[X] Hurry ahead to the Hall before the best Seconds leave. Disregard this foolishness.
[X] Take the Ogre's Share (Will generate 4d6 Wealth, 100% chance of Infamy)
[X] Take the Ogre's Share (Will generate 4d6 Wealth, 100% chance of Infamy)
Boxer Quest
- Thread starter Walter
- Start date
- Original
-
- Tags
- quest from zero to hero
Seconds Role Descriptions
- Location
- USA
So many informational updates, I've rebelled at the format. In honor of the old Amber RPG book's memorable way of introducing what each stat does I'll do my descriptions of each Second as a debate on whether they are the most important or not. This isn't entirely self indulgence, Lennox is super broke and will probably have to get by with an incomplete roster to start with.
Format:
Title: The name of the job
Just the facts: Description of the effects of having a Second of this type
Partisan's take: Why you should want one of these as your first (or one of your first) Seconds
Skeptic's take: Counterpoints to the above
Title: Coach
Just the facts: The Coach's quality determines the type of dice rolled for training actions (the quality of the training facility determines the quantity of dice). The Coach is also (along with the Cut-man) the only one who can talk to you between rounds, giving advice and encouragement. Most Boxers stick with a single Coach for their whole careers
Partisan's take: I don't imagine I have to try too hard to sell the character who makes the numbers go up faster to SV. You get the power of recursion. The Coach and facility are the most important things in the early game. Nothing else compares.
Skeptic's take: The Coach is certainly important, in fact, way too important to take right out the gate. You don't want to be stuck with a crappy coach. Better to save up till you can afford at least a medium tier coach.
Title: Cut-man
Just the facts: The Cut-man uses healing skills, buffing skills and encouraging skills on the fighter during Corner phases. They also determine what kind of dice are used when rolling to overcome lingering injuries.
Partisan's take: To a Boxer, victory is everything. The Cut-man, more than any other Second, adds to your ability within the ring, they can make the difference in which Boxer wins the match. The first duty of a Boxer is to win, everything flows from there. Winning gets you Clout, Wealth, all of it, so the most important Second is the one who makes you win.
Skeptic's take: Lennox's aim is to win the CHAMP's grand title, to be the best of everyone and everything. He better be wildly overqualified for the Four Round Circuit. Let a hometown friend do the Cut-man duties for a while, you should be rolling over any chump dumb enough to step in front of you.
Title: Scout
Just the facts: Scouts scour the available information about your rivals, watching their matches and reading the feeds. They can give you insight about how strong, comparatively, other Boxers are. They can tell you their Special Moves so you can be Watching For them from the start of the bout. They can even let you know what stances and strategies they've used in the past, what Signature Moves they are developing.
Partisan's take: Information brings victory. Making choices with full knowledge of their effects vs flailing in the dark is night and day, almost literally. With a good Scout you can book matches vs Boxers with moves you want to steal, Boxers who are weak/strong for their rank, and all sorts of other important things. The other method, aside from Scouts, to know enemy Special Moves to Watch For them is to get hit with them. You can imagine which is better.
Skeptic's take: Lennox doesn't have a big budget, and he expects he should be pretty dominant in the early going. 'Who to challenge' is 'everyone', and 'what challenges to take' is 'every challenge'. Scout is a luxury that isn't needed at this time.
Title: Booker
Just the facts: Bookers are responsible for arranging the opponent and venue of a Boxer's matches, as well as negotiating for what share of the profits they get.
Partisan's take: Lennox's primary difficulty is lack of funds. He needs funds to get Seconds, funds to buy training areas, Cut-man supplies...the list goes on. A good Booker will address this need. Booking the right fights makes it more likely, and more profitable, to win.
Skeptic's take: You are gonna be unbeaten, right? The matches will make themselves as the streak gets longer. Crushing exactly the right chump might gain a little, but the basic trend will be the same regardless of the path taken. Perpetual victory brings belts, without exception.
Title: Fixer
Just the facts: Fixers handle illegal stuff for the Boxer, whether that be contraband performance enhancers slipped into the Cut-man's ointments, paying local hoodlums to sabotage your opponent's gym or putting bets on your own matches.
Partisan's take: Stuff that is against the rules is strictly better than stuff that isn't. That's why it's against the rules. Crime pays better than work. Foul blows do more damage than ordinary ones. As long as you don't get caught, a Fixer's output is dominant over any and every other Second's efforts.
Skeptic's take: Fixers get caught, from time to time, and the blight can stick with a Boxer's career forever. Infamy is one thing, and a hint or two of danger can genuinely assist a boxer's career. Notoriety is something else, a stain you can't wash off. Play in the mud, get dirty.
Format:
Title: The name of the job
Just the facts: Description of the effects of having a Second of this type
Partisan's take: Why you should want one of these as your first (or one of your first) Seconds
Skeptic's take: Counterpoints to the above
Title: Coach
Just the facts: The Coach's quality determines the type of dice rolled for training actions (the quality of the training facility determines the quantity of dice). The Coach is also (along with the Cut-man) the only one who can talk to you between rounds, giving advice and encouragement. Most Boxers stick with a single Coach for their whole careers
Partisan's take: I don't imagine I have to try too hard to sell the character who makes the numbers go up faster to SV. You get the power of recursion. The Coach and facility are the most important things in the early game. Nothing else compares.
Skeptic's take: The Coach is certainly important, in fact, way too important to take right out the gate. You don't want to be stuck with a crappy coach. Better to save up till you can afford at least a medium tier coach.
Title: Cut-man
Just the facts: The Cut-man uses healing skills, buffing skills and encouraging skills on the fighter during Corner phases. They also determine what kind of dice are used when rolling to overcome lingering injuries.
Partisan's take: To a Boxer, victory is everything. The Cut-man, more than any other Second, adds to your ability within the ring, they can make the difference in which Boxer wins the match. The first duty of a Boxer is to win, everything flows from there. Winning gets you Clout, Wealth, all of it, so the most important Second is the one who makes you win.
Skeptic's take: Lennox's aim is to win the CHAMP's grand title, to be the best of everyone and everything. He better be wildly overqualified for the Four Round Circuit. Let a hometown friend do the Cut-man duties for a while, you should be rolling over any chump dumb enough to step in front of you.
Title: Scout
Just the facts: Scouts scour the available information about your rivals, watching their matches and reading the feeds. They can give you insight about how strong, comparatively, other Boxers are. They can tell you their Special Moves so you can be Watching For them from the start of the bout. They can even let you know what stances and strategies they've used in the past, what Signature Moves they are developing.
Partisan's take: Information brings victory. Making choices with full knowledge of their effects vs flailing in the dark is night and day, almost literally. With a good Scout you can book matches vs Boxers with moves you want to steal, Boxers who are weak/strong for their rank, and all sorts of other important things. The other method, aside from Scouts, to know enemy Special Moves to Watch For them is to get hit with them. You can imagine which is better.
Skeptic's take: Lennox doesn't have a big budget, and he expects he should be pretty dominant in the early going. 'Who to challenge' is 'everyone', and 'what challenges to take' is 'every challenge'. Scout is a luxury that isn't needed at this time.
Title: Booker
Just the facts: Bookers are responsible for arranging the opponent and venue of a Boxer's matches, as well as negotiating for what share of the profits they get.
Partisan's take: Lennox's primary difficulty is lack of funds. He needs funds to get Seconds, funds to buy training areas, Cut-man supplies...the list goes on. A good Booker will address this need. Booking the right fights makes it more likely, and more profitable, to win.
Skeptic's take: You are gonna be unbeaten, right? The matches will make themselves as the streak gets longer. Crushing exactly the right chump might gain a little, but the basic trend will be the same regardless of the path taken. Perpetual victory brings belts, without exception.
Title: Fixer
Just the facts: Fixers handle illegal stuff for the Boxer, whether that be contraband performance enhancers slipped into the Cut-man's ointments, paying local hoodlums to sabotage your opponent's gym or putting bets on your own matches.
Partisan's take: Stuff that is against the rules is strictly better than stuff that isn't. That's why it's against the rules. Crime pays better than work. Foul blows do more damage than ordinary ones. As long as you don't get caught, a Fixer's output is dominant over any and every other Second's efforts.
Skeptic's take: Fixers get caught, from time to time, and the blight can stick with a Boxer's career forever. Infamy is one thing, and a hint or two of danger can genuinely assist a boxer's career. Notoriety is something else, a stain you can't wash off. Play in the mud, get dirty.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
[x] Join in whatever this is, on the side of the Pack.
