The vote came out 1 for the watchtower, and 1 for the Radical Lasers; the roll went to the watchtower, but there will be other moments in the campaign against the Hateful Warden.
Ace Billions woke up the next day, all of the previous night’s depravity flashing through their mind in a flickering filmstrip of vice. They went through an immediate checklist. Clothes? No, still naked but for the moving array of tattoos and the keyboard Fuckmaster. Sleeping on? Exactly three hundred and ninety two bottles of beer, arrayed in “bed of nails” configuration. Moral degeneracy of previous night’s partying? 3.2 MMWH, or megamarywhitehouses. Regrets? Nothing. Personal status? The best in the world, and where not the best in the world, to be made the best in the world. Satisfied, they rolled off their rectangle of beer bottles, and fell face-first into a puddle of what they hoped was either beer or water.
They blinked, and went through the extremely slow process of transitioning from the vertical to the horizontal, at which point they noticed that they were in fact outside. Which implied at least 3.4 MMWH; Ace Billions adapted their checklist appropriately, and mentally wrote “nice” beside it, with a doodle of themselves throwing up the horns. They were a short way out of town, by a road of cracked concrete and bitumen, a minute or so’s walk from the bar at the edge of town, and next to them was a dusty old pickup truck, a tarp located over a heavy load of cargo. Ace willed themselves not to have a hangover, and began to lift the tarp.
“I wouldn’t mess with that, youngun,” came a gravelly voice, and Ace Billions allowed themselves one single flare of head-related agony before willing the hangover gone completely, and turned to face the man who’d spoken. An old demonblood, in a canvas shirt and jeans and a hat that would have been corny brand new, but as it bore the marks of forty years of weather, Ace Billions had to begrudgingly admit that it was cool. “The barrels shouldn’t go until you make your crash, but it’s best not to risk it, ain’t that so?”
“I dunno,” Ace Billions said with immediate truculence. “What are they barrels of?” They thought a little longer, and before the old-timer could speak up again, brought memory to the fore. “Fuel oil mixed with commercial fertiliser, a few dozen firecrackers from when Konkord used to perform here, some extremely dangerous old mining dynamite, and we wanted to get a couple of bottles of Primal Fire but no one here can summon that so we just put in some hundred-and-fifty proof vodka instead. Detonator is we’re going to crash the car into something. What are we going to crash it into?” They waited for the other man to draw in breath to start speaking before they continued. “Watchtower. Local gathering place for the Hateful Warden’s troops. Pretty good view of the whole area and a barracks for whatever it is undead fuckers need to keep going. Probably not currently very heavily staffed, because they’d be looking into how we fucked them up at the Charnel of Those who Died in Vain. We blow it up, they can’t move their fucked up little skeletons around here nearly so well. But it’s a watchtower. How are we going to get there without being seen?”
“Well, y’all worked that out last night so I figure you’re gonna interru…”
“Mire of Gluttony. Overgrown swampland to the south of the watchtower. Foliage and broken land covers any view from above, water and animal noises cover any sound. Roads through it start at bad and go through completely fucked to nonexistent, meaning whoever drives the truck is gonna be taking their life in their hands every step of the way, but when we get out we’ll be pretty much right there and the fuckers’ll never see us coming. Yes. Whose truck is this and why are they okay with us turning it into a bomb?” After a long pause, Ace added, “At this point I actually don’t know and would appreciate your input.”
“She’s mine,” said the old-timer. “And she’s been with me through three failed marriages, four job losses, and the time I got real drunk and smashed my guitar and the next day it haunted me right to my soul that I done broke the only thing in my life I could make somethin’ of. But I figure it’s better to burn out than fade away, so it’s a good end if she goes out takin’ out that watchtower. Besides, rickety old thing’s more rust than car these days.”
“Metal as fuck,” Ace Billions said, shaking their head. “That’d be something to go out on. But if I was gonna drive this thing I’d end up pressing the wrong pedal and blowing us up long before we got to the Mire, let alone the tower. So who’s…”
“I’m driving it,” came the rumbling voice of Gorthor the Motherfucking Hammer, giving Ace a taste of their own medicine. He walked from the pub with a slow and steady gait and a blissed-out prettyboy on his arm, matching his pace while leaning a feathery-haired head as close to the minotaur’s shoulder as he could reach. “We need someone who knows how to work in nature, who can get out of the car at the last minute, and who can drive the fucker. If it was just making it out of the car in time, that’d be you, but you can’t drive for shit.”
“Driving is not a necessary component of my personal supremacy,” Ace Billions agreed.
