Modus_Tollens
SCREAMING AT THE APOCALYPSE
- Location
- ALSO SCREAMING.
The man could do so, so much better.
Green Flame Rising (Exalted vs Dresden Files)
- Thread starter DragonParadox
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy
Yes, but Bob deserves to look a little sleezy.
Yeah, that's fair. Also, since we are giving him a computer, we should introduce him to Planescape: Torment. It's just a shame we likely don't know it IC.
The funny part is that actually DOES sound like one of the key reagents. Free will and all that.Try and find out
Well, sensible in Solaroid Exalted terms, not her fault nobody else is accustomed to it.
[X] Let Lash explain
-[X] Provide emotional support
This is Lash's moment, I think, we can be there for her, but we shouldn't take it from her.
Man, the one comment in answer to me was right, we did get the special Mom advantage in reading our daughter.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
No. We give him the choice of a Headless Horseman or Ghost Rider cosplay.
Also Krang. It's technically easier to build the skull holder into the robot's stomach.
fictionfan
Please sir, may I have some Meows?
- Location
- Tempe, AZ
[X] Let Lash explain
-[x][stunt]"I'll let my work speak for herself."
-[x][stunt]"I'll let my work speak for herself."
1) *checks again* Not really.
Unlocking a new Lore is expensive; 7xp if its inside your House, and 10xp outside your House.
But raising it costs the same regardless of whether its in-House or out-House. DtF Core p164.
Raising Faith is a lot more expensive than learning new Lores anyway.
Dresdenverse angels dont appear to have Houses as a mechanical or narrative device, and have been around for long enough to have seen pretty much all the Lores anyway. Whether or not the QM wants to give her access to them is a storytelling choice.
Lash's Lores are from three different Houses anyway: Light is Neberu, Longing is Lammasu and Flesh is Rabisu.
2)Take a look at XP costs.
V20 costs are 10xp for a new Discipline, Current Rating x5 to raise an in-Clan Discipline, Current Rating x7 to raise an out-clan Discipline. Caitiff advancement costs are Current Rating x6. Demon the Fallen costs are 7xp for a new Lore if in-House, or 10xp when out-House. While raising them is Current Rating x5 regardless of Lore.
A Demon has access to at least 5x Lores at the beginning: 3x House Lores, and 2x Common.
Most of those Lores have evocations that are free to use and as far as I can tell, reflexive, up till at least 3 dots.
They're gonna be running ahead of most vampires in capability by the mid-game.
Especially if you recall that only 3 of 13 vampire clans have Celerity as in-Clan.
3) Kemintiri is running around with 11x Disciplines. Mithras has 10. Baba Yaga has 10.
Not really seeing the issue here; at the high end, everyone appears to be expanding their capabilities.
Earthbound just appear to be hellishly good at it.
4)Fair point about Celerity.
Not sure what I was thinking at the time; maybe I was looking at the Flesh evocations?
Kidding aside?
Bob's skull is his house not his body. We see inside it in Ghost Story, when he hosts Dresden's ghost for a while. And no, Bob's self image is actually fairly ordinary; he canonically dresses like a young James Dean, but he's not particularly noteworthy. At least according to Harry.
Citation:
Butters rose from the bag, holding the plastic flashlight case holding Bob's skull. He winked at me, held it out, and said, "Hop in."
I blinked.
Then I said, "Right. Let's go."
I took a deep breath and willed myself forward, into the staring eye sockets of the skull.
There was a very, very odd swirling sensation as my spirit-self leapt forward, and then I was standing . . .
. . . In an apartment.
Okay, when I say apartment, I don't mean it like my old place. I lived in a mostly buried box that was maybe twenty by thirty total, not including the subbasement where my lab had been. Apartment Dresden had been full of paperback books on scarred wooden shelves, and comfortable secondhand furniture.
This was more like . . . Apartment Bond, James Apartment Bond. Penthouse Bond, really. There was a lot of black marble and mahogany. There was a fireplace the size of a carport, complete with a modest—relatively modest—blaze going in it. The furniture all matched. The rich hardwoods from which it had been made were hand-carved in intricate designs. It wasn't until the second glance that I saw some of the same rune and sigil work I'd used on my own staff and blasting rod. The cushions on the couches (plural, couches) and recliners and sedans and chaises (plural, chaises), were made of rich fabric I couldn't identify, maybe some kind of raw silk, and embroidered with more of the same symbols in gold and silver thread. A nearby table boasted what looked like a freshly roasted turkey, along with a spread of fruits and vegetables and side dishes of every kind.
