A Worm/Pathfinder Crossover (Altpower)
With many thanks to a Beta who wishes to remain anonymous.
~~~
Taylor gasped and moaned between her clenched teeth as her back slammed into the brick wall, sending a starburst of pain up her spine to explode right in front of her eyes. Her breath came in barely controlled, tight bursts. Too little and her lungs started burning, too much and the long cut in her side from the one with the knife would shift and burn, sending her to her knees. She couldn't afford that. Not when she could still hear the slap of shoes chasing after her in the distance.
"D-dammit." She pulled her hand away, and she felt as if she lost another quarter cup-full of blood doing so as a sudden chill hit her like a freight train at the sight. Her hand was stained completely red and dripped copiously, big fat splotches of blood loudly hitting the pavement below.
"Too much." She thought. "That's too much. Gotta move. Gotta get...get someplace safe"
She peeled herself away from the dirty wall, and hobbled forward. Her legs burned and her lungs felt as if they were strangling her heart from inside her chest. But she could stop. They were too close still, closing in. They knew where she was still, were chasing her down. She had to keep moving, try to lose them somewhere. And she had to do it fast, before her own heart pumped every last quart of blood out of her body with it's frantic beating.
Her own sneakers beat an uneven beat counter to the faster beat set by her pursuers, echoing in the enclosed space between buildings as she moved as quickly as she could. The alleyway walls loomed and threatened, and each corner turned was the threat of another drugged up psycho springing at her with a knife like the first time. She couldn't afford to hesitate though. Each of those corners turned was a little bit more distance between her and them, a little increase in the chance she'd slip the net and get somewhere she could call for help.
"Should've gone back home," she frantically thought, her free hand wiping the sweat that poured down from her brow and into her eyes. "Should've turned around when I saw it, not take a cut across to another street to go around. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
She railed against the mistake that brought her here. A stupid brawl in the middle of the street. She hadn't thought of it, hadn't considered it. It wasn't uncommon. Now though, when she thought of it, she could clearly remember that the people fighting all had the same pale, wasted look. And for as much as they were swinging at each other, they weren't all that hurt.
A trap. It had to be a trap. And she'd fallen for it. So caught up in jogging, trying to finish her routine that she'd been blind to it. She'd taken a side-street, intended to go around, and they had been there. Behind her and starting to surround her.
She'd ran.
She was still running.
The alleyway ended and she emerged onto the open streets, and with it her spark of hope dimmed. She could lose them in the maze between buildings, the sharp corners and tight confines would hinder them more then it would her. But out on the open streets? They'd run her down in seconds.
The street sign was gone, nothing but a twisted lump of a metal pole where it once was. The street itself was cracked and riddled with potholes and the buildings were decrepit and boarded up. There was nowhere to run, no one to help. There were no more alleyways to vanish into, the old squat brick buildings were packed together too tightly.
Where could she go?
She frantically flicked her gaze between the buildings, looking for one she could hide in. One where the boards on the windows and doors looked loose enough she could pry them off, or slip inside. She turned to the left, and started to hobble down the street stopping only to rest and take a breath by leaning against a building. It was so tempting to just slip down beside a front stoop and rest, but she couldn't. Not yet. She needed to be safe.
~Here~
Taylor froze, the word seeming to echo in her head with a weight like a lead ball. Fear blossomed like a creeping vine in her chest as she looked behind her, dreading to know if what she had heard was her pursuers catching up to her. But there was nothing but empty street behind her.
~Here~
The word echoed again, and this time she noticed that she hadn't heard it. It was more like it manifested itself in her thoughts. Yet, there was a sense of distance. And more importantly, a sense of direction. It was like a magnet pointing north in the back of her mind, drawing her gaze down the street and towards a derelict building that seemed to stand out. She started heading towards it almost without a second thought.
~Yes~
Why was she heading towards this building in particular? It was a wreck. More so than any of the other buildings. It was half-collapsed, wood and brick slumping down on one side and rendering the nature of the structure obscure. It almost looked like had a second story at some point, but it was all gone in a pile of rubble. And yet…
"It feels safe." she couldn't help but think.
