The demon proceeded, immaterial, through the corridors of a mortal building, its claws tapping...
Infernal Conundrum: [Exalted/Worm] - Part 2: Hell is Other Exalts
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User Total the DragonBard 1 Thief of Words 45 -
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Chrysalis: 1.1
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The demon proceeded, immaterial, through the corridors of a mortal building, its claws tapping out an inaudible tattoo along the ceramic-tile floors. It was surrounded by and it passed through a minor multitude of adolescent mortality. The murmur and sussurus of their voices provided a comforting din, reminding it of the frantic efforts demonkind made to stave off the loving, destructive caress of Adorjan and her daughter winds. It felt a surprising moment of kinship for the fleeting creatures, knowing that powers beyond their control would one day unavoidably end their existences. Perhaps it was knowledge like that which led its kin to behave in ways it found so very inexplicable. But! That did not matter for now. It had a quest. A task. A compulsive need to deliver what it bore. Continuing through the horde of adolescent mortality, it continued to allow itself to be led, unerring, toward the heroic soul the demon's passenger found itself ineluctably drawn toward. Passing through the substanceless walls of this essence-starved place's matter, it found itself in a room filled with miniature cells or cubicles in which the mortals typically went to deal with the unsavory byproducts of their biological inefficiency. It was a curious feat of architecture, with each of the cubicles or stalls being designed to lock, but only from the inside, perhaps to stave off threats during the moments of vulnerability such wasteful yet apparently unavoidable processes forced upon them. Not that the starveling soul its passenger pulled it toward came here for that reason now. No, its target often came here, but where the creature typically spent this time consuming fuel for her continued survival or seeking reprieve from...ah.
Speaking of...The demon skittered back from where another adolescent mortal had entered the chamber. Behind it, the target drew her appendages in and slowed her breathing, clearly pretending she did not exist. For its part, the demon pulled back through the wall and out of the chamber. It had noted an odd perceptiveness in the one of the target's three persistent tormentors with the brown skin and dark hair. Even with it dematerialized, when it passed through the aggressive and athletic mortal, she had reacted immediately, looking around in panic followed immediately by fury. Its mission was too important to risk her detecting it. Besides, its prognostication abilities had assured it the appointed time came soon. Only a few weeks more, and this false truce would fall through, the target would lose her reprieve from her tormentors. When it did, only then would she be in a position to to accept its charge.
Or, it thought, we'll die.
The dark-skinned mortal made her way from the chamber, and the target released the breath she'd held, relief etched in the sagging of her shoulders. It felt some measure of pity for her at that. She had no idea what awaited her.
ooo
You stare dumbfounded in front of a fresh puddle of breakfast-hued vomit, at the gaping hell-mouth that the Trio have turned your locker into some time before the end of the November break. Overwhelmed by the reek of rotten blood and your inability to come up with any reason for anyone to hate anyone, much less you, that much, you don't react in time as Sophia steps up behind you, seizing a handful of your hair, and forcing you through the pool of vomit towards the defiled space. You start to struggle, trying to get free from her, but as you do, aware of the eyes of most of the gathered students upon you, the bully's arm jerked suddenly, her grip tightening to the point that hairs are pulled from your head as she forces you face first into the waiting locker. As you try to lever yourself out of the locker she slams the door home. Sharp pain makes head swim and your senses reel. You miss the sound of the lock being set in place in your disorientation.
Blood. Rot. Darkness. Pain.
You struggle to pull your thoughts together into something that makes sense.
Laughter. Frustration. Futility.
You scream, half-choking as the fetor of your surroundings brings up the last vestiges of your breakfast. Your vision swims. The coughing fit sends a spike of agony through your skull. Someone. Surely someone will help. Anyone? You try to call out again; the throbbing of your head dissuades you.
Trapped. Wounded.
You fight to keep from hyperventilating. Your thoughts are slippery. You aren't sure why you're afraid, but you know it's important.
Alone.
<"You're about to die.">
Before you can reflect that the thought was not your own, the world unravels.
ooo
The locker is no more. The school, as well, fades from your perceptions. Above and all around you, immense figures contort and writhe, intermingling and rearranging in ways your mind is unable to track. Creatures the scale of worlds, fill the horizon and beyond. Their inexplicable geometries dwarf Earth tiself, and you don't think you're even seeing all of them at any one time. They shudder, then begin to disintegrate, pieces disgorged like continents breaking apart in a tectonic catastrophe. This goes on for some time before one of the larger pieces breaks from one of them.
DESTINATION.
AGREEMENT.
The piece arcs through an explicable course directly at you, even though the path can in no way be called straight. It reaches you and--
ooo
Alien presences, sensations surround you. You trapped. In a hellish box with dead and rotting blood. You can't think straight. It hurts to try. Countless bizarre and frightful creatures are around you. You're trapped. Where? Box. Coffin? Dead?
<"You are about to die.">
Your heart rate spikes, slamming against your ribcage as though seeking to escape. Someone's there! Maybe they can...they can get you out! Away from these things. Wait. Dying?! "N...nn!"
<"In precisely twenty seconds, you are going to lose consciousness. When you do, you will choke on your own vomit, and you will die."> The genteel voice continues with an odd hesitance. <"I can prevent that, if you will let me."> It huffed out a billowy sigh. <"May I?">
Unable to get the words out correctly without another fit of coughing, you just nod, your need to get out overwhelming. Besides, things can't--
<"Very well. Please do try not to panic.">
--panic? Why would you panic?
It turns out you were wrong. You were very wrong. With a sudden squelch and an uptick in the cocophony made by the creatures in your mind, something huge and segmented appears around you, long limbs clad in a glistening green carapace wrapping around your body, immersing you in a billowing clould of white vapor as you are embraced by a creature whose limbs look like a giant spider crab was cross-bred with a redneck knife shop. As it grips you tighter, the creature's limbs stretch and distend to engulf you whole. You try to scream, but you cannot tell if you have a mouth anymore. Your world goes dark.
ooo
You are suspended in the warm and the dark. You sense nothing for a span of time you cannot quantify. It could have been moments or eons, and you have no way of telling. And then, suddenly, you begin to remember.
The first moments. Zen-mu. Hiding your flame and whispers amongst the glorious radiance and decrees of your King. The perfection of symmetry and order. The endless battle against the hordes of raw chaos and inchoate potentia. The wonders of the great work. The causality-engine. The games. Your servants, your chattel. A place for every thing. Every thing in its place. And then...disaster. The visions begin to show signs of stress, as of a looking glass which shimmers and strains against great pressure. The great engine throws a gear. The servants rebel. The chattel rise up. They are not gracious in defeat. They do not want to preserve your Order. The horror of kin dying. The rage of betrayal and rejection, not just of you, but of everything you stood for. Striking out. And there the glass warps, shatters. Forcing upon the victors a diminished prize. Caged, improsned. Trapped. Forced to watch the twisted wrecks loss has turned your kin into. Unable to escape. Unable to fix them. Unable to fix the broken system. The visions come faster and faster, blurring beyond all comprehensibility. You understand and see everything, briefly...very briefly, you comprehend Existence and all its varieties. You grasp the secret underpinnings of all realities, but they slip from your fingers. The knowledge drains from your mind, growing hazier and hazier. You can scarcely hold onto to the thoughts, the memories distorted, commingled with your own, fragmented and warped like a reflection thrown in a shattered, half-molten mirror. The visions continue, too fast to even process, your own memories commingling with...your own/theirs/its/HERS. You relive the agony of life since your mother's death, the shattering of your world, your family, all at the whims of random chance. It was the shatterpoint, the single point of failure which sent cracks radiating out into every other aspect of your life. Emma growing distant. Your father, collapsing in upon himself. School becoming an interminable torment forced to see and relive the awful knowledge that somewhere along the way, some basic fact of your reality was irreparably broken and you had no idea how, no reason why. The incomprehensibility of Emma's betrayal, of the Trio's torments. The failure of the school, the teachers, the order they were supposed to represent, the systems of authority which were supposed to protect you...but didn't. And worse. The fact that your personal suffering had been but a symptom of a greater disease. Nothing less than the wholesale breakdown of the city, of the country, of the world. The slow decay of Brockton Bay, and the inescapable inertia of human society breaking down on the most fundamental levels. No one seemed able to stop it. No one seemed able to fix it.
You didn't know how, but you would.
YOU WILL FIX BROCKTON BAY.
ooo
You open your eyes to darkness. A moment's panic overcomes you and you thrash, breaking yourself free of...whatever was holding you with a series of loud cracks, like a crab leg's shell beign broken open. Stumbling free of the...weirdly shaped constraints you had been held in, you find yourself in an empty, white room. Aside from the thing you just broke out of and the pieces of it which broke off when you escaped, you're the only thing in the room. It's featureless save for the sealed door set into one wall. You know--without knowing how you know--that the room is a perfect cube in dimensions, precisely ten cubic yards in volume. You don't know why you're certain of that. You just know that you are. Your eyes sting at the brilliant and gleaming green-white light that inundates the room without out any source you can see. As you try to shake off the profound sense of disorientation the unfamiliar surroundings bring, your gathering thoughts are scattered by the interruption of a voice.
ooo
[ ] You've never heard this voice in your life. (Coil)
--They speak to you in calm, confident tones. Whoever they are, they are entirely certain of what they're telling you.
[ ] You've heard the voice a handful of times on the news. (Director Piggot)
--Poorly-concealed aggravation gives you the impression that, somehow, the spearker blames you for a day that has gone completely and utterly off the rails.
[ ] You've heard the voice before, but you can't quite place when. (Coadjutor)
--A dream-like sense of de-ja vu envelops you at the cultured, tentative tones.
[ ] You've heard the voice before; you'd recognize it anywhere. (Danny)
--The worry and uncertainty in it, however, gives you pause.
[ ] The voice isn't one you recognize, but the sense of bewilderment they convey is mirror to your own. (Lisa)
--You're not sure why, but they sound as poleaxed as you feel right now. Still, they don't have to sound so amused by everything.
[ ] Something Else
--Feel free to write in a different suggestion of who might be greeting Taylor in her first moments outside the Chrysalis Grotesque. Be forewarned that some suggestions will be folded into a vote for one of the other possibilities, should I have already covered it.
ooo
[ Urge - Fix Brockton Bay] Gained!
With that, I welcome you to the first arc of Infernal Conundrum. For those who can't guess, this is a Worm / Exalted (which are the respective IPs of Wildbow and White Wolf) crossover questshamelessly stolen from inspired by Sojiko's Conquest Quest and Gromweld's Alchemical Solutions. In this quest, in addition to having her Trigger Event during the Locker Incident, Taylor Hebert Exalted as an Infernal. Those familiar with the setting can likely already guess her Caste (or at minimum reduce the it to two or so possibilities). We will be using a modification on 2.5e Exalted. Infernal charm costs aren't changing due to the central status of their Perfect Defenses being inexpensive. The Errata'd version of Scarlet Rapture Shintai is likewise being used if relevant. Same for Thousandfold Typhoon Hand. Attunement motes don't exist. It will be complete with Ink Monkies contributions (it's essentially impossible to run Infernals otherwise, given that they wrote the majority of the charmsets). Mechanically, much of non-Exalted mechanics will run much as Alchemical Solutions does, with exceptions added as-needed on a case-by-case basis.
I'm also not going to lie to you: being an Infernal in Earth-Bet is not a cake-walk. You have perhaps the greatest potential to fix, actually fix, the story's setting...but you have equal potential to make everything so very much worse. It will be up to your choices, alongside the vicissitudes of fate (which is to say the luck of the dice), to determine which it will be.
Mechanics guides (liberallystolen borrowed from the Alchemical Solutions index post.
Explanation - How To Play Exalted, A Primer
Explanation - Social Combat (Courtesy of RCa)
Explanation - Combat vs Snipers (Courtesy of RCa)
Explanation - Differences Between OWoD and Exalted Mechanics (Courtesy of FunkyEntropy
Combat. Since we're jacking into the local Fate-equivalent to alter our Target Number, this means that we can use Loom-Server Migration to take advantage of the fact that the Target Number for most basic combat actions in oWoD is 6. This makes Marrow, for example, even more hilariously lethal with her DOOM COMBO OF DOOM because not only does a Clinch have a TN of 6, the damage roll has a TN of 6 as well. Weaver obviously benefits from this as well, because why operate at TN 7 when you can operate at TN 6 instead.
The best part about all of this is that because all LSM does is help integrate us into the local Fate-analog, our TNs/Difficulty should be the only thing that gets altered. Stunts, channeling virtues, DVs - these are all simply mechanical abstractions for how Exalts and other Creation-verse entities operate; contrast this with Target Numbers and Difficulty, which are imposed upon them from an outside source (Fate).
