I mean Narwhal was a we either take her power or Heartbreaker would take it and then we're fucked. We had no idea what taking her power would mean if we reset the timeline and she also was in unbearable pain and we felt like a monster after doing that.
Prince gave Panacea a choice and his argument was basically she doesn't have to use her powers if she doesn't want to or people are forcing her to. Prince is very big on freedom and life and so he gave her a choice noone would ever give her to not just be a healbot. To heal with her power forever and ever without rest. He gave her the chance to be normal and she took it. It was a 50-50 chance so she most definitely could have said no. Also to call Prince a villain for doing this is wrong what he did was just save a girl from an endless downward spiral by sacrificing the healing many others would get. It's a need of the many vs the needs of the few
[Perk] Shrug the Mortal Coil
- You are mostly immortal, while you have the dagger.
- Gain Brute dice.
- Win any tied roll in combat.
Tattletale's data trades continued from last chapter:
[Trade] Coil's real name for Coil's base.
[Trade] Coil's actions in the last timeline for Coil's power and plans.
[Trade] Coil's spy, Chariot, for another of Coil's assets.
[Trade] The Behemoth attack date for her theory on Endbringers
[Trade] Ask if this goatee looks silly.
[Perk] Reverse the Glass = +2 Thinker dice and reroll all by reversing time 10 seconds
[Perk] Sort the Grains = +2 Brute/Mover dice, slows negative effects, speeds positive effects, gives exceptional human physical ability
[Perk] Mask of the Sand Wraith = Breaker state that gives fixed successes with a cooldown
[Perk] A Living Blade = 1 bonus success in lethal combat
[Perk] Warrior Within = omnicompetence, all rolls have a skilled target of 4
[Perk] Shrug the Mortal Coil = +1 Brute dice. Mostly immortal, while you have the dagger.
[Trait] Resourceful = +1 equipment dice (conditional), knows PRT gear and methods
[Trait] Normal = +1 dice and 6's explode. Even normal people can be heroes, with luck.
Total PRT rating = 7. Equal to a full hero team with PRT support. Potential city wide threat.
Quirks:
+1 auto success in lethal combat with dagger.
Reroll all rolls once.
Sand wraith has 6 perks = gives 4 auto-successes. Has a cool down time.
Win any tied roll in combat.
6's explode. Count it as a success and reroll it.-
[Skill] Secrets in the Ruby Dreams.
- Prince has a sense of the levers that control Brockton Bay.
"... What else will Coil do?"
"More than I know. He controls the PRT investigations into himself. He meets with the Mayor-"
"What, in costume? No, that's dumb. You know his real name."
"Coil is Thomas Calvert. He has a nebulous position in the PRT as a field commander and as a consultant."
"You guessed wrong. He's not defaming the PRT, or some half-ass hero. He's after Piggot. With the Mayor's backing, he can be Director Tom."
"Why?"
"For power. Every kind of power. When he controls both heroes and villains, he can pick capes to boost himself. Thinkers, Tinkers, and Trumps. Covers all angles, political and physical."
"I need to stop him."
"You? You're just another Coil."
Dad doesn't pick up his phone. Fitting, as you haven't been picking up for him. He's left fifteen messages, ranging from rage to regret, with the last one 24 hours stale and incoherent.
Dad needs to answer for leaving Mum to die. Another day, and even Panacea couldn't have saved her. When you find him, you'll... well, you'll figure that out while you walk.
From the hospital to the motel, the Bay's sea breeze stings. In this timeline, Mum survives, but Dad is lost; the family fractured all the same. How did it come to this?
You walk on, passing the alley where time began.
There you had hidden, from Dad and the doctor's grim news. There you were attacked, triggering the power to loop time. But every loop repeats the same mistakes. Perhaps that's why you're the second iteration of yourself - the first wanted new mistakes. And the third... you didn't ask what he wanted before taking his life, just as the first didn't ask before stabbing you with the Dagger of Time - right there, in that alley.
Now, in the clear light of day, the alley looks different; a sideways mouth with graffiti-stained gums and white guys for teeth. A familiar face - the E88 boy who attacked you - pretends to smoke a joint, lips palpitating the soggy end while his friends keep it lit.
From across the street, he sees you, and the joint blushes red in recognition. He pales and chokes while his friends laugh.
Can't blame the boy for your trigger event. He's a patsy, another rotting wreck in Brockton. Blame Dad. His hope - his hubris - threw you both in the Bay, to rot together with Mum.
Dad primed you to trigger. Nikos Vasil tortured his kids into capes. Is your father's sin any less? Is it not the same?
You walk on, passing a couple in bright khakis posing by a bus shelter. They smile wide beside a fist punching from the shelter wall, every knuckle, nail, and fingerprint preserved in polycarbonate - cape debris turned tourist attraction.
The tourists ask a denim-clad local woman to take a picture. She takes their phone, adjusts them with a "little to the left, a little right, cheese..." then bolts. You snatch the phone as she runs by and toss it back to the bewildered couple.
Your family are medical tourists. Less than a day after arriving, someone stole your shoes. Dad bought the pair you're wearing now. Without Panacea's power, what's left to attract the desperate and the hopeful? Cape fights? Crime?
Plenty of desperation remains in Brockton Bay, but not much hope. If people like Dad stop trying, then people like Mum start dying.
You walk on.
Down the next street, red swastikas war with green kanji. Soon green wins, and ABB pride bleeds all over the old Lego-block buildings. Young bloods of every ethnicity clot on benches and sidewalks, watching you approach Dad's motel room.
The door is locked, and there's no answer. Plywood covers half the window, and curtains cover the rest. Back home, all windows overlooked trees and gardens; here, the half-window showed lichen and broken plaster. Too depressing, your dad agreed. He keeps the curtain shut.