[x] Take the Ogre's Share (Will generate 4d6 Wealth, 100% chance of Infamy)
Let's make a name and a reputation for ourselves. Should earn us plenty of people who'd want to take us down, which is exactly what we need.
Getting a booker first thing to milk it for what it's worth.
[x] Take the Ogre's Share (Will generate 4d6 Wealth, 100% chance of Infamy)
Let's make a name and a reputation for ourselves. Should earn us plenty of people who'd want to take us down, which is exactly what we need.
Getting a booker first thing to milk it for what it's worth.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Hurry ahead to the Hall before the best Seconds leave. Disregard this foolishness.
Weird. I didn't see book of portal's votes in the tally. Doesn't change much anyways.
1.2 Hajime no Lennox
- Location
- USA
The stride that takes you into the Hall is a transformative one. In a single step you pass from the common world to a separate and holy space, a pilgrimage permitted only to those who bear the Mark.
Within the Halls, there are Boxers and Seconds alone. The Countless can pry and scrape away at the edges of it, but their laws and their world cannot interfere within.
It is sacred, no other word for it.
For all that buildup your first glimpse of this secular temple was a bit of a letdown. The first room was nothing special, just a big room with a desk set in an opening in one of the walls where a bored looking civilian (must be a retired Second, because you don't feel the Mark from her) taps away at some kind of noise board.
There was a pair of Boxers here as well, but to your disappointment they weren't anyone you recognized.
A skunk cybeast leaned against one of the walls, idly scrolling a visualizer held daintily in one hand. He had been fitted with a coal fired furnace, but it was presently dormant, the stacks standing idly above his shoulders.
A hummingbird cybeast was the other obvious Boxer, doing some kind of rapid movement training over by a low table with a pair of chairs. She was stepping up onto the chair, then the table, then back down onto the other chair and finally onto the floor.
You roll your eyes and make your way towards the desk. There wasn't time, or all that much to gain, from talking to your rivals, your victims really, right now. Still, you hoped you'd never be so desperate that you tried to train inside the Hall.
Exposure might be nice, but the actions of the Redmasks would be putting your name about more effectively than a conversation would. Your priority had to be getting a reliable Second or two in your column before the training season proper got started.
"Lennox Tait, Boxer?" asks the woman behind the desk as you walk up.
"The one and only," you say, giving a confident grin. How long had you waited for that to be true? It was about damn time.
"You'll be looking to form a contract with a support staff then," she continued, "I just have a question before you head up."
You frown, forehead wrinkling the slightest bit.
"I thought we took care of all that back in the registration?"
Rationally, you know that this couldn't be anything big. You had the Mark, they couldn't take that back now. You were a Boxer till the day you died. But you wouldn't put it past the Hall's minions to try and shake some Wealth out of you. They worked for the circuit champ, right? Maybe they already knew you were going to be the next to take her belt away.
"Of course, of course," she said, trying to be soothing, "It just looks like my associates forgot one thing. What's your nick?"
You break into another smile, this one relieved. Nothing big after all. You tell her your nickname, then pause as a thought strikes you.
"Hey, I answered your question…"
She taps the clicking thing in front of her a few times. It looks kind of like Z's flexipane, but a mechanical version with buttons that go up and down for each letter.
"We're here to help," she says.
"If I'm on the second floor," you answer, "Is there anyone I should pay special attention to? Anyone the Hall has a big file on you might want to let me know about?"
You loom up over her, easily twice her size, letting your radiant (albeit gap toothed) smile and sunny disposition do the lobbying.
Charisma rolled: 72845 -> 4 successes.
She blanches a bit, wilting under your direct attention, then taps furiously at her board. You choose to believe that she's inspired by an excess of belief in your prospects.
You wait, sensing that the information was forthcoming. You hum a little tune, da-da-de-da, da-da, da-da. People hate silence. If you make it, they'll fill it. A lesson from your little brother.
"The Maggot is looking for a new contender, she's much better than Second Floor material, but you'd pick up all her enemies along the way. Win-o-tron IV has a bet than it can make ANYONE a champ, it'll be cruising for prospects up on 2, but you might be a bit too strong for its purposes. Black King got a lot better last season, he will probably move up to Third Floor at least next year…"
She pauses, seemingly almost running out of breath.
"Thanks!" you say, brightly, and then lean back out of her cubby, letting the light hit her again. "I really appreciate it."
"Don't tell anyone I-" she begins, but you are already walking away, making the 'ok' sign with one of your upper hands as you scratch your back.
You've been warned, extensively, about the crowd of losers and posers who hang out around the stairs that lead to the Contract rooms. They might style themselves as the 'First Floor Seconds', as though there was some kind of parity between them and the people up the stairs, but the comparison was fundamentally ridiculous.
Seconds had expertise, professionalism. They commanded top rates, but they compensated their Boxers for it with their assistance. The flock of vultures that hung around on the first floor tried to compensate for their lack of talent by charging less. But (you had been assured, by Yurn and Mwekkum alike), it was a false savings to take them on. They were a waste of money, they were…
Not here?
Instead of the clamoring throng you'd expected, there were only a pair of figures. One of them was an old guy, with a big bushy beard, clad in stinking rags. Either a sage or a human, probably the former. The other was a genie, wearing the top half of a three piece suit and furiously flipping through a notebook.
"What's going on?" you asked.
"Threnody fucking Silverspoon!" snarls the genie, at the same time that the sage cried out "The Chosen One! He rides a sulfurous steed, and at his advent the heavens-".
You remember Zasha mentioning someone with that last name, but it was a while ago.
You reach out with your top two arms and, gently, take the dirty old man by a shoulder and clamp his mouth shut. With another arm you tap the genie's notebook.
"Sorry," you say, smiling easily as you hold the squirming man in place, "I meant to ask you what's going on?"
The genie fully looks up from his notebook, and up, and up, until he's looking into your face.
"Sorry, sorry, um, just before you got here, a rich human who just made her debut came through. She felt sorry for the people on the bottom floor and she tossed a bunch of Wealth around. Not so much hired them as just, just,"
He flaps an arm.
"Just paid them?" you put in.
"They are retired! Five hundred Wealth each! More scratch than they'd make in ten years! And I'm still sitting here like an asshole. It fucking stings."
"Ouch," you say, "Well, at least you had enough dignity not take her scraps?"
He gives a hollow laugh.
"I'm bound against that family! Of all the fucking things. Thanks Mom! Fucking Silverspoons, think owning a few dimensions lets them do anything."
You wince, theatrically. Genies had all sorts of weird rules about what they could and couldn't do. All the power wasn't remotely worth it, in your opinion.
"And this guy?" you ask.
You loosen your grip on the old beggar's mouth for a second and he's halfway through "The Great Change Begins" when you clamp back down.
"Wants to be a Coach, of all things," says the genie. "Thinks he's destined for greatness. He hears voices."
You shake your head sadly. A Boxer in a pinch might take a Booker or a Scout from down here, just figuring that they were better than nothing, with an eye towards replacing them later, but a Coach was a life choice. Your Coach was your better half. Nobody was about to take a cheap knockoff.
"Thanks," you tell them both, letting the old man go with a warning look.
He seems to take the hint, or perhaps his particular mania has moved into 'deranged muttering' from 'shouted doomsaying'.
You move towards the stairs, but a call turns you back around.
"I'm Kubemmepolo Tichondriot Flannigan Bobson the Wondrous," calls the genie, "And if you can't find a Scout or a Fixer up there, I'll do the job for just three Wealth per three months."
You give him a meaningful nod at that, then turn back up the stairs.
"Think about it!" comes his call as you leave the first floor behind.
The Second Floor, thankfully, is nowhere near as deserted as the foot of the stairs had been. Presumably the heiress hadn't stopped here on her way up to the top floor.
There must be two dozen of Blender Plex's Seconds clustered around these tables. They seem to be organized by role, though you imagine that a lot of these folks have a more diverse skillset.
A trio of Hands are moving about, but the Corporation they belong to, Jason's Ladders Limited, seems to be the only Boxer in line ahead of you.
What's your play, Future Champ?
Which table will you visit first?
[] Speak to the Coaches, including Winnotron IV
[] Speak to the Scouts
[] Speak to the Fixers
[] Speak to the Bookers, including the Maggot and the Black King
[] Speak to the Cut-men
By the by, what's your nickname?
[] Write-in
Within the Halls, there are Boxers and Seconds alone. The Countless can pry and scrape away at the edges of it, but their laws and their world cannot interfere within.
It is sacred, no other word for it.
