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I am not looking forward to the Botchcop version of this update.
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Jan 30, 2020 18:22
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And in this timeline we didn't even tell her that we want to have gently caress with her! Can't wait to see bothcop botch both the authority check (a disaster) AND deal with the whole "gently caress" thing
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Jan 30, 2020 18:42
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I'm legitimately shocked that doing what Authority suggested got you a good result and not a blanket party. I thought this was exactly the kind of situation where high Authority would make you act like a "respect my authority!" botchcop. It's a good thing Botchcop is physical-primary, he's probably going to need all that Health to get out of this scene alive.
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Jan 30, 2020 20:30
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Jefepato posted:I'm legitimately shocked that doing what Authority suggested got you a good result and not a blanket party. I thought this was exactly the kind of situation where high Authority would make you act like a "respect my authority!" botchcop. IIRC that kind of pettiness is actually a low Authority trait. But I forget it's long blurb precisely.
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Jan 30, 2020 20:52
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Authority isn't just about digital exploration for nonstandard currencies, it's also about understanding power structures and stuff like turf and who plays what role in a gang or whatever, so in a situation like trying to shake down the Hardies it's super useful in figuring out how far you can push things and who/what the weak links might be
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Jan 30, 2020 20:59
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it's worth noticing: garte is also a high authority character. he respects it. he venerates it. the reason he's so uncomfortable around Raphael is that he's not acting like someone in charge of him should act. if you tell him "you're out of line, cafeteria boy" his reaction is '...you know what, I was, officer. Sorry.' Authority wants to know its place in the hierarchy, and in the absence of one seeks to create it. it will happily (and enthusiastically) submit to rightly-established authority. but it cares a lot about 'rightly established.' (and as a part of you its definition of "rightly" is a, uh, moving target)
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Jan 30, 2020 21:09
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Botchcop - "I didn't rape her"
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Jan 31, 2020 04:13
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Failing that authority check is one of the most amazing sequences in the game and I cant wait til Botchcop gets there.
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Jan 31, 2020 06:10
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Synthbuttrange posted:Failing that authority check is one of the most amazing sequences in the game and I cant wait til Botchcop gets there. Botchcop will botch it by rolling double sixes and succeeding.
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Jan 31, 2020 06:25
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Night10194 posted:Botchcop will botch it by rolling double sixes and succeeding. The ultimate botchcop technique: botching comedy gold by unexpectedly succeeding at a critical moment
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Jan 31, 2020 11:27
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everyone posted:(Authority talk)
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Jan 31, 2020 12:51
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Fish Noise posted:It seems that in calling Authority "your inner fascist," Disco Elysium has set the audience up for a reminder that the vast majority of fascists are followers. Authority isn't quite your inner fascist, that's Endurance. He's your guts, meaning he's full of poo poo.
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Jan 31, 2020 21:40
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wiegieman posted:Authority isn't quite your inner fascist, that's Endurance. He's your guts, meaning he's full of poo poo. Can confirm, if you start talking about racism/nationalism it's the endurance that gives you the introductory thought.
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Feb 1, 2020 08:20
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Endurance is the fascist Ubermensch, Authority is the fascist toady bootlicker.
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Feb 1, 2020 21:10
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Authority is more of an, uh...authoritarian...than an out-and-out fascist.
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Feb 3, 2020 00:31
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Authority, like all purple skills, is Moralist.
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Feb 3, 2020 01:49
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Chapter 19: 19:22-21:08: Apartment Complex You leave the Whirling. As ghoulish as it sounds thinking it to yourself, the victim will have to wait. You’ve yet more leads to uncover, and you don’t know how much time talking to her will take before you have to send Kim away to deal with the body.  Near Joyce’s sloop, between Cindy’s hangout and the bookstore, there lies an inconspicuous alley, almost shrouded in the shadows between buildings, something that exists only in the liminal areas of your senses. You passed it earlier and barely noticed it at the time, but it calls out to you all the same. Also, that wall looks dope. Stare at it.      You’re on the same side of the fence as Cunoesse now. She tenses as you approach, almost as wary of you as you are of her. She lacks the protection of the fence now, but instead of vulnerability you sense danger. Don’t back this one into a corner. There’s nothing but building pressure here.  SAVOIR FAIRE: [Easy: Success] Apparently, she doesn’t like people standing behind her back. Hell, same. LOGIC: [Medium: Success] Logic error! She’s not sleeping right now.    Further into the yard, we come across another entrance to the apartments.      There’s something off about this dude. You hadn’t even started talking yet and he’s already getting defensive. SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “I don’t want to be seen talking to the *gendarmerie*, if that’s okay. I just want to finish my cigarette.”  SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “Is it really that important?” he asks you, adjusting his shirt. HALF LIGHT: [Easy: Success] Like a nervous cat, he keeps stealing looks at the neighboring windows.   SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “My name? My name is Martin Martinaise.”  SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “No, of course not. Could you please lower your voice?” He scans the courtyard. It’s silent like the bottom of a well, every sound captured and reflected back. This guy is paranoid about something, all right. It’s hard enough to hear him from up there with how quiet he’s talking and he wants it to be even quieter?  SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “And I *really* need to finish this cigarette,” he replies with a subtle smile.  SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “I can *tell* that you finally got him down. Thank you—It was quite a disturbing sight, even by Martinaise standards.” KIM KITSURAGI: “What were you doing last Sunday?” SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “Oh…” He waves lazily with his cigarette. “You already asked me that, didn’t you?”  SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “No, not you.” He gestures idly. “Some more *muscular* type.” KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant takes out his little blue notebook and writes something down. ‘And when did you speak to this more *muscular* gentleman?” SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “Last week? I don’t know, look…” He looks around the courtyard again. Old patio chairs and dead house plants litter the scene.  KIM KITSURAGI: “You didn’t answer the question. What were you doing last Sunday?”  SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: “It was my Sunday friend.”     This isn’t going well. Think! How can you get something, anything from this guy?    SMOKER ON THE BALCONY: For a moment the man on the balcony seems almost vulnerable. Something moves in the depths of his feline eyes: compassion, and a hint of understanding. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and deliberate: “I am sorry, but I really don’t have the information you’re looking for.” With a flick of his wrist, he sends the cigarette butt sailing over the rail… But hold on, what’s that? For a split second his hand lingers… as though gesturing towards a stone placed right next to the front door… SUGGESTION: It’s a sign!    KIM KITSURAGI: “He could be a witness, him or his *Sunday friend*. Either way we need to look into that *muscular type* who’s asking about our case… He did leave us a sign, did you see that? He wanted to draw our attention to that stone right over there.” The lieutenant nods towards a small rock on a soggy patch of grass.     Bingo bango. ...I’m sorry, that was lame.      This must be the “weasel’s” residence.  DOOR, BASEMENT APARTMENT: You knock silently. The upholstery muffles the sound. No response comes from the apartment.  DOOR, BASEMENT APARTMENT: The leather upholstery is worn and rough against your jaw. You don’t hear any movement.  You feel like you’re about to be murdered. Probably nothing. KIM KITSURAGI: “Let’s be honest, this isn’t what I joined the RCM for. But—every day tells you something new about yourself…” the lieutenant replies, still inspecting the padded door.  KIM KITSURAGI: “I mind that a local thug is using the RCM for his busywork, but if this gets us to the bottom of this hanging then I’m willing to look over it.”   INTERFACING: [Easy: Success] The door is right here. You can just open it and be done with this.  Somehow the idea of *not* opening the door feels too easy. You don’t particularly want to be Evrart’s stooge, but at the same time you don’t really feel like lying to him about this would go well. Just because you can’t see a tail doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, after all. DOOR, BASEMENT APARTMENT: You try to be as silent as you can. It takes a bit of rattling of the handle to loosen the bolt.  PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] The sound of the key turning still echoes in the yard. Hopefully no one heard. INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Only *curiosity* could account for stepping over that threshold. Maybe there’s treasure in there? A white alligator? A fountain of quicksilver?   Eh, gently caress it. You’ve come this far. Might as well step inside.   COLONIAL MUG COLLECTION: A little ring. Though cheerful, the images on the ceramic make you vaguely uncomfortable.   EMPATHY: This person is unhappy. KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant picks up one of the mugs, then puts it back down with a look of disdain.  COLONIAL MUG COLLECTION: Yes, your broken mug friend would feel very much at home here. The same humour, the same mocking lines… KIM KITSURAGI: “There’s the missing tin soldier,” The lieutenant looks at the mugs next to each other. “Whoever lives here might have used the Whirling’s container to dump his trash… And now they’ve drawn the ire of the Union. The plot thickens, as they say.” LOGIC: [Easy: Success] An interesting little clue. Let’s see where this goes. Clues have a way of magically connecting to other clues—down the road.  KIM KITSURAGI: “Who knows.” The lieutenant opens his notebook. “I’m not expecting too much from this *clothes in the trash* lead either way. It might turn out to be some random local matter. But still—a nice coincidence.”     You immediately put on the nice shirt to replace the awful one you’re wearing.     ENCYCLOPEDIA: It’s an optical atmospheric anomaly the first settlers saw. Happens in cold weather: six small suns around the big one. This complex halo-phenomena is how old Revachol got its flag.  KIM KITSURAGI: “Mhm.” He looks around in the apartment. “The tenant is an *old fashioned* guy.”    This thought stirs some vague recollection in you, but you cannot quite grasp why, and the feeling disappears as quickly as it came.  You don’t have any real business in the apartment, besides asking around about the smoker and of course getting the speed from Cuno’s dad, but the proximity to the scene of the crime has you curious. Perhaps more will reveal itself if you enter…       DOOR, APARTMENT #12: No response. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] The apartment numbers have fallen off the door, leaving the panel with a sticky “1”-shaped shadow and a marker-drawn “2.”  Interfacing is right, no way you’re getting through this without getting those chaincutters.       Heh, I like this dude alread—ah poo poo I forgot about the domestic abuse Apparently this is something from the neighboring apartment we somehow managed to examine by accident. As you step inside the apartment, a foul odour drifts across the hallway into your waiting nostrils, along with a low-pitched rumbling you cannot identify. They come from deeper within.     KIM KITSURAGI: “Good, confiscate it.”        A PILE OF CLOTHES: Something underneath there is breathing.  Somehow you already know what awaits you under there is not quite horror, but sadness. A PILE OF CLOTHES: Your hand touches a greasy duvet, covered in cigarette burns and ketchup stains. You hear a growl. There is something *alive* underneath it.    KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m afraid it is. Look, it *moves*.” He points to a fleshy lump sticking out from the other end of the blanket. The limb seems to be twitching from time to time. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] And look, the other foot is camouflaged by a striped sock bearing the name MAXTOR on the sole. Three toes are poking out of a hole. ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] Maxtor is a gas company. He’s wearing free socks from a gas company. They probably came with the bills.  KIM KITSURAGI: “Judging by the colour of his hair I would say yes, it is.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “I think he’s still *quite* bad… I mean, what he has come to.” The lieutenant tilts his head. “This man won’t be feeding his family any time soon. Not that he was, but…” The lieutenant thinks to himself. “At least he won’t be beating his son.”  CUNO’S DAD: Suddenly the man starts growling. Three words manage to escape his mouth, along with a strong stench of alcohol: “Fuckn… l… f…p…”   KIM KITSURAGI: “We could take him to Remedie or Saint Batiste, but he doesn’t have money for medical services. The Almshouse would turn him down… They don’t do charity for people who’re trying to kill themselves. Besides, he’ll be dead in a few…” the lieutenant stops, listening to him. RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] …years? Months? Weeks?     PERCEPTION (HEARING): And then it dawns upon you, clear and surreal… ‘Pigs,’ he says.  Rude. CUNO’S DAD: His hand falls back on the bed, limp and defeated. A loud snore escapes his mouth… He’s asleep again.  There’s nothing for you here but a reminder of the power you do not possess.  Just looking at this bottle in this disgusting bathroom *activates* something deep within you. You’re afraid of whatever it is, but it still takes all the willpower you possess not to pick the bottle up and take it with you. You don’t need that kind of temptation. At least, not on the job. Maybe later, but absolutely not right now.    You examine the door.   PADLOCKED DOOR: It’s a solid lump of metal, but the shackle is deeply corroded—a solid pair of chaincutters would make short work of it.  Wait, what?! No. This is someone’s home! Presumably! You have absolutely no reason to do that! I mean, you had pretty much no reason to break into the last two places, but you have even less reason to break into this one!    LOCKED DOOR: The walking stops abruptly, but no one comes to the door. INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] You can feel tension on the other side.   LOCKED DOOR: “Do I *have to* open the door?” You hear the clacking of heels again, as the other side walks right up to the door. Her tone is now getting a defensive edge… “Do you have a warrant? I’m not obligated to open the door if you don’t have a warrant.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Let’s go,” the lieutenant says, “we don’t have a reason to get inside that apartment.”    It’s already uncomfortable to be in this woman’s presence, not out of any particular behavior of hers, but simply in the way she forces you to consider mortality and human decay.  CLEANING LADY: I’m fine, fine, don’t you worry about me!” She starts coughing, red spots appearing on her cheeks. EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] You’re still worried. It’s very worrying. CLEANING LADY: “Now, what do you want from me, policeman?”   CLEANING LADY: “If you can call it living…” She spits on the floor, before wiping it off with a broom. “I have a little room upstairs, right next to the coal room. It’s barely bigger than a closet, but I don’t complain, no…” – She juts out her chin, eyes shining – “I have my bed and my aching bones to keep me company and that’s all I need from this world.” SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] And all she gets, too. The coastal wind beats hard on the coal room door, outside. Splashes of waves make the balcony slippery…  CLEANING LADY: “Yes-yes. I know who you mean. The scrawny boy who’s always smoking like the devil, right?” She looks at the other end of the hallway. PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Easy: Success] Somewhere in the building a child starts crying. You hear a radio tuned to a talk show and someone taking a shower.  CLEANING LADY: “Talk!” The cleaning lady starts laughing, but it turns into a violent coughing spasm. She squeezes her broom, trying to catch her breath. RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] What was so funny about that?    CLEANING LADY: “People come and go, I don’t keep an eye on everyone.”   CLEANING LADY: “Impossible,” the cleaning lady says, shaking her head, “I would know if someone had moved in there.” She pauses, eyeing the hallway.   CLEANING LADY: “Oh, that one is a scientist, a future scholar!” Suddenly the old lady’s face is beaming.   CLEANING LADY: “That’s what I said, astrology.” KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant shakes his head, as though to say “let it go.”   CLEANING LADY: “Addicts, all of them… And sometimes I hear them screaming.” She winces. “They don’t like me cleaning behind their door, think I’m listening in on their fights.” VISUAL CALCULUS: [Medium: Success] It was dirtier there. After the janitor’s closet. She avoids the end of the hallway. KIM KITSURAGI: “We saw unpaid utility bills—aren’t they going to be evicted?” CLEANING LADY: “No one likes them in this building.” She shakes her head. “It’s only because of the kid they haven’t been thrown out.”  CLEANING LADY: “The *artist*?” She scoffs. “Nothing I can do about her, I’m afraid. She ruins the walls faster than I can clean them. Still…”                 The fridge contains some Nosaphed and, inexplicably, twenty cents.    You change your mind. Time to break in!          You briefly stop to wonder why Kim is allowing this.     Ooh, a bullet! Wait, why is there a bullet here?    I’m sure there’ll be no cause to use this bullet at any point. But also, we don’t even have our gun back yet. At this point, we might just have to throw it at our enemies.      KIM KITSURAGI: “Very well.” The lieutenant leans closer to the sculpture. “Let’s look for identifying features then…”    KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant closes his eyes. “Okay, you win. Be Kras Mazov then, I don’t care…”     KIM KITSURAGI: “Whoever lives here definitely shares your enthusiasm.” He leans closer to inspect the photos of revolutionaries on the wall.   Here’s that thought we just picked up.   And here’s the two we picked up a few updates ago.  LOCKED DOOR: “Excuse me? Of course not!” SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] There’s no sweet-talking your way in there. Be official.  LOCKED DOOR: “Oh, come on!” There’s a pause, before you hear the door being unlocked. RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Well, that was easy.        The woman’s smile displeases you immensely. INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] Boy, there are a lot of different keys there. More than *twenty* at least… EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] Her voice is really cheerful despite her obviously *hating* you.    REAL ESTATE AGENT: “It was some kind of a moribund old man, who used to be a business owner. You’d think they’d make rent…” She stops, hesitating. COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] A sudden serious look crosses her face. This story didn’t have a happy ending.  