handwriting too dark and angular. I was still angry from the mere mention of my old master's name. And the welter of emotions that rushed up with my memories of Elaine wouldn't subside for an hour.
We all have our demons.
"What about the second one?" I asked the skull.
"Can't really be done," Bob said. "Wolves have just got way too much on the ball to hide from every one of their senses without doing some major work. I'm talking, like, a greater Ring of Invisibility, not just a Shadowcape or something."
"Do I look like I'm made of money? I can't afford that. What about a partial-hiding potion, then?"
"Oh, like a blending brew? Look like an unobtrusive part of the background, something like that? I would think that would be the most useful, really. Keep you from being noticed to begin with."

"Sure," I said. "I'll take what I can get."
"No problem," Bob assured me, and rattled off another formula, which I jotted down. I checked the ingredients list, and thought that I had them all in stock among the countless containers on my shelves.
"Fine. I can get started on these. How much do you know about werewolves, Bob?"
"Plenty. I was in France during the Inquisition." Bob's voice was dry (but that is to be expected, considering).
I started on the first potion, the stimulant. Every potion has eight parts. One part is a base liquid to hold the others and provide a medium for mixing. Five parts are symbolically linked to each of the five senses. One is similarly linked to the mind, and another to the spirit. The basic ingredient to the stimulant potion was coffee, while the base for the scent-masking potion was water. I got them both to boiling. "Lot of werewolfery going on then?"
"Are you kidding?" Bob said. "It was werewolf central. We had every kind of werewolf you could think of. Hexenwolves, werewolves, lycanthropes, and loup-garou to boot. Every kind of lupine theriomorph you could think of."
"Therro-what?" I said.
"Theriomorph," Bob said. "Anything that shape-shifts from a human being into an animal form. Werewolves are theriomorphs. So are werebears, weretigers, werebuffaloes …"
"Buffaloes?" I asked.
"Sure. Some Native American shamans could do a buffalo. But almost everyone does predators, and until pretty recently, wolves were the scariest predator anyone around Europe could think of."
"Uh, okay," I said. "And there's a difference between types of werewolves?"
"Right," Bob confirmed. "Mostly it depends on how you go from human form to wolf form, and how much of your humanity you retain. Don't burn the coffee."
I turned down the flame beneath the beaker of coffee, annoyed. "I know, I know. Okay, then. How do you get to be a wolf?"
"The classic werewolf," Bob said, "is simply a human being who uses magic to shift himself into a wolf."
"Magic? Like a wizard?"
"No," Bob said. "Well. Sort of. He's like a wizard who only knows how to cast the one spell, the one to turn him into a wolf, and knows how to get back out of it again. Most people who learn to be werewolves aren't very good at it for a while, because they keep all of their own humanity."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Bob said, "they can reshape themselves into the form of a wolf, but it's pretty much just topology. They rearrange their physical body, but their mind remains the same. They can think and reason, and their personality doesn't change—but they don't have a wolf's instincts or reflexes. They're used to being sight-oriented bipeds, not smell-oriented quadrupeds. They would have to learn everything from scratch."
"Why would someone do something like that?" I said. "Just learn to turn into a wolf, I mean."
"You've never been a peasant in medieval France, Harry," Bob said. "Life was hard for those people. Never enough food, shelter, medicine. If you could give yourself a fur coat and the ability to go out and hunt your own meat, you would have jumped at the chance, too."
"Okay, I think I've got it," I said. "Do you need silver bullets or anything? Do you turn into a werewolf if you get bitten?"
"Bah," Bob said. "No. Hollywood stole that from vampires. And the silver-bullet thing is only in special cases. Werewolves are just like regular wolves. You can hurt them with weapons just like you can a real wolf."
"That's good news," I said, stirring the potion. "What other kinds are there?"
"There's another version of a werewolf—when someone else uses magic to change you into a wolf."
I glanced up at him. "Transmogrification? That's illegal, Bob. It's one of the Laws of Magic. If you transform someone into an animal, it destroys their personality. You can't transform someone else without wiping out their mind. It's practically murder."
"Yeah. Neat, huh? But actually, most personalities can survive the transformation. For a little while at least. Really strong wills might manage to keep their human memories and personality locked away for several years. But sooner or later, they're irretrievably gone, and you're left with nothing but a wolf."
I turned from the potions to scribble in my notebook. "Okay. What else makes a werewolf?"
"The most common way, back in France, was to make a deal with a demon or a devil or a powerful sorcerer. You get a wolf-hide belt, put it on, say the magic words, and whammy, you're a wolf. A Hexenwolf."
"Isn't that just like the first kind?"
"No, not at all. You don't use your own magic to become a wolf. You use someone else's."
I frowned. "Isn't that the second kind, then?"
"Stop being obtuse," Bob chided me. "It's different because you're employing a talisman. Sometimes it's a ring or amulet, but usually it's a belt. The talisman provides an anchor for a spirit of bestial rage. Nasty thing from the bad side of the Nevernever. That spirit wraps around a human personality to keep it from being destroyed."
"A kind of insulation," I said.
"Exactly. It leaves you with your own intellect and reason, but the spirit handles everything else."
I frowned. "Sounds a little easy."
"Oh, sure," Bob said. "It's really easy. And when you use a talisman to turn into a wolf, you lose all of your human inhibitions and so on, and just run on your unconscious desires, with the talisman-spirit in charge of the way the body moves. It's really efficient. A huge wolf with human-level intelligence and animal-level ferocity."
I eyed Bob, and gathered up the other ingredients for the stimulant potion: a morning donut, for taste; a cock's crow, for hearing; fresh soap, for smell; bits of a washcloth, for touch; and a beam of dawn sunshine for sight; a to-do list, for the mind; and a bit of bright, cheerful music, for the spirit; and the potion was simmering along nicely.
Bob said nothing while I added the ingredients, and when I was finished I said, "Most people don't have the strength to control a spirit like that, I'd think. It would influence their actions. Maybe even control them. Suppress their conscience."