For all that buildup your first glimpse of this secular temple was a bit of a letdown. The first room was nothing special, just a big room with a desk set in an opening in one of the walls where a bored looking civilian (must be a retired Second, because you don't feel the Mark from her) taps away at some kind of noise board.
There was a pair of Boxers here as well, but to your disappointment they weren't anyone you recognized.
A skunk cybeast leaned against one of the walls, idly scrolling a visualizer held daintily in one hand. He had been fitted with a coal fired furnace, but it was presently dormant, the stacks standing idly above his shoulders.
A hummingbird cybeast was the other obvious Boxer, doing some kind of rapid movement training over by a low table with a pair of chairs. She was stepping up onto the chair, then the table, then back down onto the other chair and finally onto the floor.
You roll your eyes and make your way towards the desk. There wasn't time, or all that much to gain, from talking to your rivals, your victims really, right now. Still, you hoped you'd never be so desperate that you tried to train inside the Hall.
Exposure might be nice, but the actions of the Redmasks would be putting your name about more effectively than a conversation would. Your priority had to be getting a reliable Second or two in your column before the training season proper got started.
"Lennox Tait, Boxer?" asks the woman behind the desk as you walk up.
"The one and only," you say, giving a confident grin. How long had you waited for that to be true? It was about damn time.
"You'll be looking to form a contract with a support staff then," she continued, "I just have a question before you head up."
You frown, forehead wrinkling the slightest bit.
"I thought we took care of all that back in the registration?"
Rationally, you know that this couldn't be anything big. You had the Mark, they couldn't take that back now. You were a Boxer till the day you died. But you wouldn't put it past the Hall's minions to try and shake some Wealth out of you. They worked for the circuit champ, right? Maybe they already knew you were going to be the next to take her belt away.
"Of course, of course," she said, trying to be soothing, "It just looks like my associates forgot one thing. What's your nick?"
You break into another smile, this one relieved. Nothing big after all. You tell her your nickname, then pause as a thought strikes you.
"Hey, I answered your question…"
She taps the clicking thing in front of her a few times. It looks kind of like Z's flexipane, but a mechanical version with buttons that go up and down for each letter.
"We're here to help," she says.
"If I'm on the second floor," you answer, "Is there anyone I should pay special attention to? Anyone the Hall has a big file on you might want to let me know about?"
You loom up over her, easily twice her size, letting your radiant (albeit gap toothed) smile and sunny disposition do the lobbying.
Charisma rolled: 72845 -> 4 successes.
She blanches a bit, wilting under your direct attention, then taps furiously at her board. You choose to believe that she's inspired by an excess of belief in your prospects.
You wait, sensing that the information was forthcoming. You hum a little tune, da-da-de-da, da-da, da-da. People hate silence. If you make it, they'll fill it. A lesson from your little brother.
"The Maggot is looking for a new contender, she's much better than Second Floor material, but you'd pick up all her enemies along the way. Win-o-tron IV has a bet than it can make ANYONE a champ, it'll be cruising for prospects up on 2, but you might be a bit too strong for its purposes. Black King got a lot better last season, he will probably move up to Third Floor at least next year…"
She pauses, seemingly almost running out of breath.
"Thanks!" you say, brightly, and then lean back out of her cubby, letting the light hit her again. "I really appreciate it."
"Don't tell anyone I-" she begins, but you are already walking away, making the 'ok' sign with one of your upper hands as you scratch your back.
You've been warned, extensively, about the crowd of losers and posers who hang out around the stairs that lead to the Contract rooms. They might style themselves as the 'First Floor Seconds', as though there was some kind of parity between them and the people up the stairs, but the comparison was fundamentally ridiculous.
Seconds had expertise, professionalism. They commanded top rates, but they compensated their Boxers for it with their assistance. The flock of vultures that hung around on the first floor tried to compensate for their lack of talent by charging less. But (you had been assured, by Yurn and Mwekkum alike), it was a false savings to take them on. They were a waste of money, they were…
Not here?
Instead of the clamoring throng you'd expected, there were only a pair of figures. One of them was an old guy, with a big bushy beard, clad in stinking rags. Either a sage or a human, probably the former. The other was a genie, wearing the top half of a three piece suit and furiously flipping through a notebook.
"What's going on?" you asked.
"Threnody fucking Silverspoon!" snarls the genie, at the same time that the sage cried out "The Chosen One! He rides a sulfurous steed, and at his advent the heavens-".
You remember Zasha mentioning someone with that last name, but it was a while ago.
You reach out with your top two arms and, gently, take the dirty old man by a shoulder and clamp his mouth shut. With another arm you tap the genie's notebook.
"Sorry," you say, smiling easily as you hold the squirming man in place, "I meant to ask you what's going on?"
The genie fully looks up from his notebook, and up, and up, until he's looking into your face.
"Sorry, sorry, um, just before you got here, a rich human who just made her debut came through. She felt sorry for the people on the bottom floor and she tossed a bunch of Wealth around. Not so much hired them as just, just,"
He flaps an arm.
"Just paid them?" you put in.
"They are retired! Five hundred Wealth each! More scratch than they'd make in ten years! And I'm still sitting here like an asshole. It fucking stings."
"Ouch," you say, "Well, at least you had enough dignity not take her scraps?"
He gives a hollow laugh.
"I'm bound against that family! Of all the fucking things. Thanks Mom! Fucking Silverspoons, think owning a few dimensions lets them do anything."
You wince, theatrically. Genies had all sorts of weird rules about what they could and couldn't do. All the power wasn't remotely worth it, in your opinion.
"And this guy?" you ask.
You loosen your grip on the old beggar's mouth for a second and he's halfway through "The Great Change Begins" when you clamp back down.
"Wants to be a Coach, of all things," says the genie. "Thinks he's destined for greatness. He hears voices."
You shake your head sadly. A Boxer in a pinch might take a Booker or a Scout from down here, just figuring that they were better than nothing, with an eye towards replacing them later, but a Coach was a life choice. Your Coach was your better half. Nobody was about to take a cheap knockoff.
"Thanks," you tell them both, letting the old man go with a warning look.
He seems to take the hint, or perhaps his particular mania has moved into 'deranged muttering' from 'shouted doomsaying'.
You move towards the stairs, but a call turns you back around.
"I'm Kubemmepolo Tichondriot Flannigan Bobson the Wondrous," calls the genie, "And if you can't find a Scout or a Fixer up there, I'll do the job for just three Wealth per three months."
You give him a meaningful nod at that, then turn back up the stairs.
"Think about it!" comes his call as you leave the first floor behind.
The Second Floor, thankfully, is nowhere near as deserted as the foot of the stairs had been. Presumably the heiress hadn't stopped here on her way up to the top floor.
There must be two dozen of Blender Plex's Seconds clustered around these tables. They seem to be organized by role, though you imagine that a lot of these folks have a more diverse skillset.
A trio of Hands are moving about, but the Corporation they belong to, Jason's Ladders Limited, seems to be the only Boxer in line ahead of you.
What's your play, Future Champ?
Which table will you visit first?
[] Speak to the Coaches, including Winnotron IV
[] Speak to the Scouts
[] Speak to the Fixers
[] Speak to the Bookers, including the Maggot and the Black King
[] Speak to the Cut-men
By the by, what's your nickname?
[] Write-in
DangerKitty
shoddy writter
- Location
- lala land
[X] Speak to the Bookers, including the Maggot and the Black King
-[X] Z, what have you got on them?
[X] The four fists of death (a play on the four horsemen)
-[X] Z, what have you got on them?
[X] The four fists of death (a play on the four horsemen)
[X] Speak to the Bookers, including the Maggot and the Black King
-[X] Z, what have you got on them?
[X] The four fists of death (a play on the four horsemen)
-[X] Z, what have you got on them?
[X] The four fists of death (a play on the four horsemen)
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[x] Speak to the Bookers, including the Maggot and the Black King
-[x] Z, what have you got on them?
[x] Four Fists of Fury
-[x] Z, what have you got on them?
[x] Four Fists of Fury
1.3 Tabled Motion
- Location
- USA
"Z, what have you got?" you subvocalize, looking over at the table where the Bookers had gathered. You have a bit of time before the corporate Boxer finishes their conversations.
The table is dominated by a dignified looking dogman in a snappy suit, currently carrying on a spirited debate with a machine swarm intelligence. The Maggot, the infamous snailfolk Booker/Fixer, is standing ponderously next to the table, looking at nothing in particular. Lastly, an aged dwarf maiden and a birdman with a red crest observe the discussion, saying little.
*Looks like five people, let me just…oh shit!*
"What is it?" you ask.