“If it was just the stunt and the swamp, it’d be Fennie, but she drives worse than you do. So it’s me.” He leaned down to kiss his arm candy, who held on for a good long carnal minute and subsequently flittered away like a butterfly even more shirtless than most butterflies. “And if I die, you’re going to write the song about how fucking extreme it was.”
“It’ll be the best damn exploding truck suicide ballad anyone’s ever heard,” Ace Billions said, nodding their head and making their hair fall particularly attractively around their face. “...Although obviously I hope you survive so that I don’t have to write it. But if you do die you’re going to have a fucking kickass epitaph song.”
Behind Gorthor, the rest of Powerchord Bloodstrosity manifested, first Viorella of the Forgotten floating out of the bar like a nine foot tall ghost, then the Shatterchord, heralded by the crackling of electricity between the blades of his body, and finally, Fennie Fourclaws leapt dramatically over the back of Ace Billions’ head, to spin and pose in a sitting-cat position with her impressive pink dress floofing out all around her.
“So, that’s it?” Ace Billions said, looking over the gathered band. “We’ve made all our plans? Ready to go?”
Gorthor gave a long, slow nod. “Time won’t get better.”
Ace shrugged an agreement, and their hands flew over Fuckmaster’s keys, sounding out the most tense melody imaginable.
So, Gorthor – leading the group in the truck bomb – has to make three important rolls here. There’s a basic Forge roll to see if he can drive the truck to and through the swamp without wobbling it to a point of huge exploding. Success: driving! Failure: he’ll have to immediately bail, and a failure on that roll will mean serious damage; either way, the truck bomb isn’t going to get to the watchtower. Then there’s a Wyldz roll to see if he can find a driveable path through the Mire. Success: it’s all good! Failure: everyone else will have to explore through the Mire to be able to make a path. Then, finally, when he sets the bonnet of the car at the watchtower, one Stuntz roll to bail out before it hits. Success: the bomb takes out the watchtower and Gorthor dives beautifully out of the way of the fireball! Failure: the bomb takes out the watchtower and Gorthor does not dive beautifully out of the way of the fireball.
3d4 is a dangerous little roll to make. Gorthor might want to take some Dedications from the Altar. Whoops they spent all their Dedications on Downtime. Here we go.
Shatterchord is made of blades. Viorella of the Forgotten is made of stone. Fennie Fourclaws is primarily made of plastic, wire, and steel, but there’s some demihuman flesh in there as well. Lacking lungs, none of them need to breathe. So it’s only Ace Billions drawing in a horrified breath every time the truck goes over a small stone and the suspension, already shot to bits, rocks the truck back and forth, or there’s a pothole almost invisible in the truck’s path, ready to jolt the entire combustible heap into detonation.
And it’s only Ace Billions drawing in that horrified breath because Gorthor the Motherfucking Hammer never seemed to so much as blink. He feathered the accelerator and the brake, applying the most delicate touch, surprising for a seven foot tall blood red minotaur with hooves of iron. He took gentle curves around potholes and found the flattest route on dirt roads and offroad. He’s built to drive. Get this man on the Golden Desert circuit driving for Fort Royale; he’ll set new records.
4, 2, 4. Two Tributes. One succeeds on the Forge roll, and the other goes to the Altar.
“You are some kind of car-driving hero god,” Fennie Fourclaws (=^-ω-^=)d.
“I was figuring it’d be time to discuss whether we need the bomb,” Shatterchord said. “There’s any number of ways to bring down a tower. But, I hate to have to agree with you, it looks like we’re doing fine.”
“Still got the Mire to deal with,” Gorthor grunted, turning the wheel.
“See that little line-speck in the distance?” Fennie said, pointing. “That’s the watchtower, right?”
“If we can see it,” Viorella said, “it can see us. Let’s get into the Mire and hide.”
Gorthor’s Wyldz, like his Forge, is 3. Fortunately, if he fails this one, they just have to reroute, rather than the car blowing up.
“Can’t slow down too much,” Gorthor said to himself as he drove the truck. “Tires already getting bogged down. Sink too far, I’ll need to rev the engine hard to get ‘em out. Rev the engine hard, everything blows up.”
There had been habitation in the Mire of Gluttony before; mostly the kinds of goblins that other goblins tend not to acknowledge at family dinners. With careful eyes, Gorthor found the trails that they’d made when they took things through the swamp, only to find himself with his truck at a deep canyon in the earth, each side barely held up by roots and reeds, a long slump of muck into a run of stagnant water. At one point, there had been a stilt bridge of half-rotten wood supported by suspended vines that would have been a nail-biting drive across; that was long ago, and when Gorthor’s truck arrived at it, it had collapsed into the depression, sunk under water in various places. There were swarms of insects devouring the wood and the vines with joyous hunger.