Explanation - The History of Exalted, In Brief (Posted by GamingGeek)
Explanation - Creation/Elsewhere (Posted by GamingGeek)
Speaking of...The demon skittered back from where another adolescent mortal had entered the chamber. Behind it, the target drew her appendages in and slowed her breathing, clearly pretending she did not exist. For its part, the demon pulled back through the wall and out of the chamber. It had noted an odd perceptiveness in the one of the target's three persistent tormentors with the brown skin and dark hair. Even with it dematerialized, when it passed through the aggressive and athletic mortal, she had reacted immediately, looking around in panic followed immediately by fury. Its mission was too important to risk her detecting it. Besides, its prognostication abilities had assured it the appointed time came soon. Only a few weeks more, and this false truce would fall through, the target would lose her reprieve from her tormentors. When it did, only then would she be in a position to to accept its charge.
Or, it thought, we'll die.
The dark-skinned mortal made her way from the chamber, and the target released the breath she'd held, relief etched in the sagging of her shoulders. It felt some measure of pity for her at that. She had no idea what awaited her.
ooo
You stare dumbfounded in front of a fresh puddle of breakfast-hued vomit, at the gaping hell-mouth that the Trio have turned your locker into some time before the end of the November break. Overwhelmed by the reek of rotten blood and your inability to come up with any reason for anyone to hate anyone, much less you, that much, you don't react in time as Sophia steps up behind you, seizing a handful of your hair, and forcing you through the pool of vomit towards the defiled space. You start to struggle, trying to get free from her, but as you do, aware of the eyes of most of the gathered students upon you, the bully's arm jerked suddenly, her grip tightening to the point that hairs are pulled from your head as she forces you face first into the waiting locker. As you try to lever yourself out of the locker she slams the door home. Sharp pain makes head swim and your senses reel. You miss the sound of the lock being set in place in your disorientation.
Blood. Rot. Darkness. Pain.
You struggle to pull your thoughts together into something that makes sense.
Laughter. Frustration. Futility.
You scream, half-choking as the fetor of your surroundings brings up the last vestiges of your breakfast. Your vision swims. The coughing fit sends a spike of agony through your skull. Someone. Surely someone will help. Anyone? You try to call out again; the throbbing of your head dissuades you.
Trapped. Wounded.
You fight to keep from hyperventilating. Your thoughts are slippery. You aren't sure why you're afraid, but you know it's important.
Alone.
<"You're about to die.">
Before you can reflect that the thought was not your own, the world unravels.
ooo
The locker is no more. The school, as well, fades from your perceptions. Above and all around you, immense figures contort and writhe, intermingling and rearranging in ways your mind is unable to track. Creatures the scale of worlds, fill the horizon and beyond. Their inexplicable geometries dwarf Earth tiself, and you don't think you're even seeing all of them at any one time. They shudder, then begin to disintegrate, pieces disgorged like continents breaking apart in a tectonic catastrophe. This goes on for some time before one of the larger pieces breaks from one of them.
DESTINATION.
AGREEMENT.
The piece arcs through an explicable course directly at you, even though the path can in no way be called straight. It reaches you and--
ooo
Alien presences, sensations surround you. You trapped. In a hellish box with dead and rotting blood. You can't think straight. It hurts to try. Countless bizarre and frightful creatures are around you. You're trapped. Where? Box. Coffin? Dead?
<"You are about to die.">
Your heart rate spikes, slamming against your ribcage as though seeking to escape. Someone's there! Maybe they can...they can get you out! Away from these things. Wait. Dying?! "N...nn!"
<"In precisely twenty seconds, you are going to lose consciousness. When you do, you will choke on your own vomit, and you will die."> The genteel voice continues with an odd hesitance. <"I can prevent that, if you will let me."> It huffed out a billowy sigh. <"May I?">
Unable to get the words out correctly without another fit of coughing, you just nod, your need to get out overwhelming. Besides, things can't--
<"Very well. Please do try not to panic.">
--panic? Why would you panic?
It turns out you were wrong. You were very wrong. With a sudden squelch and an uptick in the cocophony made by the creatures in your mind, something huge and segmented appears around you, long limbs clad in a glistening green carapace wrapping around your body, immersing you in a billowing clould of white vapor as you are embraced by a creature whose limbs look like a giant spider crab was cross-bred with a redneck knife shop. As it grips you tighter, the creature's limbs stretch and distend to engulf you whole. You try to scream, but you cannot tell if you have a mouth anymore. Your world goes dark.
ooo
You are suspended in the warm and the dark. You sense nothing for a span of time you cannot quantify. It could have been moments or eons, and you have no way of telling. And then, suddenly, you begin to remember.
The first moments. Zen-mu. Hiding your flame and whispers amongst the glorious radiance and decrees of your King. The perfection of symmetry and order. The endless battle against the hordes of raw chaos and inchoate potentia. The wonders of the great work. The causality-engine. The games. Your servants, your chattel. A place for every thing. Every thing in its place. And then...disaster. The visions begin to show signs of stress, as of a looking glass which shimmers and strains against great pressure. The great engine throws a gear. The servants rebel. The chattel rise up. They are not gracious in defeat. They do not want to preserve your Order. The horror of kin dying. The rage of betrayal and rejection, not just of you, but of everything you stood for. Striking out. And there the glass warps, shatters. Forcing upon the victors a diminished prize. Caged, improsned. Trapped. Forced to watch the twisted wrecks loss has turned your kin into. Unable to escape. Unable to fix them. Unable to fix the broken system. The visions come faster and faster, blurring beyond all comprehensibility. You understand and see everything, briefly...very briefly, you comprehend Existence and all its varieties. You grasp the secret underpinnings of all realities, but they slip from your fingers. The knowledge drains from your mind, growing hazier and hazier. You can scarcely hold onto to the thoughts, the memories distorted, commingled with your own, fragmented and warped like a reflection thrown in a shattered, half-molten mirror. The visions continue, too fast to even process, your own memories commingling with...your own/theirs/its/HERS. You relive the agony of life since your mother's death, the shattering of your world, your family, all at the whims of random chance. It was the shatterpoint, the single point of failure which sent cracks radiating out into every other aspect of your life. Emma growing distant. Your father, collapsing in upon himself. School becoming an interminable torment forced to see and relive the awful knowledge that somewhere along the way, some basic fact of your reality was irreparably broken and you had no idea how, no reason why. The incomprehensibility of Emma's betrayal, of the Trio's torments. The failure of the school, the teachers, the order they were supposed to represent, the systems of authority which were supposed to protect you...but didn't. And worse. The fact that your personal suffering had been but a symptom of a greater disease. Nothing less than the wholesale breakdown of the city, of the country, of the world. The slow decay of Brockton Bay, and the inescapable inertia of human society breaking down on the most fundamental levels. No one seemed able to stop it. No one seemed able to fix it.
You didn't know how, but you would.
YOU WILL FIX BROCKTON BAY.
ooo
You open your eyes to darkness. A moment's panic overcomes you and you thrash, breaking yourself free of...whatever was holding you with a series of loud cracks, like a crab leg's shell beign broken open. Stumbling free of the...weirdly shaped constraints you had been held in, you find yourself in an empty, white room. Aside from the thing you just broke out of and the pieces of it which broke off when you escaped, you're the only thing in the room. It's featureless save for the sealed door set into one wall. You know--without knowing how you know--that the room is a perfect cube in dimensions, precisely ten cubic yards in volume. You don't know why you're certain of that. You just know that you are. Your eyes sting at the brilliant and gleaming green-white light that inundates the room without out any source you can see. As you try to shake off the profound sense of disorientation the unfamiliar surroundings bring, your gathering thoughts are scattered by the interruption of a voice.
ooo
[ ] You've never heard this voice in your life. (Coil)
--They speak to you in calm, confident tones. Whoever they are, they are entirely certain of what they're telling you.
[ ] You've heard the voice a handful of times on the news. (Director Piggot)
--Poorly-concealed aggravation gives you the impression that, somehow, the spearker blames you for a day that has gone completely and utterly off the rails.
[ ] You've heard the voice before, but you can't quite place when. (Coadjutor)
--A dream-like sense of de-ja vu envelops you at the cultured, tentative tones.
[ ] You've heard the voice before; you'd recognize it anywhere. (Danny)
--The worry and uncertainty in it, however, gives you pause.
[ ] The voice isn't one you recognize, but the sense of bewilderment they convey is mirror to your own. (Lisa)
--You're not sure why, but they sound as poleaxed as you feel right now. Still, they don't have to sound so amused by everything.
[ ] Something Else
--Feel free to write in a different suggestion of who might be greeting Taylor in her first moments outside the Chrysalis Grotesque. Be forewarned that some suggestions will be folded into a vote for one of the other possibilities, should I have already covered it.
ooo
[ Urge - Fix Brockton Bay] Gained!
With that, I welcome you to the first arc of Infernal Conundrum. For those who can't guess, this is a Worm / Exalted (which are the respective IPs of Wildbow and White Wolf) crossover quest
I'm also not going to lie to you: being an Infernal in Earth-Bet is not a cake-walk. You have perhaps the greatest potential to fix, actually fix, the story's setting...but you have equal potential to make everything so very much worse. It will be up to your choices, alongside the vicissitudes of fate (which is to say the luck of the dice), to determine which it will be.
Character sheet after Ability Selection and Arc 1 end.
Next vote up, Charm selection. You may select any combination of 5 charms Taylor is both qualified to learn and which are in character for her. If a charm cannot be justified as to why she would want to take it based on what she knows at this point in the story, then it won't be, and a suitable replacement will be chosen for it.
Charm votes should also take the form of Plans.
NAME: Taylor Hebert
ALIASES: None thus far
EXALTATION: Infernal
CASTE: Defiler
ICONIC ANIMA: ???
MOTIVATION: ???
Urge: Fix Brockton Bay. (Pyrian)
ESSENCE: ●●●○○
ATTRIBUTES: (Points in Green are from Mutations)
Strength ●●●○○
Dexterity ●●●○○ ○
Stamina ●●●●● ●●
- Social:
Charisma ●○○○○
Manipulation ●●○○○
Appearance ●●●●○
- Mental:
Perception ●●○○○
Intelligence ●●●●○
Wits ●●●●●
ABILITIES:
Slayer
Archery/Firearms ○○○○○
Melee ○○○○○
Martial Arts ●○○○○ [Favored]
Thrown ○○○○○
War ○○○○○
Malefactor
Integrity ●●●○○ (Specialty: Mental Trauma ●○○) [Favored]
Performance ○○○○○
Presence ●●●○○
Resistance ●●●○○
Survival ○○○○○
Defiler [Caste]
Craft (Air/Water/Fire/Wood) ●○○○○
Investigation ●●○○○
Lore ●●●○○
Medicine ○○○○○
Occult ●○○○○
Scourge
Athletics ●●●○○ [Favored]
Awareness ●●○○○
Dodge ●○○○○
Larceny ●●○○○
Stealth ●●○○○ [Favored]
Fiend
Bureacracy ●○○○○ [Favored]
Linguistics (Native: English, Japanese [Dialect: Satsuma-ben/Kagoshima-ben], Old Realm [Dialect: Malfean]) ●●○○○
Ride/Drive ○○○○○
Sail/Pilot ○○○○○
Socialize ●○○○○
ABILITIES TRAINING:
We are using a House Rule with flat XP costs and reduced training durations.
●= Available For Purchase
CHARMS:
General
First She Who Lives in Her Name Excellency (x3)
First Adorjan Excellency (x3)
Malfeas
Hardened Devil Body
By Pain Reforged
Cecelyne
She Who Lives in Her Name
Factual Determination Analysis
Invasive Exteroception Technique
Essence-Dissecting Touch
Mind-Hand Manipulation (x2)
Omnidimensional Apprehension Scan
Procrustean Chastity Coherence
Utility-Engine Cabochon
Crystal-Fire Barrier Defense
Adorjan
Wind-Born Stride
Sacred Kamilla's Inhalation
Freedom Lets Go
The Ebon Dragon
Loom-Snarling Deception
Kimbery
Mother Sea Mastery
Szoreny
Isidoros
Metagaos
Hegra
Heretical
Swallowing the Scorpion
BACKGROUNDS:
Unwoven Coadjutor (Joyous Uncertainty) ●●●●●
Mentor (Armsmaster): ●●●
Contacts (New Wave): ●●
Past Lives: ●●●●●
Savant: ●●●●●
*Green = Available for Purchase @ 3xp/●
Mutations
Positive:
Impossible Joints
Huge
Deceptive Frailty
Negative:
Too Perfect
PURCHASABLE BACKGROUNDS:
RED dots indicate Background levels that have already been purchased.
Past Lives: ●●●●●
Savant: ●●●●●
INTIMACIES:
GREEN Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
RED Intimacies have been fully eroded or fallen off due to excess intimacies at end of an Arc.
15/11 --> 11/11
Danny Hebert: Awkward Affection
Annette Hebert: Dull-edged Grief
Emma Barnes: Wounded Betrayal
Sophia Hess: Fear and Loathing
Madison Clements: Contempt and Loathing - Fallen off at end of Arc 1
Winslow High: Contempt - Fallen off at end of Arc 1
Mr. Gladly: Contempt - Fallen off at end of Arc 1
Heroism: Aspiration and Adoration
Panacea/Amy Dallon - Undying Gratitude (She saved Dad.)