Time and her perception seemed to skip, and suddenly she was on the front steps, heading up and shouldering her way past the lingering half of a set of double doors.
Again, her gaze was magnetically drawn towards the point the words wanted her to see. The rational part of her was screaming to turn around and run somewhere else, that hearing words in her head telling her to go places and doing as they said was bad. But the other part of her, the part that was losing blood and felt like an animal driven into a corner could only think about how the words carried a weight and promise of shelter. Of safety.
In the distance, she heard foul-mouthed swearing and the steady thump of people running. That made up her mind for the rational part of her brain.
She hurried across the wide, central room, sticking to the side that was still whole and intact as she navigated past the piles of rotten wood. Her vision swam and she had to fight past bouts of lightheadedness, but she made it. Tucked away in one corner, a thin sheet of rusted tin-roofing leaned against the wall, and pushing it out of the way revealed a sturdy-looking door. Behind her, the sound of the gangbangers chasing her got louder.
She couldn't go back. So forward.
The door opened at a touch, and for a moment her pulse spiked as she feared that the hinges would squeak and squeal giving her away. But no, the door swung open as if freshly oiled, silent as a whisper, revealing a set of stairs that led down and into the darkness.
~Hurry~
Taylor fought to stay on her feet, and the world seemed ready to turn on it's head. Taking one last look behind her, she held onto the wall and started her descent. She didn't even notice the door close behind her. Or how the tin roofing she had propped up and away and slid back into place. No, all she noticed was how the burning pain in her side was turning cold, and how the blood flowing from the cut seemed to be slowing down as she descended into the darkness.
Soon, she couldn't see an inch in front of her face, and she had gone from leaning to outright slumping on the wall for support. The last thing she remembered before she felt consciousness fade was the sound of a distant door slamming open and shouts filling the air, and the sensation of falling.
~~~
-Purpose-
~Safety~
-Conflict-
~Protect~
-Power-
~Unity~
-Uncertainty-
~Assurance~
-Cooperation-
~Cooperation~
~~~
When Taylor woke, fragments of a half-understood exchange echoing in her head, she was laying on a dusty wooden floor, staring up at a ceiling that was also made of wood. Sunlight worked it's way through the cracks above and down into the room, casting rays of illumination that caught the particles of dust dancing through the air. To her left, she heard someone sigh, deeply and tiredly, as if all the weight off the world was on them. Turning her head to see, she caught sight of the only other person in the room.
An almost ethereal old woman, dressed in heavy work clothes. Overalls were tucked into leather boots and covered up a thick shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A pair of work gloves hung off the Old Lady's belt, and the outfit was completed by a sunhat and a raggedy shawl that covered her shoulders. She sat on an old bench, or perhaps an overturned box of time kind, leaning heavily on a cane.
For a moment, the two just looked at each other. Taylor, barely awake and confused with glazed eyes, and the Old Woman, with eyes that were the color of dirty sea-water with a depth to them that belied a strange warmth. She looked like someone's wise old grandma, fresh from the garden. Except for some reason, Taylor could tell she wasn't from the garden. Rather, she realized that the air was heavily laced with the scent of the ocean.
"Hello Taylor." The Old Lady greeted.
After a moment passed of Taylor parsing her situation, she slowly nodded and returned the greeting. "Hello Ma'am."
"Such a polite young lady. How refreshing." The Old Lady beamed. "Would you like a seat Taylor? The floor must be terribly uncomfortable. Bad for the back." She patted a spot next to her, and Taylor felt compelled to acquiesce to the Gran's offer.
Slowly she sat up, only to instinctively winced when her side turned. But instead of the expected stab of pain from her cut, she only received a dull throb of an almost ache. Looking down, she saw her blood-stained clothes, and the long gash through her jogging shirt. She almost reached down to touch and probe for the flesh beneath, but the sharp crack of the Old Lady's cane on the floor made her jump.