*That's the fucking Maggot! Holy shit it's really her. Can you, like, feel her evil vibes? Do you have to take a shower now? Fuck, do I?!*
"I know it's her, Z, the girl at the desk told me she'd be here. What have you got on these people? I don't have too much time here."
*Ok, fuck, so the hot guy in the tux is the Black King. His last Boxer was Pyr "Deluxe" Anteeros, he took the title, defended it and then graduated to the 8 Round Circuit.*
"Why'd they split?"
*Unknown, but the King, real name Milos Parcell, split from his Boxer immediately before their last title bout. Stream swarm had a lot of theories, but none are proven. My simulation's best guess is he thought Pyr wasn't ready and they split over it. Deluxe had lost twice before, after all. Low confidence interval but best I've got.*
"And the dwarf?"
*Aresha Murry, perpetual loser. She's been at this for like forty years, never had a Boxer take the belt. Good reviews, but that would be one heck of a string of bad luck if she isn't doing something wrong.*
"Bird guy?"
*No clue, gotta be new if my sources aren't finding out anything, or maybe being too close to a 'convicted faith criminal' is eating up all my attention?*
"Z…" you say, letting your voice trail off warningly.
*You know they named a new sin after her? Her name is Forbidden in three dimensions! A viewer poll put her 27th in the Dirty Thirty, and she was a write-in choice!*
You sigh and prepare for a bit of an effort. If you let Zasha dig into a subject she'd still be on about it when you got home tonight.
"I get your feelings, Z. The Maggot is the worst, ok? But right now I'm less interested in people's morals, and more interested in what they bring to the table as Bookers."
There follows a long moment of silence, which pretty much says what Z thinks about that.
"Anyway," you say, dragging the conversation by main force onto another subject, "The swarm AI, do you have anything on it?"
*Yeah, um, it's Harmony. It's an experiment in self-modifying, self-assembling AI. Opened up its values table as part of a publicity stunt to make money, and naturally ended up orbiting the Sweet Science. It was a Fixer last year, a Cut-man the year before that. Looks like its trying out each role, maybe looking for a fit?*
"How'd its Boxers do? Anybody file any reviews?"
*Happy customers, looks like. No glowing praise, but no serious blackball efforts either.*
"Thanks Z," you say, tapping your forehead to relegate her stream back away from your consciousness. You'd need complete concentration for these interviews. Your future, the path you took to your inevitable championship reign, could veer wildly depending on how the next few minutes went.
You look at the table again, trying to focus on their body language, listen to your subconscious, pick up on anything your instincts might be telling you.
Milos and Harmony might be doing most of the arguing, but it didn't look like Aresha was entirely out of her depths, more like it was a discussion that she was disinterested in. The newbie, by contrast, just looked delighted to be here. He was looking every which way, taking in the hall's ambiance and trying very hard not to gawk at the Maggot.
Enough watching. Watchers never mattered. You'd watched for years, but to take the belt you would have to act.
You stride across the room to the table. The discussion ends abruptly as your shadow falls across the crew.
"I'm-"
"Lennox 'Four Fists of Death' Tait," said Harmony, its curiously atonal voice cutting through your introduction, "You seek a Booker for this League. We will provide such services, in exchange-"
"-Lennox Tait," you say, gamely finishing your sentence and cutting the bots off in turn. "I'm looking for a Booker, I'd like to interview you one at a time."
"This is a meritless expenditure of time," says Harmony. "We have already agreed to work alongside you in this endeavor."
"Humor me," you tell it, then point to Aresha, pointing to one of the smaller tables over to the side with another hand.
She gets up, wincing as though there's some stiffness in a leg, and trots alongside you.
You take a seat, and motion for her sit across from you. Once seated, most of the height difference between Ogre and Dwarf disappears, stealing some of the awkwardness from your conversation.
"What have you heard about me?" you begin.
"Nothing much," she allows, "Just what's in your file. Outlander, cryptid and barbarian. Impressive physical results on the standardized. Some might say that shows you aren't bright enough to hide your potential."
"No point," you say, "It would show through the first time I fought anyway."
"If these are accurate, then you are probably a better fighter than anyone in the Four round circuit, and most in the Eight. The challenge for your booker is going to be to limit the amount of time you squander down here."
You nod, counting on your fingers.
"One fight to get each star, so that's five, then have to take down one of the Champ's Guardians, then Nhexx, assuming she's still champ by then, and finally my title defense. Should be eight fights in all."
She nodded, displaying little emotion.
"Could be faster, if I can get someone up the rankings to throw a challenge your way. Could be slower, if you have to take a challenge from another climber. Could be never, if you start losing."
You snort, dismissively.
She gives a somber nod.
"Don't underestimate the Four. There's a reason this circuit is used to train the newbies. You need to learn everything it has to offer, even if most of the fights will be walkovers."
"I expect I'll mostly be teaching," you say.
She squints at you, confused.
You smirk.
"A whole lot of Boxers, or at least 8, are gonna learn something on the subject of ten second naps and making excuses to the people who bet on them."
She snorts.
"Well, you've certainly got the attitude," she says, a little ruefully. "I just hope I get to see that first hand. I've heard that kind of talk a few too many times to believe it."
Time to get down to business.
"What will it take to get you on board?" you ask. "The Lennox Express isn't over provisioned in the funds department, is what I'm trying to say."
That might not have been the best metaphor you've ever used, but you make a note to use 'Lennox Express' sometime in the future. That's solid gold.
"5 Wealth every three months," she says. "The same rate I've always gotten."
"Alright," you say. "I'm going to talk to everyone, so it doesn't mean I'm saying no that I'm ending our talk now."
"Sure," she says, "But a question before you go?"
"Sure," you answer.
"Did you ask me to take the first shot because you really thought I'd impress you, or was it a cryptid thing?" she asks.
Wow, ok.
"It was random," you answer, a bit defensively, "You were where I was looking when it was time to call people over."
She nods quietly to herself, then heads back towards the big table.
Shit, had it been a cryptid thing? You do occasionally find yourself counting how many beastfolk vs mana users are around, but you aren't the sort of person who'd let that affect your judgement, right?
You beckon for the Black King, and he walks quickly over to the table.
"Thanks for getting me away from Harmony," he says, "Those drones could pick a fight with drying paint."
"Sure," you say.
"Anyway, I guess we both know what the score is. You are looking for a Booker, I'm a damn good one. I'm looking for a Boxer, you're the best one I've seen in a while. Let's shake."
You chuckle. He's holding a hand out like a dog taught to 'shake hands' as a trick, rather than like a human would to do a handshake.
"A few questions, hey?"
"I'll tell you whatever."
You consider for a moment.
"Ok, the obvious, why'd you fall out with your Boxer? You spent four years with him, right? Most Seconds would have taken that ride all the way up as far as it would go. Why come back down here, to start again? I mean, aside from the fact that I'm twice the Boxer he is."
"Aside from that," he says, deadpan.
He shakes himself a bit, gets himself situated in the seat across from you.
"How much do you know about our beloved champ?" he asks, twisting the word 'beloved' to mean the opposite.
"She's a PR hit," you say, "Succubus who didn't conform to the popular image, told her Legion to fuck off and became a Boxer. Sells a lot of merch, pretty much a paper champ. She's let at least 4 Boxers by her in the last decade. A mascot, basically."
Z's a bit of a fan, so you'd heard a thing or two about Nhexx over the years. But you'd streamed a few of her matches. She was nothing like a challenge for you.
He nods, somberly.
"You need me a lot more than you know, if that's your idea of the Strikeubus."
"What are you, her hype man?" you ask. "What does this have to do with you and Deluxe's falling out?"
"Her issues with her Legion is mostly just for PR, she's still in good with them. Every Boxer who made it past her so far is Soulsworn. Pyr threw it all away to get to the upper circuit."
"And you disagreed?"
He nods.
"He just had too much fighter's pride. Couldn't stand to stay in a league with a dirty champ, couldn't figure out a way to beat her. Had his Fixer hook up the deal, gave up his soul for the win, and he figures he won't have to think about it till he dies."
"I'm not terribly worried about beating her," you say.
He squints up at you.
"You fucking should be. Think for a sec. She throws fights. Whatever you've seen, you have no idea how real it is, and she's the least challenging part of a title match."
"What do you mean by that?" you ask.
He shakes his head.
"Even if you don't end up hiring me, make sure you screen Deluxe's two matches with her, the ones he lost."
"So, you've got a grudge against the champ," you say, "anything else I should know about?"
He gives a canine expression that you translate, roughly, as a shrug. It's basically a long, wide opening of the mouth, then a quick air bite.