No one's around but the usual strays. Safe enough.
Ghosts beyond counting answer your call. They guide you to flip the dagger out, using time's own vorpal blade to tease the keyhole.
Cosmic forces abused to jimmy a lock. It's not too late to just kick the door down.
"Yo, what you doing?"
You stiffen, hiding the dagger while peeking over your shoulder. A young woman stands arms crossed, hiragana scrawling up her left side. A regular hang-about.
"Block is paid up, aho. Buzz." She nods behind her, "Or Ye-jun stitches you."
Behind her stands a skinny teen boy with horrific burn scars melting his face to his neck. You have to ask, "Is that Ye-jun? What happened to him?"
Hiragana girl sneers. "Lung happened. Any trouble, Ye-jun introduce you."
Doubtful. Lung burns indiscriminately. But surviving gives Ye-jun a weird street cred. Youths gather behind him, respectful, as if Ye-jun had touched the divine, not the outer blast zone of a psychotic pyrokinetic Changer. Ye-jun is cape debris.
"I'm not looking for trouble," you say, showing empty hands. "I'm just here to see my dad. We rent this room."
Hiragana girl sizes you up. "Old man blew his deposit on tabs. You don't live here no more, boyo."
Your brain decodes this and promptly crashes. "Sorry, my dad bought drugs? Are we talking about the same man? Grey beard, about fifty?"
"Yeah, the old man. No pushing, he comes and asks what 'deadbeats' do. I ask him, he tripping? He said he wished. So I sold a little something, said where the party. Then he's gone."
"But he doesn't even drink," you say, struggling to imagine it. "Where would he even go?"
Hiragana girl sniffs, defiant. "I'm no snitch."
You give her a hundred dollars.
She hangs off your arm as she whirls you down Lord's Street. When she stops, her group picks her up and carries her back to the safety of their street corner. Hiragana girl waves goodbye over Ye-jun's shoulder.
Head still spinning, you look down at the phone number scrawled on your palm. Of course, her name's in hiragana, and she stole the pen that you stole from Garry. Can't fault her taste in pens.
You look up at the place she sent Dad - a nightclub called the Palanquin.
You walk in.
"We are not the same."
"Waving your murderboner around, stealing powers? Yeah, you're another Coil."
"We are not the same!"
"Gross, don't wave that thing at me."
"When Coil is dead, I'll never have to kill again."
"Sure. What's the longest you've gone without killing or fighting?"
"... A week."
"One week. So Coil gets got, and a week later you're looking for another target. Who? Me?"
"Don't tempt me."
"Are you tempted? Yeah, I bet you are. That murderboner, that's a magic feather right there. When did you last put it down? Never? Oh honey, your agent messed you up good."
"The Dahaka is my problem. Coil is ours. Give him to me, and we both win."
"Win-win, eh? I'm down with that. But if you come after me next..."
"I won't. You can leave the city, or I will. Do a runner. I won't follow."
"You say that, but can you resist the urge?"
"I can. For a week."
As a small child, spending a few months each year with your grandmother in India, you once rode in a palanquin carried by four men around a park, traveling like an ancient prince of Persia. Gran found it hilarious.
True to the name, the Palanquin nightclub is always rocking.
Even on a lazy weekday the nightclub writhes. Side booths spill lights that shy from the hot dance pit. Smoke rises off the dancers, and spotlights catch micro-dramas in single-colour flashes.
Flash; a girl in yellow, feet in the air. Flash; the girl in blue, leaning on another. Flash; a red guy holding two drinks. Flash; two full drinks left on a yellow table.
Flash; you weave in, blue eyes darting side to side. Flash; you spot Dad, and your face turns red.
His left hand points up, his right foot taps, then he spins - hair whipping sparkling sweat onto dancers who can't escape. Bell-bottoms flash scandalous ankles as he high-kicks and hip-thrusts in a drug-fueled disco frenzy.
Who is this nutter? Your dad doesn't drink, do drugs, or do disco. Your dad has dignity. This man does not. But he needs to go before he hurts himself.
May the rule of cool have mercy on your cheap shoes because you're going to have to drag him out.
In nightclubs, no one can hear you scream.
"Aside, please!" Your voice suffocates in electro-pop before it can travel far. You blast through the crowd, navigating orbiting couples in the thick, heated atmosphere, until you break through to Dad's space.
His eyes are bloodshot and roaming, his grin wide, teeth catching madly flashing lasers. He bumps you with his hip, and you bump back harder, trying to jolt him sober.
Oh no, is this how old people dance? But there are cool people watching!
Dad laughs, lost in a world of his own.
"Come on," you shout, sidestepping a spray from Dad's vigorous head shake. He's marinating in his own juices, and if this goes on, he'll die of dehydration.
You grab his wrist and pull. The dancers part like the Red Sea before the disco demon. He stumbles, but you don't let go. Ripples of disgust, confusion, and worry follow in your wake.
The noise drops a notch in the well-lit, acoustically curved booth - an intimate space to see or be seen, ideal for dates, if you had one. You dump Dad on the plush sofa.
"Sit," you command. Dad tries to stand, you push him down. "Sit! Stay here while I get some water and a taxi."
"You treat me like a dog," Dad protests in Hindi. "But Prince, oh Prince, there's something I must tell you."
He paws at your face, his thumb in your eye. You pull his hands away and ask, "What?"
"Your mother! She's dead!" Dad starts to cry, curling up more with each full body sob.
You sigh. "I spoke to Panacea. Mum's not dead. She's awake and asking for you."
