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pianostarinwonderland · 2 years ago

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Magic 3 Thoughts

The introduction of magic 3 in Twst’s new gameplay is very interesting because it makes me wonder what is in store for the characters in chapter 7.

Dorm cards in particular tell the characters’ personality and magical ability.

For example, let's take three cards: Dorm Riddle, Dorm Epel, and Dorm Azul.

Dorm Riddle

Dorm Riddle deals two strong hits at Lv.10 of his first spell. It hints at his strong power. The two hits on his first spell also shows how he can summon spells fast. In chapter 6, Idia’s analysis of Riddle is that he can fire spells very fast. Take note that among the dorm SSRs, only he, Dorm Leona, and Dorm Malleus can deal two strong hits. And we all know how powerful and experienced Leona and Malleus are. Even amongst other SSRs, only Birthday Kalim, GM Ace, and Camp Trey can deal two hits on their first spell, with everyone else dealing one hit with an effect, whether buff or debuff.

Furthermore, Riddle has the highest ATK stat in the game (no, Dorm Malleus did Not overthrow him, shocking news right?). This can refer to how Riddle has a high magic pool for his age, which can only be obtained by intensive training from when you’re young. Consequently, he has the lowest HP among all SSRs. This may be in reference to his fast blot accumulation—external factors have a clear impact on his blot.

Dorm Epel

Dorm Epel’s first spell references his UM. His first spell can deal a small ATK Down and heals the team at the same time. His UM, Sleep Kiss, puts people to sleep in glass coffins. In a sense, the protection people gain from the glass coffins will lower the severity of any injuries they sustain, referencing the ATK Down debuff that cuts opponent’s damage on your team. Sleep is also a form of recovery for the body, which references the heal.

Buddies are telling of a character’s relationship with another to an extent. A notable buddy is Epel’s buddy with Vil, as it boosts both his HP and ATK. He’s the only dorm card aside from Malleus with that sort of buddy boost. It references how Vil is trying to build Epel to become the best kind of person that he can be without compromising himself, hence why both HP and ATK are boosted rather than only one stat. Vil looks out for Epel’s growth in many things, whether in beauty or in strength.

Dorm Azul

Dorm Azul’s M1 is absolutely packed with not only a buff, a small ATK UP, but also a heal. It’s rather self serving, and it references to how Azul would steal people’s talent to make himself stronger.

In chapter 6, Idia mentions how Azul is the type to stall or use others as meat shields before attacking due to having a relatively low magic pool compared to other overblotters. He needs time to produce a spell. It makes him fit to be a healer/support.

Azul's buddies are very important here. Most SSRs have a HP M buddy, HP S, and ATK/POW S buddy. His buddies, however, are HP S, HP S, and ATK M. Jade is his ATK M buddy, while Riddle and Idia are the HP buddies. Buddies that give small boost in a stat are the characters who have an effect on the character himself but aren't that involved in his life, whereas buddies that give medium boost in a stat are very involved in a character's life. I find that HP buddies tend to represent how a buddy affects a character's growth (in their character), while ATK buddies tend to represent a buddy making a character stronger.

Riddle and Idia do have an influence on Azul, but it's not a major one. Riddle is a fellow 2nd year dorm leader; the two of them have worked together in their duties as dorm leaders and schoolmates. As for Idia, he and Azul are club mates. Azul has shared in his first birthday story that the board game club has made him more comfortable in taking calculated risks.

The important buddy here is Jade. Jade provides a medium boost to Azul's ATK stat. It can indicate here that Jade affects Azul a lot, particularly in making him stronger. Stronger in the eye of the public, stronger in the sense that he's more confident because at least there is Jade to lean onto in case a sudden change of plans occurs...? A list can be made.

Therefore, because dorm cards show some of the personality of the characters in gameplay format, the introduction of the 3rd magic speaks about something regarding the characters. And in the midst of chapter 7 and getting thrown into this dream world, is the 3rd magic showing us more depth to the character now that we have gone through six full arcs in the main story? Or is it showing that the character will undergo change in the dream world?

For example, Dorm Riddle's first magic is just two strong hits, an offense-oriented spell that would make him more suitable for a Basic test where dealing damage is priority. However, his third magic is a medium ATK DOWN on two opponents, which is a debuff and an ability more suited for a Defense test. Dorm Leona also goes through the same thing, except his medium ATK DOWN is a 3-turn debuff on a single opponent.