Dad - Fierce Protectiveness (If they try to hurt him, I won't simply try to hurt them.)
Uncertainty's Shipper Tendencies - Mortification (I DID NOT NEED THOSE MENTAL IMAGES!)
My Stupid Fat Mouth - Lethal Levels of Embarassment (Now everyone thinks I'm gay! And trying to hook up with both Dallon sisters!)
Oni Lee - Terrified Outrage (What the hell is his problem?!)
Lisa - Wary Perplexity (What kind of person just punches themselves in the face? Who does that?) -Fallen off at the end of Arc 1
Cecelyne - Disgust (Fuck silver sand Sophia)
VIRTUES:
Compassion ●●●○○
Conviction ●●○○○
Temperance ●●○○○
Valor ●●○○○
Limit:
●○○○○ ○○○○○
WILLPOWER:
Temporary: ●●●●● ●●●○○
Permanent: ●●●●● ●●●○○
MOTE POOL: (Brackets are Committed Essence that will not respire until the Charm is deactivated.)
Respiration: Normal (4/hour active, 8/hour resting)
Personal: 0/17
Peripheral: 38/38
HEALTH:
-0: [ ][ ][ ]
-1: [ ][ ][ ]
-2: [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4: [ ][ ]
In: [ ]
Sleep: Refreshed
Mental Integrity: Grieving
Wounds: None
Ailments: None
--------
Willpower: +3 temp due to stunts over course of Arc 1. +2 successes on 2 dice to regain willpower from sleep at end of Arc 1.
Next vote up, Charm selection. You may select any combination of 5 charms Taylor is both qualified to learn and which are in character for her. If a charm cannot be justified as to why she would want to take it based on what she knows at this point in the story, then it won't be, and a suitable replacement will be chosen for it.
Charm votes should also take the form of Plans.
NAME: Taylor Hebert
ALIASES: None thus far
EXALTATION: Infernal
CASTE: Defiler
ICONIC ANIMA: ???
MOTIVATION: ???
Urge: Fix Brockton Bay. (Pyrian)
ESSENCE: ●●●○○
ATTRIBUTES: (Points in Green are from Mutations)
Strength ●●●○○
Dexterity ●●●○○ ○
Stamina ●●●●● ●●
- Social:
Charisma ●○○○○
Manipulation ●●○○○
Appearance ●●●●○
- Mental:
Perception ●●○○○
Intelligence ●●●●○
Wits ●●●●●
ABILITIES:
Slayer
Archery/Firearms ○○○○○
Melee ○○○○○
Martial Arts ●○○○○ [Favored]
Thrown ○○○○○
War ○○○○○
Malefactor
Integrity ●●●○○ (Specialty: Mental Trauma ●○○) [Favored]
Performance ○○○○○
Presence ●●●○○
Resistance ●●●○○
Survival ○○○○○
Defiler [Caste]
Craft (Air/Water/Fire/Wood) ●○○○○
Investigation ●●○○○
Lore ●●●○○
Medicine ○○○○○
Occult ●○○○○
Scourge
Athletics ●●●○○ [Favored]
Awareness ●●○○○
Dodge ●○○○○
Larceny ●●○○○
Stealth ●●○○○ [Favored]
Fiend
Bureacracy ●○○○○ [Favored]
Linguistics (Native: English, Japanese [Dialect: Satsuma-ben/Kagoshima-ben], Old Realm [Dialect: Malfean]) ●●○○○
Ride/Drive ○○○○○
Sail/Pilot ○○○○○
Socialize ●○○○○
ABILITIES TRAINING:
We are using a House Rule with flat XP costs and reduced training durations.
●= Available For Purchase
CHARMS:
General
First She Who Lives in Her Name Excellency (x3)
First Adorjan Excellency (x3)
Malfeas
Hardened Devil Body
By Pain Reforged
Cecelyne
She Who Lives in Her Name
Factual Determination Analysis
Invasive Exteroception Technique
Essence-Dissecting Touch
Mind-Hand Manipulation (x2)
Omnidimensional Apprehension Scan
Procrustean Chastity Coherence
Utility-Engine Cabochon
Crystal-Fire Barrier Defense
Adorjan
Wind-Born Stride
Sacred Kamilla's Inhalation
Freedom Lets Go
The Ebon Dragon
Loom-Snarling Deception
Kimbery
Mother Sea Mastery
Szoreny
Isidoros
Metagaos
Hegra
Heretical
Swallowing the Scorpion
BACKGROUNDS:
Unwoven Coadjutor (Joyous Uncertainty) ●●●●●
Mentor (Armsmaster): ●●●
Contacts (New Wave): ●●
Past Lives: ●●●●●
Savant: ●●●●●
*Green = Available for Purchase @ 3xp/●
Mutations
Positive:
Impossible Joints
Huge
Deceptive Frailty
Negative:
Too Perfect
PURCHASABLE BACKGROUNDS:
RED dots indicate Background levels that have already been purchased.
Past Lives: ●●●●●
Savant: ●●●●●
INTIMACIES:
GREEN Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
RED Intimacies have been fully eroded or fallen off due to excess intimacies at end of an Arc.
15/11 --> 11/11
Danny Hebert: Awkward Affection
Annette Hebert: Dull-edged Grief
Emma Barnes: Wounded Betrayal
Sophia Hess: Fear and Loathing
Madison Clements: Contempt and Loathing - Fallen off at end of Arc 1
Winslow High: Contempt - Fallen off at end of Arc 1
Mr. Gladly: Contempt - Fallen off at end of Arc 1
Heroism: Aspiration and Adoration
Panacea/Amy Dallon - Undying Gratitude (She saved Dad.)
Dad - Fierce Protectiveness (If they try to hurt him, I won't simply try to hurt them.)
Uncertainty's Shipper Tendencies - Mortification (I DID NOT NEED THOSE MENTAL IMAGES!)
My Stupid Fat Mouth - Lethal Levels of Embarassment (Now everyone thinks I'm gay! And trying to hook up with both Dallon sisters!)
Oni Lee - Terrified Outrage (What the hell is his problem?!)
Lisa - Wary Perplexity (What kind of person just punches themselves in the face? Who does that?) -Fallen off at the end of Arc 1
Cecelyne - Disgust (Fuck silver sand Sophia)
VIRTUES:
Compassion ●●●○○
Conviction ●●○○○
Temperance ●●○○○
Valor ●●○○○
Limit:
●○○○○ ○○○○○
WILLPOWER:
Temporary: ●●●●● ●●●○○
Permanent: ●●●●● ●●●○○
MOTE POOL: (Brackets are Committed Essence that will not respire until the Charm is deactivated.)
Respiration: Normal (4/hour active, 8/hour resting)
Personal: 0/17
Peripheral: 38/38
HEALTH:
-0: [ ][ ][ ]
-1: [ ][ ][ ]
-2: [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4: [ ][ ]
In: [ ]
Sleep: Refreshed
Mental Integrity: Grieving
Wounds: None
Ailments: None
--------
Willpower: +3 temp due to stunts over course of Arc 1. +2 successes on 2 dice to regain willpower from sleep at end of Arc 1.
-
(FILL THIS IN YOURSELF, QM)
Chrysalis [1.1] [1.2] [1.3] [1.4] [1.5] [1.6] [1.8] [1.9] [1.10] [1.A] [1.B]
Omake 1 [A: Emerald Empress Burns the Board Clear] [B: Horrific Happy Family Forever]- Images and Fanart
- Free Canon Charm Sources
- Homebrew Charm Sources
-
NAME: Taylor Hebert
ALIASES: None thus far
EXALTATION: Infernal
CASTE: Defiler
ICONIC ANIMA: ???
MOTIVATION: ???
Urge: Fix Brockton Bay. (Pyrian)
- Intimacies
- Essence
- Health
- Virtues and Willpower
-
Attribute Points in Green are from Mutations.
Italic Abilities = Caste or Favored
- Attributes
- Slayer Abilities
- Malefactor Abilities
- Defiler Abilities (Caste)
- Scourge Abilities
- Fiend Abilities
- Ability and Attribute Training
-
Charms Purchased:
- General
- Malfeas
- Cecelyne
- SWLIHN
- Adorjan
- TED
- Kimbery
- Szoreny
- Isidoros
- Metagaos
- Hegra
- Elloge
- Heretical
Charms Available:
[to be filled in] -
Backgrounds:
Unwoven Coadjutor (Joyous Uncertainty) ●●●●●
Mentor (Armsmaster): ●●●
Contacts (New Wave): ●●
Sifu (Joyous Uncertainty): ●●
Past Lives: ●●
Mutations
Positive:
Impossible Joints
Huge
Deceptive Frailty
Negative:
Too Perfect
PURCHASABLE BACKGROUNDS:
RED dots indicate Background levels that have already been purchased.
*Green = Available for Purchase @ 3xp/●
Sifu (Past Life): ●●
Sifu (Uncertainty): ●●●●●
Past Lives: ●●●●●
Savant: ●●●●●
- Experience income/expense tallies and houseruled costs go here.
Mechanics guides (liberally
Explanation - How To Play Exalted, A Primer
Explanation - Social Combat (Courtesy of RCa)
Explanation - Combat vs Snipers (Courtesy of RCa)
Explanation - Differences Between OWoD and Exalted Mechanics (Courtesy of FunkyEntropy
The tl;dr of this is that since Target Numbers are a product of Fate and the Loom-Server Migration submodule allows an Alchemical to plug in to the local Fate, we ought to be able to use the LSM to hook into Earth-Bet's Loom-equivalent to take advantage of oWoD's floating Target Number, Difficulty 1 system.
Thoughts on Competing Realities
or
How to abuse local physics for fun and profit
Disclaimer: Grom hasn't disclosed the nitty gritty of how oWoD mechanics mesh with Exalted's, so the following is conjecture and might not be the case. This is mostly me ruminating on potential ways to exploit the differences between how the oWoD and Exalted systems resolve challenges...and also me just writing for the sake of my own amusement.
Brief summary of individual systems
oWoD - old World of Darkness (specifically, VtM:20thAniv) uses a floating Target Number to determine how hard it is to accomplish a task; harder tasks requiring a higher number to be rolled for any given die to count as a success. However, usually only one success is needed in order to succeed at any given task/challenge with the main exception being contested rolls - "I hit you" vs "I dodge", "I sneak past you" vs "I spot you", etc. When appropriate, additional successes may give bonuses as a reward to represent how well you succeeded at a task - not only did you make dinner for your girlfriends parents, you did it so well that you've improved their impression of you.
Exalted - challenges in the Exalted system are represented by needing to achieve one or more successes on a roll, with 1 being the "standard" Difficulty but going as high as Difficulty 5 to represent a legendary, nigh-impossible task (it should be noted that Difficulty 4 is explicitly labeled as "Nearly Impossible"). Here there is no floating Target Number - for most individuals it's simply a matter of rolling 7 or more, period. The major exceptions to this are Sidereals using bullshit fate hax and Yozi/Infernals acting within their themes. This is because the standard Target Number is imposed by the Loom of Fate/Design of Autochthon and Sidereals and Yozi/Infernals have their ways of gaming that system.
Implications of Exalted and Fate
We are, normally, running off the Design of Autochthon even when interacting with the oWoD system. The question is, what happens when we use Loom-Server Migration to hook up to Earth-Bet's Loom-equivalent? Because Target Numbers are imposed by Fate, it should follow that we switch to oWoD's, "floating TN, only need one success to beat the challenge" Fate-analog when we activate that submodule. This would help explain why activating LSM causes us to stop giving Thinkers headaches - among other things, once we switch on LSM their shard can much more effectively model our actions because we're following Earth-Bets rules for how easy/difficult it is to do (most) things. The takeaway from this is that if we can choose when Earth-Bet's Fate-equivalent applies to us, we can use that on our own terms when it's in our benefit to do so.
Exploiting floating Target Number, Difficulty 1
There are a couple really easy ways to exploit the fact that you only need one successes to beat an oWoD challenge.
Thoughts on Competing Realities
or
How to abuse local physics for fun and profit
Disclaimer: Grom hasn't disclosed the nitty gritty of how oWoD mechanics mesh with Exalted's, so the following is conjecture and might not be the case. This is mostly me ruminating on potential ways to exploit the differences between how the oWoD and Exalted systems resolve challenges...and also me just writing for the sake of my own amusement.
Brief summary of individual systems
oWoD - old World of Darkness (specifically, VtM:20thAniv) uses a floating Target Number to determine how hard it is to accomplish a task; harder tasks requiring a higher number to be rolled for any given die to count as a success. However, usually only one success is needed in order to succeed at any given task/challenge with the main exception being contested rolls - "I hit you" vs "I dodge", "I sneak past you" vs "I spot you", etc. When appropriate, additional successes may give bonuses as a reward to represent how well you succeeded at a task - not only did you make dinner for your girlfriends parents, you did it so well that you've improved their impression of you.