Dad looks up, pupils pushing the edge of his iris, voice choked. "I need to see her. I'm so sorry, her brain, I didn't know-"
"No," you snap. "You don't get to see her. You abandoned her, and now you'll spend the night in a hospital while a nice doctor figures out what you've been taking." You pinch your brow. "Honestly, Dad, I came here to beat you up, but you've done a great job of that on your own. Where's your phone?"
"Threw it out a window," Dad grumbles. "It didn't work; you didn't answer. Now both my boys hate me."
"Yes, we do. Last time you called me selfish, and now this. You're pathetic."
You turn away - sick of looking at him - but Dad clings to your sleeve.
His blackhole eyes pull you in, pain collapsing to a grain of truth. "I am you, Prince. If I am selfish, it is because you are. If I am ruthless and reckless and lacking in morals, it is because you are. My karma is your fate."
You wrench his hands off, shaking warmth back into your chilled fingers. You are not your father. He made his choices, and others suffer for them… but that's true for you as well.
Haven't you made choices that hurt both others and yourself, just like Dad did? We all suffer the sins of the father.
But the Dagger of Time slumbers in your pocket. Time is reversed for you; fathers suffer for your sins.
Maybe you're projecting... no. Everything that happened, is happening, and will happen is Dad's fault. It has to be. When every choice has consequence, no one is free of the ties that bind.
"Don't blame me for this," you say coldly. "I never gave up on Mum, and when she finds out you did, you'll never see her again."
"No, no, not that." Dad lunges, but you're already walking away. He falls hard, clutching his side.
You sigh, roll your eyes, and help him up - a bad habit you'll break later.
As you sling his arm over your shoulder, Dad's harsh whisper stabs your ear, "At least I didn't want to kill her."
You drop him. The music jumps track. Spotlights flash at seizure speeds.
Amy asked what problem your power was meant to solve. You were vague, but now the answer is clear.
A dying mother is the problem. Your solution is the dagger.
It is hope, regret, and a way to defy fate. But above all, the Dagger of Time is a weapon. It can kill even what cannot - and should not - die. A power that murders powers - a kin slayer.
The Dagger of Time is to parahumans what a young man is to the wall socket of a life support machine. A simple solution exaggerated to a supernatural level. You were bound to her deathbed, then given a way to sever the ties that bind.
On the throne of your brain, the Dahaka laughs.
Close your eyes until the echo subsides. Then go to the bar. You need a drink.
"It's pointless anyhow. Coil will see you coming. Hit his base; he's in the PRT office. Hit the office; he's in his base. He's always in two places at once."
"Is that his power? A projection?"
"No, it's way weirder. You know those choose-your-own-adventure books? He's living one of those, but he cheats. Whenever he faces a choice, he splits reality in two, sees how each plays out, and picks the one he likes best. Like peeking into the future without all the hassle of time travel."
"Time travel... Is he, by any means, Canadian?"
"No? My point is, you have to checkmate him to touch him. And Coil cheats, playing both sides of the board."
"I think I can check him."
"How? One of your stolen powers, Mr Trump?"
"I'll simply rewrite the stars again."
Every good bar has a taxi button. You ask the tall bar-woman to push it and order a ten dollar bottle of water. Better throw in a double-scotch, too - it's that kind of day.
The scotch tastes of dragon fire and sweet oblivion all the way down. Then, like a recurring nightmare, the dragon claws its way back up. Your throat spasms, and you burp up grey sand.
"What the -" You inspect the shot-glass. "Can I not even get drunk now? Today can't possibly get worse."
An electric squeal strangles the music.
Through the speakers, an authoritative, unmistakable voice crackles: "Rostam, AKA Paradox, AKA Prince Shahriman, AKA Ali T Fakir. You are under arrest for gross bodily harm, power theft, and escape from lawful custody."
The doors slam open, sunlight streaming in with black-armoured PRT troops.
"Surrender," Armsmaster says, his blue armor silhouetted by the sun, "and I'll throw you back in the Birdcage myself. Resist, and you'll make my day."
"Uh, yeah, okay. Just hold on to your crazy. Take a week off, I'll skip town, and you only use your shitty murderboner to shave that chin wig."
"What madness! Both the dagger and my goatee are perfection."
"Yeah, definitely some wires crossed there. You know that knife goes for twenty bucks down on Lord's street? And as for the face fluff? Meh."
"The dagger is God's claw! I'm not talking to you anymore, you speak nonsense and insult my beard."
"Cool. Hold on to your crazy and everyone wins. So, the base is underground and full of mercs..."
Sit Rep
You found Dad. It's not pretty. He's given up.
You're under arrest for crimes you actually did commit.
Secrets in the Ruby Dreams deduce:
- Coil framed you as a Birdcage escapee. You are close to a kill-on-sight order.
- Coil knows you're after him, that you know his real name, and that you know where his base is.
- Tattletale tattled. You didn't share details of your power, so as far as she knows:
- - You're a power stealing Trump, a precog, a Combat Thinker, a Breaker/Brute 5, an abomination, and a screwed up pacifist murderhobo with a magic sword and a Freudian complex.
You realized the reason why your trigger event led to creating the Dagger of Time:
- Past you felt trapped as a care worker for a dying mother, and knew his life would be better if she died. This selfish idea led to a guilt complex, reckless behavior, and ultimately to a trigger event.
- In cruel irony, the Dagger of Time is the power kill easily, to be rewarded for it, and to be able to endlessly repeat the action like a repeating guilty thought.
- There may still be more that can be learned about the Dagger of Time and the Dahaka that made it.
Choices:
When every choice has consequence...
[][kill] Use lethal force.
- You're at full power:+1 success for all rolls, cannot roll less than 5 successes.
- The path of slaughter is always open.
- Prove your hostage threat is real.
- Assassination makes stealth easier.
- Fight Armsmaster for his Perk.
- Happy Dahaka.
[][kill] Don't use lethal force.
