Kobold King

This is the kind of fight the fantasy genre was invented for.

Let's dig deeper into that poker player example. Specifically, how Murphy's power-precognition interacts with his weakness. If Murphy decided to jinx a poker player just when said player triggered his weakness, would the attempt fail? Or would the jinx still succeed in its purpose, as the power had already been activated prior to the weakness's presence?

It's probably a bit early to send Nighthound to The Dalles (however entertaining that would be.) Maybe Nighthound could head a nocturnal attack on CorpseMaker's territory, his sole purpose being to slaughter as many ordinary people as possible? Lightwards will be looking for a way to send a message, and that would be an eerily effective way to do it.

OK. I'm writing it so that LW arrives in the Museum while Funtimes is still preoccupied, collecting a few dinosaurs and then swiftly returning to the ground to reach the Sadry home. Funtimes can enter the scene once the meeting has started to progress--that seems to fit her modus operandi more. She doesn't strike me as a punctual sort of woman.

Oh Calamity no. I'm a little lost... has Team Funacid already gone to the Sadry residence, or will they be getting there after Lightwards and Altermind?

A... giant lizard? Now that's just strange. Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta change the batteries in my heat lamp.

If Lightwards were real and one of my loved ones were a Warrior, I'd definitely try it. You can never quite know what to expect with Epic powers. Sadly, I don't think Lightwards harbored enough of a dislike for salt in his life to justify it being his weakness.

Next time on "What Happened in Portland": Sam and Remington put their potato chip theory to the test in a bold attempt at freeing Alice and Pamela from Lightwards' grip. Stay tuned for the shocking reveal--only on the 17th Shard!

I've been unobservant again. What are Miner's precise powers? (I liked the post, by the way.) Four ninja smilies? This is some serious conspiracy right here.

Wow. I keep forgetting that other people from across the forum read this on occasion. Thanks, that really means a lot for my end of the story.

I'd disagree on that front. He has the power to inflict terrible luck on anyone he chooses, which he's shown by randomly jinxing random people off the street. If he walked into a military installation with a rifle, cursing everyone he lays eyes on with complete misfortune, I believe he could massacre the fort down to the last man. Guns would be dropped by mistake; guns that were drawn would jam; those few guns capable of firing would invariably miss their targets. Retreat would not be an option, as anyone cursed with Murphy's attack would trip, fall, and accidentally shoot themselves while trying. With what we've seen of Murphy so far, I firmly believe he could bring Portland to its knees if he decided to give conquest a whirl.

Agreed. There's actually an Epic character in the "What Happened in Portland" RP with that power--"Murphy," as he is called, is widely held to be one of the most powerful Epics in the city. His boss is lucky he's content with a more serving role like Nightwielder.

Yeah, sorry for taking so long. I had a long post written last night, but I lost it all. Right on the one time I forgot to save my work as I went, too. Looking at all the weirdness surround our attempts at a time skip, I'm suddenly really glad we didn't try out a Doctor Who RP.

Please tell me there's a fanfiction on the Internet where Funtimes defeats Voldemort. I was under the impression that the time skip had already taken place, in the last Remington scene. * is woefully confused by official planning matters *

The Dalles is Backtrack's hell, and Backtrack's hell is just another name for "our amusement." (I would be upvoting everything here, but I'm too busy burning a Quota effigy.)

According to my extrapolations, he would grab onto Reader's legs and have to be forcibly dragged out of the office, kicking, crying and screaming the whole way.

Ugh. Sorry about your discomfort. Of course you're always welcome to torment the people of Oregon. That's the point of having a bunch of nameless NPCs, right? Killing them off in horrible ways? Anyway, I'm not sure what other directions the Backtrack-Reader conversation can go in. I can only inflict so much internal pain on Backtrack before it starts getting repetitive.

Granted, but this ability is only valid on leap years. I wish to be a real Nightwatcher.

I see what you did there. If I were on my computer, I'd post a picture of a picture of a toucan with the caption "Toucan play at this game." But I'm on my Kindle, so that option's out. There there. His redemption wouldn't mean anything if we never saw him as a slontze. Though really, Steve Lawrence needs a hug. Backtrack deserves a sharp slap, but Steve Lawrence needs a hug. (Something that just occurred to me... if you feel the evolution references are out of place, I can take them out. I'm not sure how controversial or offensive they are here, but the last thing I want to do is offend anyone. Reading a number of creationist zoology books has made me cautious of this sort of thing.)

When you think, "aww, 'sanderfan.' Why didn't I call dibs on that name??"