REAL ESTATE AGENT: “Oh, that’s another huge mess. The former tenant owes us three months of rent, *three*! We closed the apartment and planned on auctioning off the valuables, but… And again, I have no idea how *stupid* mistakes like this can even happen, but Ron, when he came to close the door, didn’t close the neighbouring door! And there’s a hole in the wall! A hole in the wall, can you believe it?” She spreads her hands. “And then the tenant ran off with his stuff. He’s gone, the *money’s* gone, just like that!” She snaps her fingers.  REAL ESTATE AGENT: “These apartments are perfectly fine! They have gorgeous architecture, a million reál view of the bay, good ventilation, neighbours, life, spark… And they are affordable. I’ll tell you, Martinaise has a future—in a few years it’s going to blossom with artists and creatives and those radiocomputer wizards.”   REAL ESTATE AGENT: “Don’t ask me what happened with the wall, I have no idea how we’re going to find the time or resources to fix it.”   Let’s go back to the cleaning lady and report our findings.   CLEANING LADY: “Oh, I do like wizards,” she agrees wholeheartedly. “And people like that in general. They have a lot to tell us about our fates…”   Upon passing the five-pointed star again, Encyclopedia perks up. ENCYCLOPEDIA: The star-and-antlers was developed in the sixth decade of the last century and quickly adopted by Mazov and the communards during the revolution…  ENCYCLOPEDIA: To symbolize the toppling of the old order.     Oh, bullpoo poo!   Reeling from the loss of morale just *thinking* about communism caused, you decide to head out to the balcony where the smoker was and get some fresh air.       REACTION SPEED: [Trivial: Success] Number twenty-eight… This is where the cleaning lady said the smoker on the balcony lives.  DOOR, APARTMENT #28: No one answers. KIM KITSURAGI: “Looks like the young man we’re looking for isn’t home. I think our best chance to catch him is in the evening.” He looks around, taking in the cold spring air.   REACTION SPEED: [Easy: Success] drat. Turns out it’s quite tricky finding someone in a big apartment building… Don’t worry. You’ll get him!      Now that the real estate agent is gone, you decide to see what else you can loot from the apartment, as she somehow failed to re-lock the door after you left.  Your reward is shoes that make you more of a libertarian. Joy.  The building actually has two balconies, with the other, near the cleaning lady, presumably leading out to where Cindy was loitering.   VISUAL CALCULUS: A great force from the north-east fired into the city. Heavy artillery shelled the coastline, fired from the water—a straight shot into Revachol.  VISUAL CALCULUS: The waves of the Martinaise inlet roll over the fallen remains of the building. The dark waters obscure the better part of the remains.  VISUAL CALCULUS: Those arches acted as support for something greater than what you see now. Only three stories stand where nine to twelve once did. Restoration has failed. What the shelling took out was never re-built.  VISUAL CALCULUS: A fleet—the combined armies of Occident and Graad, with Mesque volunteers. A five nation army. Hundreds of vessels. They masses airships further down, in the bay of Revachol. The artillery was so powerful, the ships not only required gyroscopic stabilization—they were anchored into the ocean floor as well.  KIM KITSURAGI: “The Coalition,” says the lieutenant. “But that was a long time ago. I think we should move on. It’s chilly up here.”   CINDY THE SKULL: “Yeah, I can see that. Cool mutations.” She crosses her arms.  KIM KITSURAGI: He studies the contents of Cindy’s bucket. “Red-dyed heavy fuel oil intended for exclusive use in government vehicles, to be precise.” CINDY THE SKULL: “What did you think I was using, aquarelles? Sucked it out of a cop’s fuel tank myself—back in Jamrock.”   God, she’s so cool.   Slightly less cool: her apparent living conditions.         Back inside, we take the other exit.  You’re back outside. You must have explored the entirety of the building. There’s nothing left for you there at the moment. Where should you go next? Arist fucked around with this message at 10:53 on Feb 4, 2020 |
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Feb 3, 2020 21:32
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Oh hell, I had no idea that real estate agent even existed.
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Feb 3, 2020 21:55
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Your character is looking absolutely ridiculous and I love it. Not hard to see why no one is intimidated by him.
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Feb 4, 2020 02:10
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 one day someone's going to have to tell Authority about homosexuality.
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Feb 4, 2020 04:32
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It's worth noting that the guy speaks in a very stereotypical "camp gay" way, it's extremely unsubtle. Also, assuming that the narration is our character's thoughts, then we are clearly hella gay because that guy gets described as some sort of an unreachable beauty god. We should probably go tell Evrart we were a good little stooge.
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Feb 4, 2020 08:42
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Regallion posted:It's worth noting that the guy speaks in a very stereotypical "camp gay" way, it's extremely unsubtle. Haha, that's just how Virgil Texas speaks normally.
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Feb 4, 2020 08:55
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man, we steal a lot of clothes, turns out
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Feb 4, 2020 09:43
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fluffyDeathbringer posted:man, we steal a lot of clothes, turns out Hey, if they didn't want us to steal their clothes, they shouldn't have bought clothes that have tasty, tasty stat boosts.
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Feb 4, 2020 09:44
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Arist posted:“They don’t lik,e me cleaning behind their door, ... Also, you managed to check out the books in the communard's apartment while breaking into the de ruyter residence, which I didn't even know was possible.
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Feb 4, 2020 10:41
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Xander77 posted:... Weird!
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Feb 4, 2020 10:52
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Lol imagine how awkward it would be to unexpectedly fall to zero morale after that thought about Communism, like "The Internationale has failed us! I can't do this cop thing anymore! I'm out of here!"
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Feb 4, 2020 13:59
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anilEhilated posted:Oh hell, I had no idea that real estate agent even existed. My reaction, except for Cuno's dad. That and I found guy we're meeting tommorow evening so late in the game I never got around to come back.