- Don't use the dagger's blade.
- Suppress the Sand Wraith
- Don't harm or kill hostages to prove you can.
- Don't assassinate anyone on your way out.
- Don't get Armsmaster's power, if you fight and win.
- Sad Dahaka.
... no one is free of the ties that bind.
[][dad] Keep Dad with you.
- It's a bad habit.
- Prince eventually accepts that he's projecting self-hate on his dad.
- The physical and emotional effort means your Target number for rolls goes up by 1 (T5 base)
[][dad] Ditch Dad
- At best, he'll be picked up by the PRT, interrogated, and put in protective custody.
- A medium chance he'll be used against you later.
- At worst, he'll die.
- Prince keeps hating him.
"Surrender, and I'll throw you back in the Birdcage myself. Resist, and you'll make my day."
How are you getting out of this? You gonna fight him?
[][PRT] Fight Armsmaster
- Make his day.
- Beat up Armsdaddy.
- He's a Tinker 7 with a range of gizmo's and years of experience,
- You are a Brute/Thinker 7 who is very hard to stop.
- You've never fought a TInker before. They build up over time or something?
- Your PRT training negates PRT tactics; you'll keep one eye on the troops to keep the fight fair.
- Failures lead to a fight where you're at a disadvantage. Target for rolls goes up by 1. Base T5.
[][PRT] Persuade Armsmaster
- Try to convince Armsmaster you're being framed and he's being played.
- He really wants to wrap you up for his Canadian girlfriend.
- You need to roll 2 more successes than him to walk away.
- If you roll 2 less than him, he convinces you to surrender.
- If the difference is 1 success or less, Armsmaster gets the fight he wants.
- Thinker dice only. Roll 3 Thinker dice, base Target of 4, but you still reroll.
- Armsmaster has experience, interrogation gizmo's, a link to Console... He rolls 7 dice.
- Evil ghosts are great liars, but you never know what they'll make you say.
[][PRT] Take a hostage
- Persuade Armsmaster, with leverage.
- Drag out a deal.
- Consequences are a bitch
- If keeping Dad, he's your hostage.
- If ditching Dad, tall woman from the bar is your hostage.
[][PRT] Sneak away.
- Safer than a hostage negotiation.
- Shorter lasting than a hostage negotiation.
- Thinker/Mover dice applies. You roll 5.
- Who else have you pissed off?
- Secrets in the Ruby Dreams sense is tingling.
[][PRT] Better Call Tats.
- Tattletale and Armsy will chat. Guaranteed getaway.
- Tattletale will handle this, at the cost of a huge favor.
- "Grue the getaway driver, I summon you!"
- She tattled.
- She knows a lot, but not everything. Who else have you pissed off?
[][PRT] Surrender.
- Maybe you can do something from a jail cell?
- They will try to take the dagger from you.
- The Dahaka is eating your brain. Roll a 6 on a 1d6 to let the dagger go.
Alternatively...
[] Endbringer Interrupt
- Fight Armsmaster to a draw, then the alarms go off.
- It's early and the wrong one.
- "Leviathan. London. Save us."
Thanks for reading.
Sorry for the wait. I had a first draft ready before posting the last chapter, but I looked at that chapter, then looked at the draft, and they did not compare.
Loved the discussion of last chapter. It's a favorite now. Wrote it with both a negative interpretation and a positive interpretation. So did Prince offer a choice out of kindness and Amy take a step towards self-actualization? Or did Prince give in to the Dahaka's temptation and Amy grab at a chance to blame someone else? Was Tattletale correct when she said Prince self-sabotages and everything after that just him scrambling to fix it? You decide.
By the way, those little flashbacks are lining up well and it was good practice in voice work. They're done now.
This is draft 3 and a half. It was hard. The walk around recap and world building was easy, but Dad is not. I should put more work into the parents, there's a Romeo/Juliet backstory and that's about it.
Dad's name is Uman because it's the male version of Umu, which also known as Parvati, which is a Hindu goddess of love and devotion and motherhood. Married to Shiva, god of death. Last time I hid symbolism this well, it was when a Dragon suit was described as a turtle, because 2010 is year of the turtle in the Zoroastrian horoscope.
Choices are messy, but I think they cover all bases. Feel free to write in something.
Anyway, drama is over, time for action. Watch out for trap votes!
Edit: added lines to SitRep about Prince's trigger revelations to try and clear that up.
I really like this chapter, but have no idea what the fuck to do next. How did no one check with Dragon if he actually went to the Birdcage? She presumably remembers everyone she sent there.
[][PRT] Surrender.
- Maybe you can do something from a jail cell?
- They will try to take the dagger from you.
- The Dahaka is eating your brain. Roll a 6 on a 1d6 to let the dagger go.
[X][kill] Don't use lethal force.
[X][dad] Keep Dad with you.
[X][PRT] Better Call Tats.
Seems like Dahaka is the true villain, so best to avoid giving it what it wants and get Prince to build stronger ties to the world for that inevitable reckoning. Also want to avoid ending up in custody, and owing a big favor to Tattletale doesn't seem nearly as bad as being in a jail cell for Coil to take advantage of.
They think he's a murderous power stealer, so lets not reinforce that assumption, at the very least.
[][PRT] Surrender on the condition they get dad some help.
This is mostly so they realize dad is a person of interest and don't just leave him there, hopefully.
The one in six chance is scary, but I'm sure that he'll pull through. Surely the PRT will realize we aren't an escapee, and let us out right away! Then well reunite with mom and dad, and be a happy family! Everything will be a-okay!
TFTC. A hard hitting update like always. Can we take an Endbringer? Probably not. Our Mother is healed so we don't need to play nice anymore but even then I don't want to abandon the memories of past timeline under Armsy.