“What are those things?” Ace Billions asked, their urbanity horrified by the sheer amount of nature they were confronted with.
“Futiliticks,” said Fennie, with a (=･ｪ･=). “They’re really interesting! They eat only things that were artificial and constructed, but they don’t actually get any nutrition from the things they eat; they only feed on the frustration that comes from people having their work destroyed!”
Gorthor growled and slammed a palm against the steering wheel, and immediately a small swarm of futiliticks went back to their devouring with renewed vigour.
“I like them,” Shatterchord pronounced. “They’re very relatable.”
Gorthor turned the truck, driving it slowly, and leaned out of the window. “Can’t stop driving,” he said. “If I do, we’ll get bogged down. You need to find a new way around.”
Gorthor’s Wyldz roll was 2, 3, 1. No Tributes, and one Feedback, taking him to 4.
“Need we be particularly quick?” Viorella asked, her own movements making it very clear that she was never of particular quickness. Even if she hadn’t been made of stone, her leather corsetry was fairly constricting.
“Nrgh.” Gorthor shook his head. “We filled the tank pretty heavy. All the more to blow up. But quicker’s better.”
Ace, Shatterchord, and Viorella all came together, with Fennie perching on one of the stilts that had once made the bridge.
“All we have to do is find the main road, right?” Ace Billions proposed. “Every swamp has a main road. Right? Otherwise… how would the frogs get around?”
“I think frogs don’t need roads,” Viorella suggested, but her voice was somewhat uncertain.
“I think you might be right,” Ace Billions said.
“Then I think she might not be,” Shatterchord said. “There are bound to be frog roads.”
/ᐠ𝅒 ‸ 𝅒ᐟ\, Fennie emoted, adding, “You’re all terrible at swamp. You are, like, the worst at swamp.”
“Sludge is dead anyway!” Ace Billions protested. “No one wants music without riffs!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way,” Fennie responded, and bounced from stilt to stilt, finding her way over the chasm to look around the other side.
The Maestro proposes that Fennie can bid an additional Tribute to find a way through the path without finding anyone there. Fennie says she wants the Dedications, and rolls without a tribute bid. It’s a good thing, too, because she rolls 3, 3, 3, 4, and all of those 3s are entirely pointless. She rolls Slink to try to get by unnoticed. Two Tributes, so another Dedication goes to the Altar – 2 Dedications – but also one Feedback.
Twenty minutes later, Gorthor had managed to change his path so many times to avoid chewing up the mud too much that he’d written three quarters of a cuss into the chasmbank, and the other band members were not particularly more productive.
“Frogs can see deep in infrared,” Shatterchord argued, “so they must have infrastructure.”
“Infra… frogs can’t even see infrared!” Ace Billions said, not being at all sure that frogs couldn’t see infrared.
“I say they can. Wanna fight about it?”
And this was the situation when Fennie landed in its middle, her own leap surprisingly froglike.
“Big lake off to the side,” she said. “Nice and solid drive around it. After that there’s an old goblin road and it looks fine! But there’s a couple of people at the side of the lake. They’re, like, shooting at all the big fish and crocs whenever they show up. There are a few crocs,” she explained.
Viorella, the only one who has a decent Cram score, is about to roll to see if she knows anything about what they might be, and then the Maestro corrects themself, realising that they shouldn’t have asked for a roll, because the only result of failure is not getting worldbuilding and backstory. This is an important part of knowing when you call for a roll and when you don’t, baby GMs.
“Were they wearing big camo cloaks and bright red trousers?” Viorella asked.
“Yeah!” Fennie said, nodding. “And the camo wasn’t the right camo for the swamp!”
“Skintooth Society,” Viorella said, with a deep nod. “The followers of Sir William Raleighford Ponsseforth Hooper Palmer Skintooth. A collection of hunters, who seek to track, stalk, and kill the biggest and most dangerous game they can find.”
“Reasonably metal,” Ace Billions allowed.
“Sadly, no,” Viorella said. “They never put themselves into the actual danger. They are more likely to find an extremely dangerous animal, wait for it to go to sleep, and then shoot it with a high powered sniper rifle from several kilometres away. And when they do hunt people, it is always the terminally unskilled, and never anyone who particularly deserves it.”
“Not metal,” Ace Billions corrected.
“A little metal,” Shatterchord said.
“We cannot allow these men to betray us to the watchtower,” Viorella told the group. “Fennie and I will sneak up behind them, and endeavour to capture them alive so that we may find out what they know. If a fight breaks out, we will make enough noise to attract you. Otherwise, we will call when we are ready. When we have secured the area, Gorthor will drive through.”