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Feb 4, 2020 14:25
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 i love these rear end pants
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Feb 4, 2020 14:35
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Chapter 20: 21:08-23:34: Roll Playing Content warning: censored homophobic slurs  As you make your way into the yard, you sense someone nearby. You get a sense that what they have for you is much more important than what you’re currently occupying yourself with. No matter. It’s time to resolve the Cuno situation, once and for all.  CUNO: “All right, so you got Cuno’s kilo.” He rubs his hands together. “Here is how we do it. First, you give Cuno Cuno’s kiilo. Then Cuno gives you half back.”  CUNO: “Word on the street is you sent your little friend in dressed as a *hooker*. Distraction-style. That’s some sick poo poo.” He nods approvingly to Kim. KIM KITSURAGI: Not a single muscle moves on the man’s face.  CUNO: “Cuno knows what Cuno means.”  You’re not loving giving the child the drugs. But you already knew that.  CUNOESSE: “Tell him, Cuno!” CUNO: “Cuno’s got brains. This poo poo doesn’t surprise Cuno.” He squints at you. “So Cuno’s gonna give you one more chance. Know this, pig—poo poo is *major*.” CUNOESSE: “Major loving choice, pig…” CUNO: “Cuno won’t take this poo poo lightly. The pieces are moving, pig. This is loving domino poo poo.” LOGIC: [Medium: Success] It’s hard to see how *not* giving the boy a bag of amphetamine would cause some catastrophic cascade response. INLAND EMPIRE: [Easy: Success] Hard to see, but easy to feel. Somehow this *will* change things.  And that’s the one thing you absolutely cannot abide. SUGGESTION: None that you can see. ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] No. You *can* see it. This young man has junior officer material in him. In another life, where he trusts you. Somehow you don’t feel like you’re really missing out too much by throwing away this hypothetical alternate reality where Cuno joins the force. What’s he gonna do? Ethnic slur the culprit into submission?  I told you I was a narc, Cuno!  CUNOESSE: “I told you he can’t be trusted! I told you, I told you…” the little rat repeats it six or seven times. “I told you he’d steal the poo poo!” CUNO: “Relax C. We got plenty of kilo—kilo underground, in the tree, this ain’t about that.” He turns to you. “This is about you and Cuno. You mismanaged this poo poo. Now everything is *hosed* between us. How are you gonna make this up to the Cuno, huh?” DRAMA: [Medium: Success] There is genuine disappointment below the act, sire.  CUNO: “The gently caress do you know about Cuno’s life? Cuno’s got plans. Get the gently caress out of here.” CUNOESSE: “Yeah, we got plans.”   CUNO: “What?!” His eyes become large and round. COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] His posture changes, the swaying rooster motion stops for a second. Then he gets it going again. Reorienting himself. CUNO: “gently caress right Cuno’s dad was sleeping like a bum,” he snaps back. “Cuno told you—Cuno’s dad doesn’t give a poo poo about *anything*. loving breaking-and-entering poo poo—that’s nothing to Cuno’s dad.”  The snow slowly starts to fall. You can see Cuno try to hide his shivering. CUNO: “Cuno’s not fuckin’ trying to be tough!” He pushed on bravely. “This poo poo is real. Cuno’s loving violent dad’s gonna be a vegetable—Cuno knows that poo poo. Stroke poo poo, stomach hosed up, and… Cuno’s gonna go out like that too. Gonna be just like Cuno’s violent dad. Speed poo poo, crime poo poo, loving on the bed—go out West Revachol style.” CUNOESSE: “Stop saying all this *sad* poo poo, Cuno.” The whisper comes smaller than usual. EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] There is a touch of grief in there.  CUNO: He punches the air again. “Get your loving nun rear end out of here before Cuno fucks it dead.” Another punch. “F****t. You think ‘cause you took Cuno’s speed, Cuno’s gonna sob like a f*g? ‘Turn into…’” He pants from exhaustion. “Cuno ain’t turning into poo poo! Cuno *is*! CUNO *IS* THAT poo poo.”  Whatever gets him through it, I guess.   CUNOESSE: “He’s tryin’a gently caress you again!” CUNO: “gently caress outta here, Cuno knows it’s loving lame. That’s why Cuno changed it. Cuno can change his name into anything. Gonna change my name into f****t.”   CUNO: “That’s right, it’s a poo poo hole. Cuno’s gonna move underground. Le Royaume poo poo, ancient poo poo. Cuno’s gonna live in a loving catacomb.”    CUNO: “Cuno doesn’t loving care.” This will probably be the last time you hear him say that, and it’s almost certainly untrue. Also, now you have this bottle of speed you have no idea what to do with sitting in your pocket. You really don’t need the temptation, but some part of you insists on holding on to it. You literally cannot drop it. poo poo.   We put one point into unlocking a new Thought Cabinet slot and slot in Jamais Vu (Derealization).  You push the other urgent matters out of your mind for now. There’s a few loose ends you never followed up on from earlier today you need to address before Kim takes the body.  As it happens, all of them involve the Doomed Commercial District.  You never actually visited the chimney after it was opened up for you, so that might be a good place to start.  There is a woman working fastidiously over by the window. You almost feel bad disturbing her.  Okay, I’m going to link a video of the music that plays here, because it’s honestly one of my favorite tracks in the game.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “So, what kind of die are you looking for?” INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Could this be the malicious Entity? Perhaps it’s wise to go along with this *masquerade* for now…  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Yes, a milieu is like a call-in station. You need a two-way radio to access one. That’s why I have these.” She pats the headphones on the table.    NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “How strange,” she says. “Well, if you’re interested, my rate is 10 reál per set, unless you want something really unusual… Take a look around and see if there’s any particular stone you want to use.” The walls around her are covered with rows of precious stones and minerals. SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] This person means you—or anyone else—absolutely no harm. She will answer freely and honestly.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “How did I *become* one? It was a business decision. I was a regular jeweler at first, but that’s an unfocused field—with too much competition.”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Not especially. I like working with rare materials and a steady pay. And role players as customers—they’re nice people.” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Some of those nice people have big bucks to spend on novelty items.         NOVELTY DICEMAKER: The dicemaker laughs. “Who told you that amber was cheap? It’s beautiful, really, and has been treasured since the ancient times.”   You are the world’s most non-committal dice enthusiast. Actually, it’s probably just that you’re poor.   NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Polyhedral dice. Dice that have more than six sides. Octahedrons, trapezohedrons, dodecahedrons… But also barrel dice and teetotum balls.” (She actually says “dice that have more than four sides,” but I think that’s a typo)  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “I think I have just the right one for you.” She opens the top drawer of her work desk and takes something out—two polyhedrons, red and blue, are cradled in her palm.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Not the most original, I know,” she smiles, almost apologizing,” but sometimes the obvious choice is obvious because it’s best. Here, catch!” She tosses you the dice. “They’re a gift from me.”     Smooth. We got some health back (or we would have, if we had been missing any) for failing that check, courtesy of Rigorous Self-Critique.