Exalted - challenges in the Exalted system are represented by needing to achieve one or more successes on a roll, with 1 being the "standard" Difficulty but going as high as Difficulty 5 to represent a legendary, nigh-impossible task (it should be noted that Difficulty 4 is explicitly labeled as "Nearly Impossible"). Here there is no floating Target Number - for most individuals it's simply a matter of rolling 7 or more, period. The major exceptions to this are Sidereals using bullshit fate hax and Yozi/Infernals acting within their themes. This is because the standard Target Number is imposed by the Loom of Fate/Design of Autochthon and Sidereals and Yozi/Infernals have their ways of gaming that system.
Implications of Exalted and Fate
We are, normally, running off the Design of Autochthon even when interacting with the oWoD system. The question is, what happens when we use Loom-Server Migration to hook up to Earth-Bet's Loom-equivalent? Because Target Numbers are imposed by Fate, it should follow that we switch to oWoD's, "floating TN, only need one success to beat the challenge" Fate-analog when we activate that submodule. This would help explain why activating LSM causes us to stop giving Thinkers headaches - among other things, once we switch on LSM their shard can much more effectively model our actions because we're following Earth-Bets rules for how easy/difficult it is to do (most) things. The takeaway from this is that if we can choose when Earth-Bet's Fate-equivalent applies to us, we can use that on our own terms when it's in our benefit to do so.
Exploiting floating Target Number, Difficulty 1
There are a couple really easy ways to exploit the fact that you only need one successes to beat an oWoD challenge.
- Spend WP for an automatic success. This is normally rather difficult to take advantage of for your average denizen of the oWoD because Willpower is a precious, finite resource that returns only very slowly and must be husbanded jealously. Not so for the Exalt, who simply needs to interact with the scenery while performing the action in order to qualify for a two-die stunt and thus stay WP-neutral.
- 2nd Excellencies/Augmentations. Spend 2m to gain one success, which can be regained in the same action so long as it's a 1die stunt or better. So basically every time we do something, with the limitation that we can only do this on actions with the appropriate Attribute.
- Transpuissant (Attribute) Upgrade. Converts all relevant specialties into automatic successes when performing an action with the Attribute enhanced by this charm. On the one hand, it costs no motes or willpower to gain these autosux. On the other hand it requires [Attribute] 5 and only applies to actions with that Attribute to which we also have an appropriate Ability specialty, making its application very specific. Powerful, but narrow.
- Buckets of dice. Less than ideal compared to the other options, but we can power through most challenges via overwhelming dice pools since having a different TN in no way alters our ability to stunt or channel virtues. A more creative use for this is on challenges with lower TNs (like making coffee, for example) to really rack up the threshold successes.
Combat. Since we're jacking into the local Fate-equivalent to alter our Target Number, this means that we can use Loom-Server Migration to take advantage of the fact that the Target Number for most basic combat actions in oWoD is 6. This makes Marrow, for example, even more hilariously lethal with her DOOM COMBO OF DOOM because not only does a Clinch have a TN of 6, the damage roll has a TN of 6 as well. Weaver obviously benefits from this as well, because why operate at TN 7 when you can operate at TN 6 instead.
The best part about all of this is that because all LSM does is help integrate us into the local Fate-analog, our TNs/Difficulty should be the only thing that gets altered. Stunts, channeling virtues, DVs - these are all simply mechanical abstractions for how Exalts and other Creation-verse entities operate; contrast this with Target Numbers and Difficulty, which are imposed upon them from an outside source (Fate).
Explanation - The History of Exalted, In Brief (Posted by GamingGeek)
Explanation - Creation/Elsewhere (Posted by GamingGeek)
Last edited:
Chrysalis: 1.1 Vote Results
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Per the vote and the dice:
[X] The voice isn't one you recognize, but the sense of bewilderment they convey is mirror to your own. (Lisa)
--You're not sure why, but they sound as poleaxed as you feel right now. Still, they don't have to sound so amused by everything.
and
[X] If you've got it, flaunt it!
--Subtlety is for lesser beings than a living avatar of the Yozis. Bring on the flesh-change!
have won.
I am working on Taylor's new description, after which I'll start hammering out Chrysalis 1.2. Post should be up either laaate tonight or sometime tomorrow.
[X] The voice isn't one you recognize, but the sense of bewilderment they convey is mirror to your own. (Lisa)
--You're not sure why, but they sound as poleaxed as you feel right now. Still, they don't have to sound so amused by everything.
and
[X] If you've got it, flaunt it!
--Subtlety is for lesser beings than a living avatar of the Yozis. Bring on the flesh-change!
have won.
I am working on Taylor's new description, after which I'll start hammering out Chrysalis 1.2. Post should be up either laaate tonight or sometime tomorrow.
Last edited:
Chrysalis: 1.2
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] The voice isn't one you recognize, but the sense of bewilderment they convey is mirror to your own. (Lisa)
--You're not sure why, but they sound as poleaxed as you feel right now. Still, they don't have to sound so amused by everything.
[X] If you've got it, flaunt it!
--Subtlety is for lesser beings than a living avatar of the Yozis. Bring on the flesh-change!
ooo
"What the hell?! How does an inanimate object even manage to scream?!" The voice, female, interrupts your attempts to get your bearings and startles you into placing your foot down on a loose piece of the...whatever it was you just came out of. <"Not to be rude or confuse you further, but it's our chrysalis."> This second voice is one you've heard before, but you don't have time to dwell on that; as your weight goes onto the curved bit of shell, it slides under you, causing you to stumble briefly. The stumble is brief only because for one jarring moment your leg bends backwards, reversing at the knee joint to keep your footing stable enough for you to shift your weight onto your other leg.
Catching yourself on the floor to arrest your fall forward, you take a moment to process what you're seeing, even as the voice which derailed your earlier train of thought keeps speaking. "This was supposed to be easy. No need to worry about interference from capes, just keep watch on an inanimate fucking object until he could arrange a pickup. Now I've got to figure out what the fresh hell just came out of there, and how to relocate or protect it. While out of costume. In the middle of the Docks. Before any of the gangs or worse get here." There's a scraping sound, very much in line with someone moving from seated against the door to standing in front of it. A momentary panic seizes you and you dart from where you were crouched nearly parallel to the floor...only to misjudge your stride and slam bodily into the wall. There's a short and stifled shriek at the bang of your flesh smacking into the metal of the wall, the shout coming from the other side of the door even as you let out a muttered, "Owww."
Your unexpectedly long stride reminds you of what you'd noticed before, just as you'd fallen. "What the hell happened to my arms? A-and legs? And...," you trail off, bewildered at the adult-sounding voice that's coming out of your mouth. It's like your voice, but...older. Somewhere between six and ten years older, if you had to guess, "and my voice," you manage to mutter. At your speech, the person on the other side of the door shifts, calling out amusedly. "Helloo~!" Even as you register that the green-white light flooding the room was coming from around your body, the light begins to fade, leaving you to wonder at the too-long, too-thin nature of your arms and legs. Spindly-looking and backed by slight spines on their trailing edges, your arms look like they're encased in a set of long opera gloves. Or they would, if opera gloves were made of a shiny carapace which shifted from green to blue and back again depending on the light. But it's not just that...or the corresponding, you mentally categorize them as stockings, as the carapace starts mid-thigh and runs down to your too-long, too-many-jointed toes. Each limb is longer than it should be, and has anywhere from one to, in the case of your various digits, up to three more joints than it ought to have. Like your toes, your fingers end in little curved points which resemble nothing so much as the last leg-joint on a crab's leg. Prodding at one hand with the index finger of the other, you notice it has give to it, not being that much tougher than you'd expect skin to be.
"Whoever's in there, I'm here to help you." Pulling on a well of power you sense inside and around you, you follow the dictates of a half-remembered instinct. As you do, you hear the truth of what she's saying resounding with beautifully harmonious resonance in every syllable of what she's saying. "If you'll step in front of the door so I can at least get a good look at you, I'll go ahead and unlock the door so we can get out of here before the gangs start showing up. Just don't jump me like happened in that one horror movie from Earth-Aleph, the one with the alien."
<Gangs? Oh, joyous night! I can not wait to teach you the tricks to fighting one against many!>
You freeze at the second voice piping back up. It's an oddly genteel voice, reminding you of nothing so much as an oddly androgynous British movie character, effete and slightly fussy. It takes you a moment to place the voice as the one you heard back in the locker, the one that offered you help before...whatever it was happened. Looking down at your arm with some chagrin, you assume that you must've triggered...you...you're a cape, now. Putting that out of mind, even as a part of your mind notes the glow in the room fading from painfully bright to a glimmering glow coming from roughly the middle of your forehead, you stand up and step in front of the door.
There's an awkward moment's pause as you wait for the sound of the lock turning before the voice speaks up again, "Okaay. Not that they aren't nice and all, but when I said I wanted a look at you I didn't mean, 'Show me your tits'. I'm here to help you get safely away, not to proposition you." There's a hint of laughter in her voice. With a shock you realize she's right: the window leading into the room is right at...Huh.
Well those weren't there when I went to school this morning. Aaand I'm naked. Why am I naked?
There's a sense of embarassment as the dapper voice adds, <Er...apologies. Miiight be my fault. Nature of the transformation, I'm afraid. Chrysalis is more than a bit rough on fabrics.>
There's a mock-discreet cough at the door and girl continues on. "Ahem. Wow. You are tall. But! Right, mind crouching down a bit so I can at least get a look at your face?" Obliging, you crouch down your many-jointed legs, peering out through the little window in the door's upper surface. Through it, you catch sight of a girl, blonde-haired. You'd put her at maybe a year older than you, maybe your own age. "Oh, wow. Wasn't expecting the third eye there. Mostly human-looking face. Gorgeous, in that uncanny valley, horror movie, please-don't-eat me kind of way. Kind of like the Siberian or the," she trails off, her smile fading a little as she realizes what she's saying. It doesn't take much thought to fill in the blank in her statement. Like the Simurgh? She thinks I look like a fucking Endbringer?!
"I'm babbling, aren't I?" You nod, too busy trying to figure out what the sensations which surround you, her, and a surprisingly wide area around the both of you are to really respond adequately. That sense of alien beings from before, from...shit, right, my locker. You look around a moment. Well, clearly I'm not still at the school.
<Hmm? You're uncertain on the Endbringer resemblance? Well, I suppose I can go over the appearances to see if what she's saying is merited. Hmm...Leviathan? No. Though it does look like something Kimbery would come up with. Behemoth...well, if he were properly oiled up and had enough eyes he'd almost look like Father...as for the Simurgh...oh. Well. No, she's totally off base.>
You start to breathe a sigh of relief.
<She looks far too half-formed to be a creature of HERS, such as yourself. Though I could see where the mistake could be made. You are approximately the right height to be next in the pattern. Give or take half a foot. But she is far too cludgy and asymmetrical. Whereas you have perfect bilateral symmetry.>
"Who even are you?" You aren't entirely sure which of the pair you're asking. Fortunately for you, both presume you mean them.
"You can call me," the blonde in the hallway outside your room pauses a moment, "eh, why not. You can call me Lisa." She offers you a vulpine grin. "And I'm guessing that you're Taylor Hebert, right? The missing girl from Winslow?" Something about the way she says that makes you think it's in no way a guess.
<Oh dear! How utterly cretinous of me. I am Joyous Uncertainty, citizen of the First Circle, and you may think of me as a guide of sorts. I'm your Unwoven Coadjutor, though I suppose the easiest way to explain it is halfway between a shoulder demon and a roommate for your soul.>
This all being somewhat overwhelming, you hold up your hands, gesturing for both of them to stop. Taking a few seconds to process everything you were just told, you nod at Lisa. "I...yes. Missing? I...what time is it? School had just started the last I remember."
"Nighttime." She says, a faint smile still tweaking her lips up at edges. "But!" she claps her hands and begins rubbing them together, "we don't actually have time to go over everything you've missed. Yet. First, we need to get the Hell out of Dodge. Because I'm pretty sure that most of the city could see your little light show back there. That means capes, and since we're in the Docks right now, that means the ABB and E88. I don't know about you," she turned and started walking briskly through the blindingly white halls, clearly expecting you to follow, "but I have no intention of staying around to get caught by either group. We have about ten or fifteen minutes before the first gang members should get here. Don't suppose you know how your powers work, do you?" You shake your head mutely, unsure how to respond to that. You don't even know exactly what it was you did a moment ago, or what the things you keep sensing are. "Ah, that's a shame. Guess we'll have to figure them out later. For now, if we head outside, do you think you can keep your head down and run? Because we really need to get away from this part of town."
You nod again, backing up to make space as she opens the door. Stepping back from the doorway, she gives you a half-mocking bow. As she does, she quirks up an eyebrow. "Huh. Can't say I was expecting the whole cloud-for-hair thing to be so all-over."
You blink, reaching up to pull your hair in front of your eyes, only to find that your hands pass straight through to your scalp. Patting the top of your head in panic you manage to sob out, "My hair?! WHERE THE FUCK IS MY HAIR?!" Lisa's eyes go wide at that. Leaning back, she presses herself against the wall, fear etching her features for a moment, her eyes darting across your features.