[X][kill] Don't use lethal force.
[X][dad] Ditch Dad
[X][PRT] Fight Armsmaster
I am pretty sure these two are bad choices, there is no good choice but these are the worst. Two parental figures will be lost in one day, more than they already have been. Yet we step forward. I am a hard-headed idiot so these are choices I would have chosen in real life in similar situations.
[X] Endbringer Interrupt
This is a trap that I can't help but fall for. Let's wipe the scene clean with a river of blood.
[X][kill] Don't use lethal force.
I don't want to give up on this timeline yet.
[X][dad] Ditch Dad
We have given the Dad plenty of chances, and he still blew it.
[X][PRT] Persuade Armsmaster
We have a lot of evidence to prove that we aren't a Birdcage inmate, which I think will raise Armsmaster's DC
I really like this chapter, but have no idea what the fuck to do next. How did no one check with Dragon if he actually went to the Birdcage? She presumably remembers everyone she sent there.
Dragon is depowered and trapped in a weird mess of Tinker software she doesn't understand anymore. So she's not on top of everything.
Dragon confided her problem to Armsmaster. Armsmaster saw this data about Prince and went 100% tunnel vision papa-bear mode. He's pushing for this, just like Coil wanted.
Coil / Calvert doctored PRT records. The lie doesn't have to last long, just long enough to eliminate Prince as a threat.
The PRT in general are panicking about the Birdcage. The PHO interlude showed they're too busy to update the capture list, and it's not the only bit of administration that suffered.
Yes. Prince is likely to go berserk if anyone touches the dagger. He's emotionally, physically, and uh, metaphysically(?) dependent on it. He didn't give it up at the Ruby Dreams either.
But it would be cool to show that in story. Great way to challenge a character and players.
Everything has been building up to Armsmaster kicking the door down, ever since Prince was short with Calvert. It's about 20k words of build up.
It really has exploded. I'm trying to wrap it up. Whenever I lose track, I scrape the story off the site and make an audio book. I try to add recaps of relevant events these days.
I'll roll that into Ditch Dad. Police do give medical aid to prisoners, and Coil would want the extra leverage. When the next vote to counter-attack Coil comes, I'll put in an option to try to rescue Mum.
Adhoc vote count started by Ablative Id on Jul 27, 2024 at 5:21 AM, finished with 9 posts and 5 votes.
[kill]Don't use lethal force. Unanimous so far.
[dad] Tied between keep and ditch.
[PRT] Better Call Tats. Winning, surprisingly.
Only one Endbringer vote.
Vote is scattered. There's still lots of time to vote.
[X][kill] Don't use lethal force.
[X][dad] Keep Dad with you.
[X][PRT] Persuade Armsmaster
Surely, SURELY, Armsmaster won't out-social us.
Also, since this is the Palanquin, won't Faultline be kinda ticked that the PRT is literally bursting into her establishment?
I mean, unless she goes: well, he's a Birdcage prisoner, so that's fair game. But that doesn't seem ideal if the Palanquin might get damaged in the ensuing fight.
If [PRT] is still tied in about 24 hours, I'll ask on SV's Discord. If that doesn't work, I'll pick a tied vote at random. I like to start a draft on Wednesday and have a chapter out in a week or two. Or three. Sometimes four weeks.
Remember if you don't like any vote, you can flip the table by voting []Endbringer Interrupt.
I got no clue as to why people think that we with our 3 dice have a chance of persuading Armsmaster with his 7 dice we need 2 more susceses than him to succeed which won't matter if he gets more than one suscess. This is really not smart guys please reconsider.
As usual, the vote stays open until I get a chapter written. Which happens after I figure out what I'm doing. Might work on the re-write of Two Thrones instead.
[kill] Don't use lethal force.
- Suppress the Sand Wraith
- Don't use the dagger blade
- No one dies.
[dad] Keep Dad with you.
- Rolls get harder. Base Target 5
- Prince admits he's self projecting.
[PRT] Better Call Tats.
- Tattletale will handle this, at the cost of a huge favor.
- She tattled.
- She knows a lot, but not everything. Who else have you pissed off?
Spotlights snap on, clear and cold, exposing dancers like pinned butterflies. Black-masked troopers storm the dance pit, shining torches in faces and pitching civilians out two by two.
Don't look. They have your names, face, even your passport number. Stay near the bar and find a way out before the PRT find you. Don't turn around.
Gaze into the crystal shot glass instead. PRT shadows curl around the edge, pulling civilians into tight lines. Dad's a haze of colourful drugs slumping in a booth. The door outside is a square of daylight, framing Armsmaster in hulking power armour - armed and angry.
Your mentor has died before. Don't make him die twice.
If Armsmaster is risking a public brawl here, someone must be pulling his strings. The crystal glass shows Dragon - his co-worker and best friend - confiding her power loss to him, during the general panic of the Birdcage breakout. Soon after, a fake report about an escaped power thief lands on Armsmaster's desk, leading to an axe-headed conclusion.
He thinks you hurt her. He's come to hurt you. Everything else - like the prestige of catching a supposed Birdcage escapee - is just an excuse.
Armsmaster wouldn't risk public safety, but Coil would. Coil's report sent Armsmaster here. Your capture means Coil removes a threat. And if people get hurt, then Director Piggot takes the fall, and Coil will slither closer to control of the PRT.
The game is rigged. Fight or surrender, Coil wins. It's how Thinkers play.
You shove the Dagger of Time deeper in your pocket and pull out your phone. Time to call in serious Thinker interference.
The phone rings and Armsmaster locks on, halberd striking the floor, cutting through the crowd, homing in on the signal. The long, sharp axe-head presses against your spine, raising goosebumps.
The phone connects. "What's up?"