Reader was a rotten, despicable person who'd made remarkable contributions to the lousiness of Backtrack's day. Backtrack assumed that after shooting him in the arm and smugly informing him that an unstoppable dictator ruled the city, Reader would find it difficult to find fresh and exciting avenues of slontziness. That assumption, as it turned out, was very wrong. Backtrack felt himself flinching as Reader gingerly touched his hand, steadying the bad case of the shakes he was having. The gesture was not at all comforting. "Don't kid yourself, Steven," Reader said softly. "You could be of great use to us here in the Dalles. Why, you can get into other people's heads merely moments after they've passed through a place. You and I could be a great team; me knowing the victim's secrets and you knowing their thoughts." Backtrack simply stared at him, eyes wide with horror. So he would be made to stay here. Stuck in The Dalles, working for Koschei the Deathless and partnered with the slontziest Epic he'd met in years. Was slontziest a word? He couldn't quite bring himself to care at the moment, because storming Koschei the Deathless was drafting him. He shook more terribly than before, but managed to yank his hand away from Reader's. Reader continued, nodding thoughtfully. "No, Steven, you're not useless. You're just as useful as I am." Somehow that comment just made it all worse. Some little part of him cracked at that comment, bringing another total body cringe. Backtrack did the only thing he could do--he glared at Reader. Externally. Inside, he was feeling like a piece of slag. Was this what all minor Epics were like--so smug in their mediocre talents, completely apathetic to those in their mercy? Sparks. Was that what he himself was like? Surely not. He hadn't approached anything near Reader's level of slontziness. Well, he had treated the twins kind of creepily. Like, "smiling widely and touching them at every opportunity" kind of creepy. But surely that wasn't Reader-level slontziness. Of course... there was that set of directions he wrote for Lightwards. What would Lightwards do once he reached the Trattner bakery, he wondered? Surely he wasn't planning on killing anyone there...? He hadn't put much thought into it at the time, but he found himself suddenly hoping the self-proclaimed Emperor hadn't left the bakery with any new zombies. And that's when it hit him. Staring into Reader's quietly gleeful expression, he came to a realization. Steven Lawrence was a slontze. Yes, he was very definitely a slontze on Reader's level. And they were going to make a wonderful team. He felt his eyes start to burn again, so he took off the sunglasses and held them in his lap, quietly brooding. Reader's smug expression was beginning to annoy him, so he decided he didn't have to look at it. Instead, he flipped through history. Trying not to think of his latest realization, he instead flipped through this location's history. Reader and his office disappeared, obscured by the shadows of the past. Nothing from Koschei's era of history, of course. In fact, Backtrack determinedly peered far enough backwards to the time when Koschei's ancestors were just squirrelly little mammals, hiding in the trees out of sheer terror of the dinosaurs below. He sat in his chair for a few minutes more, examining the primordial forest. The Cretaceous had always looked like such a serene place to him. He'd looked at it before--there were few eras of Earth's history he hadn't taken a look at. Seventy million years before Reader was born, there was a very nice forest here. A river flowed nearby, out of sight but pouring its soft gurgling voice into the forest's silence. Birds--or things very like birds--chirped from the tops of trees, and every so often a squirrelly little Reader-ancestor would crawl up a tree to its nest in the higher branches. It was immensely relaxing to ignore the current situation like this, so much so that Backtrack wondered why he hadn't already tried to soothe his day with it so far. It wouldn't help in the long term, but it helped him put his thoughts in order. And more importantly, it boosted his self-confidence. The forest and all its tranquility was only one benefit of his power. The other benefit was the way that power changed him. He always felt renewed and invigorated after using it; his self-confidence soared with every peak into the past. Best of all, his worries and self-doubts evaporated off of him, leaving him with a clear conscience and an un-troubled mind. After all, he hadn't really done any harm. He wasn't a slontze. That goth girl didn't really need the rest of her family anyway, right? And MV still sort of liked him, so he hadn't totally wrecked his chances of winning her over. He wasn't a slontze. He wasn't a slontze. With that thought and the friendly little voice that spoke in his head sometimes, Backtrack dispelled his vision of the Cretaceous forest and fixed Reader with a much more steady glower. Sort of steady. He was still shaking, and his power did nothing to soothe the mortal terror he was still feeling. His heart was still pounding rapidly as well, which Reader was no doubt aware of. "Listen," he said shakily, trying to smile and failing miserably. "Whatever you think I can do for you, you're wrong. I'm no use to you. I can tell you quite earnestly that I've never been useful to anyone in my entire life. You know that isn't a lie." He swallowed heavily. "I'm just here to find out if Remington Springfield still has family in this town, and then I'm heading back to Portland. Trying to keep me here is just a waste of time for the both of us." With that, he managed to put his sunglasses back on and stare intently at the other Epic. He was beginning to doubt there was anything he could say to sway this man--more and more, it seemed he wouldn't be leaving The Dalles without a meeting with its master.

Cool! I will be awaiting the PM. Pffft, as if that can stop me. Strike me down and I'll rise up more powerful insane than ever before.

Nothing particularly important, besides what TwiLyght mentioned. (Hope you had fun camping. ) Fact: this is what will happen when Aldo meets Altermind. I promise to stop now. Maybe.

I may have been watching way too much of that show here lately.

That's from the episode where Max and Remington both target an Epic named Mary McGuffin, right? And now I really want to write a "Mysterious Force" parody about Calamity.