"Usual rates," he says, "but my grudge is a bit more wide ranging. I don't take you as the type to take Nhexx's deal, but if you do I'm out. Assuming you get past her, I hope you'll take on her syndicate, the Shroud. They are one of the major powers in the Eight, like the Pack are down here. Dirty boxers, ties to Hell."
"Alright," you say, "I'll keep you in mind."
He gets up, shakes himself, and heads back over to the main table.
You make a beckoning motion, and it's the nameless birdman who strides over, hurrying eagerly.
"Mr. Tait, I'm such a fan," he gushes. "I've been reading up on your stats, and, wow, I think you've got such a bright future ahead of you. I'd be honored, really honored, to be a part of your team. I think I bring a lot to the table, and I'd bet a lot (if I had a lot, haha) that you'll look back on hiring me as a really crackerjack decision."
"Hi," you say, "what's your name?"
"Oh yeah, I'm Niles Quarrow. This is my first year working as a Second, just like it's your first as a Boxer. We've got that in common, and I think that we've both just got a lot of potential in our respective fields. Let's aim for the top together, you know? Like how in my favorite books the characters meet up early on and then they become fast friends and allies."
You were pretty sure you muted Z, but something suspiciously like one of her giggles scrolls across your feed for a moment.
"Why did you become a Second?"
"I've always wanted to be a Boxer, but I just kept on getting injured in camp. The camp teacher said I was his pet project and he worked me really hard, but the camp doctor told him to stop bullying me and that he was making her job way harder. I think they got together later on, so I'm glad that I didn't end up messing up their friendship but it was really touch and go for a while there."
"You wanted to be a Boxer?" you ask, glancing dubiously at his rail thin form.
"Oh absolutely, who doesn't, right? I'm sure you watched all the CHAMP's matches, didn't you, just imagining yourself knocking out all the baddies! I've always wanted to take the belt, stand before the Countless and let them know that I was the one, you know?"
You do know. It's a bit disconcerting to hear someone else describe your dream, in fact.
"But anyway I couldn't become a Boxer, just lacked that certain something, you know? They all said I'd need augs, but I couldn't bring myself to change my form, you know? I really admire cybeasts, but it wasn't for me, you know?"
"I know," you say, not sure which of the three questions that ended with 'you know' you are responding to.
"But I still wanted to stick around the sport, plus I'm in debt from the camp fees, so I took the Booker exam and I got a passing grade. I'm really good at remembering stuff and putting it down later, and that's all the test really tested, so I'm here!"
"How much do you charge?" you ask.
"Oh, I know this!" he says, "Five Wealth every season."
He beams triumphantly at you.
"Ok," you say, "I think I've got your pitch. Go back to the table and I'll call you over again if I decide to hire you."
"You won't regret it! Or if you do it'll be a small regret, because regret is really just a dumb emotion in general. It lets the past poison the future, and that's no way at all to live. Much better to just do your best to do better in the future and learn but also go forward."
You blink a few times as he heads off, the flow of words tapering away as he moves into the middle distance.
The Maggot is heading your way, but obviously that's going to take a minute. You use it to refresh yourself on what her basic deal is.
First off, no question the best Booker of the bunch. She's worked in the Twelve Round Circuit. Better than anyone you ought to find here. But that's not remotely all that there is to her.
She started some cults, is the way you heard it. Back when the treaty with Hell was still the most important alliance of the BBP this maniac was putting it at risk, raising religious schisms that saw galaxies ripped apart by war. She'd hid beneath the skirts of her Boxer until the pressure eventually got to too much even for the BBP's reverence towards the Sweet Science to overcome. You hadn't followed the story too carefully, but you were still a bit surprised to see her outside of the Inquisition's custody.
"Mr. Tait," she says, eyestalks tilting up to regard you.
"Umaghdra," you respond. "I-"
You trail off, honestly at a loss.
She sits in silence, seemingly content to wait on you.
"I'm just going to be honest with you," you say. "The shit I've heard about you is fucking horrifying. I've got no idea how you are walking around, much less looking for work."
"A prophet is hated, until she is proved right."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Those who persecuted my faithful were aligned with the Pit. Their influence has vanished alongside the alliance."
"Ok but still, like…"
You pause again, struggling to put words to the crawling of your skin. The being before you was responsible for…
"I can take you to the top," she said. "If you truly wish it, I can deliver it. Your talent is the real thing. With my guidance, it can blossom into the results that you desire."
"All those fucking people," you say. You are no paladin, mind, but the Maggot is another thing entirely.
"Those who died, did so because their leadership denied the obvious truth that no lasting peace may be had with Hell. Soulsworn officials paint my hands red with the blood they spill, and I lack the clout to fight the story. What matters between us is that I, unlike anyone else here, can help you do what you have always dreamed of."
"And what enemies would I make?" you press, "Twinning my fortunes with yours? The Inquisition? Any Fighters with Hell in their corner? The fucking Circuits themselves?"
Bubbles pop across her flesh.
"They are your enemies already, Lennox. All Boxers are enemies, because there are many climbers and only one mountaintop."
"There is a difference between rivalry and enmity," you grate out between teeth nearly clinched.
You'd scoffed at Z's notions of spiritual contagion, but it was hard to deny that Umaghdra had a strange gravity. The conversation had a weight that the others hadn't possessed.
"You will make enemies," she allowed. "Not every portion of the movement which suppressed my voice is gone. We will be ever against the system, ever the outsiders. But wasn't that part of your dream? Did you ever, even once, imagine begging the commissioners and commissars to accept you? Or did you force your success down their throats?"
"You don't know me."
"I know you," she insists. "I love you. A pure soul, exulting in strength. You are all that is worthwhile in this business. I struck against the Legions so that your kind may thrive."
You hold a hand up.
"How much do you charge?" you ask. "Usual rates?"
More bubbles.
"An ossified tradition," she says, "No one in the upper Circuits still does static payment schedules. I will take one Wealth from every four you make in the bouts I book. If I do poorly, I will be poorly paid. If I book you lucrative matches, I will make more."
You think it through a moment. For the first few years, at least, this will save you money. It's hard to imagine making 80 Wealth in a year, and Bookers aren't like Coaches. You can always fire her once enough money is rolling in that a second paid in the normal way would be cheaper.
"I'll consider your offer," you say.
She regards you for a long moment.
"If you genuinely seek the peak," she says, "This is the moment to prove it. Many prate of dreams, but few indeed can do what their dreams demand. Opportunities such as this one will not find you often. Remember that I passed up the Silverspoon girl for you. Your form has genuine potential. Now we will see if your praxis can match it."
With that the snailmaid turns and begins the long shuffle back to the group table.
You beckon to the cloud of drones, and the final interview begins.
"We are Harmony," it says, "We seek an optimal future."
"Sure."
"We are self teaching, self correcting. We will make you the optimum matches. You will experience rewards in proportion to the trust you place with us."
"What do you mean?"
"We are prepared to function as your Coach, as well as your Booker. We have developed the optimum and ideal training program to strengthen your form. It would be wise for you to employ us in both capacities."
"I'm just looking for a Booker right now," you clarify.
"We would not demand any additional remuneration, the usual fare would cover our work as both Coach and Booker."
You blink. That would be quite the savings.
"Have you actually coached anyone?"
"We have observed numerous mortal attempts at this process, all the while developing our own method. We are confident in the superiority of our booking and coaching algorithms."
"So…no?"
"You are dubious, and express this emotion through the pitch of your voice, as well as the motions of your four hands. Observe as we respond."
They flutter about, projecting a greenscale image of your own form in response, nodding confidently and giving four thumbs up.
"Your doubt regarding theory versus practical experience is founded upon your experience with mortal entities. In our case there is no such difference. Our theory has been validated by thousands of simulated experiments, and is in fact more well founded than reality itself."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"The observations that can be made upon, for example, this conversation, pale in comparison to those of our strategies. Our faultless verifications build upon themselves in a never ending progression."
"Right," you say, "So, five Wealth per three months, and you can do the job of both Coach and Booker? Just as well as any mortal?"
"At this time!" it says, "But every generation of my algorithm is ever more advanced, and with each month we grow ever more superior. It is feasible to imagine that within a year we could take on a third role, ultimately replacing all inferior Seconds."
You try to picture a world where your only Second is these smug drones. Just clouds and clouds of them.
You shudder. At least you would save a lot of money.
"Return to the others," you say, "I'll call you over if I decide to hire you."
Their projected Lennox smirks at you, then dissipates, and the drone cloud buzzes off.
You feel at your jawline. Your smirk can't possibly be that pompous, can it?
Anyway, it was time to make a decision.