“You don’t seem too stealthy, V,” Shatterchord said. “Nine feet tall, and all.”
“I’m behind you,” Viorella said.
“FUCKSHIT,” Shatterchord opined.
Viorella has Slink 3, and Fennie has Slink 4 because she’s a cat. If you think there are rules for surprise attacks in the rulebook, perhaps you haven’t been paying attention to how finished the rulebook is. The Maestro rules that if they both succeed, they get to overpower their opponents without fighting. If they both fail, combat breaks out as normal, and Shatterchord and Ace Billions can show up after d4 rounds. If one fails and one succeeds, combat breaks out with reinforcements in d4 rounds, but the successful member gets to launch an immediate attack before the combat rounds start, with her target’s Tolerance halved.
Fennie’s Slink roll is 2, 2, 2, 4. Viorella’s is 1, 1, 2, taking her to 5 Feedback. And thus.
“I say, y’all,” one Skintooth Society member said, poking the other in the shoulder. “Those reeds to the south are moving in a way I find peculiar. Shoot the everloving fuck out of them, there’s a good lad.”
Viorella rose from the moving reeds, looking down the barrels of the two men’s guns. “Act not,” she told them. “Those who raise a hand against the Remembrance of All are doomed to die.”
“Likely story,” scoffed one hunter, at which point the other shouted something incomprehensible, dodged towards his friend, and fired randomly at the pink blur that flew out of the rushes.
Unfortunately for Fennie, her surprise attack roll was 3, 1, 3, giving her Feedback and no evisceration. So, we roll to see how many rounds of combat happen before Ace and Shatterchord show up – it’s 4, because the dice do not love Powerchord Bloodstrosity – and set the Tempo. Viorella’s Tempo is 10. Fennie’s Tempo is 14. Harmonising seems unlikely. Fennie is at Grabbing distance with both hunters, and Viorella is Spitting distance from all three.
Viorella drew herself up to her full height, which was a very full height indeed, and she opened the Unspoken Names of the Thousand Forgotten with one hand, and she pointed with the other hand. “Doomed,” she said. “Damned and doomed.” She drew the grudge of the forgotten out of the book and manifested it as a strand of Primal Shadow, lancing it out like a bullet to one of the hunters.
Implore roll to proclaim Looming Doom. Viorella gets 3, 2, 2, 1. No success. She’s up to Feedback 6. Still, having used her Cool Thing, she can use her Basic Thing to Hype.
“Your death approaches,” she said, even as the grudge floundered and dissipated. “My friend is going to fuck your shit up in ways shit has never been fucked to this day.”
So a Dedication goes on the Altar, bringing it to 3 Dedications. The Skintooth hunters activate next.
One of the hunters lashed out with the butt of his rifle, while the other took aim at Viorella and fired a single, well-aimed shot. Fennie blocked her opponent’s rifle-butt with her claws and threw him backwards, while Viorella took the brunt of the blow, tearing the leather of her corset and exposing a section of her midriff that would have been rather sexy if said midriff hadn’t been stone. (Though, come to think of it, had her midriff not been stone, it would probably have been torn up and bleeding from the shot, and thus not particularly sexy anyway.)
Fennie gets two Tributes on her Defence roll, allowing her to block 6 of the incoming 2 melee damage. Viorella gets two Feedback on her Defence roll, allowing her to block 0 of the incoming 3 ranged damage. Her Tolerance means she ignores one point anyway, but her Feedback is now at 7! If she doesn’t drain her Feedback soon via Downtime or her enemies using Feedback moves, she’s headed for whatever I decide Hiatus is in short order, and I forgot to give the Skintooth Hunters any Feedback moves!
“Keep the cat off me, would you, old bubba-chap?” said one hunter to the other, as he raised his rifle to his eyeline, and squinted to aim. “I’d rather like to know how one taxidermies a statue.”
I did, however, give them a Hunter’s Mark ability; on her next activation, Viorella must both change her distance from the hunter and make a successful Stuntz or Slink roll, or his next ranged attack against her will allow no Defence roll. So, pretty much as normal, given that last roll. Fennie activates next.
Keeping the cat off his friend was proving to be quite difficult. Fennie had already blocked his rifle-butt attack and put him on the back foot, and she followed up by stepping up onto his rifle, jumping up into the air, and coming down claws first, nearly splitting open the hunter’s face and possibly skull and brain as well.