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “That one is made of bloodstone with a lapis lazuli inlay. The other one was the inverse. They were a set, you see. But now the set is broken. It’s a shame. They might’ve brought you luck, and you’ll definitely need luck in Martinaise.” She closes her desk drawer. INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Is she pitying you? Good god, she’s pitying you.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Nothing, really. I didn’t know him.” INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Who cares about the dead body? We might be dealing with a *malignant entity* here! KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant looks at his notebook, then the woman under the large window… “Your window looks directly onto the courtyard. You’re saying you didn’t see or hear *anything* unusual last Sunday evening?”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Well, there’s always something going on in the Whirling’s backyard…” She stops to try and come up with an example. “During daytime there are usually those kids… And lately I’ve been seeing a lot of drunk workers hanging about. Must be because of the strike.” DRAMA: [Medium: Success] She’s heard of the murder, but did not see it, sire.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “I might have,” she admits, “ but in this case all I could have seen would have been my own reflection staring back from the darkness. It’s really hard to make anything out in the yard when it’s dark outside. Besides… I rarely get up to look out the window when I’m in the zone.”   NOVELTY DICEMAKER: She nods.   NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “But when I arrived here, all the other rooms were taken, so I had to build myself a makeshift home. Besides, I don’t really have to pay any rent here, so that’s a plus.” INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Plaisance was right… There’s an entity living in the chimney! You should ask her about the curse.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Creative.” The lieutenant looks around in the spacious room, its ceiling fading into shadows above.       *whistling innocently*NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “And then there’s me…” She sighs, looking at her messy work table. All kinds of tools lie there scattered, from knives to carving files to wire cutters. “I’ve been here for 14 years, selling novelty dice to role-playing enthusiasts. Not exactly a million reál business idea, yet somehow I’ve survived despite the talk of malicious energies. Strange, isn’t it?”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: The dicemaker erupts in laughter. “What, so the curse only affects people with poor work ethics?” What you’re describing isn’t a *curse*, it’s *capitalism*.”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Exactly.” She pinches the root of her nose. “Truth is always so disappointingly mundane and boring. But I’m glad we got this sorted out. Anything else I can help you with today?”  SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] Plaisance is not going to like what you have to tell her.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “More or less.” She adjusts the yellow scarf that covers her hair. “Are you interested in anyone specific?”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Yes, I think it was called Androgynous Orlando or something similar. They weren’t a big hit around here—turns out that working class men don’t like genderless haircuts. They’re scared of that word.”      NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Oh, you mean the kid with the sailor’s mouth. Yes, I’ve heard him yelling profanities in the backyard…” She looks out of the window, her face reflecting back in the dark.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “It didn’t. If anything, it made the youth situation in Martinaise even worse. At some point someone started a rumour that the punching bag downstairs was full of *amphetamines*.” LOGIC: [Medium: Success] It’s not really full of that. No one would store their drugs like that.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Oh, this one’s a mess.” She sighs. “There used to be a company that promised to repair windows 24 hours a day. What could go wrong with this one, right? Turns out the business was actually set up as a front for an illicit group that was producing *snuff milieus*--who would have guessed…” ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] Hm, what’s a snuff milieu? Aren’t you supposed to *know*? You passed that check!  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: It’s a sub rosa radio station that broadcasts real murders, with real victims. Some people pay good money to get off on it.” Good lord! DRAMA: [Medium: Success] Nothing changes in her tone as she says that—as if it’s just another piece of information to lay out for the world. KIM KITSURAGI: “Don’t worry, the ICP has a separate division that deals exclusively with unlicensed sub rosas,” the lieutenant turns to you. “This isn’t our problem.”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “You mean Mr. Fabron, the taxidermist? No, he mostly just did drugs.”   NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Yeah, the atelier didn’t know it either. They produced a certain collection that used chitin among the materials. Apparently chitin is made in the Occident, where it’s extracted from beetle winds. And you know how all kinds of political movements are *big* in the Occident. The activists shut down the biggest chitin suppliers, which of course caused the price to skyrocket.”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Hm. Really?” She looks at the windowsill, where a dead fly is lying on its back, legs curled up in a bowtie. “Anyway…”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “They were made by a company called Slipstream. After they ‘pivoted’ from making rotor blades to skis, their chief executive took off on a ‘vacation’… with all their money.” She rests her chin on her hand with an impish smile. Huh, so they started with rotor blades, not skis. Interesting.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “The usual, I imagine—that he’s been thinking up all kinds of new business plans and can’t *wait* to get *started* on them just as soon as he returns…” Her smile widens, before she sees the lieutenant’s face behind you. KIM KITSURAGI: “Men like that are a curse.” The man is stern. NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Sure. But Slipstream is history now. All their remaining assets got seized by the bailiffs in ‘47. I have no idea why those skis and blades are still lying around in the house… Not much use now, I guess.” LOGIC: [Medium: Success] They were just props. Why return to them?  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Oh boy, the fabled Revachol Ice City—you’re in for a treat here!” She smiles and leans closer, hands on her knees, like a stand-up comedian ready to tell a story.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “There was really just one, and it involved picking out the prettiest girls in the neighbourhood and paying them 20 cents per hour to man the booth.” And by ‘man the booth’ I mean ‘slump behind the counter with a face that could maim you if you ever dared to distrub their bored magazine-browsing.’” She leans back, disapproving. SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] Sounds like she really didn’t like those girls.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Employing sulky teenage girls is a widespread practice, yes. Unfortunately they always come in packs—I’m talking about acne-ridden *girlfriends* and gorilla-like *boyfriends* loitering near the shop. At least that’s what happened with Revachol Ice City.”   NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Of course not. The bear was terrifying. No one wants ice-cream *guarded* by a hostile apex predator. To make matters worse, the fridge didn’t work too well either, and half the ice cream came out malformed and partially melted.” Wait, it doesn’t work? We have a body stashed in there!   NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “He said that the bear was his *vision beast*. He said he met his *vision beast* while high on desiccants. He called it ‘Megatherion.’”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “It’s an imaginary beast that guides you through life… by telling you to do more drugs, mostly.”   NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “No, officer. I don’t have a vision beast.”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Right,” says the dicemaker. She doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Anyway, now you know the story of the fallen ice cream empire.” She seems almost sad, finishing the story. SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] The temperature has dropped in the cover of the night; you see frost on the windows.  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Oh, right!” She rubs her forehead; her scarf has left a faint line on her dusty skin. “I hope you didn’t try to ring me. I think none of those doorbells work, including mine. I’m still in the middle of connecting the wires—sorry about the confusion.” If she hasn’t gotten around to it after *fourteen years* you doubt she ever will.   NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “You could say so. Both houses were built at the same time and under the East Delta Commerce Centre project. That explains why you can call the Whirling from the intercom, albeit I doubt that anyone responds.”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Right, it used to be a gaming arcade. This is an *ancient* failure-- before my time. I’m not surprised, however. My advice…” she raises her finger. “Don’t base your business on a fad—hypnotism, floriography, triktrak, especially *pinball*.” KIM KITSURAGI:”Agreed, the lieutenant chips in, “pinball is the worst.” Whoa, huge slam on pinball outta nowhere!  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: She looks like she doesn’t really believe you. “It can’t be true. They don’t work here anymore, they’ve been gone for *years*.”  NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Tricentennial Electrics?” There’s a moment before she recognizes the name. “It used to be a major electric company one hundred years ago. Are you sure it wasn’t just some kids playing a prank on you?” INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] No, it was something else… It was *eerie*. DRAMA: [Medium: Success] It was too real to be just a prank. Either we’re dealing with a professional actress, or…        What a nice lady.  It’s a shame that you lost this die’s twin. Oh, well.  Going by the description, getting this die has opened up some of our White Checks. Neat.   You remember that you ignored this room in favor of the fridge last time you were here. Time to rectify that.     FREQUENCY FIREPLACE: You think so? The web is comprised of radio stations. All lead back to one red heart, titled: The Game Master Frequency. A note says: “This one can listen in on any station it wants?!”  FREQUENCY FIREPLACE: Someone very important.  FREQUENCY FIREPLACE: Whoever decides to call in to a call-in station, it looks like. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] A list of names under the stations suggests people across *six isolas* would be playing: Mundi, Insulinde, Katla, Graad, Samara, and even Iilmaraa. EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] All of this gone, left unrealized. LOGIC: [Easy: Success] There’s no way a little basement studio working *here* could pull anything like this off.      PROJECT DREAD BOARD: These lithe, pointy-eared creatures appear to be different types of *welkins*. You make out autumnal *candle-welkins* casting wax-based magic… *Translucent welkins* with organs shining under their skin, and even aether welkins—hailing from the vast emptiness of sidereal space. INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Who are all those creatures? Fantasies of a tortured, feverish mind? DRAMA: [Medium: Success] You should adopt one of those welkins as your *persona*. No longer a mere man—but a welkin… Okay, this is probably going to only make sense to me and my diseased brain, but I need one of you guys to draw Welkin Gunther from Valkyria Chronicles as Raphaël’s Stand. On that note, I bet you guys were hoping there wouldn’t be anime in this LP, huh? Well, too bad! I promised nothing!  PROJECT DREAD BOARD: It’s Vaarahamira, a *high welkin* – his face white and scarred like cracked marble. This is clearly a welkin supremacist. The note says: “All non-welkin races will be purged.” The huldur, the dweorg, the humans, and even the headless men… all of them. Purged. Imagine a world filled *only* with welkin! Green welkin, dread welkin… and the high welkin to rule them all.     KIM KITSURAGI: “Just look at those details. So much effort…”  PROJECT DREAD BOARD: The photo collage depicts barren, icy landscapes wrapped in perpetual night. You see permafrost and glacial landforms, dead trees groaning under the snow. Entire oceans have been frozen from shore to shore. There are pictures of settlements on dried up riverbeds, abandoned in a storm. Animal corpses in the dark, carcasses and bones. ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Easy: Success] You see primitive oil rigs built into glaciers—by *boreal dweorg*—yurts under the snow, great mammoth-like beasts of burden…  PROJECT DREAD BOARD: This is a monthly calendar from the year ‘50. Cryptic words like “sprint,” “daily minime,” and “GPI” span the marker-drawn grid—the grand scheme of production and money. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] It looks a bit like an academic calendar. Only much more *brutal*.  PROJECT DREAD BOARD: As time goes on, the numbers in the boxes grow rarer and rarer. The board becomes an empty snowfield in the final days… Only failure and regret dwell in this region. KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant looks at the frigid ice field of nothingness and concludes: “Looks like they didn’t make it.”  PROJECT DREAD BOARD: The handwriting is only partly legible, but you can still make out three slogans: “Call in, tune out!” “WIRRÂL UNTETHERED”, and “Heat death of the Universe…” PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] The full text reads: Heat death of the Universe is the new black”. “Another note says: “The biggest advancement in role playing systems since the ‘30s.”   KIM KITSURAGI: “A radiocomputer…” says the lieutenant, watching you circle around the machine. “Just sitting here without anyone in sight.” He sounds surprised and a bit cautious. REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] What he means is that these things cost *money*. Why would anyone just leave it behind?    MAINFRAME: It’s empty like a beehive without its brood. Some cables have been left tangling, disconnected…  MAINFRAME: Nothing happens.    MAINFRAME: A bar of fabric right above the keyboard starts producing a soft hum. The sound of static seeps through the machine’s planar magnetic driver. INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Have you stirred the ghost of the Doomed Commercial Area from its rest? Could this be its dismembered heart, beginning to flutter? MAINFRAME: The static gets louder, slowly filling up the abandoned hall. Until a voice speaks out, crackling and old, cutting into the air… EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “Good evening, Fortress Accident on Rue de Saint-Ghislaiine, this is East-Insulindian Repeater Station 1.”    EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “Good. Please repeat the password.” LOGIC: [Medium: Success] Password. Of course it would have a password. That’s why there’s a human administrator involved.  EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “No.”   EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: The voice recites: “I am contractually obligated to protect the privacy of the filament holder Fortress Accident. Without filing a warrant with Lintel I cannot give you access to this filament.” KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m afraid we’re not doing that. Unless we want to wait for a month.”  EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “Received. I will *register* this log-in attempt.” LOGIC: [Easy: Success] Don’t worry. Passwords have a way of *turning up* sooner or later.   EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “One moment…” You hear her flip through a catalogue, before she reads out with studious care:   EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “Yes, I am alive. I am 74 years old and my name is Yvonne.”  EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “I work as a repeater at the East-Insulindian Repeater Station. It’s my job to know where you are, Fortress Accident. As for me, well…” Some static. Then…”I am sitting in my cubicle surrounded by a wall of radios.” SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] On an island on the river Esperance, a small woman, all skin and bones, sits in a room filled with audio equipment. Thousands of tiny lights are reflected back from her prescription lenses, like stars in the dark.  EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “Lonely?” For the first time you hear her chuckle through the rustle of static. “Why would it get lonely, I get to talk to people all day.” EMPATHY: That’s why she does this.  EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “Thank you and goodbye,” the old lady’s voice disappears along with the static.0  Eh, might as well take it with you.   Out of the corner of your eye, you see Kim move to grab your attention.  KIM KITSURAGI: “No, that’s not it. *I* think…” The lieutenant takes a step back, steepling his hands. INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] Like he’s ready to lay out a fine theory, crafted together like a puzzle box. KIM KITSURAGI: “It looks like one of those popular pen-and-paper roleplaying games—only these people were trying to *automate* it. Make it work on *radiocomputers*.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Through call-in stations.” He nods at the fireplace. “None of the players have to be physically present… Anyone in the world can participate in the game, as long as they have a two-way radio. Then there’s the Game Master Frequency that listens in on the smaller call-in stations. I think that was supposed to coordinate the stories. Functioning as a master of ceremonies of sorts.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Not to my knowledge. They make automated games in Graad, Messina, Königstein… You know, places with industry.” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] *Not* in Revachol West, among the ruins.     KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes—especially in here.” Kim looks around in the derelict room. The pipes howl and a rat crosses the floor in front of your feet.  Yet another sad tale of reach exceeding grasp. You’ve seen this time and again, though perhaps not quite on this *scale*.  All right, back to the ice bear fridge. We’re sending Kim away, finally.       THE HANGED MAN: There go those beautiful enamel boots. May they rest in Processing… INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] Oh well—in another lifetime.   Carrying it earlier must have counted for some practice, because you manage to carry it to the motor carriage and say goodbye to Kim in about one minute. You somehow manage to smell even worse than before, however. You should probably go take that bath.   One thing we can do only when Kim is gone is sit on a bench to pass time. Kim doesn’t appreciate sitting down and wasting his time, I guess. There’s other ways to kill time while Kim is in the party, though.  gently caress Welp, gotta go talk to Garte again!   You can’t resist the urge to get a drink now that Kim is gone. GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Do I have a shaker in my hand? Is this…” He points to his empty hand. “Is this a shaker?” EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] He sounds irritated.  GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Am I wearing a little bow tie? Am I wearing a bow tie and doing this?” he shakes the imaginary shaker, furiously.  GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “That’s right—I’m THE CAFETERIA MANAGER.” He calms his breath. “I’m glad we cleared that. Was there anything else?”  Fine, whatever. You don’t want a drink that bad anyway (actually, you do, that was a lie).   GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Good. You got the room for the night, but remember—you’ll need *another* 20 reál tomorrow.” loving landlords.   Anyway, now that that’s dealt with, we can bathe and rest up.     Man, these checks are really mocking us, huh?    BATHTUB: The water is only lukewarm, but still comforting, like amniotic fluid. A few beer cans are bobbing up and down along your flanks like sad duckies. Quite the mental image, there.    BATHTUB: You see the corpse. You can still smell the cadaver on you. It’s going to take more than one bath to get rid of that stench.      Time to rest…
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Feb 6, 2020 23:19
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The radiowoman makes me feel really uneasy, even though she just seems to be an ordinary radio operator who just wants to talk to somebody. Does this world have an equivalent to anime? Maybe the fancy cartoons come or will come from someplace completely different to the Japanese analogue.
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Feb 7, 2020 02:56
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In all worlds, in all realities, RPG players will be obsessed with elfs or the local elf equivalent.
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Feb 7, 2020 03:27
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I'm beginning to think that Raphael isnt taking this curse seriously.
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Feb 7, 2020 04:02
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Four sided dice are are fairly common in Dungeons and Dragons. For example stabbing someone with a dagger, rolling the hit points for a wizard or merely magic missile damage. Personally I don't like rolling them because they don't roll on very well in the hand and barely at all on the table unless you use too much force. This game is pretty depressing. 
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Feb 7, 2020 12:58
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Also if a D4 gets on the floor and you step on it, it hurts. Things are friggen caltrops.
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Feb 7, 2020 13:29
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I know what a D4 is, it just seemed more likely that she was talking about a D6 in that context
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Feb 7, 2020 15:18
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Maybe d4s are the default dice in this cursed world.
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Feb 7, 2020 17:19
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The best use for a d4 is Bless or Bane as a Cleric. 
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Feb 7, 2020 18:22
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Arist posted:I know what a D4 is, it just seemed more likely that she was talking about a D6 in that context Well I wasn’t about to extend benefit of the doubt to someone who would deny the world officer Cuno. I hope botchcop is more open to the glorious career building opportunities found in giving drugs to kids.
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Feb 7, 2020 19:03
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Can we not give Kim our drugs to hold onto for us if we're taking the addict recovery route?
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Feb 7, 2020 19:40
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