"Yeah. So?"
"So it sounds more like you'd be creating a monster."
"It's effective," Bob said. "I don't know about the good or the evil of the thing. That's something that only you mortals worry about."
"What did you call this flavor again?"
"Hexenwolf," Bob said, with a strong Germanic accent. "Spell wolf. The Church declared war on anyone who chose to become a Hexenwolf, and burned a huge number of people at the stake."
"Silver bullets?" I asked. "Bitten and turn into a werewolf?"
"Would you get off this 'bitten and turn into a werewolf' kick, Harry?" Bob said. "It doesn't work that way. Not ever. Or you'd have werewolves overrunning the entire planet in a couple of years."
"Fine, fine," I sighed. "What about the silver bullets?"
"Don't need them."
"All right," I said, and continued jotting down information to put together for Murphy in a report. "Hexenwolf. Got it. What else?"
"Lycanthropes," Bob said.
"Isn't that a psychological condition?"
"It might also be a psychological condition," Bob said. "But it was a reality first. A lycanthrope is a natural channel for a spirit of rage. A lycanthrope turns into a beast, but only inside his head. The spirit takes over. It affects the way he acts and thinks, makes him more aggressive, stronger. They also tend to be very resistant to pain or injury, sickness; they heal rapidly—all sorts of things."
"But they don't actually shapeshift into a wolf?"
"Give that boy a Kewpie," Bob said. "They're just people, too, but they're awfully fierce. Ever heard of the Norse berserkers? Those guys were lycanthropes, I think. And they're born, not made."
I stirred the stimulant potion, and made sure it was at an even simmer. "And what was the last one? Loop what?"
"Loup-garou," Bob said. "Or that was the name Etienne the Enchanter used for them, before he got burned at the stake. The loup-garou are the major monsters, Harry. Someone has cursed them to become a wolflike demon, and usually at the full moon. That someone's got to be really powerful, too, like a major heavyweight sorcerer or a demon lord or one of the Faerie Queens. When the full moon comes, they transform into a monster, go on a killing spree, and slaughter everything they come across until the moon sets or the sun rises."