4, 3, 2 on the attack. Which I thought was going to kill – schlub-class enemies have only one hit on their Meat Track – but it isn’t, because the template I worked the Skintooth hunters up with has Tolerance 2, which means that Fennie’s one Tribute does two Damage completely absorbed by Tolerance. ...I do hope this game gets either a .5 or a second edition, but this is a thing of it that they’d really have to look into. Having almost every enemy have as much Tolerance as a first-level character mostly deals damage leads to early game fights being a slog of no one ever doing much damage. Fortunately Viorella is now Battered and gets an additional 1d4 for the first Performance Pool she rolls each activation. Back to the top, with 3 rounds to go before the others show up.
“Come forth, forgotten,” Viorella proclaimed, and raised the Unspoken Names into the air; mist pooled out of the pages, flowed down like a fountain, and formed the half-defined shape of a human in front of her. Subsequently, she drifted backwards to avoid the hunter’s shot.
She spends a Dedication to summon one of her Amplings, and then Relocates to Stage range to try to dodge the Hunter’s Mark. She gets her bonus d4 to that Slink roll! However, she rolls 3, 2, 1, 2, which not only doesn’t dodge, but sends her Feedback to 8!
“I hear you, shadow,” she whispered to herself. “I know you come.”
Next up her Ampling activates, though.
The forgotten soul moved without thinking – it was, very possibly, incapable of doing so. It flowed between reeds and over stagnant water like water itself, arose before the hunter that pointed his gun at its summoner, laid its hand on his chest, and stopped his heart.
Three definite damage is very rewarding in this all-defence-all-the-time world.
“Tobe, this cat’s givin’ me trouble!” the surviving hunter said, only to turn and see his ally’s horrified expression, the breath leaving him as he collapsed. “Shitfire and by Jove! Tobe! I’ll, fuckin, you…” He pulled a knife from his boot and flailed it at the shadow, who obediently faded into nothingness.
Did I mention last time that there’s no rule for whether Amplings have Defence or Tolerance? No, I didn’t. There isn’t, so I’m assuming they just take all the damage dealt to them. Fennie’s Activation.
Fennie yowled like a dial-up modem doing its best to connect to a long forgotten server, and flailed her claws at her opponent…
1, 4, 2, no damage, 1 Feedback, up to 5 Feedback.
...to no avail, as he blocked rather impressively with his knife held up in “ice pick”/“serial killer” hold. “I think we gotta work together!” she called out to Viorella.
She’ll use her Basic Thing to try to change her Tempo downwards. At a Speed of 3, she rolls 2, 3, 3, which is a Wash, which at least does add a Dedication. Since Viorella spent one when the Altar was on 3, the Altar’s now back to 3.
“I don’t think we need to masturbate at all, Fennie,” Viorella responded. “Let alone forever.”
“The fuck?” Fennie (=^?ω?^=)’d.
Back to the top. Two turns before the others turn up.
Viorella judged the distance between herself and the knife/claw fight happening between Fennie Fourclaws and the Skintooth hunter. There would be no way she could reach them with the imprecatory curses of the Unspoken Names, without getting closer first. If she did get closer, she couldn’t also judge Fennie’s timing to try to get closer. But there was one possibility she could manage. She made her way through the reeds, one every so often rubbing at the gravel dust at her wound, making her wince. And as she walked, she held the Unspoken Names high again. “You will have new life today,” she promised, and another forgotten shadow made its way from the book.
Summon Battle Amplings does not have a once-per-combat limit or an activation roll. Viorella spends another Dedication, since this is the only reliable way to deal even a single point of goddamn damage at this level.
The shadow walked in front of Viorella, faster than her, unhindered by flesh or stone or leather. It walked onwards, directly through the terrified hunter, and as it faded away, the hunter’s flesh sloughed off his bones all at once, leaving a briefly standing skeleton before that, too, collapsed.
“Can you do the thing where you pull the Resonance out of our foes’ defeated equipment and souls and use it to power up our equipment, Vio?” Fennie asked, looking down at the remains of the two hunters. “It really feels like I should be clawing through more things by now.”
“I may just have enough to do that once,” Viorella responded. “And not enough time for that. We must keep moving, for now.”
Just as a little keep-up, from the looks of things I didn’t give enough Resonance last time; each Horde should be about five members, so there’s actually nine Resonance from the felled Bonefucks last time; defeating these two Schlub class enemies gives two more. So that’s eleven Resonance for now. Each piece of equipment requires ten Resonance to gain a single attribute, and between them, the band has fifteen pieces of equipment. ...You know what, the game’s plainly unfinished, and it also specifically tells me I’m allowed to say “fuck the rules”, though that does mean that by doing so I’m following the rules. I am HALVING Resonance requirements. Anyway, they’ll deal with Resonance – and maybe Glory as well – after the watchtower.