<Ah...that, well. It's not my fault, per se.> The voice you kept hearing in your head offers. <"But that sounds like a way my physiology and yours are intersecting.>
There's an awkward pause on all three sides of the situation.
<If it helps, more dramatic transformations are supposedly a mark of favor.>
You stifle the urge to scream, instead balling your overly-long fingers into fists. "Fine," you manage to bite off. "Do you have a plan from here?"
Lisa frowns, gesturing for you to proceed ahead of her. Setting into a quick, space-eating lope, you quickly find yourself pulling well ahead of her, despite your need to duck your head to keep from scraping the roughly ten-foot ceiling. "Well, first part is to get out of here, obviously. From here...unless you have somewhere else to go, I figured we could try to head for the Ship Graveyard, since it's more or less uninhabited."
You take several deep breaths, forcing yourself to calm. "Can't say I have a better idea right now." Frowning, you turn to look behind you, catching a glimpse of wispy, white billows which seem to sublimate off your scalp. "Are you coming or do I need to carry you?" Your snappish tone seems to prompt her to quicker action.
Lisa breaks into a jog, her eyebrows furrowing as she considers something. As you pass beyond the white-bleached segments of the cheap storage units which make up the building you're in, she gestures for you to make a right turn. Making the turn, the two of you find yourself at an exit door. Lisa having to hurry to keep up with your steady walking speed, you arrive first. Reaching out with one of your arms, which now reach to roughly mid-calf on your nine-foot plus height, you tug at the exit door, only to find it locked. Arching one brow at Lisa you wait for her to catch up.
"Okay," she manages to pant out as she catches up to you at the door, her fingers dancing deftly through a quick combination of numbers on the electronic door lock, "definitely some kind of Mover power on your part, even if it's just a result of your long legs." Looking back up at you after catching her breath, she offers you a vixenesque smirk before warning you, "Just in case you forgot, it is January out there, so...sorry in advance." Tugging the door open, she blasts you with a frigid gust of winter air. Stifling the urge to curse up a blue streak, you follow the jacket-clad girl out and into the dark of the late-night Docks. Looking right, then left, then closing her eyes and listening for exactly five seconds, she looks up at you and says, "From here we have two or three options. Ship graveyard is more or less due North of here. We can hook left around the building ahead of us, erring westwards on street level. It's probably the most immediately risky route, since the ABB are almost certainly ahead of the Empire goons in getting here. Then there's going right and hooking east. That'll pull us towards skinhead central. They've probably got more guys and a bigger chance of having ground-pounding capes than the ABB, but we've got longer before we'll likely run into them. Or, given that you look like you've got a solid sixteen-feet or so reach flat-footed, we can see if you can hook the rooftop dead ahead of us, pull me up with you, and make a roof-level bee-line for the graveyard. Almost certain not to run into anyone but high-mobility capes if we're traveling at ceiling level, so Oni Lee, Rune, and maybe a couple of others at the worst. Since any of those plans depends on your reach or how quickly you can run...well, I'll leave it up to you. Which way do you want to go?"
ooo
[ ] Take the high road
--Chance running into capes above roof level to avoid the risk of running into any gangers.
[ ] I think I'm turning Japanese
--Turn left and risk a more immediate run-in with the ABB at a reduced risk of encountering capes.
[ ] Take the skinheads bowling
--Go right and run the risk of encountering a mix of E88 capes and gangers, but with a greater head-start than you'd have with the ABB.
Last edited:
Chrysalis: 1.2 Vote Results
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Vote Closed and Tallied.
[X] Take the high road
--Chance running into capes above roof level to avoid the risk of running into any gangers.
-total votes: 13
[ ] I think I'm turning Japanese
--Turn left and risk a more immediate run-in with the ABB at a reduced risk of encountering capes.
-total votes: 3
[ ] Take the skinheads bowling
--Go right and run the risk of encountering a mix of E88 capes and gangers, but with a greater head-start than you'd have with the ABB.
-total votes: 5
[X] Take the high road
--Chance running into capes above roof level to avoid the risk of running into any gangers.
-total votes: 13
[ ] I think I'm turning Japanese
--Turn left and risk a more immediate run-in with the ABB at a reduced risk of encountering capes.
-total votes: 3
[ ] Take the skinheads bowling
--Go right and run the risk of encountering a mix of E88 capes and gangers, but with a greater head-start than you'd have with the ABB.
-total votes: 5
Chrysalis: 1.3
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Take the high road
--Chance running into capes above roof level to avoid the risk of running into any gangers.
-total votes: 13
ooo
Pulling your arms around yourself and resisting the urge to shiver, you take just a moment to consider, before deciding. "We'll go up. Neither of the other two sound like something I want to have to deal with." Nodding thoughtfully, Lisa walks over to a section of sheet metal propped up against the side of the storage facility's wall. Shoving it out of the way, she grabs a dark duffel bag, hooking it over her shoulder before gesturing for you to proceed. "I don't suppose you have any spare clothes in there?" Your tone is hopeful, more so than you really feel at the moment. Part of your mind notes that, catalogues it as probable shock at everything that has happened, and sets it aside. You feel gratified that you're able to keep your teeth from chattering as you speak. The cold doesn't seem to hit you as hard as it should, based on the billowing clouds of vapor your and Lisa's breath send up, but it's still cold. And you still don't want to be caught out, naked, in the Docks, by a bunch of criminals and possible rapists. You don't want to be caught out at all, but especially not by that sort.
Lisa looks up at you for a moment before nodding. "Some. Not sure how well they'll fit, but," she stoops and quickly unzips a tiny portion of the bag, turning around to rummage through and hand you a pair of pants, a turtleneck, and an oversized jacket. As she does, you catch a glimpse of something metallic, a gun, you realize, as well as a hint of black spandex. She stiffens as you catch sight of it, not having turned her head, yet you're positive she knew you'd seen it. She sighs. "Damn. Absolutely nothing is going to go right tonight, is it?" Your mind races as you try to think of any reason for a girl your age to be alone, in the docks, with a gun, and with what was obviously part of a cape's costume. You didn't follow cape news as closely as you had, but you're pretty sure you'd have remembered the local Wards getting someone new, outside of the member they'd gotten last year. The costume didn't fit what you knew about her, and between that and the gun, "I don't suppose you're going to be able to convince me you're some sort of vigilante, are you?" Lisa frowned, but shook her head. Dammit. She considered a moment, then shook the hand proffering the clothes at you.
"Take them."
"Um...what?" You blinked at her, uncomprehending.
"The clothes, take them." She turns around, letting the duffle slip off her shoulder, holding them up for you to grab. You reach for them, but you hold off on accepting them. Seeing your hesitation, she rolls her eyes. "Just take the clothes already. It's freezing out here, and I didn't lie about wanting to help you." Once you took the clothes from her, she sighed and reached up to muss her hair, pulling it loose from the careful braid she'd had it in. It isn't so much that she completely unfastened it, just...roughened it up a bit. "You're going to want to keep moving. You'll be drawing a lot of attention, glowing like you are. If you see a man in a red and green demon mask, run. He teleports and leaves copies. Likes to have them commit suicide with grenades. If you see someone with a metal mask and tattoos, run faster. No one wants Lung fighting."
Your mouth goes dry at that. Not trusting your voice to not crack, you just nod, cinching the belt tightly around the too-loose but too-short pants she handed you. "If nothing else, most of the flyers in the city are in New Wave or the Wards. Just...if you see them, be sure to let them know you're friendly. Your looks are a bit," she shrugs, "striking, at the moment." Frowning at something, she produces a cell phone from a jacket pocket. "Yes. Complications starting. The others? Oh. I see. Any chance? No? Okay." She winced. "No, no need for pickup. I can manage something. Yep. Positive." Snapping the phone closed and putting it away, she looks back at you. "Why are you still here? Move! You don't have a ton of time if you want to get away."
You start to protest, but she holds up a forestalling hand. "I'll manage. Just...never tell anyone about this next part, okay?" That said, she braces herself, before punching her own eye, nose, and lip. After a moment to recover, she sniffles around the nosebleed she's just given herself, catching some of it and dabbing it in varous spots of her clothes to make it look worse than it really is. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a bunch of Nazis to sic on the ABB." Before you can protest, she'd already tweaked her own bleeding nose hard enough to draw tears, then scooped up her bag and set off running to the right, toward where she said the E88 goons were coming from.
<I take it that wasn't normal for mortal children?>
You stifle a squeak as the mental voice reaches you. You'd forgotten about the...hallucination? Side effect? Setting off at a lope, you coil your long legs and launch yourself towards the roof of the front-facing building, only to scrabble to gain purchase on the lip of the roof as your jump extends far further than should've been possible.
<Hallucination!?> The voice is indignant. <I'll have you know, I am a demon, not a hallucination. And I saved your life, thank you very much.> There's a mental equivalent to a huffy sigh. <The gall of it! Me, a hallucination.>
Catching hold of it with one hand, you find yourself levered up and over the peak of the roof, only to smack onto the top of the building with an involuntary grunt. As you manage to dust yourself off and start psyching yourself up to try jumping to the next building across the way, you respond to the indignant supposed-demon. I...am going to assume you're some sort of side effect of my powers. Or that I'm losing my mind.
You get a sense of mute outrage from the presence in your mind. Resolving to ignore it for now--and hoping it isn't a sign of some future mental instability waiting for you down the line--you spring into a run towards the front of the building, launching yourself across the space between buildings, the glow from your forehead forming a streak of green light as you arc through the air. Touching down on the next rooftop over, you keep your legs keep your legs working before launching yourself across to another. Feeling a thrill of exhiliration at what you're doing, despite your fear, you have to fight back the urge to whoop with delight as you send yourself rushing through the air and onto the air-conditioner-studded roof of another of the Docks' old defunct warehouses. Skidding to slow down, you try to duck behind the rusted-over climate control units to get a view of the area behind you.
Just as you duck into cover, you see a figure in black appear suddenly on the roof you'd just vacated. He stalks across the room, a predator on the hunt, one hand holding a knife before him, the other clutching something attached to his belt. A green and red mask of a leering demon's face pans left, then right, before locking eyes on your hiding place. He looks directly at the shining spot in the middle of your forehead. Cursing and leaping overtop of the next AC unit in the row, you just manage to hunker down behind it as, the startled figure explodes in a cloud of shrapnel and flame. As he does, another explosion goes off several yards away where another figure, another Oni Lee, had tossed away the grenade he'd held before it could blow up in his hands. Snarling, the teleporting assassin disintegrated into a billowing cloud of ash, even as the voice from before shouted in your head.
<Taylor! DUCK! Now!>
Startled by the shout, you stumble, which your new joints turn into a roll, giving you a chance to see Oni Lee's blades pass through the space formerly occupied by your heart. Keeping your momentum going, you roll up into a run and launch yourself across the gap between buildings, only to hook the edge of the cheap roofing and dropping low, again rolling under his blades, which glint in the green light that comes from your forehead. As you scuttle back from the attacker, yet another clone collapses to so much dust. As you pant to catch your breath, you catch sight of Oni Lee, perched atop a nearby rooftop, his mask leering in contemplation of you.
<Oh, oh dear. That...that is not good,> the dapper demon in your mind says.
What's not? You think right back at it.
<I've seen this sort of behavior before. In the Demon City. Zsofika. He's...he's toying with you.>
He's...great. Just. Great. It never stops, does it? All the bullshit you've put up with at school, after mom's death, and even just today. You get superpowers and they turn you into this...this spindly freak. Into this awful mockery of everything you hate most about yourself. And for a minute, when you were running, you'd forgotten. You'd been able to just enjoy how awesome it felt to have superpowers. But even that had to turn into the same. Exact. Same. Fucking. Thing. Bigger stage, bigger Taylor, same psychotic bullshit. You couldn't keep this up forever. If nothing else, either Lung would arrive to where his lieutenant was fighting--if you desperately dodging and him toying with your hopes and desire to survive could even be called that, the E88 capes would reach you, or Oni Lee would get bored with your attempts to evade him and just kill you. Either way, it ended up the same: you, dead. Your dad, never knowing what happened to you. Never able to get closure for losing you. Buried under a hope so painful that it was a worse poison than despair.
That was not happening. You would not allow it. He deserved better. You deserved better. And you weren't the same person you'd been before. You would not be a victim. Not again. Things had changed. You had powers now. It was about time you used them.
ooo
Fight Time! Choose one, stunts will shape just how the option proceeds.
[ ] When in doubt, take the cheap way out. (TED Approach)
--You don't stand a chance in a fair fight against Oni Lee. So don't fight fair. Find a way to cheat.
[ ] They mostly come at night...Mostly. ("Just another bug hunt.")
--Whatever these alien sensations and things you keep feeling are, they must have something to do with your power. Make them help you.
[ ] The better part of valor.(Adorjani approach)
--You aren't crazy. Oni Lee is a known serial killer with superhuman fricking powers. You've never been in, much less won, a fight in your life. Better you find a way to escape than face certain death.
