Robin feared he’d piss himself. The monster looked ferocious despite not being much taller than five feet. It was literally shredding that poor beige woman. What the fuck was he supposed to do about that? Hope the critter had rehearsed the same stage combat blocking Robin had? He had no actual fighting skills let alone any sort of weapon.
Wait! I’m supposed to have a basic dagger in my bag. Wanting to sneak back around the corner out of sight of the carnage, he found himself unable — or psychologically unwilling — to move. “Dagger,” he whispered to his messenger bag. There was immediately a feeling of something heavy materializing in the satchel.
Robin carefully slipped his hand under the flap and grabbed the cold metal hilt of a heavy blade. He pulled it out pleased to find a single-edged fighting knife with a curved sharp side and a very pointy point. It felt nicely balanced so he held it out tip-first toward the vicious wereSkunk glad, at least, that he wasn’t shaking. Much.
The monster was too busy to take notice of anything but its meal. Should he rush toward it and stab it in the head? Would he prove faster than the monster or would he simply be charging into his own mutilation? He took a moment to glance at the instruction sheet in his other hand. Time slowed to a halt once more.
Time to face your first Fight. Fights work like any other action but here you’ll be pitting the feral wereSkunk’s skill and attribute dice against your own. Here’s hoping egg nog will get the stink out after this monster is through with you.
Sadly for you, your starting Mall Santa package leaves you with rather limited combat options. You really should have listened to your father and done something more constructive with your life.
Hey, Dad was totally supportive of my acting. Though, to be fair, he had suggested — more than a few times — that something like journalism might make for a wise backup plan. I seriously doubt I’d be better equipped for a fight right now if I’d become a reporter. Maybe I’d interview it into submission? He read on:
Like your previous Action, you need to choose an Attribute card and pair it with an applicable or required Skill card to activate your dice pool.
Ack! I haven’t even looked at my Skill deck yet. Stupid rookie mistake. Was he actually letting himself believe this was real? Maybe he had to give in to the whims of the game in order for it to release him?
“Skill Deck, please,” he said to the messenger bag. A wooden box of cards very similar to the Attribute card deck appeared in the satchel. The only difference was this one had white etching on its surface instead of blue. He slipped the dagger into his belt and put the instruction sheet in his teeth before quickly perusing the first few skill cards: Stage Combat, Dancing, Acting, City Life and Carouse all seemed less than helpful, though Stage Combat leaned in the right direction. However, Robin knew fight choreography was mostly just that — choreography designed to look flashy but holding little real value when throwing down against an actual opponent whose only interest was in hurting you.
The next two cards where labeled as magic skills: Zap and Charm. Zap’s minimal description said it would discharge a small burst of electricity from his hand and had a range described only as Short. Exactly how short is “short range”? Would it reach down the alley or would I have to get closer? The card unhelpfully held no help in that regard.
The Charm skill said he could befriend and proffer non-destructive advice to Some others. Again, how many is “some”? More than one, I’m sure, but does it affect only people or do monsters count? Maybe a wereSkunk is both a person and a monster?
Both skills required him to choose an Essence Attribute card in order to utilize them. Robin feared he might not be allowed to stay in this frozen-time state indefinitely, so feeling pressured for time he brashly decided to try the Zap skill and pair it with the d6 Essence card; the one without a printed impediment.
Once again feeling utterly moronic, he held up the Essence card while watching for signs of un-freezing from the monster. “I choose you, Essence d6 card.” The tug at the dice pouch happened again but this time a cube, a six-sided die, glowed somewhat blue atop the other dull dice in the bag. He took it in hand and watched as a bland d10 and two d8s materialized next to it.
This is going to be hideously tedious if I have to go through life pausing time whenever I do something contested. I hated it when video game RPGs started switching from turn-based to real-time. I couldn’t play them anymore unless I enlisted the help of someone 20 years younger. Actually having to live a turn-based life is absurd and I now see the impracticality of it.