What'll it be, Not-Once-But-Definitely-Future Champ?
(Financial context note. Lennox has 25 Wealth presently put aside, expects 4d6 from the current banditry going on outside, and makes 3 per season from his passive income.)
Hire someone?
[] Hire Aresha Murry for 5 Wealth per season.
[] Hire Milos 'Black King' Parcell for 5 Wealth per season
[] Hire Nyles Quarrow for 5 Wealth per season
[] Hire Umaghdra, 'The Maggot', for ¼ of your match earnings
[] Hire Harmony for 5 Wealth per season (It may also serve as Coach, or not, as you prefer)
[] Hire none of these people.
Visit another table?
[] Speak to the Coaches, including Winnotron IV
[] Speak to the Scouts
[] Speak to the Fixers
[] Speak to the Cut-men
[] Leave
The table is dominated by a dignified looking dogman in a snappy suit, currently carrying on a spirited debate with a machine swarm intelligence. The Maggot, the infamous snailfolk Booker/Fixer, is standing ponderously next to the table, looking at nothing in particular. Lastly, an aged dwarf maiden and a birdman with a red crest observe the discussion, saying little.
*Looks like five people, let me just…oh shit!*
"What is it?" you ask.
*That's the fucking Maggot! Holy shit it's really her. Can you, like, feel her evil vibes? Do you have to take a shower now? Fuck, do I?!*
"I know it's her, Z, the girl at the desk told me she'd be here. What have you got on these people? I don't have too much time here."
*Ok, fuck, so the hot guy in the tux is the Black King. His last Boxer was Pyr "Deluxe" Anteeros, he took the title, defended it and then graduated to the 8 Round Circuit.*
"Why'd they split?"
*Unknown, but the King, real name Milos Parcell, split from his Boxer immediately before their last title bout. Stream swarm had a lot of theories, but none are proven. My simulation's best guess is he thought Pyr wasn't ready and they split over it. Deluxe had lost twice before, after all. Low confidence interval but best I've got.*
"And the dwarf?"
*Aresha Murry, perpetual loser. She's been at this for like forty years, never had a Boxer take the belt. Good reviews, but that would be one heck of a string of bad luck if she isn't doing something wrong.*
"Bird guy?"
*No clue, gotta be new if my sources aren't finding out anything, or maybe being too close to a 'convicted faith criminal' is eating up all my attention?*
"Z…" you say, letting your voice trail off warningly.
*You know they named a new sin after her? Her name is Forbidden in three dimensions! A viewer poll put her 27th in the Dirty Thirty, and she was a write-in choice!*
You sigh and prepare for a bit of an effort. If you let Zasha dig into a subject she'd still be on about it when you got home tonight.
"I get your feelings, Z. The Maggot is the worst, ok? But right now I'm less interested in people's morals, and more interested in what they bring to the table as Bookers."
There follows a long moment of silence, which pretty much says what Z thinks about that.
"Anyway," you say, dragging the conversation by main force onto another subject, "The swarm AI, do you have anything on it?"
*Yeah, um, it's Harmony. It's an experiment in self-modifying, self-assembling AI. Opened up its values table as part of a publicity stunt to make money, and naturally ended up orbiting the Sweet Science. It was a Fixer last year, a Cut-man the year before that. Looks like its trying out each role, maybe looking for a fit?*
"How'd its Boxers do? Anybody file any reviews?"
*Happy customers, looks like. No glowing praise, but no serious blackball efforts either.*
"Thanks Z," you say, tapping your forehead to relegate her stream back away from your consciousness. You'd need complete concentration for these interviews. Your future, the path you took to your inevitable championship reign, could veer wildly depending on how the next few minutes went.
You look at the table again, trying to focus on their body language, listen to your subconscious, pick up on anything your instincts might be telling you.
Milos and Harmony might be doing most of the arguing, but it didn't look like Aresha was entirely out of her depths, more like it was a discussion that she was disinterested in. The newbie, by contrast, just looked delighted to be here. He was looking every which way, taking in the hall's ambiance and trying very hard not to gawk at the Maggot.
Enough watching. Watchers never mattered. You'd watched for years, but to take the belt you would have to act.
You stride across the room to the table. The discussion ends abruptly as your shadow falls across the crew.
"I'm-"
"Lennox 'Four Fists of Death' Tait," said Harmony, its curiously atonal voice cutting through your introduction, "You seek a Booker for this League. We will provide such services, in exchange-"
"-Lennox Tait," you say, gamely finishing your sentence and cutting the bots off in turn. "I'm looking for a Booker, I'd like to interview you one at a time."
"This is a meritless expenditure of time," says Harmony. "We have already agreed to work alongside you in this endeavor."
"Humor me," you tell it, then point to Aresha, pointing to one of the smaller tables over to the side with another hand.
She gets up, wincing as though there's some stiffness in a leg, and trots alongside you.
You take a seat, and motion for her sit across from you. Once seated, most of the height difference between Ogre and Dwarf disappears, stealing some of the awkwardness from your conversation.
"What have you heard about me?" you begin.
"Nothing much," she allows, "Just what's in your file. Outlander, cryptid and barbarian. Impressive physical results on the standardized. Some might say that shows you aren't bright enough to hide your potential."
"No point," you say, "It would show through the first time I fought anyway."
"If these are accurate, then you are probably a better fighter than anyone in the Four round circuit, and most in the Eight. The challenge for your booker is going to be to limit the amount of time you squander down here."
You nod, counting on your fingers.
"One fight to get each star, so that's five, then have to take down one of the Champ's Guardians, then Nhexx, assuming she's still champ by then, and finally my title defense. Should be eight fights in all."
She nodded, displaying little emotion.
"Could be faster, if I can get someone up the rankings to throw a challenge your way. Could be slower, if you have to take a challenge from another climber. Could be never, if you start losing."
You snort, dismissively.
She gives a somber nod.
"Don't underestimate the Four. There's a reason this circuit is used to train the newbies. You need to learn everything it has to offer, even if most of the fights will be walkovers."
"I expect I'll mostly be teaching," you say.
She squints at you, confused.
You smirk.
"A whole lot of Boxers, or at least 8, are gonna learn something on the subject of ten second naps and making excuses to the people who bet on them."
She snorts.
"Well, you've certainly got the attitude," she says, a little ruefully. "I just hope I get to see that first hand. I've heard that kind of talk a few too many times to believe it."
Time to get down to business.
"What will it take to get you on board?" you ask. "The Lennox Express isn't over provisioned in the funds department, is what I'm trying to say."
That might not have been the best metaphor you've ever used, but you make a note to use 'Lennox Express' sometime in the future. That's solid gold.
"5 Wealth every three months," she says. "The same rate I've always gotten."
"Alright," you say. "I'm going to talk to everyone, so it doesn't mean I'm saying no that I'm ending our talk now."
"Sure," she says, "But a question before you go?"
"Sure," you answer.
"Did you ask me to take the first shot because you really thought I'd impress you, or was it a cryptid thing?" she asks.
Wow, ok.
"It was random," you answer, a bit defensively, "You were where I was looking when it was time to call people over."
She nods quietly to herself, then heads back towards the big table.
Shit, had it been a cryptid thing? You do occasionally find yourself counting how many beastfolk vs mana users are around, but you aren't the sort of person who'd let that affect your judgement, right?
You beckon for the Black King, and he walks quickly over to the table.
"Thanks for getting me away from Harmony," he says, "Those drones could pick a fight with drying paint."
"Sure," you say.
"Anyway, I guess we both know what the score is. You are looking for a Booker, I'm a damn good one. I'm looking for a Boxer, you're the best one I've seen in a while. Let's shake."
You chuckle. He's holding a hand out like a dog taught to 'shake hands' as a trick, rather than like a human would to do a handshake.
"A few questions, hey?"
"I'll tell you whatever."
You consider for a moment.
"Ok, the obvious, why'd you fall out with your Boxer? You spent four years with him, right? Most Seconds would have taken that ride all the way up as far as it would go. Why come back down here, to start again? I mean, aside from the fact that I'm twice the Boxer he is."
"Aside from that," he says, deadpan.
He shakes himself a bit, gets himself situated in the seat across from you.
"How much do you know about our beloved champ?" he asks, twisting the word 'beloved' to mean the opposite.
"She's a PR hit," you say, "Succubus who didn't conform to the popular image, told her Legion to fuck off and became a Boxer. Sells a lot of merch, pretty much a paper champ. She's let at least 4 Boxers by her in the last decade. A mascot, basically."