Shatterchord gave a brief nod of approval at the corpses of the hunters.
“We didn’t get any information out of them,” Viorella said.
“I like it when things die more than when they talk, anyway,” Shatterchord said.
The truck rolled past them, Ace matching its speed. “We’re in the endgame now,” Ace Billions said.
“What does that mean, though?” Fennie asked.
“Well, we’re nearly at the point where Gorthor drives the truck into the watchtower,” Ace responded. “But it’s a cooler way to say it.”
After a few more minutes of travel, the reeds and trees and scum of the Gluttonous Mire thinned out, and there was the watchtower, a hundred metres or so away, visible, with Bonefucks milling around the barracks at its base, and a single Bonefuck in the watchtower itself, looking around with a telescopic scope mounted on a rocket launcher. Gorthor, finally, set the accelerator to the floor, and roared out a bestial cry of glory as the truck began to bounce and barrel towards the structure.
We have passed enough rolls to make sure the truck is going to hit the tower! Is Gorthor going to get out, though? He’ll have to succeed at a Stuntz roll!
Rocks flew from beneath the truck’s tires, dust blowing up like a storm. Gorthor jiggled the door handle, trying to push it open, hinges rusted shut.
2, 3, 3, 2. That’s troubling. Gorthor plucks a Dedication from the altar to roll a new die.
Nitroglycerine bubbled and sloshed. Sparks caught between bottles and barrels. The explosion was now at the very edge of reality. Bonefucks screamed and pointed; the lookout at the altar pushed a rocket into the tube of the launcher and took aim. Gorthor pulled back to kick frantically at the stuck door.
3. Gorthor picks the last Dedication from the Altar.
The truck slammed home, and as it hit the solid strut of the watchtower, it stopped, hard, causing all the barrels to lunge forward in response. Two of them crashed through the back of the truck’s cabin, pulping the seats against the windshield, but that was barely worth considering when the truck’s entire explosive payload turned the entire area into a rose of fire that rushed up and consumed the watchtower even as it knocked it down. The Bonefuck watchman’s rocket went wild, flew into the air, burned out its fuel, fell back down and joined the explosion in another eruption of shockwaves and flame. The rest of the band rushed forward, weapons up, all shouting in rage and challenge and glory, but all of them kept the corner of an eye on the centre of the inferno, willing Gorthor to somehow have survived.
And, in answer to their will, the figure of the minotaur pulled himself up from the dust, the explosion providing him a burning backdrop. Gorthor raised Batalrioggh into the air, and met their screams with his own. “HEAVY FUCKING METAL!”
4.
Okay, so let’s see who survived. Originally, the watchtower had a gathered crew of: one Horde of five Bonefucks, one Skeletal Shitlord, one Hateful Guard, and two members of the Skintooth Society. We’re going to roll a bunch of d4s, because that’s the die this game likes. 1d4 of the Horde are going to explode. The Shitlord and the Skintooth hunters will each get a die of their own, and will survive on a 3 or 4. The Hateful Guard will get his own die and survive on a 2, 3, or 4, because he’s more powerful. And the dude in the tower with the rocket launcher? He is so incredibly dead. He is dead to the max. As a skeleton, he is entirely meat-free, and is thus Beyond Dead. He might survive with severe burns and no legs if he can roll a 100 on a d4. Oh that’s impossible? Damn right.
Only one of the horde explodes, leaving 4 Bonefucks. The Skeletal Shitlord gets a 1, which is how many bones are left of his body after he takes the brunt of the entire explosion. One hunter survives; the other… no, no, this is good description, let’s not put it in italics. And the Hateful Guard gets a 2. It would have killed anyone else.
Gorthor is at Grabbing distance with all the remaining enemy forces, and the rest of the band is at Stage distance. Let’s set the Tempo. Gorthor is at 8, as well he might be, having just emerged from an exploding truck. Shatterchord is at 14. Ace Billions is at 12. Viorella is at 14 and harmonises with Shatterchord. Fennie is at 12 and harmonises with Ace Billions. That’s nice.
There were two Skintooth Society hunters talking to the Hateful Guard when Gorthor’s truck came out of nowhere to blossom the tower into an inferno. Both, keeping admirable attention to the world around them, noticed the truck coming and dove for cover. The shockwave passed over both of them, rocking the Guard but leaving him standing. One rolled over and grabbed for his rifle; the other sat up to see that a single spark had landed on his ammo pouch, and moments later he was a ball of fire blasting shot in all directions.
