Randalor posted:

No one has also reached Dancer without killing at least one of her Backup either, and we seem to be doing good on that end. Granted, she also explicitly asked us to spare the Backup, in a possibly-dummied out conversation, so maybe she's a puzzle boss in the sense of "The solution is to not be a murder-hobo, for gently caress's sake".

Grond posted:

...was the thing about nobody ever having reached her without offing at least a Backup ever explicitly confirmed? I don't remember. Though it was stated that you usually fight her alongside every living backup in her fights unless she decides to solo, so maybe it's not a case of it being absolutely impossible to kill her while sparing all her cult members in a normal run, it might be that it's just extremely hard to do so.

͜͟҉ posted:

BOSS EVENT LOG posted:

My ears suffer just a little more of that permanent wound. Horns, exhaust, engine, metal, screaming, thunder, vibration. It explodes from the tunnel-tube, something ejected with ridiculous force out into the Mana-humid airs. It's immense, heavy bleeding ruby-black, thick plated midnight loathing. I can't make sense of it; it's flying too fast. It smashes down into the sandy ground and a second later a gigantic bluelight truck is following up on its hit-and-run, steering tipsily as four of its eight wheels lean to strike right into the dark mass. Improbability horror; I'm shaking off the adrenaline to realize, ah, yuh, that truck has managed to get stuck on the bloodied sands, in such a way that it's half squatted on the dark mass. So the truck just... spins its wheels, right into the mass. I can finally make them out in vague- arms, grabbing helpless and wild. The dense dense blood splashing down from the wheelgrind. Legs crushed to metal and pulp. The head, buried under the mass. It's over in seconds. The truck shreds the mass down, the wheels then catching hard and launching it out of the metal blood mud, tearing the head and torso to nothingness. The truck is soaked. Its blue light illuminates the lovely rubyblack of its kill, the corpse of which simply melts away into the sands and airs. I need to get out of here. I scan and realize with wrath that there's no walkway back down before or ahead of me for a good distance, meaning that I need to just evade whoever is driving this thing. It moves with deceptive grace, its gigantic cab swinging around a box of slightly larger size with a constant streak of wishblue bright. Ok. I just need to sneak. I make my way to the edge, quiet as can b-

The babe starts to cough again, loudly. The truck was already turning around, but now it does so sharp and with headlights on high, streaking across me immediately. poo poo! I can't see! I throw up Red's shroud and lean, both truck and I frozen. I can make out something insane happening in the cab but I can't see a driver, just a bizarre pattern of warm agile lights crying thunder like a tiger's yowl. The truck is accelerating, and I keep dancing left and right trying to time and figure out how to swerve out of the way. I do it out of reflex demand, before I can think of the risk- the Silver Mind. I let it reach out to tell me the nature of what's killing me, and to guide my movements.

(!PSI ESP β) 11 [1]+[2]+[4] = 7 - Psuedocritical Success.

I lean again and carefully direct her head so she can cough it out. Is that black water from her lungs? I've already gone left and let the mad truck fly by to horn-scream and begin a swerve. My neurons are pure blue, madlit by the psycho as the Silver Mind perfectly movie screens in the dark to reveal to me that the truck is a Psychic being too. It's self-animate and insane, a killer machine! Left here too long abandoned, soaking up too much of the landglit overpower, driven to smash apart anything it saw moving. The problem is that is managed to get something stuck in its cab, which is tearing it apart from the inside and making it even more angry. It's some sort of- is it feline? Has to be. But it's alien and eerie, nothing like Ulthar. It's so angry! It's not even aware of me, it's driven only to try to murder its way out of the insane truck. Now, the truck is aware of me, especially with my own psychoflare of power I just displayed, and it's going to try to crush me to death. It just managed to run over and grind up the body of something very powerful, the dense blood still drenching its wheels and underside. I am dead if it hits me. I process and assess my psychic fortune, moving while knowing I'm going to be chased no matter what. Will my art of Clouding even help? The truck is superpsychic from the strength of the land like me, it'd just know where I was again right away! What do I do? Think. We've dealt with tanks. We did those. We know those. But this is different. This is a very agile and motivated truck, made more erratic by its violent cargo.