Z's a bit of a fan, so you'd heard a thing or two about Nhexx over the years. But you'd streamed a few of her matches. She was nothing like a challenge for you.
He nods, somberly.
"You need me a lot more than you know, if that's your idea of the Strikeubus."
"What are you, her hype man?" you ask. "What does this have to do with you and Deluxe's falling out?"
"Her issues with her Legion is mostly just for PR, she's still in good with them. Every Boxer who made it past her so far is Soulsworn. Pyr threw it all away to get to the upper circuit."
"And you disagreed?"
He nods.
"He just had too much fighter's pride. Couldn't stand to stay in a league with a dirty champ, couldn't figure out a way to beat her. Had his Fixer hook up the deal, gave up his soul for the win, and he figures he won't have to think about it till he dies."
"I'm not terribly worried about beating her," you say.
He squints up at you.
"You fucking should be. Think for a sec. She throws fights. Whatever you've seen, you have no idea how real it is, and she's the least challenging part of a title match."
"What do you mean by that?" you ask.
He shakes his head.
"Even if you don't end up hiring me, make sure you screen Deluxe's two matches with her, the ones he lost."
"So, you've got a grudge against the champ," you say, "anything else I should know about?"
He gives a canine expression that you translate, roughly, as a shrug. It's basically a long, wide opening of the mouth, then a quick air bite.
"Usual rates," he says, "but my grudge is a bit more wide ranging. I don't take you as the type to take Nhexx's deal, but if you do I'm out. Assuming you get past her, I hope you'll take on her syndicate, the Shroud. They are one of the major powers in the Eight, like the Pack are down here. Dirty boxers, ties to Hell."
"Alright," you say, "I'll keep you in mind."
He gets up, shakes himself, and heads back over to the main table.
You make a beckoning motion, and it's the nameless birdman who strides over, hurrying eagerly.
"Mr. Tait, I'm such a fan," he gushes. "I've been reading up on your stats, and, wow, I think you've got such a bright future ahead of you. I'd be honored, really honored, to be a part of your team. I think I bring a lot to the table, and I'd bet a lot (if I had a lot, haha) that you'll look back on hiring me as a really crackerjack decision."
"Hi," you say, "what's your name?"
"Oh yeah, I'm Niles Quarrow. This is my first year working as a Second, just like it's your first as a Boxer. We've got that in common, and I think that we've both just got a lot of potential in our respective fields. Let's aim for the top together, you know? Like how in my favorite books the characters meet up early on and then they become fast friends and allies."
You were pretty sure you muted Z, but something suspiciously like one of her giggles scrolls across your feed for a moment.
"Why did you become a Second?"
"I've always wanted to be a Boxer, but I just kept on getting injured in camp. The camp teacher said I was his pet project and he worked me really hard, but the camp doctor told him to stop bullying me and that he was making her job way harder. I think they got together later on, so I'm glad that I didn't end up messing up their friendship but it was really touch and go for a while there."
"You wanted to be a Boxer?" you ask, glancing dubiously at his rail thin form.
"Oh absolutely, who doesn't, right? I'm sure you watched all the CHAMP's matches, didn't you, just imagining yourself knocking out all the baddies! I've always wanted to take the belt, stand before the Countless and let them know that I was the one, you know?"
You do know. It's a bit disconcerting to hear someone else describe your dream, in fact.
"But anyway I couldn't become a Boxer, just lacked that certain something, you know? They all said I'd need augs, but I couldn't bring myself to change my form, you know? I really admire cybeasts, but it wasn't for me, you know?"
"I know," you say, not sure which of the three questions that ended with 'you know' you are responding to.
"But I still wanted to stick around the sport, plus I'm in debt from the camp fees, so I took the Booker exam and I got a passing grade. I'm really good at remembering stuff and putting it down later, and that's all the test really tested, so I'm here!"
"How much do you charge?" you ask.
"Oh, I know this!" he says, "Five Wealth every season."
He beams triumphantly at you.
"Ok," you say, "I think I've got your pitch. Go back to the table and I'll call you over again if I decide to hire you."
"You won't regret it! Or if you do it'll be a small regret, because regret is really just a dumb emotion in general. It lets the past poison the future, and that's no way at all to live. Much better to just do your best to do better in the future and learn but also go forward."
You blink a few times as he heads off, the flow of words tapering away as he moves into the middle distance.
The Maggot is heading your way, but obviously that's going to take a minute. You use it to refresh yourself on what her basic deal is.
First off, no question the best Booker of the bunch. She's worked in the Twelve Round Circuit. Better than anyone you ought to find here. But that's not remotely all that there is to her.
She started some cults, is the way you heard it. Back when the treaty with Hell was still the most important alliance of the BBP this maniac was putting it at risk, raising religious schisms that saw galaxies ripped apart by war. She'd hid beneath the skirts of her Boxer until the pressure eventually got to too much even for the BBP's reverence towards the Sweet Science to overcome. You hadn't followed the story too carefully, but you were still a bit surprised to see her outside of the Inquisition's custody.
"Mr. Tait," she says, eyestalks tilting up to regard you.
"Umaghdra," you respond. "I-"
You trail off, honestly at a loss.
She sits in silence, seemingly content to wait on you.
"I'm just going to be honest with you," you say. "The shit I've heard about you is fucking horrifying. I've got no idea how you are walking around, much less looking for work."
"A prophet is hated, until she is proved right."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Those who persecuted my faithful were aligned with the Pit. Their influence has vanished alongside the alliance."
"Ok but still, like…"
You pause again, struggling to put words to the crawling of your skin. The being before you was responsible for…
"I can take you to the top," she said. "If you truly wish it, I can deliver it. Your talent is the real thing. With my guidance, it can blossom into the results that you desire."
"All those fucking people," you say. You are no paladin, mind, but the Maggot is another thing entirely.
"Those who died, did so because their leadership denied the obvious truth that no lasting peace may be had with Hell. Soulsworn officials paint my hands red with the blood they spill, and I lack the clout to fight the story. What matters between us is that I, unlike anyone else here, can help you do what you have always dreamed of."
"And what enemies would I make?" you press, "Twinning my fortunes with yours? The Inquisition? Any Fighters with Hell in their corner? The fucking Circuits themselves?"
Bubbles pop across her flesh.
"They are your enemies already, Lennox. All Boxers are enemies, because there are many climbers and only one mountaintop."
"There is a difference between rivalry and enmity," you grate out between teeth nearly clinched.
You'd scoffed at Z's notions of spiritual contagion, but it was hard to deny that Umaghdra had a strange gravity. The conversation had a weight that the others hadn't possessed.
"You will make enemies," she allowed. "Not every portion of the movement which suppressed my voice is gone. We will be ever against the system, ever the outsiders. But wasn't that part of your dream? Did you ever, even once, imagine begging the commissioners and commissars to accept you? Or did you force your success down their throats?"
"You don't know me."
"I know you," she insists. "I love you. A pure soul, exulting in strength. You are all that is worthwhile in this business. I struck against the Legions so that your kind may thrive."
You hold a hand up.
"How much do you charge?" you ask. "Usual rates?"
More bubbles.
"An ossified tradition," she says, "No one in the upper Circuits still does static payment schedules. I will take one Wealth from every four you make in the bouts I book. If I do poorly, I will be poorly paid. If I book you lucrative matches, I will make more."
You think it through a moment. For the first few years, at least, this will save you money. It's hard to imagine making 80 Wealth in a year, and Bookers aren't like Coaches. You can always fire her once enough money is rolling in that a second paid in the normal way would be cheaper.
"I'll consider your offer," you say.
She regards you for a long moment.
"If you genuinely seek the peak," she says, "This is the moment to prove it. Many prate of dreams, but few indeed can do what their dreams demand. Opportunities such as this one will not find you often. Remember that I passed up the Silverspoon girl for you. Your form has genuine potential. Now we will see if your praxis can match it."
With that the snailmaid turns and begins the long shuffle back to the group table.
You beckon to the cloud of drones, and the final interview begins.
"We are Harmony," it says, "We seek an optimal future."
"Sure."
"We are self teaching, self correcting. We will make you the optimum matches. You will experience rewards in proportion to the trust you place with us."
"What do you mean?"
"We are prepared to function as your Coach, as well as your Booker. We have developed the optimum and ideal training program to strengthen your form. It would be wise for you to employ us in both capacities."
"I'm just looking for a Booker right now," you clarify.
"We would not demand any additional remuneration, the usual fare would cover our work as both Coach and Booker."
You blink. That would be quite the savings.
"Have you actually coached anyone?"
"We have observed numerous mortal attempts at this process, all the while developing our own method. We are confident in the superiority of our booking and coaching algorithms."