It was sort of ridiculous, really. There was enough food there to feed a small nation. But there weren't any plates to fill up, and there weren't any utensils to eat it with. It looked gorgeous and it smelled incredible, but . . . there was something inert about it, something lifeless. There was no nourishment on that table, not for the body or for the spirit.
One wall was covered in a curtain. I started to pull it aside and found it responding to the touch, spreading open of its own accord to reveal a television the size of billboard, a high-tech stereo system, and an entire shelf lined with one kind of video-game console after another, complicated little controls sitting neatly next to each one. I can't tell a PlayBox from an X-Station, but who can keep track of all of them? There are, like, a thousand different kinds of machines to play video games on. I mean, honestly.
"Um," I said. "Hello?" My voice echoed quite distinctly—more than it should have, huge marble cavern or not. "Anybody home?"
There was, I kid you not, a drumroll.
Then, from a curtained archway there appeared a young man. He looked . . . quite ordinary, really. Tall, but not outrageously so; slender without being rail thin. He had decent shoulders and looked sort of familiar. He was dressed like James Dean—jeans, a white shirt, a leather biker's jacket. The outfit looked a little odd on him, somehow forced, except for a little skull embroidered in white thread on the jacket, just over the young man's heart.
Cymbals crashed and he spread his arms. "Ta-da."
"Bob," I said. I felt one side of my mouth curling up in amusement. "This? This is the place you always wanted me to let you out of? You could fit five or six of mine in here."
His face spread into a wide grin. "Well, I admit, my crib is pretty sweet. But a gold cage is still a cage, Harry."
"A gold fallout shelter, more like."
"Either way, you get stir-crazy every few decades," he said, and flopped down onto a chaise. "You get that this isn't literally what the inside of the skull is like, right?"
"It's my head interpreting what I see into familiar things, yeah," I said. "It's getting to be kind of common."
"Welcome to the world of spirit," Bob said.
"What's with the food?"
"Butters's mom is some kind of food goddess," Bob said, his eyes widening. "That's the spread she's put out over the last few holidays. Or, um, Butters's sensory memories of it, anyway—he let me do a ride-along, and then I made this facsimile of what we experienced."
I lifted my eyebrows. "He let you do a ride-along? In his head?" Bob . . . was not well-known for his restraint, in my experience, when he got to go on one of his excursions.
"There was a contract first," Bob said. "A limiting document about twenty pages long. He covered his bases."
"Huh," I said. I nodded at the food. "And you just . . . remade it?"
"Oh, sure," Bob said. "I can remake whatever in here." He waggled his eyebrows. "You want to see a replay of that time Molly got the acid all over her clothes in the lab and had to strip?"
"Um. Pass," I said. I sat down gingerly on a chair, making sure I wasn't going to sink through it or something. It seemed to behave like a normal chair. "TV and stuff, too?"
"I am kinda made out of energy, man," Bob said. He pointed at the wall of media equipment. "You remember me broadcasting to your spirit radio, right? I'm, like, totally tapped in now. Television, satellite imagery, broadband Internet—you name it; I can do it. How do you think I know so much?"
"Hundreds of years of assisting wizards," I said.
He waved a hand. "That, too. But I got this whole huge Internet thing to play on now. Butters showed me." His grin turned into a leer. "And it's, like, ninety percent porn!"
"There's the Bob I know and love," I said.
"Love, ick," he replied. "And I am and I'm not. I mean, you get that I change based on who possesses the skull, right?"
"Sure," I said.
"So I'm a lot like I was with you, even though I'm with Butters, because he met me back then. First impression and whatnot, highly important."
I grunted. "How long do we have to talk?"
"Not as simple to answer as you'd think," Bob said. "But . . . you're still pretty cherry, so let's keep it simple. A few minutes, speaking linearly—but I can stretch it out for a while, subjectively."
"Huh," I said. "Neat."