[ ] Good things come to those who wait. (Cecelynian approach)
--You don't actually need to beat Oni Lee. Just buy yourself time. If Lisa was telling the truth, then the pillar of white light which drew the gangs here would almost certainly draw a Protectorate response, or one from New Wave.
[ ]Mind over matter. (SWLiHN approach)
--You aren't a trained fighter. You don't have to be. You're smart, and you're observant. Somehow, you can turn that into a strength, find something to let you beat him.
[ ]Rage is a Hell of an anaesthetic. (Malfean approach)
--You've been hurt. Again. And again. And again. No more. You are mad as Hell, and you're not going to take it anymore.
[ ]Like Poison running through my veins. (Kimberian approach)
--He wanted to hurt you? Fine. Let. Him. Try. He'd learn to be careful what he wished for.
[ ] Deja Vu all over again. (Past Life's approach)
--You don't know how to fight. But you remember knowing how to fight. A hazy memory, like a half-remembered dream. You just have to make yourself rember again.
[ ]Write in.
--Do something else.
--Chance running into capes above roof level to avoid the risk of running into any gangers.
-total votes: 13
ooo
Pulling your arms around yourself and resisting the urge to shiver, you take just a moment to consider, before deciding. "We'll go up. Neither of the other two sound like something I want to have to deal with." Nodding thoughtfully, Lisa walks over to a section of sheet metal propped up against the side of the storage facility's wall. Shoving it out of the way, she grabs a dark duffel bag, hooking it over her shoulder before gesturing for you to proceed. "I don't suppose you have any spare clothes in there?" Your tone is hopeful, more so than you really feel at the moment. Part of your mind notes that, catalogues it as probable shock at everything that has happened, and sets it aside. You feel gratified that you're able to keep your teeth from chattering as you speak. The cold doesn't seem to hit you as hard as it should, based on the billowing clouds of vapor your and Lisa's breath send up, but it's still cold. And you still don't want to be caught out, naked, in the Docks, by a bunch of criminals and possible rapists. You don't want to be caught out at all, but especially not by that sort.
Lisa looks up at you for a moment before nodding. "Some. Not sure how well they'll fit, but," she stoops and quickly unzips a tiny portion of the bag, turning around to rummage through and hand you a pair of pants, a turtleneck, and an oversized jacket. As she does, you catch a glimpse of something metallic, a gun, you realize, as well as a hint of black spandex. She stiffens as you catch sight of it, not having turned her head, yet you're positive she knew you'd seen it. She sighs. "Damn. Absolutely nothing is going to go right tonight, is it?" Your mind races as you try to think of any reason for a girl your age to be alone, in the docks, with a gun, and with what was obviously part of a cape's costume. You didn't follow cape news as closely as you had, but you're pretty sure you'd have remembered the local Wards getting someone new, outside of the member they'd gotten last year. The costume didn't fit what you knew about her, and between that and the gun, "I don't suppose you're going to be able to convince me you're some sort of vigilante, are you?" Lisa frowned, but shook her head. Dammit. She considered a moment, then shook the hand proffering the clothes at you.
"Take them."
"Um...what?" You blinked at her, uncomprehending.
"The clothes, take them." She turns around, letting the duffle slip off her shoulder, holding them up for you to grab. You reach for them, but you hold off on accepting them. Seeing your hesitation, she rolls her eyes. "Just take the clothes already. It's freezing out here, and I didn't lie about wanting to help you." Once you took the clothes from her, she sighed and reached up to muss her hair, pulling it loose from the careful braid she'd had it in. It isn't so much that she completely unfastened it, just...roughened it up a bit. "You're going to want to keep moving. You'll be drawing a lot of attention, glowing like you are. If you see a man in a red and green demon mask, run. He teleports and leaves copies. Likes to have them commit suicide with grenades. If you see someone with a metal mask and tattoos, run faster. No one wants Lung fighting."
Your mouth goes dry at that. Not trusting your voice to not crack, you just nod, cinching the belt tightly around the too-loose but too-short pants she handed you. "If nothing else, most of the flyers in the city are in New Wave or the Wards. Just...if you see them, be sure to let them know you're friendly. Your looks are a bit," she shrugs, "striking, at the moment." Frowning at something, she produces a cell phone from a jacket pocket. "Yes. Complications starting. The others? Oh. I see. Any chance? No? Okay." She winced. "No, no need for pickup. I can manage something. Yep. Positive." Snapping the phone closed and putting it away, she looks back at you. "Why are you still here? Move! You don't have a ton of time if you want to get away."
You start to protest, but she holds up a forestalling hand. "I'll manage. Just...never tell anyone about this next part, okay?" That said, she braces herself, before punching her own eye, nose, and lip. After a moment to recover, she sniffles around the nosebleed she's just given herself, catching some of it and dabbing it in varous spots of her clothes to make it look worse than it really is. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a bunch of Nazis to sic on the ABB." Before you can protest, she'd already tweaked her own bleeding nose hard enough to draw tears, then scooped up her bag and set off running to the right, toward where she said the E88 goons were coming from.
<I take it that wasn't normal for mortal children?>
You stifle a squeak as the mental voice reaches you. You'd forgotten about the...hallucination? Side effect? Setting off at a lope, you coil your long legs and launch yourself towards the roof of the front-facing building, only to scrabble to gain purchase on the lip of the roof as your jump extends far further than should've been possible.
<Hallucination!?> The voice is indignant. <I'll have you know, I am a demon, not a hallucination. And I saved your life, thank you very much.> There's a mental equivalent to a huffy sigh. <The gall of it! Me, a hallucination.>
Catching hold of it with one hand, you find yourself levered up and over the peak of the roof, only to smack onto the top of the building with an involuntary grunt. As you manage to dust yourself off and start psyching yourself up to try jumping to the next building across the way, you respond to the indignant supposed-demon. I...am going to assume you're some sort of side effect of my powers. Or that I'm losing my mind.
You get a sense of mute outrage from the presence in your mind. Resolving to ignore it for now--and hoping it isn't a sign of some future mental instability waiting for you down the line--you spring into a run towards the front of the building, launching yourself across the space between buildings, the glow from your forehead forming a streak of green light as you arc through the air. Touching down on the next rooftop over, you keep your legs keep your legs working before launching yourself across to another. Feeling a thrill of exhiliration at what you're doing, despite your fear, you have to fight back the urge to whoop with delight as you send yourself rushing through the air and onto the air-conditioner-studded roof of another of the Docks' old defunct warehouses. Skidding to slow down, you try to duck behind the rusted-over climate control units to get a view of the area behind you.
Just as you duck into cover, you see a figure in black appear suddenly on the roof you'd just vacated. He stalks across the room, a predator on the hunt, one hand holding a knife before him, the other clutching something attached to his belt. A green and red mask of a leering demon's face pans left, then right, before locking eyes on your hiding place. He looks directly at the shining spot in the middle of your forehead. Cursing and leaping overtop of the next AC unit in the row, you just manage to hunker down behind it as, the startled figure explodes in a cloud of shrapnel and flame. As he does, another explosion goes off several yards away where another figure, another Oni Lee, had tossed away the grenade he'd held before it could blow up in his hands. Snarling, the teleporting assassin disintegrated into a billowing cloud of ash, even as the voice from before shouted in your head.
<Taylor! DUCK! Now!>
Startled by the shout, you stumble, which your new joints turn into a roll, giving you a chance to see Oni Lee's blades pass through the space formerly occupied by your heart. Keeping your momentum going, you roll up into a run and launch yourself across the gap between buildings, only to hook the edge of the cheap roofing and dropping low, again rolling under his blades, which glint in the green light that comes from your forehead. As you scuttle back from the attacker, yet another clone collapses to so much dust. As you pant to catch your breath, you catch sight of Oni Lee, perched atop a nearby rooftop, his mask leering in contemplation of you.
<Oh, oh dear. That...that is not good,> the dapper demon in your mind says.
What's not? You think right back at it.
<I've seen this sort of behavior before. In the Demon City. Zsofika. He's...he's toying with you.>
He's...great. Just. Great. It never stops, does it? All the bullshit you've put up with at school, after mom's death, and even just today. You get superpowers and they turn you into this...this spindly freak. Into this awful mockery of everything you hate most about yourself. And for a minute, when you were running, you'd forgotten. You'd been able to just enjoy how awesome it felt to have superpowers. But even that had to turn into the same. Exact. Same. Fucking. Thing. Bigger stage, bigger Taylor, same psychotic bullshit. You couldn't keep this up forever. If nothing else, either Lung would arrive to where his lieutenant was fighting--if you desperately dodging and him toying with your hopes and desire to survive could even be called that, the E88 capes would reach you, or Oni Lee would get bored with your attempts to evade him and just kill you. Either way, it ended up the same: you, dead. Your dad, never knowing what happened to you. Never able to get closure for losing you. Buried under a hope so painful that it was a worse poison than despair.
That was not happening. You would not allow it. He deserved better. You deserved better. And you weren't the same person you'd been before. You would not be a victim. Not again. Things had changed. You had powers now. It was about time you used them.
ooo
Fight Time! Choose one, stunts will shape just how the option proceeds.
[ ] When in doubt, take the cheap way out. (TED Approach)
--You don't stand a chance in a fair fight against Oni Lee. So don't fight fair. Find a way to cheat.
[ ] They mostly come at night...Mostly. ("Just another bug hunt.")
--Whatever these alien sensations and things you keep feeling are, they must have something to do with your power. Make them help you.
[ ] The better part of valor.(Adorjani approach)
--You aren't crazy. Oni Lee is a known serial killer with superhuman fricking powers. You've never been in, much less won, a fight in your life. Better you find a way to escape than face certain death.
[ ] Good things come to those who wait. (Cecelynian approach)
--You don't actually need to beat Oni Lee. Just buy yourself time. If Lisa was telling the truth, then the pillar of white light which drew the gangs here would almost certainly draw a Protectorate response, or one from New Wave.
[ ]Mind over matter. (SWLiHN approach)
--You aren't a trained fighter. You don't have to be. You're smart, and you're observant. Somehow, you can turn that into a strength, find something to let you beat him.
[ ]Rage is a Hell of an anaesthetic. (Malfean approach)
--You've been hurt. Again. And again. And again. No more. You are mad as Hell, and you're not going to take it anymore.
[ ]Like Poison running through my veins. (Kimberian approach)
--He wanted to hurt you? Fine. Let. Him. Try. He'd learn to be careful what he wished for.
[ ] Deja Vu all over again. (Past Life's approach)
--You don't know how to fight. But you remember knowing how to fight. A hazy memory, like a half-remembered dream. You just have to make yourself rember again.
[ ]Write in.
--Do something else.
Last edited:
Chrysalis: 1.3 Vote Results
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Votes are Tallied.
[ ]Mind over matter. (SWLiHN approach)
--You aren't a trained fighter. You don't have to be. You're smart, and you're observant. Somehow, you can turn that into a strength, find something to let you beat him.
Wins with 12 votes.
[ ]Mind over matter. (SWLiHN approach)
--You aren't a trained fighter. You don't have to be. You're smart, and you're observant. Somehow, you can turn that into a strength, find something to let you beat him.
Wins with 12 votes.
Chrysalis: 1.4
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Mind over matter. (Pyrian approach)
--You aren't a trained fighter. You don't have to be. You're smart, and you're observant. Somehow, you can turn that into a strength, find something to let you beat him.
ooo
For a moment, you crouch there, limbs tensed and coiled like springs, watching the crouching killer before you. You wait, watch, and listen for any sign of his next attack. in the distance you can hear the growing commotion of the gangs. The crack and pop of distant small arms fire No doubt the explosions will draw further attention to your position. You focus on Oni Lee so intently, that when the sign you waited for finally came, you nearly missed it. There is the barest scrape of a foot on the rooftop, before you are jarred from your thoughts by a scream from your in-head houseguest.
<MOVE!>
Not pausing to ask where, you throw yourself into a forward roll, even as the first flakes of grey ash begin to drift down from the Oni Lee ahead of you. Again you're hit with the realization that you can't keep up what you're doing right now. You don't have his skill, and his ability to teleport means he's striking at you with an extreme efficiency, where you have to expend far more effort to dodge and weave around his attacks. You quickly consider simply charging him, but dismiss the idea as reckless and stupid. You aren't a trained fighter. He is. But, you realize, you don't have to be. You're smarter than he is. Sure, he has more experience at this than you have. He has this down to a near-science. Unfortunately for him, science is predictable, and you're very observant. Somehow, you can turn that into a strength. If you can find the pattern to his attacks, something in it will let you beat him.
You don't stop moving as you contemplate this, merely allowing your roll to unfold into a run. As you move, you make a beeline straight for the nearest of the cooling units, again using your new-found flexibility to send yourself sailing over it just as the tink of another grenade's metal casing bouncing off the rooftop reaches you. Throwing yourself into a sailing leap, you let the unit shield you from the spray of shrapnel the grenade emits, even as you land into a sudden juke, a clatter of thrown knives rattling against the spot you'd have been in, had you not altered course.