How in the world do I fight this?

FAT BATMAN posted:

I would be more inclined to do the tire shots it didn’t require 4 checks and wasn’t using our precious fire bullets. Idk if tyranny checks count WRT the “failures will gently caress you up” effect here.

The nice thing about the cheeseburger magics here is that it’s a check we have a decent chance of passing, it’s a single roll, not multiple, and bc of the magic field we’re in, it’s guaranteed to do something dramatic if it passes. It could slow the truck down, or give the truck something else to hit, or make it slip on a big puddle of grease, or something.

“Hitch a ride” is cool but…what are our chances of making that STR check? We’ve been chastised for underestimating our own strength, but even then, 25 seems like a big number.

Also, I think we’re still super beat up. Idk if our body is up for much in terms of physical feats.

So…I think it’s cheeseburger magics. It’s something the truck won’t be expecting. And it plays to the cartoon slapstick of our driver.

Arcanuse posted:

Voted play chicken. What's it gonna do, crash into our head shield for 1HP?
After all we've been through a murder-truck is downright mundane.
Staring down the truck into picking someone else to brawl ought be trivial.

...That, and I have a hunch staring it down, convincing it we're the bigger psycho here will get it off our back for a while.

Randalor posted:

Our head may take 1hp of damage, but momentum is a thing and the truck has a heck of a lot more mass than we do. Or to put it another way: "Our head will take 1hp of damage as it gets shoved into the rest of our body and out the back side"

Regallion posted:

Cheating counterpoint - i don't think we can actually lose this, not unless Black August gets tired of this project or we make a series of spectacularly bad decisions, so might as well go for the funnier option of cheeseburger.

BOSS FOOD FIGHT LOG posted:

The little burger continues it's eternal countertop mascot dance. It believes it will never stop growing.
The truck slams on the horn to make an angry demand for service!!
I think and remember the steps of service.

1. All customers hate you and wish they could harm you.
2. Any excuse given to escalate will be taken.
3. You must mollify them with total subservience in ritual.
4. They buy your exultation of joy, and the tip is that you get to live.

That's right! Thank you little mascot. The truck is right. This role is for people who should die for not being perfect. So, it's time I be perfect. What can I get for you today?

(!Tyranny - Smiling Service...) 18(-8) [6]+[2]+[1] = 9 - Success [By 1].
^{[-8 Severe Penalty: Trying to act subservient and happy]}

TYRANNY: [ X ][ X ][30%]
ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][60%]

I smile with proper posture and clasped hands. I am a victim who will meet your every demand.
The truck makes an order, and wants it to stress you as much as possible.

(WL - Psycho Truck's Furious Order) 16 [2]+[3]+[6] = 11 - Success [By 5].

Oh but there's no problem~! Right away.

(WL - My Compliance) 20 [4]+[1]+[6] = 11 - Success [By 9].

Alright, great, this is fine, the truck wants 8 superhot gallons of MC&D's proprietary Tallowblend of countless fat types, 2 gallons of it cooled, additives on the side, six buckets worth of MC&D's proprietary Bloodblend to spray-and-sip over its grill, and ah, ah poo poo no don't lose the thought, the parasite is screaming for a meal shut UP I need to do this EXACTLY. RIGHT. Think think think what else was that, the gallons the two right right six of the blood yum yum yum yum ok right no poo poo what else think think I'm capable it was um... ah...

(IQ - What was it??) 10 [4]+[6]+[5] = 15 - FAILURE [By 5].

Ohhhhh no. Oh no. Wait. What's happening? I have to keep it in my head. Magic... the cheeseburger magics! I have to just keep walking with the spell I myself cast. poo poo. poo poo. The oil, the blood, what else what else I know it was just there. I can't panic yet. I hurt so bad, my feet are so sore, I need to haul this beach bum around, there is a truck with something inside trying to kill me. Focus! Victory could mean rest. Alright, so first I need to rush to the deepfry and flip it on and twist it to superhot and superfill, tubes fullseal closed. No food to fry, so it can all clean-pour into the little slot downleft where the fancy feedtanks pop in. Okay. This is easy. I'm not even necessary, but the entire point is that something alive is there to be hated and harmed. Something living has to offer the something dead. While that heats, I rush to the processing tubes. Absolutely nothing is wasted, and the proprietary systems finds every reason to sell it with appeal. The Blood Tube sits proud with its monstrous dense glass tubing and gold handles among the black tiles. Buckets... there are no buckets, exactly, but there are gigantic weird-shape cups that can fit the role. I-