"No need to worry about that, Taylor. Fixed you right up. Now hurry on then, and jump up here. We need to have a talk, the two of us." She said, quite suddenly changing from a warm and welcoming tone to stern one. "We don't have all the time in the world, you know."
Something about it though, had her saying "Yes Ma'am." on reflex as she jumped up, and was quickly seated.
"Good girl."
Taylor sat there for a moment, emotionally split on this person and the way she seemed to switch from warm and matronly to stern and commanding. It was divisive, much like the way she dressed. And as Taylor examined her more, other things seemed to crop up. Little details that were there then not. Worst of all, and one that started whispers that this wasn't a normal person by a long-shot was that she didn't have a boundary. It was like the old woman blended in to everything, like there was no divide between her and her surroundings. She stood out, separate. Yet she was a part of everything.
"Who…?" She started to question, only for a wrinkled and gnarled hand to pat her strongly on her shoulder.
"Someone's who been watching, and listening, Dear."
Taylor couldn't help but smile sardonically. "That doesn't sound worrying at all, Ma'am. "
The old lady smiled and barked out a laugh, giving her a slap on the shoulder. "Ha! Don't sass me now child, I'll rap you one good!" She said jokingly, wiping away a tear of joy with one well-worn digit. "But it is true. An old woman's prerogative, you know. Got the right to watch and listen. And I watch and listen to a great many people."
"I wouldn't think,"' Taylor said as her hollow smile turned into a frown "that there would be much to watch or listen to with me. At least till now."
"More than you think child, more than you think. There are a great many stories to watch and hear in Brockton Bay, and I try to give a little attention to them all. Your story may be sad and not all that special now, but that doesn't mean it isn't worth the attention any less. More, really. It's the stories too small to notice that need real attention. Which is why I've been watching you today, Taylor." The Gran said, her own smile turning small and worn. "You are of this city, and so much like it my girl. You've been beaten, battered, broken. But you are still here, unbowed, trying to stand tall and proud. Trying to lift yourself up and to something new, been strong against enemies known and unknown, foreign and domestic. And now, you bleed on the first stones of this city."
"I don't understand," Taylor said, shaking her head in confusion. "What do you mean? First stones? Who are you, what are you. Are you a Parahuman? I just don't get any of it."
The old lady chuckled, although it had little warmth. "Child, if you understood any of it at all, you wouldn't be here. By my old bones, if I did I imagine things would be different. But there is still that truth. You've bled on the first stones laid by living hands to form the foundation of Brockton Bay, and you did it while asking for help. For aid, mercy, and protection. It might be old superstition, but things like that have weight. You'll get what you've asked for. What happens from there is up to you."
"You healed me," Taylor said plainly. "I'm thankful for that. But could you please explain what is going on?"
The Old Woman shook her head sadly. "Wish I could child. I hate this double-speak as much as you. I'm a straight-forward women myself. But there is so much to say, and never enough words to say it. But I've helped you, Taylor Hebert, so I ask that you do the the same. Help the city child, if even only a little."
Taylor was silent for a moment, the confusion and frustration clearly written on her face. But in the end, she weakly nodded. "I don't know how I can, but I can try?"
The Old Lady pulled her close, suddenly and surprisingly, into a tight hug. "Girl, that is all I ask. Now go, Taylor Anne Hebert, wake up and save yourself."
~~~
Taylor woke in the darkness with a start. And instantly, she felt different. That was probably the best word for it. Different. There was an energy, an aura around her, an odd awareness of herself that hadn't been there before. Something had changed about her, something important. Without looking, she ran a hand down her side, seeking the cut from earlier. She found the spot in her shirt, the fabric stiff and scabby from dried blood, and probing the slit where the knife had gone through she found unblemished skin, with not even dried blood on the portion that had been cut to show for it.
Thud
She jerked upwards at the noise, looking up at the ceiling above.
Thud
The noise again, and this time she heard others. Footsteps stomping around above, and the muffled echoes of voices. The muggers were still there, and she was still in the basement of the building just below them. They had her trapped.