"Nah, just sort of the way we roll on this side of the street," he said. "What do you want to know?"
"Who killed me?" I replied.
"Oooh, sorry. Can't help you with that, except as a sounding board."
"Okay," I said. "Lemme catch you up on what I know."
I blinked.
Then I said, "Right. Let's go."
I took a deep breath and willed myself forward, into the staring eye sockets of the skull.
Chapter Thirty-five
There was a very, very odd swirling sensation as my spirit-self leapt forward, and then I was standing . . .
. . . In an apartment.
Okay, when I say apartment, I don't mean it like my old place. I lived in a mostly buried box that was maybe twenty by thirty total, not including the subbasement where my lab had been. Apartment Dresden had been full of paperback books on scarred wooden shelves, and comfortable secondhand furniture.
This was more like . . . Apartment Bond, James Apartment Bond. Penthouse Bond, really. There was a lot of black marble and mahogany. There was a fireplace the size of a carport, complete with a modest—relatively modest—blaze going in it. The furniture all matched. The rich hardwoods from which it had been made were hand-carved in intricate designs. It wasn't until the second glance that I saw some of the same rune and sigil work I'd used on my own staff and blasting rod. The cushions on the couches (plural, couches) and recliners and sedans and chaises (plural, chaises), were made of rich fabric I couldn't identify, maybe some kind of raw silk, and embroidered with more of the same symbols in gold and silver thread. A nearby table boasted what looked like a freshly roasted turkey, along with a spread of fruits and vegetables and side dishes of every kind.
It was sort of ridiculous, really. There was enough food there to feed a small nation. But there weren't any plates to fill up, and there weren't any utensils to eat it with. It looked gorgeous and it smelled incredible, but . . . there was something inert about it, something lifeless. There was no nourishment on that table, not for the body or for the spirit.
One wall was covered in a curtain. I started to pull it aside and found it responding to the touch, spreading open of its own accord to reveal a television the size of billboard, a high-tech stereo system, and an entire shelf lined with one kind of video-game console after another, complicated little controls sitting neatly next to each one. I can't tell a PlayBox from an X-Station, but who can keep track of all of them? There are, like, a thousand different kinds of machines to play video games on. I mean, honestly.
"Um," I said. "Hello?" My voice echoed quite distinctly—more than it should have, huge marble cavern or not. "Anybody home?"
There was, I kid you not, a drumroll.
Then, from a curtained archway there appeared a young man. He looked . . . quite ordinary, really. Tall, but not outrageously so; slender without being rail thin. He had decent shoulders and looked sort of familiar. He was dressed like James Dean—jeans, a white shirt, a leather biker's jacket. The outfit looked a little odd on him, somehow forced, except for a little skull embroidered in white thread on the jacket, just over the young man's heart.
Cymbals crashed and he spread his arms. "Ta-da."
"Bob," I said. I felt one side of my mouth curling up in amusement. "This? This is the place you always wanted me to let you out of? You could fit five or six of mine in here."
His face spread into a wide grin. "Well, I admit, my crib is pretty sweet. But a gold cage is still a cage, Harry."
"A gold fallout shelter, more like."
"Either way, you get stir-crazy every few decades," he said, and flopped down onto a chaise. "You get that this isn't literally what the inside of the skull is like, right?"
"It's my head interpreting what I see into familiar things, yeah," I said. "It's getting to be kind of common."
"Welcome to the world of spirit," Bob said.
"What's with the food?"
"Butters's mom is some kind of food goddess," Bob said, his eyes widening. "That's the spread she's put out over the last few holidays. Or, um, Butters's sensory memories of it, anyway—he let me do a ride-along, and then I made this facsimile of what we experienced."
I lifted my eyebrows. "He let you do a ride-along? In his head?" Bob . . . was not well-known for his restraint, in my experience, when he got to go on one of his excursions.
"There was a contract first," Bob said. "A limiting document about twenty pages long. He covered his bases."
"Huh," I said. I nodded at the food. "And you just . . . remade it?"
"Oh, sure," Bob said. "I can remake whatever in here." He waggled his eyebrows. "You want to see a replay of that time Molly got the acid all over her clothes in the lab and had to strip?"