"Drop it, Rostam," Armsmaster growls. "Hands where I can see 'em."
"You're being used, Armsmaster," you say, both hands and voice raised, phone in your left. "Someone very annoying fed you bad information."
"Oh boy," the phone mutters. "Hey there, Armsy! Let's talk before this gets messy."
Armsmaster shoves you hard against the wall. His gauntlet slides up your wrist, trying to wrench away the phone you clutch too hard. Plastic creaks as his grip tightens over yours. "You have two seconds before I crush every bone in your hand."
He's bluffing. Armsmaster can't be that brutal - he's a hero.
You push off the wall and try to reason with him. "Tattletale can explain what happened to Dragon. That's what you really want, right? Just speak with her - or ask Dragon about me - and we don't need to fight."
"Sure," the phone adds, "that's a thing I could do, but not if you're getting rough with my minion in... are you in a dance club? Honey, that is so not your scene. What happened, you bump into Armsy while he was doing the robot? Armsy loves doing robots. In fact, his Canadian girlfriend-"
Armsmaster's fist crushes the phone in your hand.
Every sharp sound is a fresh shock: First plastic creaks, then cracks, then - snap - bone shards pierce your skin. Warm, sticky blood patters to the floor as he keeps squeezing. Hot lightning screams from dying nerves, and a thousand sunbursts threaten to burn away your consciousness.
Armsmaster cuffs you and tosses your limp body in the dance pit. "Foam him," he orders, then pauses. "Wait."
Sand spills from your pocket and over your crushed hand, flaring with the same desert heat that turned whiskey to dust. Nerves scream as they're reborn. Bones realign, knuckles pop, and when the heat cools, your hand is unhurt.
The Dagger of Time makes myth true - you are dust, sand, and lies.
Armsmaster grunts. "Panacea's power confirmed, you sick bastard. Locking you up will make my career."
"Hey, don't make… insinu…insinuations…" Dad slurs, forgetting what he was saying as a faceless PRT trooper drags him back.
For a split second, you could swear Dad and Armsmaster swap places. You must be in shock.
Armsmaster's gaze snaps to the door. "Incoming! Foam now!"
From the bright daylight outside, a wave of darkness floods the room.
Grue's smoke hides everything except fear. Every step leads off a cliff, any person is a trooper with a primed shotgun, and dogs are always about to gnaw on your bones.
Close your useless eyes, arms still cuffed behind your back, and stumble off the slick floor. Somewhere in this void is Dad. You can't leave him again - that's what broke him in the first place.
The darkness feels like arctic fog. Hidden glaciers brush past.
You collide with a solid figure of rough kevlar over hard plate. A punch scrapes past; you kick back, bracing for a counterattack that never comes.
Dad and the troopers could be miles away or just inches - it's all the same in Grue's smoke. He's the only one who can see and hear. And he must be nearby.
"Grue, find my dad," you yell, "grey beard, green bell-bottoms, with a price tag still on."
The utterdark swallows your voice before it even reaches your ears. Then, a tap on your shoulder - Grue's touch code, job done.
Tap-tap. Grue guides you through a maze of random stops and turns.
A sudden sideways yank leaves a curious weightlessness on your left side. In the dark, golden sands glow in an outline of your left arm. When they fade, your arm is free, but a weight dangles from the cuffs on your right wrist.
Try not to think about it. Just like the last time you lost that hand.
Grue shoves you in a metal box, slamming the lid. Flat floor, ribbed walls - you bump your head on the low ceiling. The small space shudders with the thunder of 1.6-litre horsepower.
The van's interior light clicks on. The Undersiders' party bus is clear of smoke inside but pitch black past the windshield. The driver's side window pulls plumes of thick miasma off the driver - a broiling shadow with a florescent skull. It turns to ask, "Are you okay?"
"Death!" Dad screams. He scrambles back, clawing at the rear door handle. The doors open to blackest abyss; you pull him back before he tumbles out.
"Dad, it's okay," you say, "this is Grue. He's a..." Friend? Colleague? Villain? Snack? "He's someone I know."
"He's taking us to the underworld! Get behind me, I'll hold him off so you can escape." Dad grabs your arm and pulls, then looks down to see the arm cuffed to your wrist, severed at the shoulder. He screams again, trying to crawl backwards up the wall.
Something about his expression cuts deep. The horror, the disgust - it's your own reflection. A mirror seen most every morning, older, but still crowded by the dead following you - heroes, villains, and victims all. Only now, seeing his genuine expression, do you realize the faces you've imagined on him were false.
Dad's never looked at you that way before. The mirror fools you with a family resemblance. Maybe this whole time, even before your trigger event, you've hated your own reflection, and anything it resembles.
"Dad, look at me. Look." You grab his shoulders, holding him eye to eye. "Grue's here to help. We're safe."
Dad's red-rimmed eyes are locked on your severed arm. Slowly, reverently, he squeezes it, drooling blood from the stump down his fingers. His face contorts. "Then what is this?"
"Well," you say, warding off horror the only way you know how, "like I said, Grue gave me a hand."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Grue says. "We must have tripped a sensor or Armsmaster was swinging blind. Did regrowing an arm hurt? It looked like it hurt."
The new hand flexes open and closed. It's silent, only your memory still snaps and cracks. "It feels alright. I'm more surprised Armsmaster wouldn't listen. I thought he cared more about Dragon... Thanks, by the way, for saving me. You're a good friend."
"No need for thanks, dude," Grue's chuckle echos in the dark. "I'm paid 10K for this - oh shit!"
Cold sweat courses down your spine. The van swerves, suspension bouncing you and Dad around like jelly beans in a jar.
You brace against the walls. Outside, it's darker than night - you could be weaving through stopped traffic or dodging asteroids in outer space.