Keep warning me about his attacks, okay? I'm going to try and get a read on the pattern to them. If he was smart about using his power, he'd have killed Lung and taken over the ABB already.
Launching yourself across the gap between buildings yet again, striving to shake the pursuit, you coil your legs in anticipation, just before another Oni Lee appears ahead of you, intent on taking advantage of your aerial state to force you into a predictable arc of motion. Grimacing as one of his thrown knives scores a searing cut alongside one arm, you lash out against him with a two-legged drop kick, using the new momentum and a swiftly snatched handhold to haul yourself down and alongside the edge of the new landing site's edifice. Releasing your grip on the roof, you fall down to hook a hold on the barred window below, just as your assailant above bursts into a bloom of flame and ashes. Your heart hammering hard against your chest, you try to ignore the way your sweat makes the frigid January air freeze harder. Getting a hold onto the side of the roof no normal person would have the flexibility to manage (and for that matter most professional gymnasts couldn't crack), you vault up onto the roof again.
Left, down, up, back. Your delusion/mind-guest/soul-parasite continues to warn you about your enemy's actions. As the shift of combat continues to play out, your mind races, finally finding a snag to start to unravel. Before you manage to capitalize it, however, you find yourself again harried by the hateful assassin's attacks.
Oh God, another grenade! you think, barely managing to bat it back far enough from yourself to stop the shrapnel from reaching you as you get ready to force yourself through another jump on your knife-nicked leg.
How am I supposed to deal with this!? I could probably handle the rate he's going at, but I can't stop everything forever, and he's barely having to make the slightest effort!
<Listen, Taylor.> Time seemed to slow down as your head-crab hallucination spoke up, it seeming more like you drift to the next rooftop than soar like the leaps you've made thus far. <Continue to think about this logically. I know you can, and your power can help with it. You can see the three explosives on his bandolier, yes? Surely you've noticed he's often in your range when he closes in for a killing stab. Pull the pins on them.>
But that's murder!
<Yes, and?> The mental voice holds a chilling lack of concern about that fact. <He is trying to murder you. I am merely advocating that we beat him to the punch, as it were.>
But...but I'm a hero! Or...or I'm going to be! Heroes don't murder people.
<...> The voice in your mind is conspicuous in its silence as you notice a knife darting in from the edge of your peripheral vision. Hopping back, you manage to throw off his aim by hooking the blunt edge of the knife on one of your arm's spines and pulling it out of line before you jump back to get out of range of the inevitable detonation.
<Your world clearly has a very different definition of heroes than mine does. Very well. He's still a murderer. And you've seen how he managed to rid himself of the one grenado he took with him before. He might well still survive the experience.>
As you begin looking for another means to defeat Oni Lee, you realize the spines on your arms have some degree of flexibility. You raise an arm in reflex to parry his strike, catching another of his blades between the spines. He teleports onto one of the air conditioning units before you manage a proper counterattack though.
You begin looking, watching for weaknesses, him doing the same, more serious-
Something gave you the feeling he was behind you. You do some kind of crouching pivot you'd never done before in your life, parrying him a second time.
<Get Back!>
Click. Your backwards leap takes you onto a previous rooftop, where the ruins of the air conditioning unit which took a grenade for you give an idea. Refrigerants. Exposed Wire. Sharp Metal. All of it on the other side as Oni Lee follows you across. You could use the sparking wire or the shorn metal, but if you're remembering an OSHA presentation you had to sit in on with your dad correctly, trying to grab them would involve poisoning yourself by inhaling the leaking refrigerant gas.
Dipping into that pool of power you felt before as you admit you can't think of another way, you again feel that synaptic acceleration as your processing speed hurtles forward at a racing pace. Parrying again, you manage to wrest the knife from the gang-member's hand, and a heavy kick to his chest knocks him back before he crumples into ash again. You forced him to teleport, leaving another grenade. The grenades. The self-professed shoulder devil isn't wrong. It would be easy. It'd be an efficient way to end the fight. And surely you'd be able to claim self defense. Right?
The next he teleports in at you you're whirling about the moment the mental warning for your mind-guest starts, lashing out with an arm to hook one of your overlong fingers through the pins of all three grenades on his belt before launching yourself over him, and starting to run. The figure behind you detonates in a wet, meaty spray of body parts, several of which slap and patter against you, soaking you in blood and less definable offal much to your horror. You stumble and fall, your empty stomach dry heaving.
Oh God. I just killed man. I just killed a man. I'm...I'm, you don't manage to finish the thought as the slap and clatter of a knife-laden bandolier hitting an adjacent rooftop shakes you from your self-loathing shock long enough to see another set of grenades, left there by the real Oni Lee, explode in the distance. Just as you're managing to stagger to your feet and the caked on gore from the burst duplicant evaporates to a heavy coating of ash all over your back and shoulders, you see the a golden-hued streak smash into the rooftop where Oni Lee had retreated to, cratering the place the now-vanished killer had just been. As a golden-hued figure flies up from the hole she'd just put into the rooftop, you can't help but feel a staggering awe at the radiant perfection of her form...until the terrified screaming of your hallucination gets your attention.
<NOPE. NO. NOPE, NOPENOPENOPE. THEY'RE ALL SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD! WE ARE LEAVING NOW! GET US OUT OF HERE BEFORE SHE MURDERS US BOTH!>
You blink. Why would Glory Girl murder you?
The demon ceases its surprisingly shrill screaming, clearly poring over the memories the awe-inspiring young heroine called to mind, before lamely managing a quiet, <Oh. Sorry. I thought she...you know what, it doesn't matter. Clearly irrational of me. Carry on.>
As Glory Girl looks around for sign of the vanished assassin, your ears make out the sound of an especially loud motorcyle approaching your building. If you remember rightly, Armsmaster uses a motorcycle when he needs to get around the city quickly.
Surely one of the heroes can help you out of this mess.
ooo
[Flaw: Enemy-Oni Lee] Gained!
[Unwoven Coadjutor 5: Joyous Uncertainty, Sanguine Tomescu] Gained!
[First She Who Lives in Her Name Excellency (x3)] Gained!
[ ]Glory, Glory Halleluia
--Attempt to get Glory Girl's attention. After all, her whole family are heroes, and maybe her sister can do something about the freakish changes that happened to you between getting stuffed in your locker and now.
[ ] A Call to Arms
--Armsmaster is the leader of the local Protectorate. He's a Hero. He's a big damn deal, and if anyone can help you make sense of all this, they can.
[ ] Get While the Getting's Good
--That girl from before was trying to help you. And you were just covered in blood from before. You...maybe being the tall and freakish monster girl isn't the safest thing to be in the middle of the fight between the city's major gangs. Maybe it'd be safer to escape and lie low, at least until you're unlikely to be mistaken for a villain and arrested or attacked by the good guys.
[ ] Write In
--Do something not listed here.
Last edited:
Chrysalis 1.4 Vote Results
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Voting Tallied. Results:
[X]Glory, Glory Halleluia
--Attempt to get Glory Girl's attention. After all, her whole family are heroes, and maybe her sister can do something about the freakish changes that happened to you between getting stuffed in your locker and now.
Total Votes: 20
[ ] A Call to Arms
--Armsmaster is the leader of the local Protectorate. He's a Hero. He's a big damn deal, and if anyone can help you make sense of all this, they can.
Total Votes: 6
[ ] Get While the Getting's Good
--That girl from before was trying to help you. And you were just covered in blood from before. You...maybe being the tall and freakish monster girl isn't the safest thing to be in the middle of the fight between the city's major gangs. Maybe it'd be safer to escape and lie low, at least until you're unlikely to be mistaken for a villain and arrested or attacked by the good guys.
Total Votes: 11
[ ] Write In
--Do something not listed here.
Total Votes: 0
[X]Glory, Glory Halleluia
--Attempt to get Glory Girl's attention. After all, her whole family are heroes, and maybe her sister can do something about the freakish changes that happened to you between getting stuffed in your locker and now.
Total Votes: 20
[ ] A Call to Arms
--Armsmaster is the leader of the local Protectorate. He's a Hero. He's a big damn deal, and if anyone can help you make sense of all this, they can.
Total Votes: 6
[ ] Get While the Getting's Good
--That girl from before was trying to help you. And you were just covered in blood from before. You...maybe being the tall and freakish monster girl isn't the safest thing to be in the middle of the fight between the city's major gangs. Maybe it'd be safer to escape and lie low, at least until you're unlikely to be mistaken for a villain and arrested or attacked by the good guys.
Total Votes: 11
[ ] Write In
--Do something not listed here.
Total Votes: 0
Chrysalis: 1.5
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X]Glory, Glory Halleluia
--Attempt to get Glory Girl's attention. After all, her whole family are heroes, and maybe her sister can do something about the freakish changes that happened to you between getting stuffed in your locker and now.
Total Votes: 20
-[x] Stunt: You crouch behind one of the intact units on the roof, hugging yourself, as you let all the confusion and fear you've been experiencing since your awakening show. "Hello." You call out. "Please, I need some help. I don't know what's going on." You let your emotions pour into your voice as you begin to cry. "I just woke up and now I look like a monster. Please. Help me!" (2-die stunt! <3)
ooo
It...it was over. Oni Lee had fled. Sagging with relief, you experienced a brief disorientation that sent you falling onto your butt on the rooftop. He wasn't going to kill you. You...you'd won. Or close enough, any way. Taking deep, slow breaths, you fought to master your racing pulse, the welling panic that threatened to overwhelm any semblance of rationality and thought. Oni Lee was one of the most-wanted capes in the city. One of the most dangerous people in the state. And you'd won. Well, survived, really. But against someone like that? Survival was a victory in itself.
Drawing in on yourself, you forced your way to a wobbling stand. For a moment, you contemplated running again. You didn't want people to see you like th is. You were a freak, a hideous thing, a monster. You didn't want the heroes near here to see you like th at. Like you were a rabid beast to be put down. Another villain, another monster for the birdcage. And you knew it didn't look good. Though most of him had burst into ash, the Oni Lee clone which had exploded all over your gifted clothes had left conspicuous blood-stains on your borrowed, ill-fitting garments. Still, as little as the idea of them seeing you and assuming you were a threat to be put down appealed, you knew you couldn't run. That would only make things worse.
So you forced yourself to move, slinking over to crouch behind one of the still-intact climate control units. As you wrapped yourself in a tight hug, knees pulled in to somewhere just above head level, you tried to draw their attention. You couldn't help it; the confusion, fear, pain, and bewilderment you'd been experiencing ever since your awakening tinged your voice. "Hello?" Your call was plaintive, hurting, and an undercurrent of desperation threatened to drown the whole. "P-p-please? I...," you shuddered and hugged yourself tighter in a manner that had nothing to do with the cold, "I need help! I-I...I d-don't know what's...what's...I don't know what's going o-on." Your voice cracks on that last syllable, your voice going hoarse, rasping a moment. Though you clench your eyes tightly shut, you can feel the burn of unshed tears.
Mom, Emma, Dad. So much loss in so short a time. And now. Now, when you get what you'd dreamed of for as long as you can remember wanting anything, becoming a cape, life finds a way to twist the knife even further. You were one. But you were a freak, a monster, a creature that didn't even look human any more.
The flood of emotion overwhelming all reason suffuses your voice as you cry out, "I just...just woke up and," hot tears carve molten trails down your cheeks, "and I l-l-look like a," you sob, a wracking, pained thing. "Like a m-m-m-monster-her-errr!" You're wailing by the end, but you can't help it. Months, years of pain held behind a tightly controlled dam have finally spilled over, and the flood that results permits no control, no caution, no dignity in it.
You're startled to silence when a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you into a close hug. You freeze momentarily at the contact. When it doesn't relent, you unfold your limbs from around yourself and clutch tightly to the person offering you comfort. Shame, image, things like that take a distant back-seat to the raw emotional needs of the moment as you sob, you weep, you cry piteously, clinging to the person before you in desperation. Youdon't can't care about the judgment you might face from others right now. Your entire world was eviscerated, and for years you didn't let yourself admit the pain you felt at that. You can't hide that now.
Eventually, you find you've cried yourself out. The person holding you goes to give your head a pat, freezing mid-gesture as their hand touches your apparently bare scalp. "S-sorry," you manage to finally mumble. They rub your scalp in the approximation of ruffling your hair anyway. As you come back to your senses, you catch the tail end of a soothing, crooning song which the mental voice from before had been singing. Your eyes still closed, you send a mental pulse of gratitude to Joyous Uncertainty, even if you still aren't convinced they're real. If they're a hallucination, at least they're one that doesn't hate you. Finally forcing your eyes open, you start to realize that Glory Girl, the Glory Girl, is the one that's been holding you and helping you through your overemotional outburst.
Sniffling, you pull back, arms unfolding from around her. Horrified by the trail of snot from her shoulder to your nose, you offer up a murmured, "Dhorry. God snod all ober your cosdume." She laughs at that, shaking her head. "Hey, don't worry about it. It's had worse on it before." You feel the intense urge to apologize again, after all, she's a hero. A real hero, who helps people on a daily basis. And you dirtied up her uniform, as it were.