A sudden little chill went over me, and I shivered. "What else?"
"Supernatural speed and power. Supernatural ferocity. They recover from injuries almost instantly, if they become hurt at all. They're immune to poison and to any kind of sorcery that goes for their brain. Killing machines."
"Sounds great. I guess this hasn't happened all that often? I'd have heard something by now."
"Right," Bob said. "Not often. Usually, the poor cursed bastard knows enough to shut himself away somewhere, or to head out into the wilderness. The last major loup-garou rampage happened around Gevaudan, France, back in the sixteenth century. More than two hundred people were killed in a little more than a year."
"Holy shit," I said. "How did they stop it?"
"They killed it," Bob said. "Here's where the silver bullets finally come in, Harry. Only a silver weapon can hurt a loup-garou, and not only that, the silver has to be inherited from a family member. Inherited silver bullets."
"Really? Why would that work and not regular silver?"
"I don't make the laws of magic, Harry. I just know what they are and have an idea of when they're changing. That one hasn't changed. I think maybe it has something to do with the element of sacrifice."
"Inherited silver," I mumbled. "Well. We'll just have to hope that this wasn't a loup-garou, I guess."
"If it was a louper, you'd know," Bob said wisely. "In the middle of this town, you'd have a dozen people dead every time the full moon came around. What's going on?"
"A dozen people are dying every time the full moon comes around." I filled Bob in on the Lobo killings, giving him all the information Murphy had given to me, and started on the next potion. Into the water went the ingredients: plastic wrap for sight; a bit of plain white cotton, for touch; a little deodorant for smell; a rustle of wind for hearing; a leaf of plain old lettuce, for taste; and finally I threw in a blank piece of paper, for the mind, and some elevator music for the spirit. The ingredients were boring. The potion looked and smelled boring. Perfect.
"Lot of dead people," Bob commented. "I'll let you know if I think of anything good. I wish I knew something else."
"I want you to learn more," I told him. "Go out and see what else you can round up on werewolves."
Bob snorted. "Fat chance, Harry. I'm a spirit of intellect, not an errand boy." But when I said the word "out," Bob's eyes glittered.
"I'll pick you up some new romance novels, Bob," I offered.
Bob's teeth clicked a couple of times. "Give me a twenty-four-hour pass," he said.
I shook my head. "Forget it. The last time I let you out, you invaded a party over at Loyola and set off an orgy."
Bob sniffed. "I didn't do anything to anyone that a keg wouldn't have done."
"But those people didn't ask for you to get into their systems, Bob. No way. You had your fun, and I'm not letting you out again for a while."
"Oh, come on, Harry."
"No," I said flatly.
"It would only be one little night o—"
"No," I said again.
Bob glowered at me and demanded, "New romances. None of those tatty used ones. I want something off the bestseller list."
"I want you back by sunrise," I countered.
"Fine," Bob snapped. "I can't believe how ungrateful you are, after everything I've done for you. I'll see if I can get someone's name. There might be a spirit or two who could get you some juicy information." The orange lights that were his eyes glittered and then flowed out of the skull in a misty cloud of lambent illumination. The cloud flowed up the ladder and out of my laboratory.
I sighed and set the second potion to simmering. It would take another hour or two to cook the potions, and then to shove the magic into them, so I sat down with my notebook and started writing up my report. I tried to ignore the headache that was creeping up the back of my neck toward the crown of my head, but it did little good.
I had to help Murphy nail the killer, whoever it was, while avoiding any trouble with the FBI. Otherwise, she was out of a job, and even if I didn't end up in jail, I would be out of a living myself. Johnny Marcone's man had been killed, and I would be a fool to think he would stand idly by and do nothing in response. I was sure the gangster would rear his head sooner or later.
Two hours to cook two potions.

Not easy to pull off.

We've been on the move since yesterday, with no evidence of our stopping anywhere for long enough to let them arrange anything.
And contrary to what Hollywood portrays, arranging a moving ambush of a moving target is a nontrivial affair, with a very high chance of fumbling.

And when we stopped moving it was at Dresden's place, where the wards are intense, and there's a Foo Dog in residence.
Its a great way for your greater akuma to end up in a fight with no support.
The juice wouldnt have been worth the squeeze.

Dresden cheats because he has Bob when it comes to potions. Also OOC I would rather keep to the rules as much as I can because I do not know the system that much and I do not want to smash the balance into little pieces. If that happens I would have to nerf you guys and I really do not want to do that since I know it is not good for immersion.
 
Dresden cheats because he has Bob when it comes to potions. Also OOC I would rather keep to the rules as much as I can because I do not know the system that much and I do not want to smash the balance into little pieces. If that happens I would have to nerf you guys and I really do not want to do that since I know it is not good for immersion.
Fair enough.
Current tally:
Adhoc vote count started by uju32 on Mar 9, 2023 at 10:17 AM, finished with 125 posts and 13 votes.