Robin chucked the dice into the alley. They tumbled to a halt in a puddle of dampness; hopefully just leftover rainwater and not body excretions. They were too far away for him to read but glowing numbers appeared in the air above them in a perfectly legible font size:
RESULTS:
ESN d6 = 5
d10 = 4
d10 = 1
d8 = 3
Time remained inert so he glanced at the instruction sheet.
Will you look at that! Two dice barely rolled a four or higher giving you two low-grade successes. Really not very impressive, but it is your first time casting a spell so don’t beat yourself up about it.
“Don’t beat myself up?” Robin cried, incredulous. “I’m pretty sure Mr. Skunk-o-Skewer is gonna do it for me.”
Suddenly the world started moving again. Robin felt puppeteer’d as his right arm rose, fingers splayed and palm aimed down the alleyway. There was a crackle of energy as every hair on his arm stood on end. He felt alive with energy while simultaneously suffused with ecstasy as magical forces roiled through his being. This was better than sex!
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Sizzling blue electricity danced along his red-suited arm and focused into a jagged bolt arcing the distance between him and the blood-drenched creature in its gore-spattered purple suit. The bolt made contact with an impressively loud sound akin to sizzling bacon grease on a too-hot stove. The skunk’s black fur and white mohawk went stiff and the creature convulsed softly like it had an unexpected chill.
Its long and very fluffy tail stretched out and swished from side to side as its lambent eyes menacingly turned to notice Robin. It held a chunk of dripping shoulder meat in one claw as it slowly surveyed the situation. It looked around to see if anyone else was present. Not even a stray pedestrian had come near.
Robin was still too afraid to move. “Shitshitshit! I uh…” Would it even understand English? “I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I prematurely… e-zap-ulated.” Not the time to deflect with humor, Robin. You should probably run.
The wereSkunk gave a full-body shiver and rolled its shoulders before rapidly shaking both clawed hands splattering blood on the pavement at its feet. “Nah, mate. Yah ain’t hurt me more’n a tickle. Howevs, you interrupted me dinner. Think I owes you some pay back.”
“Sheeeiiiit,” Robin drawled. “Attribute deck!” The blue-etched card box reappeared in his satchel as time froze once more. The wereSkunk’s left leg hung in the air caught in mid-step toward the alley’s entrance.
Robin, feeling on the edge of panic, rifled through the Attribute cards without really reading any of them. Maybe he hoped inspiration would strike or the answer would make itself appear.
“Hey, noob,” said a snarky voice from the sidewalk behind him. “Whaha got goin’ on here?”
Robin whipped around so fast he felt his left knee torque with mild pain. He hissed resisting the urge to bend over and grasp it, the sensation was all too familiar and frequent for him to overreact. A thirty-something, fully rendered woman in a hooded, dark blue adventurer’s tunic stood leaning casually against the wall of the blue-window building. She appeared to be causticly critiquing Robin with judgmental but pitying eyes. One hand fiddled with a yellow scarf-sash draped around her neck.
“That’s quite the getup you’re wearing, mister,” she continued, crisply sucking on her teeth. “Looks like you also got something of a furry feral problem aiming to shish-kabob ya. Need a hand?”
“Uh, sure?” Robin didn’t know what else to say. She appeared to be a real person — hopefully a real human — and not one of the beige simulacrum folk. Her dark skin look hydrated and her jet-black hair was woven into two tight braids dangling out the front of her hood. She had large golden glasses set over… red eyes! Oh fuck me in a follicle, she’s not human at all!
She must have seen the shock upon his face. She casually waved one hand in front of her face. “It’s the eyes, right?”
“What are you?”
She sucked her teeth once before responding. “My name’s Monika, and I’m just as human a person as you are. Don’t worry. I got hit with a spell ages ago that turned my eyes red. You’ll get used to all the whack stuff this world has. At least I got my color, right?” She gestured to her outfit seeming quite proud of her outfit.
“Yeah, nice threads. “ Who the fuck says ‘threads’ anymore. I’m too old for this shit. I just want to go home, or wake up or whatever. This is stupid!
Monika crossed her arms tipping her head to one side as if expecting something. Robin stared blankly back completely contrary to how he normally would act meeting a stranger. Usually he was quite affable. Right now he was totally off his game.