"Grue, I can't see. What's happening?"
"It's Glory Girl." Grue jerks the wheel. The van tips - too far, barely righting itself. "She's dive-bombing us. Gallant's on her back."
Dread coils in your stomach. The van fishtails, tires screeching as Grue wrestles for control.
Cling to the ribbed walls - ignore the bite of metal rivets - and think.
Glory Girl - Victoria Dallon, Amy's sister and opposite. She must love her power. To Victoria, power theft would be the ultimate violation. And when you offered to take Amy's power away, you said 'if it's wrong, let the blame be mine.'
Did she blame you? Was it wrong?
"Of course," you mutter, struggling to stay upright. "Glory Girl wants revenge."
"Fantastic. Is there anyone in the city you haven't pissed off?" Grue snaps, the van bucking as he slams the brakes, then guns the engine. "Fuck, why is the white-bread cheer-leader so terrifying?"
"Oh, that's her Glory-aura," Dad says, reclining on the floor as if enjoying the ride. "I've made a study of New Wave. The Glory-aura inspires confidence in her allies and fear in her enemies. One of three independently excellent abilities she has, along with righteous flight, the powerful Glory-punch, and an invisible Glory shield. Marvelous, isn't she?"
He sounds so calm. He's a fan of New Wave as an extension of Panacea. And he's so high his mood swings with the aura - pushing him one way, you and Grue the other.
Your veins spike, and Grue makes a turn too sharp. The van trembles as something scrapes the side.
Glory Girl brought Gallant, your past-life friend who helped uncover Coil's identity. Gallant, who helped eat a burger bigger than your head. Gallant, the helpful empath.
Grue's smoke hides everything except fear.
Your toes curl in projected panic as you realize, "It's like sonar. She inspires fear, Gallant sees it in the smoke. We can't hide, can't run. It's a matter of time before she-"
The roof of the van crumples - two dents, each a handprint. The steel frame groans, the floor jumps, and the engine roars impotent, wheels spinning on nothing.
Glory Girl has caught you. She drags the van up into the light.
Daylight breaks through the thinning smoke. The streets below are smothered in black clouds, but you're far above them now, in a van that trails pure darkness like rocket exhaust.
The van groans in Glory Girl's grip, the roll-cage ribs twisting under the van's weight. Your stomach acids lurch with it, sloshing side to side.
"Grue," you shout, the Glory-aura shaking your voice, "do something!"
Grue punches the horn and flips the wipers. Soap-water jets over the top of the van. Glory Girl kicks the roof, and it echoes a death knell.
You glare incredulously. "Do you want her to drop us?"
Grue says, "If she's blind, she'll crash us into a building. You do something."
The Dagger of Time weighs heavy in your pocket. One quick stab, and Glory Girl becomes sand - an easy answer to a complex problem.
Your fingers brush the warm hilt, and you shudder. Not these two.
The ghosts of your past lives disagree, and their combined will pulls you into their future. Before you know it, you've drawn the blade and used dents in the roof to triangulate Glory Girl's heart - lining up one quick stab.
"Wait, are you a cape?" Dad asks. "Or are we LARPing? Am I saying that right? LAAAARRRP!" He blows a raspberry. The sound jars you out the trance.
Take a deep breath. Silence the warriors within. Peace might be harder, but it's better. Killing teenagers is a line you haven't crossed yet... except maybe Amy. And Regent. But that was different, right?
"Grue, please look after my dad," you ask. "I think the aura is reacting weirdly to the drugs he's taken. Try getting him to drink some water."
"Okay, not my first time babysitting a dopey parent. What's your plan?"
"Something nobody wants to do." You brace against the ceiling and kick the rear doors open. Cold air rushes into the cabin, tearing your hair back. Against the wind, you yell, "I'm going to talk about my feelings!"
You grab the roof ledge and swing up.
Glory Girl clings to the roof, bare hands deforming steel. Her white cape and skirt whip violently in the wind, underlining her death glare.
Gallant stands from a crouch, medieval plate armour glowing electric blue at the joints. He takes one heavy step forward - magnets weigh his boots down - and his fists crackle with raw emotion concentrated into physical force.
You stab the roof for a handhold and stay low against the tearing wind.
"I don't want to fight," you say, one hand up gesturing for peace - a gesture ruined by your dangling severed arm. "Gallant, look at how I feel, see it's true."
Gallant, to his credit, does look, and what he sees makes him slowly lower his fists.
But Glory Girl says, "Tough luck, we do want a fight. Scum like you needs to be locked up, before you assault another underage girl."
"What?" You almost lose your grip on the dagger and fall off. "That's so wrong I don't know where to start. What did Amy tell you?"
"Amy said you mind controlled her," Glory Girl snarls the words. "Convinced her she was evil and a villain's kid. You said stuff that forced fake memories in her head."
That's... half-true. And Gallant can see that doubt play out on your emotional aura. Better explain, "I didn't know what I was saying; I was trying to calm her down. I never wanted to hurt her, but Amy was in a really bad place and-"
"Because you put her there!" Glory Girl's voice cracks, and the roof buckles inwards. "You made my sister cry! And call her Panacea, damnit!"
"She hated being Panacea," you yell back. "She's not like you!"
Gallant tries to shuffle his feet, but he's stuck. "Vicky, maybe we should hear him out? He's not lying, and Amy has problems she won't talk about."
"Not everything needs to be talked out, Gallant," Glory Girl snaps back. "Some things are just wrong."
You ask, "If you know her so well, why did Amy hate her power?"
In answer, Glory Girl lets go.
The van plummets. Your stomach flips and Gallant's arms shoot up in free-fall. Then - jolt. Glory Girl slams the roof, fingers digging into the metal, catching the van by its ribcage. Slowly, with cries of tortured steel, the fall grinds to a halt.