She blinked, and rubbed her eyes with her other hand, only to stop. For in her supposedly free hand, there was the old woman's cane from her dream, right there in her hand. Just as strange, the room was pitch black, and yet she could clearly see it. In fact, looking around, she could clearly make out the whole of the cellar almost as if it was dimly lit then totally shrouded in darkness.
Another foul-mouthed curse that had her blushing reminded her that she had other things to worry about. The way they were going up there, it wouldn't be long before they found her down here. She needed to do something. She needed…
She looked down at the cane in her hand, and for the first time noticed just how ornate it was. About four and a half feet long by her best guess, it was oak and whalebone with a faded carving inlaid. She hadn't noticed it while the Gram from her dream had been holding it, but it was very well-crafted.
"Wake up and save yourself."
Thoughts and concepts buzzed in her head. It was like someone had opened a pandora's box and all the everything had rushed out right into her skull. Half-formed intents and words spiraled around, and seemed to resonate with the newfound energy inside her. Begging to be primed and released.
~Magic~
She needed to save herself. She just needed to use the tools she now had to do it.
Taylor found herself on autopilot, standing up and heading up the stairs in a flash, taking the steps two at a time until she reached the heavy door at the top. There was a sense, a raw feeling of what she had to do. She heard metal rattle, and the door opened, the sickly grinning face of the man beyond twisting with surprise as he saw her standing there.
She didn't waste the chance, and let intent and power flow through her, down her arm, and into her hand as she shoved the merchant dead center in the chest with all her might. Whatever it was flowed from her fingertips as a black aura that bit into the merchant standing there, sending him reeling and screaming down onto the floor as his dirty tank top was stained with blood, his torso exploding into lacerations and dark, ruddy bruises.
Taylor was already moving as the one druggie thrashed on the ground, her face twisted into a snarl as she lept and threw herself towards the other, bringing her staff up and around her head, before striking downward. The blow impacted on the man's shoulder, driving him to the ground before a follow up strike smashed his nose in.
She didn't stop there, as she reeled back kicked him as hard as she could in the chest, and soon vomit coated the floor as she jumped back to avoid the splash of foulness and did the next logical part of her plan; She ran.
She needed to move, get to more open ground. Open the range between them and her, and possible others. There had to be others. There had been almost a dozen chasing her. Where were the rest? She ran through the now empty door frame, the one half of the double-doors now laying splintered on the floor and out into the street.
The empty street.
Her gaze darted around, more power and intent buzzing at the back of her mind waiting for a target as she kept moving. But the street was empty, and the only thing she heard was the moaning and screams of the two she had already dealt with.
Didn't matter.
There was no time to stick around. She needed to go, and she needed to go now. She looked down the street, to where she had emerged from the alleyway.
"No," she muttered to herself. "They might still be in there. Need to move...need to move…"
She looked up, at the roof tops, the adrenaline high of flight-or-fight making everything stand out with perfect clarity.
"I need to move up."
The impossibility of the idea didn't seem to dissuade her. She knew she could make it up there. She just had to...want herself to be up? She needed to...Fly.
Her breath skipped as pressure rose up from the ground to her feet, and she lifted off the ground. She looked down at the street, almost a foot below her now, and then up at the sky. She was flying. She was flying. Freedom took hold in her heart, and she let her heart take hold of her intent and flew upwards, landing on the roof with a whisper of sound. Taylor looked back, down at the street, and felt liberated in a way she never had before.
She had power. She had survived. She was free.
~~~
Welcome to a side project, while the rewrite of Cryptekial is finalized. And it is being finalized. Almost 40k words later, and it's almost finished. Hopefully, Cryptekial will be released some time this weekend, or on the start of next week.
In the mean time though, I hope you enjoy this foray back into writing after a long break for me. Here, we see a rare species indeed. A newborn of the rare subspecies of Witch, The Illusive and Mysterious Alley Witch. A mystical creature known for forming close bonds and connections with the living spirits of the cities they dwell in, rather then with the forces of nature like normal Witches.
On the off-note, this will be a story that will update fairly slowly once Cryptekial gets going once again. But I will try to update it as often as possible.