She started tapping one booted foot on the pavement. “You got a name or anything, or should I just call you Christmas Daddy?”
Robin was taken aback. “You think I’m a daddy?”
Monika scrunched her face in a not unattractive way. “You sure look like a daddy. Though don’t go gettin’ any ideas, I’m not lookin’ for one. I just heard a fuss out here and thought I’d come see what was going on. This neighborhood’s been safe for a long while and I don’t want it getting all infected.”
“Like, with disease?”
“With hungry predators.” She pointed nonchalantly at the frozen wereSkunk and its bloody meal at the end of the alley. “But never you mind, Daddy Noobs-alot. You clearly ain’t gonna deal with this in no reasonable manner, so I’ll take care of it. Just watch how a real Mystic gets the job done.”
What does she mean by a ‘real mystic’?
Time reeled back into motion as Monika strode confidently down the alley straight at the monster. The wereSkunk - its facial expressions surprisingly easy to read - was startled by the sudden appearance of the woman. Monika reached into a satchel very similar to Robin’s own and pulled out a glass test tube full of glowing red liquid in one hand and a clear crystal flask of a glittering water in the other.
The wereSkunk dropped to all fours baring its huge fangs and began to rush forward at a full charge. That business suit must be made of stretchy material for it to move so easily and freely. Robin tugged at the thin, crisp fabric of his Santa jacket and resisted the urge to scratch at his neck where the gaudy white fluff constantly made him itch.
Monika didn’t call out any verbal instructions nor did she pull cards out of her bag. However, glowing polyhedral dice did tumble off her person and from the monster like popcorn from an uncovered movie theater concession. Numbered results sprang into the air every time a die came to a halt on the ground and then evaporated. Robin saw numbers ranging from 1 to 12, sometimes they were added together and other times they danced through the air to collide with numbers from opposing dice.
So many visual things transpired Robin had no way to track — let alone catalog — it all. Monika hurled the red vial at the oncoming monster while pulling the cork out of the clear flask with her teeth to start drinking its glittery contents.
The red vial shattered upon impacting the skunk dousing it in searing red flames. The monster continued to surge forward but was clearly smart enough to know the “STOP, DROP & ROLL” advice parents gave children should they ever catch on fire. It deftly somersaulted over and over in an effort to douse the flames. It rolled to its feet like an action superhero ripping the jacket off its tightly-muscled torso with sharp claws.
Monika finished slamming the drink down her throat and tossed the empty flask at the beast. It casually swatted it aside then patted out the last of the flames on its scorched pants. The flask rattled as it hit the ground and rolled to bump against the wall of the alley. The gnarly smell of burnt hair wafted into Robin’s nostrils. He plugged his nose and watched in amazement as Monika grew in size.
She was almost a head shorter than Robin to begin with. At six-foot-three Robin was pretty tall but she became a head bigger than him within the first second or two of magical growth. Even the skunk just watched as the woman expanded in proportion to that of a three-story giant, nearly tall enough to see over the tops of the buildings were she to go on tiptoes.
Another handful of dice tumbled off Monika looking like pebbles tossed over a cliff. From Robin’s angle he witnessed a few dark purple dice plop forlornly out of the wereSkunk like fear-induced turds.
Monika raised one monolithic boot, her foot now as big as Robin himself. She stomped down and smashed the half-naked wereSkunk with a result of wet squelches and snapping bones. When she retracted her foot there was nothing but globs of internal organs embedded in a wet mat of black fur all glued together around purple slacks.
Giant Monika surveyed the scene making sure no other monsters were about. A few people out on the street along with two or three stopped cars were watching the spectacle, though no one seemed particularly shocked at the scene. Was this sort of thing normal around here?
She pulled another flask out of her satchel, it was sized to fit her hand and she drank its contents down in two big gulps. Momentarily she returned to normal size and began to scrape the remaining carnage from her boot onto the pavement. She turned to look at Robin, a self-satisfied gleam in her bizarre red eyes. “And that’s how you take care of Ferals. Nasty critters. Avoid 'em as best you can.”