Glory Girl faces you in a three-point pose, the chassis curling under her hand. That look again - the one seen in mirrors. She really hates you.
She points and says, "Not another word. Master-Stranger protocols."
Gallant raises a finger. "Uh, Vicky-"
"Master-Stranger protocols!" she snaps again.
She won't listen. To Glory Girl, words are weapons, and her forcefield is impenetrable.
But if anyone can see both sides, Gallant can. But he's stuck. Can you move him?
You start to speak, but Glory Girl dents the roof, the boom echoing a clear 'shut the fuck up.'
One wrong word, and it's over. But stay silent, and you'll be dropped in the cells of PHQ.
The forcefield dome of the oil rig is getting closer.
There, you will stay, until the Sands of Time have run out.
Sit Rep
You escaped Armsmaster by calling in a favor from Tattletale.
You're now in a van over the city, approaching PHQ.
Dad and Grue are in the van. Grue is a Shaker/Stranger 4 who is useless in the immediate situation.
Glory Girl / Victoria Dallon is carrying the van. She's a Mover/Brute/Shaker 5 with a supposedly impenetrable forcefield. Bet you can stab through it.
Gallant is protecting Victoria. He's an emotion Thinker/Blaster 4 with a fancy suit of armor. Armor might be hard to stab through.
You're a Brute 7, with Thinker/Mover/Striker/Breaker/Trump sub-ratings.
- Outside combat, you get the best of two rolls, and ghosts help your skills.
- In lethal combat, you also get +1 success from Living Blade, and a minimum of 5 successes from Mask of the Sand Wraith.
You now owe Tattletale a favor. Grue will expect you to honor it, if he's alive.
Choices:
The game is rigged. Fight or surrender, Coil wins. It's how Thinkers play.
[][van] Fight to kill
- The lethal fight.
- Sacrifice Victoria and Gallant.
- You will survive the fall.
- Grue might survive. Dad might not.
- The path of slaughter is always open.
- Success means perks. Failure means no perks. Either way, you walk away.
- Gallant and Coil share something in common.
[][van] Fight for control
- The non-lethal fight.
- No bonus from Sand Wraith or Living Blade perks.
- Success means Glory Girl puts the van down, or it drops somewhere soft.
- Failure means you get locked up.
[][van] Fight to speak
- [] Write In: what do you say? Do you appeal, plead, persuade, or intimidate? Or trust ghosts to speak for you again?
- Maybe you can get through to Gallant?
- Thinker dice fight, your 2 dice against Gallants 4, but you get a bonus for good write-ins.
- One wrong word...
- Success and failure depend on what you say. They may insist on locking you up, but mediate a deal with the PRT. They might let you go, only if they go with you. They might lock you up somewhere Coil doesn't control. Or they might hate you forever, making both sides actively hostile and starting a fight.
[][van] Write in.
- Surrender?
- Jump, leave the others?
- Kill and revive?
- Insist you go back to the nightclub to challenge Armsmaster in an epic dance battle?
Personal review:
- Something is mediocre and I don't know what. Too exposition heavy? Clunky metaphors? Forced theme? Interrupted action? Too many exclamation marks!?!
- Feels like a Shonen anime. This is good.
- The dad is still more plot device than person, blame drugs, and his exposition draws from New Wave marketing. I think everyone else is in character, though fanfic seldom shows these characters as antagonists.
- Don't know why I rolled for the MC, as they did nothing. Sometimes I just roll for ideas. Narrative trumps mechanics anyway.
Edited in: There's a lot here which is clunky. The reactions beats are best, but feel tacked on. Should have started with a clearer vision, and maybe dropped the expositions.
After this sitch ends, the next scene is probably for cooling down and planning a counter-move. If Grue lives, it'll introduce Tattletale's new team with Alec and Whimper. If not, Hiragana girl's place. Then I don't know.
What do you want to see?
And thanks for reading!
Edit: bolded words.
Edit 2: a minimum of 4 success -> a minimum of 5 successes from Mask of the Sand Wraith. (Oops.)
While I sure would like to talk, I don't know how to beat someone who has double the dice as us. Even the promise of write-in bonuses doesn't exactly bring much hope - it is quite a conditional boost after all.
It really sucks, but then again, the whole situation sucks.
Though, I will call out it's kinda BS she is lifting a van from above - from what I'm getting. It just doesn't make sense, the grip on the roof is one of the worst places to make it fly - and it isn't sustainable at all. She has consistently damaged it with her tantrums. The idea that she can somehow have a firm grip on it is ridiculous - it's not like she has touch telekinesis for her power. It's more likely the whole vehicle would just careen down at the head and force her to lift it by one end.
Though, I will call out it's kinda BS she is lifting a van from above - from what I'm getting. It just doesn't make sense, the grip on the roof is one of the worst places to make it fly - and it isn't sustainable at all. She has consistently damaged it with her tantrums. The idea that she can somehow have a firm grip on it is ridiculous - it's not like she has touch telekinesis for her power. It's more likely the whole vehicle would just careen down at the head and force her to lift it by one end.
The van groans in Glory Girl's grip, the roll-cage ribs twisting under the van's weight.
...
Glory Girl slams the roof, fingers digging into the metal, catching the van by its ribcage.
Undersiders reinforced their getaway van with a big roll cage, hence the ribs. A roll cage in a car can support 4 times the weight. Vicky's grip strength is arbitrary while her force field is up, as she projects the same force from her pinky as from her whole body. That's 8 tons of grip.
But yes, it won't hold forever, especially if you jump up and down on it.
TL/DR: Rule of Cool.
Edit: now I think of it, the roll cage would add a lot of weight. Maybe it should have a bigger engine too?