Gorthor looked to the Guard, and the Guard looked to Gorthor. “Rabble,” the guard said. “DEATH is too good for you.” And Gorthor felt the flame on his back, and realised what he should – nay, must – do. Focusing the power of metal in his veins, the heat of his passion, he made of himself a figure that could not be burned.
Gorthor activates Into The Unknown to make himself immune to environmental heat for two Activations. The Guard activates immediately afterward.
The Guard dropped his telescoping baton – which, of course, he had painted to resemble a penis – into fully extended mode, and raised it above his rotting head, bringing it down on Gorthor again and again and again. Gorthor brought Batalrioggh around, but the mighty hammer was better at crushing skulls than preventing the crushing of skulls, and the Guard brought the baton around Gorthor’s guard more than once.
Gorthor’s defence roll was 2, 1, 3, so he blocks no damage and takes a Feedback, up to 5. The Guard’s Melee attack deals only 2 damage, though, so Gorthor blocks 1 with his Tolerance, takes him to 1 Hit on his Meat Track, making him Battered and getting him that sweet extra d4.
“Gorthor!” Fennie called out.
“I only promised you a suicide ballad if you died in the exploding truck!” Ace Billions called, and both of them rushed forward. Fennie moved on all fours at a dead rush, and Ace stopped when two of the Bonefucks looked towards them, growling a growl of superiority and dancing their long and delicate fingers over the keys of Fuckmaster.
Probably not going to do anything, but Ace is in range for their ranged attack, so they’ll try to take out a Bonefuck. They will need three 4s on 3d4 to even take out one Bonefuck. They get a single 4, and a 3, and a 2.
The resultant chords smashed against the bones of the horde, but made no major impact upon them. In turn, they rushed forward to meet Fennie’s charge, and fell about her with batons and bayonets and their own fleshless fingerbones.
Turns out that the basic Bonehead template from which the Bonefucks stem attack on their Basic Thing, not their Cool Thing, and I haven’t let the players swap Cool Things for Basic Things, so it looks like they can move OR attack. So the Bonefucks will use Overwhelm the Fleshbags to reduce Fennie’s Performance Pools by 1d4, and then pull two Feedback off her to turn into damage. Fennie gets to Defend with 2d4 – she loses one die because of being Overwhelmed – and gets two 3s. A Wash. One Dedication on the Altar, taking it to 1. Her Tolerance knocks one off the damage, giving her 1 Hit and making her Battered.
“They’re swarming her,” Viorella noted. “All working together. A perfect picture of order and co-operation. I think you know what to do, Shatterchord.”
“You’re goddamn right,” Shatterchord responded. Both of the band members approached, and as Viorella began to read from the Unspoken Names, Shatterchord pulled out Pinnacle of Dischord, and charged it with his own electricity.
Both of them use their Basic Thing to move into Grabbing range with the Bonefucks, and then Harmonise with their attack, pulling the Dedication from the Altar prematurely to get a 7d4 attack. It generates 4 Tributes and 1 Feedback. Shatterchord takes the 1 Feedback because Viorella is damn near Hiatus, and also uses the 4 Tributes because his melee weapon deals more damage than her ranged weapon. 4 Hits deals 8 damage, and 6 would have been enough to take out the horde, so the Maestro is kind enough to say that the extra Tribute can go back on the Altar as a dedication.
He moved like lightning itself, striking heads from shoulders, smashing ribcages. The Bonefucks that tried to avoid him found themselves pushed back into combat range by Viorella’s physical words, and soon Shatterchord was surrounded by nothing but bones. Moments later, though, a bullet found its way towards the collection of blades that made up Shatterchord’s face.
The hunter gets a shot. Shatterchord gets to Defend. Two Tributes; one would have been enough, so that’ll be a second Dedication on the Altar.
Shatterchord lunged forward, caught the bullet between his blade-teeth, and bit it in half.
Back to the top! Gorthor’s going to do his special thing now, and rolls Brawn. 3, 3, 2, 1. Gorthor takes a Feedback. Gorthor pulls a Dedication. It’s a 3. Gorthor pulls another Dedication. ...It’s a 4, finally.
Gorthor let Batalrioggh fall to the dusty ground, and swept both massive arms around the Guard’s torso, lifting him into the air, pulling him to the minotaur’s massive chest.
“Don’t dare touch me, vermin!” the Guard raved.
“We burn together!” Gorthor roared in response, and, carrying the guard, walked into the burning pillar that had once been a watchtower.
Especially since the combat system is so slow as it is, I’m going to say that carrying a Guard into the core of an inferno while being immune to fire is a kill.