Ah, my suspicion was correct, she's a Witch. I guess that makes her first spell Inflict Light Wounds? (Or, well, not necessarily "Light", considering she also knows Fly, either as Hex or as spell.)
Ah, my suspicion was correct, she's a Witch. I guess that makes her first spell Inflict Light Wounds? (Or, well, not necessarily "Light", considering she also knows Fly, either as Hex or as spell.)
You are correct on both accounts. Further details shall be coming in soon. But the first spell was indeed Inflict Light Wounds, and the second as the Hex version of Flight.
And she is a specific archetype of Witch, known as an Alley Witch, which is all kinds of fun.
Is that archetype new? I don't think I've seen it before and I've spent way too much time looking at Witch archetypes in the past.
(My favourite is the Cartomancer, closely followed by the Bouda with its damn alignment restriction. Nothing quite beats ranged Bestow Curse.)
Is that archetype new? I don't think I've seen it before and I've spent way too much time looking at Witch archetypes in the past.
(My favourite is the Cartomancer, closely followed by the Bouda with its damn alignment restriction. Nothing quite beats ranged Bestow Curse.)
It's not new. It's been around for awhile. It's part of the Heroes of the Street companion published by Paizo. If you wish, I can share details by PM in order to avoid cluttering up the thread.
To be honest, I was stuck on the rewrite of Cryptekial, and I couldn't get anything down. So I started brainstorming stuff to write to get the juices flowing again. Myself and Beta X started tossing around ideas and settings and everything. From total AU's to all sorts of stuff. Eventually, my Beta suggested a simple Pathfinder cross, and I found myself remembering an idea I discussed with someone else prior.
That being Witch Taylor.
Evolving that, I made it Alley Witch Taylor, since it suited the more modern setting and it gave several interesting options. Instead of a normal Witch's Patron being elemental or alignment-based, the powers come from the Spirits of the City that the Witch inhabits. The City itself is the Patron of the Witch, and the Witch forms a very powerful and emotional bond with the City.
So many people are willing to discard Brockton Bay. But instead of digging out of Brockton, I decided that for my side project, I wanted to dig deeper.
And so you got this.
Plus, Witch suits Taylor a bit more then the other Casters. The straight-forward powerhouse of Wizard is too blunt and frankly OP. The Highly emotional Sorceress is a bad fit for Taylor, who always kept her emotions tightly bottled and under control, to the point that she used her powers to proxy them off to her insects. Clerics and Paladins? Taylor's belief is so utterly shattered that it takes the whole time she is with the Undersiders to reestablish her ability to trust and believe in another human being. Having her trust in a God that gives her powers because she does stuff that is amusing or pleasing to that God?
Almost laughable.
A Witch is a nice balance of utility, power, and flavor. Which is why I went with it. It's more fun, and fitting, for Taylor. A Witch is a reclusive, highly independent and flexible caster.
Will you keep to street level? Because Taylor becoming a sort of urban legend, never seen or heard, only felt is a lot more interesting than just simply beating gangster parahumans. You could even alternate POV more easily rather than them just being reactions to what the protagonist does like in most fics.
Will you keep to street level? Because Taylor becoming a sort of urban legend, never seen or heard, only felt is a lot more interesting than just simply beating gangster parahumans. You could even alternate POV more easily rather than them just being reactions to what the protagonist does like in most fics.
I'm not willing to say just yet, because that can end up giving away a lot of direction for the story. I'm sorry I can't provide you with a more clear answer at this time, but I feel that if I did I would spoil a lot of potential development.
True. Here, Taylor didn't trigger in the locker. It hasn't been soon, but she's been in a fairly rough place, and has been skipping school more often. Jogging eventually became a way to get out of the house on those days.
So, after looking up Witches, I noticed that the Hex version of Flight doesn't actually let you fly until lvl 5. Does this mean that Taylor isn't starting at first level?
So, after looking up Witches, I noticed that the Hex version of Flight doesn't actually let you fly until lvl 5. Does this mean that Taylor isn't starting at first level?