  • [x] Plan working through dawn
    -[X] His apartment using Little Chicago (Safer, but guarantees giving away his identity if caught)
    -[X] Ask questions to improve the ritual before Harry starts
    --[X] Use the Crown on Little Chicago, asking for ways to hide the manipulation of the leylines.
    --[X] Have Harry write down the ritual he's planning to do. Use the Crown to ask what flaws are present in the ritual. Communicate them to Harry and, if possible, help him to correct them (use Occult Excellency if appropriate).
    --[X] Use the image of Ping Tom Boathouse to ask the question "what are the flaws of the ritual meant to be invoked in this location today?"
    -[X]Craft potions, using Dresden's laboratory, if it doesn't disturb Dresden's own preparations
    --[X] 3x Healing Potions, 3 potions
    --[X] Alchemical Aerosol Mist, to combine with Holy Water, as many as we can
    --[X] Use Occult Excellency and, if needed, active form of Tool Transcending Constructs
    --[X] Use Boiling Sea Mastery and Cracked Cell Circumvention (ask Brother Devsimar or Mouse to stop if you try to leave before finishing the potions)
    -[X] After finishing potion crafting, ask questions about the opposing faction using the video recordings of 12 wan kuei we have
    --[X] "what are the abilities of the Kakuri's Will on Earth"
    --[X] "Who among the forces of Kakuri sent on this mission is planning to use your power to free themselves of Emma-O?" If the question reveals that at least one of the traitors was caught on camera, use their recordings for the next questions
    --[X] "How are the ones trying to escape Emma-O's grasp through this mission plan to accomplish this?"
    --[X] "Why does the person in this image look sick?" (to be used on a wan kuei who looks particularly unwell)
    -[X]Ask MIchael to:
    --[X] Get holy water and holy oils from St Mary's and Murphy-size chainmail from home
    --[X] Ask Charity to call Molly's school to excuse her absence
    -[X] Provide your allies with images of kakuri's servants. Use images from the recordings obtained by cyberdevils where you can, and passive form of TTC to draw images where you can't.
    -[X] Spend as much time as possible dispersed in bleach
    -[X]STUNT: You walk up the stairs from Dresden's lab, hair still dripping oil on the floor. At the top of the stairs Mouse inspects the potions in your hands before moving out of your way to reveal the occupants of the room. Your father is helping lieutenant Murphy adjust to wearing a chainmail. Brother Devsimar is meditating quietly, Lydia napping on the sofa, Mister on her lap, and Harry and - you raise an eyebrow - Thomas are conversing in low tones. "Done?" "Yup. Hey Thomas." As Lydia begins to stir, you grab a Whopper off the table and bite into it, scratching Mouse behind the ear.
    [X] His apartment using Little Chicago (Safer, but guarantees giving away his identity if caught)
    [X]Plan Alchemical Solutions
    -[X] His apartment using Little Chicago (Safer, but guarantees giving away his identity if caught)
    -[X]<Molly>Tool Constructs to draw images of Eiko, the 17 kueijin and their minions for allies to recognize
    -[X]Crown Questions: 4m Essence
    --[X]Ping Tom Boathouse: What are the flaws of the ritual meant to be invoked in this place today?. Tell Harry
    --[X]Video recording Kuejin 1: Who among the war party this kuejin belongs to has hopes/intentions to escape/betray Emma-O ?
    --[X]Video recording Kuejin 2: What are the known abilities of Kakuri's Will on Earth?
    --[X]Video recording sick-looking Kuejin 3: Why does he and others like him look ill?
    -[X]<Michael>Holy water and holy oils from St Mary's and Murphy-size chainmail from home
    -[X]<Michael>Ask Charity to call Molly's school to excuse her absence
    -[X]<Molly>Alchemy + Occult Excellency + Tool Constructs: 3x Healing Potions: -1WP, -2m Essence
    -[X]<Molly> RVD for Essence regen
    -[X]STUNT: You walk up the stairs from Dresden's lab to find your father and Murphy gone. Brother Devsimar is meditating quietly, Lydia napping on the sofa, Mister on her lap, and Harry and - you raise an eyebrow - Thomas are conversing in low tones. "Done?" "Yup. Three done. Hey Thomas." As Lydia begins to stir, you grab a Whopper off the table and bite into it, scratching Mouse behind the ear. "I'd like to see the body at the morgue, but we wait for Dad and Detective Murphy."
 
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