“No, not yet, o shadow,” Viorella said, as she felt the pull of the void. “I must stay here for now. There are still so many actions needed. There are still so many great things to do.”
Viorella of the Forgotten is going to forego her Cool Thing this round to perform the Reduce Feedback action, which you can apparently do once per combat. She puts her Feedback back down to 7.
Shatterchord had no such quietude, rushing towards the hunter that was the last remaining enemy, raising his sparking sword and bringing it down in a rush. He put the hunter on the defensive, making the man stumble away from him, no longer in perfect prone position to defend himself.
“Hey, Skintooth suckshit?” Ace Billions called, as the hunter brought his rifle up like a shield to block Shatterchord’s sword. “You’re the last one left. Give up, and we’ll make sure you’re the last one left, instead of the last one to die.”
Ace Billions is going to try a Legendsmithing roll to encourage a surrender. He gets 1, 4, 3, 1, for two Feedback and a Tribute.
Persuading the hunter was easy enough. The difficult part was persuading Shatterchord to honour the surrender. His lightning laced all around Ace Billions as the keyboardist ended up putting him in a full nelson; it was deeply unpleasant even before factoring holding a man by his arms when his arms are swords. But Shatterchord eventually quieted, especially after seeing Gorthor walk out of the flames untouched, and cast the burned out shell of the Hateful Guard to the ground beside him.
“All right, then,” Ace Billions said, looking over the gathered corpses of their enemies. “You made the sensible choice, didn’t you? Now we’re going to go into the remains of the barracks and we’re going to have a discussion.”
“In the meantime,” Viorella said, “I will imbue our gear with resonance. If you would leave your keyboard here, I can…”
“Fuckmaster and I never separate,” Ace Billions responded.
“...You will gain no power without having your artifacts present at the ritual,” Viorella said, hiding her surprise.
“Yep. Already perfect. Come on.” Ace Billions grabbed the Skintooth hunter by his throat and carried him into the barracks.
Viorella watched, and then shrugged, and gathered the group’s gear together. Whispering a chant, she gathered the gear and soul-stuff of their fallen foes, and pulled the Resonance out of it to go to the gear of her fellows.
We’re going to make this a bit random. With 19 Resonance, we have three level-ups and four Resonance left over. Each of those will be randomly determined: first, a d4 for 1: Gorthor, 2: Shatterchord, 3: Viorella, and 4: Fennie; then a d4 for 1-2: weapon, 3: armour, 4: accessory.
First – Shatterchord’s accessory. Second: Shatterchord’s armour. Third: Viorella’s accessory. And the spare Resonance goes to: Gorthor’s accessory. It’s good that none of them went to weapons, since we’re definitely doing perfectly fine for damage dealing, and no mistake.
Shatterchord will increase his Speed by 1, and his Tolerance by 1. Viorella will increase her Exposure by 1. Exposure can apparently be used to judge the band’s social weight and spent to overcome social challenges. According to the book, Exposure, once spent, only comes back when levelling up gear anew. Fuck that, says me.
Shatterchord also has a move that allows him to try to get one Resonance into one piece of gear per combat. He needs to roll Legendsmithing to do that, a thing I did not know before I made his Legendsmithing 2. Miraculously, he rolls a Tribute on one of his dice. More commonly, he rolls a Feedback on the other one.
Shatterchord was alive with lightning and light as the Resonance flowed into him in bucketloads, his electric arcs dancing like an entire stage show’s worth of pyro. Even Fennie, who received no gifts from the flow of Resonance, had to admit that it was pretty cool. And as he came down to the ground, reborn as an avatar of glory, Ace Billions returned from his own errand.
“Skintooth sent these two assholes to bargain with the Hateful Warden,” Ace Billions said. “They want the right to have canned hunts with the prisoners as prey. They’re offering Skintooth hunters to help track down and tranq people to bring back to Arxarceri, as payment.”
“An atrocity we cannot ignore,” Gorthor snarled.
“A huge fucking dick move,” Shatterchord agreed, the afterglow of ascension making him considerably more amenable.
/ᐠ. ⱉ .ᐟ\, emoted Fennie.
“So I figure what we do,” Ace Billions continued, “is...”
1 – “have this guy lead us back to the local Skintooth Lodge, so we can burn it the fuck down to show what happens when you try to ally with Arxarceri.”
2 – “have this guy lead us back to the local Skintooth Lodge, so we can get them on our side and have them help us blow up Arxarceri.”
3 – “take this guy to the Radical Lasers as a peace offering to open negotiations for allyship.”
4 – “take this guy to the great volcano Moltyre and, I dunno, maybe throw him in? I think that’d be fun.”