Rolling her eyes, she stands, offering you a hand to get up. Accepting it, you unfold yourself up to your full nine-foot height. She blinks at that, then shrugs. A cocky smile splits her features. She again offers you a hand. "Ready to get out of here?" Her tone's an invitation. You start to nod, then pause.
"I...can I do one thing first?"
Looking up at you, Glory Girl meets your eyes with a weighing gaze, then she nods. "Sure. What do you need?"
--Attempt to get Glory Girl's attention. After all, her whole family are heroes, and maybe her sister can do something about the freakish changes that happened to you between getting stuffed in your locker and now.
Total Votes: 20
-[x] Stunt: You crouch behind one of the intact units on the roof, hugging yourself, as you let all the confusion and fear you've been experiencing since your awakening show. "Hello." You call out. "Please, I need some help. I don't know what's going on." You let your emotions pour into your voice as you begin to cry. "I just woke up and now I look like a monster. Please. Help me!" (2-die stunt! <3)
ooo
It...it was over. Oni Lee had fled. Sagging with relief, you experienced a brief disorientation that sent you falling onto your butt on the rooftop. He wasn't going to kill you. You...you'd won. Or close enough, any way. Taking deep, slow breaths, you fought to master your racing pulse, the welling panic that threatened to overwhelm any semblance of rationality and thought. Oni Lee was one of the most-wanted capes in the city. One of the most dangerous people in the state. And you'd won. Well, survived, really. But against someone like that? Survival was a victory in itself.
Drawing in on yourself, you forced your way to a wobbling stand. For a moment, you contemplated running again. You didn't want people to see you like th is. You were a freak, a hideous thing, a monster. You didn't want the heroes near here to see you like th at. Like you were a rabid beast to be put down. Another villain, another monster for the birdcage. And you knew it didn't look good. Though most of him had burst into ash, the Oni Lee clone which had exploded all over your gifted clothes had left conspicuous blood-stains on your borrowed, ill-fitting garments. Still, as little as the idea of them seeing you and assuming you were a threat to be put down appealed, you knew you couldn't run. That would only make things worse.
So you forced yourself to move, slinking over to crouch behind one of the still-intact climate control units. As you wrapped yourself in a tight hug, knees pulled in to somewhere just above head level, you tried to draw their attention. You couldn't help it; the confusion, fear, pain, and bewilderment you'd been experiencing ever since your awakening tinged your voice. "Hello?" Your call was plaintive, hurting, and an undercurrent of desperation threatened to drown the whole. "P-p-please? I...," you shuddered and hugged yourself tighter in a manner that had nothing to do with the cold, "I need help! I-I...I d-don't know what's...what's...I don't know what's going o-on." Your voice cracks on that last syllable, your voice going hoarse, rasping a moment. Though you clench your eyes tightly shut, you can feel the burn of unshed tears.
Mom, Emma, Dad. So much loss in so short a time. And now. Now, when you get what you'd dreamed of for as long as you can remember wanting anything, becoming a cape, life finds a way to twist the knife even further. You were one. But you were a freak, a monster, a creature that didn't even look human any more.
The flood of emotion overwhelming all reason suffuses your voice as you cry out, "I just...just woke up and," hot tears carve molten trails down your cheeks, "and I l-l-look like a," you sob, a wracking, pained thing. "Like a m-m-m-monster-her-errr!" You're wailing by the end, but you can't help it. Months, years of pain held behind a tightly controlled dam have finally spilled over, and the flood that results permits no control, no caution, no dignity in it.
You're startled to silence when a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you into a close hug. You freeze momentarily at the contact. When it doesn't relent, you unfold your limbs from around yourself and clutch tightly to the person offering you comfort. Shame, image, things like that take a distant back-seat to the raw emotional needs of the moment as you sob, you weep, you cry piteously, clinging to the person before you in desperation. You
Eventually, you find you've cried yourself out. The person holding you goes to give your head a pat, freezing mid-gesture as their hand touches your apparently bare scalp. "S-sorry," you manage to finally mumble. They rub your scalp in the approximation of ruffling your hair anyway. As you come back to your senses, you catch the tail end of a soothing, crooning song which the mental voice from before had been singing. Your eyes still closed, you send a mental pulse of gratitude to Joyous Uncertainty, even if you still aren't convinced they're real. If they're a hallucination, at least they're one that doesn't hate you. Finally forcing your eyes open, you start to realize that Glory Girl, the Glory Girl, is the one that's been holding you and helping you through your overemotional outburst.
Sniffling, you pull back, arms unfolding from around her. Horrified by the trail of snot from her shoulder to your nose, you offer up a murmured, "Dhorry. God snod all ober your cosdume." She laughs at that, shaking her head. "Hey, don't worry about it. It's had worse on it before." You feel the intense urge to apologize again, after all, she's a hero. A real hero, who helps people on a daily basis. And you dirtied up her uniform, as it were.
Rolling her eyes, she stands, offering you a hand to get up. Accepting it, you unfold yourself up to your full nine-foot height. She blinks at that, then shrugs. A cocky smile splits her features. She again offers you a hand. "Ready to get out of here?" Her tone's an invitation. You start to nod, then pause.
"I...can I do one thing first?"
Looking up at you, Glory Girl meets your eyes with a weighing gaze, then she nods. "Sure. What do you need?"
Last edited:
Character Sheet as of Exaltation
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
And here's Taylor's sheet as of coming out of the Chrysalis Grotesque. Worth noting: her Infernal exaltation isn't...er...as standard as might be. Someone might've been tinkering with it. As such there will be some minor initial charm purchasing to undertake. Same for backgrounds. And Abilities. Those will be handled after 1.6.
NAME: Taylor Hebert
ALIASES: None thus far
EXALTATION: Infernal
CASTE: Defiler
ICONIC ANIMA: ???
MOTIVATION: ???
Urge: Fix Brockton Bay. (Pyrian)
ESSENCE: ●●●○○
ATTRIBUTES: (Points in Green are from Mutations)
Strength ●●●○○
Dexterity ●●●○○ ○
Stamina ●●●●● ●●
- Social:
Charisma ●○○○○
Manipulation ●●○○○
Appearance ●●●●○
- Mental:
Perception ●●○○○
Intelligence ●●●●○
Wits ●●●●●
ABILITIES:
Slayer
Archery/Firearms ○○○○○
Melee ○○○○○
Martial Arts ○○○○○
Thrown ○○○○○
War ○○○○○
Malefactor
Integrity ●●●○○ (Specialty: Mental Trauma ●○○) [Favored]
Performance ○○○○○
Presence ○○○○○
Resistance ●●●○○
Survival ○○○○○
Defiler
Craft (Air/Water/Fire/Wood) ●○○○○
Investigation ●●○○○
Lore ●●●○○
Medicine ○○○○○
Occult ○○○○○
Scourge
Athletics ●○○○○
Awareness ●●○○○
Dodge ●○○○○
Larceny ○○○○○
Stealth ●●○○○ [Favored]
Fiend
Bureacracy ○○○○○
Linguistics (Native: English, Old Realm [Dialect: Malfean]) ●○○○○
Ride ○○○○○
Sail ○○○○○
Socialize ○○○○○
ABILITIES TRAINING:
We are using a House Rule with flat XP costs and reduced training durations.
*= Available For Purchase
CHARMS:
General
First She Who Lives in Her Name Excellency (x3)
Malfeas
Hardened Devil Body
By Pain Reforged
Cecelyne
She Who Lives in Her Name
Factual Determination Analysis
Invasive Exteroception Technique
Essence-Dissecting Touch
Mind-Hand Manipulation (x2)
Adorjan
Wind-Born Stride
Sacred Kamilla's Inhalation
Freedom Lets Go
The Ebon Dragon
Loom-Snarling Deception
Kimbery
Mother Sea Mastery
Szoreny
Isidoros
Metagaos
Hegra
Heretical
Swallowing the Scorpion
BACKGROUNDS:
Unwoven Coadjutor (Joyous Uncertainty) ●●●●●
Mutations
Positive:
Impossible Joints
Huge
Deceptive Frailty
Negative:
Too Perfect
PURCHASABLE BACKGROUNDS:
RED dots indicate Background levels that have already been purchased.
INTIMACIES:
RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
Danny Hebert: Awkward Affection
Annette Hebert: Dull-edged Grief
Emma Barnes: Wounded Betrayal
Sophia Hess: Fear and Loathing
Madison Clements: Contempt and Loathing
Winslow High: Contempt
Mr. Gladly: Contempt
Heroism: Aspiration and Adoration
VIRTUES:
Compassion ●●●○○
Conviction ●●○○○
Temperance ●●○○○
Valor ●●○○○
Limit:
○○○○○ ○○○○○
WILLPOWER:
Temporary: ●●●○○ ○○○○○
Permanent: ●●●●● ●●●○○
MOTE POOL: (Brackets are Committed Essence that will not respire until the Charm is deactivated.)
Respiration: Normal (4/hour active, 8/hour resting)
Personal: 0/17
Peripheral: 38/38
HEALTH:
-0: [ ][ ][ ]
-1: [ ][ ][ ]
-2: [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4: [ ][ ]
In: [ ]
Sleep: Refreshed
Mental Integrity: Grieving
Wounds: None
Ailments: None
NAME: Taylor Hebert
ALIASES: None thus far
EXALTATION: Infernal
CASTE: Defiler
ICONIC ANIMA: ???
MOTIVATION: ???
Urge: Fix Brockton Bay. (Pyrian)
ESSENCE: ●●●○○
ATTRIBUTES: (Points in Green are from Mutations)
Strength ●●●○○
Dexterity ●●●○○ ○
Stamina ●●●●● ●●
- Social:
Charisma ●○○○○
Manipulation ●●○○○
Appearance ●●●●○
- Mental:
Perception ●●○○○
Intelligence ●●●●○
Wits ●●●●●
ABILITIES:
Slayer
Archery/Firearms ○○○○○
Melee ○○○○○
Martial Arts ○○○○○
Thrown ○○○○○
War ○○○○○
Malefactor
Integrity ●●●○○ (Specialty: Mental Trauma ●○○) [Favored]
Performance ○○○○○
Presence ○○○○○
Resistance ●●●○○
Survival ○○○○○
Defiler
Craft (Air/Water/Fire/Wood) ●○○○○
Investigation ●●○○○
Lore ●●●○○
Medicine ○○○○○
Occult ○○○○○
Scourge
Athletics ●○○○○
Awareness ●●○○○
Dodge ●○○○○
Larceny ○○○○○
Stealth ●●○○○ [Favored]
Fiend
Bureacracy ○○○○○
Linguistics (Native: English, Old Realm [Dialect: Malfean]) ●○○○○
Ride ○○○○○
Sail ○○○○○
Socialize ○○○○○
ABILITIES TRAINING:
We are using a House Rule with flat XP costs and reduced training durations.
*= Available For Purchase
CHARMS:
General
First She Who Lives in Her Name Excellency (x3)
Malfeas
Hardened Devil Body
By Pain Reforged
Cecelyne
She Who Lives in Her Name
Factual Determination Analysis
Invasive Exteroception Technique
Essence-Dissecting Touch
Mind-Hand Manipulation (x2)
Adorjan
Wind-Born Stride
Sacred Kamilla's Inhalation
Freedom Lets Go
The Ebon Dragon
Loom-Snarling Deception
Kimbery
Mother Sea Mastery
Szoreny
Isidoros
Metagaos
Hegra
Heretical
Swallowing the Scorpion
BACKGROUNDS:
Unwoven Coadjutor (Joyous Uncertainty) ●●●●●
Mutations
Positive:
Impossible Joints
Huge
Deceptive Frailty
Negative:
Too Perfect
PURCHASABLE BACKGROUNDS:
RED dots indicate Background levels that have already been purchased.
INTIMACIES:
RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
Danny Hebert: Awkward Affection
Annette Hebert: Dull-edged Grief
Emma Barnes: Wounded Betrayal
Sophia Hess: Fear and Loathing
Madison Clements: Contempt and Loathing
Winslow High: Contempt
Mr. Gladly: Contempt
Heroism: Aspiration and Adoration
VIRTUES:
Compassion ●●●○○
Conviction ●●○○○
Temperance ●●○○○
Valor ●●○○○
Limit:
○○○○○ ○○○○○
WILLPOWER:
Temporary: ●●●○○ ○○○○○
Permanent: ●●●●● ●●●○○
MOTE POOL: (Brackets are Committed Essence that will not respire until the Charm is deactivated.)
Respiration: Normal (4/hour active, 8/hour resting)
Personal: 0/17
Peripheral: 38/38
HEALTH:
-0: [ ][ ][ ]
-1: [ ][ ][ ]
-2: [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4: [ ][ ]
In: [ ]
Sleep: Refreshed
Mental Integrity: Grieving
Wounds: None
Ailments: None
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