Lord-Vampire Parasite posted:

DRINK DRINK WHAT A TREAT
WHEN BLOOD IS FREE AND FRESH AND SWEET
CHUH CHUG THEY WON'T MIND
WH-

NO. Shut up! I slam fist to chest, and exert my heart to crush the corruption into quiet as subtly as I can.

(HT - Silence.) 15 [4]+[6]+[6] = 16 - Failure.



TYRANNY: [ X ][20%]
ANXIETY: [ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][70%]

...!!!

No. No! Oh it's squirming and I hate it I want it to stop it won't unless I just get a little little sip from the pipe! Just ONE! Oh, but I can't, it'll gently caress everything up even more- NO. I fight back with sheer intent, against the overwhelming urge to drink.

(WL - I said no.) 20(-10) [6]+[3]+[1] = 10 - Success.

No. But it costs me. I shiver and shake hard, pausing, leaned over the counter as I inhale and look away from the pipe in tremendous focus. It hurts so much. I want to lie down so bad. But I'm walking. The truck roars at me, its first deadly anger, and I immediately snap back to preparing the blood with red in my eyes and teeth being gently ground down by the clench of my jaw. Good. Service. The buckets are filled, the oil tank is connnected and rated to 2 gallons, while another is prepped at 6. Move. 2 gallons into the crystal cooler. Fill up six. Buckets go on the counter. Get cold tank. Get hot tank. On the counter. Arranged neat and appealing. There. There. It's fine. It's fine. I stand and swallow, and I smile. Can I get you anything else?

(PE - Psycho Truck Flares Its Highbeams...) 14 [3]+[6]+[5] = 14 - Exact Success. It noticed.

Oh. Right. I forgot the lemon flavored glass cleaner.
The truck reminds me of this by honking in so much anger that the buckets and tanks all violently explodes into both of us at point-blank.
I fly back and smash hard into the tiles- no! The babe!

(DX - TWIST!) 11 [4]+[4]+[3] = 11 - Exact Success.
^{Took [3d - DR 7] 2 Damage!}
HP: [ -28 / 25 ] [ow, owwww]

The Silver Mind posted:

Rainbows mean All, colorchaos and the madness mix of many possible things. Pure Mana, Pure Psycho, Pure Divine. Things of power roam here, coming in and out of a Land unknown.

JT Jag posted:

Do that enough times and eventually we'll waltz through the endgame.

Captain Foo posted:

The Blue Book posted:

“...restaurant portion is only open past midnight, and he’ll only be there if there’s also a deadly weather event at the same...”

“...probably why Alyssa calls it the ‘Philisopher’s Stone’ of organics...”

“...know what triggers it. It’s happened in Jandoubi and Paradise, and it’s always the same image of her mouth censored out with audio of...”

“...find somewhere with a functional laundromat, Napp will...”

“...to match up with the disquieting black-chalk scrawls: one mark each for the crown, forehead, eyes, mouth, neck, heart, and hands...”

“...weirdest. One contender is the tail glitch: whenever you try to ‘use’ the Rat Tail, nothing happens, unless you’re on the Mountain, in which case a pop-up-and-close message from Moulder will...”

“...does significant extra damage, but it doesn’t count as Slaying. The Selenium Sword does count, but..."

“...seems wasteful, but it’s an incredible emergency button. Each sword has its own hidden supertech, and it can be worth the...”

“...changes, but a handful of unique events will do so. The most commonly seen is Nuclear Anxiety, from...”

“...with the Dru-Tan, there's one easy piece of advice: stay the hell out of underground...”

“...believe you unless you can produce evidence, which is why the Deepcool is so handy. There's dozens of meat types that will rapidly go bad before you can cook and eat them, which...”