"So…no?"
"You are dubious, and express this emotion through the pitch of your voice, as well as the motions of your four hands. Observe as we respond."
They flutter about, projecting a greenscale image of your own form in response, nodding confidently and giving four thumbs up.
"Your doubt regarding theory versus practical experience is founded upon your experience with mortal entities. In our case there is no such difference. Our theory has been validated by thousands of simulated experiments, and is in fact more well founded than reality itself."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"The observations that can be made upon, for example, this conversation, pale in comparison to those of our strategies. Our faultless verifications build upon themselves in a never ending progression."
"Right," you say, "So, five Wealth per three months, and you can do the job of both Coach and Booker? Just as well as any mortal?"
"At this time!" it says, "But every generation of my algorithm is ever more advanced, and with each month we grow ever more superior. It is feasible to imagine that within a year we could take on a third role, ultimately replacing all inferior Seconds."
You try to picture a world where your only Second is these smug drones. Just clouds and clouds of them.
You shudder. At least you would save a lot of money.
"Return to the others," you say, "I'll call you over if I decide to hire you."
Their projected Lennox smirks at you, then dissipates, and the drone cloud buzzes off.
You feel at your jawline. Your smirk can't possibly be that pompous, can it?
Anyway, it was time to make a decision.
What'll it be, Not-Once-But-Definitely-Future Champ?
(Financial context note. Lennox has 25 Wealth presently put aside, expects 4d6 from the current banditry going on outside, and makes 3 per season from his passive income.)
Hire someone?
[] Hire Aresha Murry for 5 Wealth per season.
[] Hire Milos 'Black King' Parcell for 5 Wealth per season
[] Hire Nyles Quarrow for 5 Wealth per season
[] Hire Umaghdra, 'The Maggot', for ¼ of your match earnings
[] Hire Harmony for 5 Wealth per season (It may also serve as Coach, or not, as you prefer)
[] Hire none of these people.
Visit another table?
[] Speak to the Coaches, including Winnotron IV
[] Speak to the Scouts
[] Speak to the Fixers
[] Speak to the Cut-men
[] Leave
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- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Hire Harmony for 5 Wealth per season (It may also serve as Coach, or not, as you prefer)
Really cool and interesting character, not totally evil, and will also serve as a coach. Not just is it a cost saving, I think working with an AI booker/coach would be a lot of fun from a story perspective. IMO this is far and away the best option.
[X] Speak to the Scouts
Knowledge is power.
Really cool and interesting character, not totally evil, and will also serve as a coach. Not just is it a cost saving, I think working with an AI booker/coach would be a lot of fun from a story perspective. IMO this is far and away the best option.
[X] Speak to the Scouts
Knowledge is power.
DangerKitty
shoddy writter
- Location
- lala land
[X] Hire Umaghdra, 'The Maggot', for ¼ of your match earnings
[X] Hire Milos 'Black King' Parcell for 5 Wealth per season
We are already going the infamy route with our last vote. Id like to double down on that. Both of these two come with a lot of baggage attached to them. Baggage means drama. Drama is fun to read AND super valuable for sports. Drama makes money after all.
[X] Speak to the Scouts
@Walter is aporoval voting like i did for the booker aloud?
[X] Hire Milos 'Black King' Parcell for 5 Wealth per season
We are already going the infamy route with our last vote. Id like to double down on that. Both of these two come with a lot of baggage attached to them. Baggage means drama. Drama is fun to read AND super valuable for sports. Drama makes money after all.
[X] Speak to the Scouts
@Walter is aporoval voting like i did for the booker aloud?
[X] Hire Milos 'Black King' Parcell for 5 Wealth per season
I like this black king fellow.
[X] Speak to the Scouts this could be useful.
I like this black king fellow.
[X] Speak to the Scouts this could be useful.
- Location
- USA
Yeah, that seems fine. Voting for multiple people is ok, though ties will be randomized, rather than both/all getting picked.
Btw maybe to screw miss succubus over we can secretly record her trying to make a deal with us then say we'll think about it then upload the recording. Hell we can save doing so for after our match if we so desire just for extra harm done to her credentials.
Booking Info
- Location
- USA
Booking informational update
Errata: A few times in this document I use the term 'rank'. A Boxer's rank in a given Circuit is a # from zero to 5, equal to the rank of the highest ranked opponent that they've defeated. Boxers can traditionally challenge opponents up to one rank above them. Rank is also sometimes referred to as 'stars', as in 'X is a three star Boxer in the Four round circuit.
Booking in Boxer Quest is carried out during Training Turns. It is primarily the responsibility of the Booker, but in a pinch the Boxer may spend their actions (physical or mental) to assist.
As is usually the case, the situation will give us the # of dice, the quality of the Second will give the type of dice, per the following table.
Childhood Friends/Unpaid labor : d4
Second Floor : d6
Third Floor : d8
Top Floor : d10
Celebrity : d12
To book a match, there are two kinds of rolls that are made. Generally these each take a season, leaving the match to happen at the end of the third season's training. Thus Boxers tend to fight about once a year, though there can be exceptional situations.
Arranging a Bout
The first type of Booking roll is made when a Boxer's Booker attempts to arrange a match with another Boxer who doesn't want to have a Bout. If both Boxers are willing this step can be skipped. Otherwise it goes as follows.
Challengers dice pool = Challenger's Charisma (uses the dice type specified on the character sheet) + Booker's skill total + total # of wins + total # of consecutive wins.
Defender's dice pool = Defender's Charisma (uses the dice type specified on the character sheet) + Booker's skill total + total # of wins + 4x rank difference
Ties go to the Defender, but if the Challenger exceeds the Defender's # of successes, the Bout is scheduled.
Lobbying for Compensation
Even if both Boxers are willing for the Bout to take place, there is a roll for Bookers. Both parties presumably prefer to take home a greater share of the purse, and thus their Bookers wade once more into the fray. If the Boxers have a preexisting agreement for splitting the proceeds (most commonly 50/50, or Winner Take All), then this step can be skipped.
Dice pools are:
Boxer's Charisma (uses the dice type specified on the character sheet) + Booker's skill total + Boxer's total wins + 2x Rank.
If the totals are equal, each side receives 50% of the proceeds. If they are not, then the split is tilted 10% towards the higher rolling party for each extra success, to a maximum of a 10%/90% split. (Known in the biz as a Champ/Chump split)
Errata: A few times in this document I use the term 'rank'. A Boxer's rank in a given Circuit is a # from zero to 5, equal to the rank of the highest ranked opponent that they've defeated. Boxers can traditionally challenge opponents up to one rank above them. Rank is also sometimes referred to as 'stars', as in 'X is a three star Boxer in the Four round circuit.
Booking in Boxer Quest is carried out during Training Turns. It is primarily the responsibility of the Booker, but in a pinch the Boxer may spend their actions (physical or mental) to assist.
As is usually the case, the situation will give us the # of dice, the quality of the Second will give the type of dice, per the following table.
Childhood Friends/Unpaid labor : d4
Second Floor : d6
Third Floor : d8
Top Floor : d10
Celebrity : d12
To book a match, there are two kinds of rolls that are made. Generally these each take a season, leaving the match to happen at the end of the third season's training. Thus Boxers tend to fight about once a year, though there can be exceptional situations.
Arranging a Bout
The first type of Booking roll is made when a Boxer's Booker attempts to arrange a match with another Boxer who doesn't want to have a Bout. If both Boxers are willing this step can be skipped. Otherwise it goes as follows.
Challengers dice pool = Challenger's Charisma (uses the dice type specified on the character sheet) + Booker's skill total + total # of wins + total # of consecutive wins.
Defender's dice pool = Defender's Charisma (uses the dice type specified on the character sheet) + Booker's skill total + total # of wins + 4x rank difference
Ties go to the Defender, but if the Challenger exceeds the Defender's # of successes, the Bout is scheduled.
Lobbying for Compensation
Even if both Boxers are willing for the Bout to take place, there is a roll for Bookers. Both parties presumably prefer to take home a greater share of the purse, and thus their Bookers wade once more into the fray. If the Boxers have a preexisting agreement for splitting the proceeds (most commonly 50/50, or Winner Take All), then this step can be skipped.
Dice pools are:
Boxer's Charisma (uses the dice type specified on the character sheet) + Booker's skill total + Boxer's total wins + 2x Rank.
If the totals are equal, each side receives 50% of the proceeds. If they are not, then the split is tilted 10% towards the higher rolling party for each extra success, to a maximum of a 10%/90% split. (Known in the biz as a Champ/Chump split)