"Um. Pass," I said. I sat down gingerly on a chair, making sure I wasn't going to sink through it or something. It seemed to behave like a normal chair. "TV and stuff, too?"
"I am kinda made out of energy, man," Bob said. He pointed at the wall of media equipment. "You remember me broadcasting to your spirit radio, right? I'm, like, totally tapped in now. Television, satellite imagery, broadband Internet—you name it; I can do it. How do you think I know so much?"
"Hundreds of years of assisting wizards," I said.
He waved a hand. "That, too. But I got this whole huge Internet thing to play on now. Butters showed me." His grin turned into a leer. "And it's, like, ninety percent porn!"
"There's the Bob I know and love," I said.
"Love, ick," he replied. "And I am and I'm not. I mean, you get that I change based on who possesses the skull, right?"
"Sure," I said.
"So I'm a lot like I was with you, even though I'm with Butters, because he met me back then. First impression and whatnot, highly important."
I grunted. "How long do we have to talk?"
"Not as simple to answer as you'd think," Bob said. "But . . . you're still pretty cherry, so let's keep it simple. A few minutes, speaking linearly—but I can stretch it out for a while, subjectively."
"Huh," I said. "Neat."
"Nah, just sort of the way we roll on this side of the street," he said. "What do you want to know?"
"Who killed me?" I replied.
"Oooh, sorry. Can't help you with that, except as a sounding board."
"Okay," I said. "Lemme catch you up on what I know."
Ok, fair, but on a second point I don't want to mess with Bob's Skull because I am pretty sure the limiters on Dark Bob are part of the Skull and the last thing I want is to incarnate Dark Bob rather than Bob.
- Location
- Germany
My old enemy reading comprehension strikes again.
fictionfan
Please sir, may I have some Meows?
- Location
- Tempe, AZ
Considering that we don't seem to fight any vampires no matter the type without Celerity I think DP isn't really doing that sort of clan restriction.
Then again maybe some didn't have it. Can be hard to tell from narrative.
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It is worth keeping in mind that outside of places were I am filling in the gaps (like the Jade Court) this does not have WoD setting elements, there are no Kindred in this world, there is on the other hand the Dresden Files RPG that says Red and White Vampires are all unnaturally fast/tough/strong to varying degrees
[X] Let Lash explain
-[X] Provide emotional support
-[X] Provide emotional support
- Location
- Germany
[X] Let Lash explain
The short answer is 'no you are not an angel' the long answer is 'technically yes but not in any meaningful time-scale given the preconditions you would have to fulfill'. It would be easier for Molly to build her own War Manse, mini-sword of creation than gain the insights requires to reverse engineer those lores into charms.
Anyway vote closed, let's see how letting the literal shade of a demon tell her story goes for you
fictionfan
Please sir, may I have some Meows?
- Location
- Tempe, AZ
Could watching Lash bless people with 'infernal' power give us inspiration for learning VEE?
If you actively studied it? Yeah, that could discount the XP cost a bit.
COMMENTARY
-Christmas Eve.
-Lol Charity promptly picking on Harry as the safest person to glare at. Old habits....
-Honestly surprised Heaven lets Hell get a say in this. Ah well.
Willpower 8-9 with a 1-2 dice Intimacy bonus. Wonder what that Intimacy is...
Manipulation 3, Empathy 3.
Perception 4 + Awareness 1
Intelligence + Medicine 8, so probably Intelligence 4 Medicine 4, given that Flesh is her Primary lore.
Angelic Aura 1 pt Merit: -1DC to Charisma and Appearance rolls
Working Hypothesis
Strength ?
Dexterity ?
Stamina ?
Appearance ?
Manipulation 3
Charisma 3
Perception 4
Intelligence 4
Wits ?
Subterfuge 2
Empathy 3
Awareness 1
Medicine 4
Willpower 8-9
Angelic Aura 1pt Merit
VOTE
[X] Let Lash explain
Thematically and narratively appropriate.
If Heaven treats her as an adult, we should do the same, unless she needs the help
Fair.
Still, Evil Bob fissioned off last year; he was the one in the submarine at the Museum Murders, and escaped into the NeverNever after we killed Kattrin. So there shouldnt be any chance of that.
We do need to remember to look for his ass btw. Just been distracted.