“...learn which are immediately dangerous, and which are situationally dangerous. Immediately dangerous (that's not Liaison) includes The Kota Homerun (1 FP for an auto-crit); Pop Pop (extremely random damage); Effortless 3 (body-crushing triple tech); -GO TO HELL- (huge damage plus Paralysis); Tha 1-2 Hit (auto-knockout); Slat Slap (undefendable)...”

The Silver Mind posted:

He's waiting outside the tent.

You have never, ever seen the Psychic do that. Your walk stutters micronically, regained to full stride once you accept that he knows, despite this having been a sudden and unintended decision. Walked over to see the Thief and the Dragon. Stole off with Aitvaras to the back of the hill. Mended a lock on the eastside. Had lunch at Hijgan's. Suddenly started to walk right for the tent after having thought of absolutely nothing but how your shadow looked in the cast of the latter-noon Sun. Now you're walking to him, and he's moving! He's walking away, swaying his head to draw those silver-spectacled eyes with knifesoft over your face. You're already swerving in follow with his intent, and you realize with no small panic that what just happened was a psychic connection. He's heading out of town. You're following him down the river. It's been an hour and you've both kept dead exact distance from one another, wordless and outpouring with aura. You stare at the shrift of his sandy-shade hair, blown by tropic wind while the maroon of his uniform impeccable hides all sign of sweated exertion.

You stare directly into his eyes, when the walk ends and you catch up realizing he's turned to take his glasses away. There's just enough intent rising out of the pitch-boil lake of guilt for you to meet his gaze, and keep your face neutral-forlorn. Then, he slays you; he takes your hands and beckons you sit down on the comfortable grass ground, and he holds them careful as he asks; "Have you been fair to yourself?"

...

I drop my gaze, and shake my head after a one-round deliberation. He's going to be gentle, and relentless. Like silent water gently flooding a room from below, all I can do is draw in air and weep with pray. I just want to keep pretending. Let me pretend and forget. Let me stop thinking. Stop making me think. I can't STOP thinking. It's always there, thoughts racing. He isn't going to ask me if I've been fair to my loved ones, because if I haven't been fair to myself, then I've already done something to trouble that trust. It's just another small evil I hide and hoard from them. Casual self-abuses.

He slays me again. "You don't want my help because you know just enough now of what's wrong that you want to do it by yourself."

I look at him, and he doesn't flinch at my gravity. He's never going to. He's already seen and heard too much. He respects it, but he isn't afraid of it, and he's already standing with tired temptation to see if I'm going to thought-loop myself into more resentment for him because I'm insecure he doesn't fear me. He has me in the infinite silver mirrors - no matter where I try to hide and turn, I'm already there, so starkly bright against my evasive mind. There's the torment of tourmaline in it, the shape of a hand, the damnation that is my self knowing just enough of myself to know my own old tricks. It's Hell, to finally understand your own hateful intentions against yourself. How casually you notice your daily attempted self-murders, the little ones you hide behind the spinning threat of a one-load gun. So I'm powerless. He's too far out of orbit. I nod.

"Am I the right person to be talking to about this?"

Suddenly, I'm cold small with a dread that's so fresh it makes him blink. My hands clammy in his. I've been away so long, but the idea of losing his sponsorship; why am I so wrought with it? The Psychic reinforces our grasp, and his words are silver. "Hey. I'm not saying you can't speak with me. But you're locking things up I'm unable to approach unless you allow me. Am I the right one to talk to about those?" Okay. Okay. I calm down and look at him with even. and I nod. Okay. I can talk to him about a lot. But not- I don't know if I'll allow that out for him. How? I want to, but I won't let it. I can't. I Will Not.

"What do you mean?"

I didn't say anything; he's looking at my hands. There, under pinkrained sky, through shade tropicgreen, I see one hand has moved his to help support the wrist of my other, as it shakes and strains to make a Sign. I still don't mean it. I don't know how to mean it. I don't know how to talk about this. Who can answer? The Psychic can't. Aitvaras can't. Mom can't. Bella can't. The Doctor can't. The Dragon can't. The Thief can't.

But maybe the 8th can.

quote:

“...know what triggers it. It’s happened in Jandoubi and Paradise, and it’s always the same image of her mouth censored out with audio of...”