Some cards have their first and third spells having similar effects. Dorm Vil is an example of this, having a small ATK DOWN for 1 turn on his first spell and medium ATK DOWN for 3 turns on his 3rd spell. Dorm Ortho's first and third spells are similar in that they are both buffs—his first spell is a 3-turn medium DMG UP on himself while his 3rd spell has a small ATK UP, along with Freeze Immunity, which allows characters' buffs to go through even if Freeze was casted on the character on a specific turn.

Some characters gain heals, particularly Ace, Kalim, Rook, and Sebek. Ace, Rook, And Sebek heal is HP Regen or the 3-turn heal. Kalim's is 1-turn. It's interesting what this means for them and how they would develop.

The original dorm card healers, Trey, Azul, and Epel, gain Curse Immunity and a small ATK UP. What this does is that essentially, if you use their heal and the Curse immunity in one turn, they can heal even if the opponent implements curse on them. It's like they gain their own ability to protect themselves so that they can protect their team better.

Possibly for some cards, it can show more depth to the character's personality, like how Riddle's ATK DOWN on two opponents can be an expression of how he makes people follow his lead.

But Twst has also used gameplay as a way to foreshadow something in the story. Dorm Epel is a prime example of this. His card was released in the midst of Book 5, but his UM was made in Book 6. So the question now is, what is Twst foreshadowing through the 3rd magic?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst jp #twst theory #riddle rosehearts #epel felmier #azul ashengrotto

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rosetinted-escape · 4 months ago

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Unnatural Selection-Muse; Harmonic Analysis

This is essentially just going to be a music theory word vomit BUT hopefully it makes sense. I'm gonna put it under the cut bc it's probably gonna be quite long.

I'm so sorry guys, this is pretty terminology heavy. I hope it all makes sense, but if anything doesn't, please let me know and I'll do my best to explain!

A few notes: -I use roman numerals to indicate chord positions in relation to the key. Capitals are used for major chords, lower case for minor chords and (not relevant here) lower case italics for diminished chords. -A perfect cadence is literally just V-I or V-i in any key. It's a pretty key component in classical music and Matt Bellamy uses them frequently in his writing. There are other types of cadence as well, but they're not relevant here (feel free to ask if you're curious though! I'm more than happy to explain). -A crotchet is a quarter note and a quaver is an eighth note. I'm British and that's what we call them here idk what to say. -I've made comparisons to what is generally done in Western Classical Tradition because I know that Matt Bellamy takes a fair amount of inspiration from classical music, and the harmony he uses is often what would be considered 'functional' in the WCT.

Intro:

-Begins with strongly implied E minor key. -Approximately 125-130bpm -Em |Am |D7 |G |C A/C# |D B/D# |Em C D |G | This is a really nice little chord sequence. It starts with a diatonic circle of fifths until we get to the C major chord in bar 5, and then we start moving up a chromatic bassline. The chromaticism is highlighted by putting the non-diatonic notes in the bass (in this case, the A# of the A major chord and the D# of the B major chord). This builds to an E minor chord, which is immediately followed by a IV-V-I perfect cadence in G major, which solidifies the key. G major is the relative major of E minor, where we started. This is a typically classical place to modulate to.

Verse:

-Begins in Gm. No prepared modulation, just moves straight from G major to G minor. Perhaps surprisingly, this is a reasonably common occurrence in classical music; for the intro to be in the tonic major/minor of the main key. An example of this can be seen in Haydn's symphony 104, where the intro is in Dm and the main symphony/first movement is in D major. -Gm |D7 :| x4 The verse chords are the tonic (first) and dominant (fifth) chords repeated 4 times. This creates a cycle of perfect cadences, as well as a perfect cadence going into the pre-chorus. However, the movement in the bassline guides the listener to only really hear the finality of the cadence every 4 bars rather than every 2 bars. -Tempo change! We've moved from 125-130bpm in the intro to around 160bpm. This is the tempo for the rest of the song aside from the bridge.

Pre-Chorus:

-Aforementioned perfect cadence from the end of the verse into the start of the pre-chorus. -Gm |Bb |Cm |F |Bb |Gm |Dsus4 |D7 |Gm |D7 | Here, the chord sequence kind of flirts with the relative major key of Gm, which is Bb major. This can be seen from bars 3-5, where we have what could be read as a ii-V-I perfect cadence in Bb major. However, we are immediately dragged back into Gm, with a build up to the chorus, and some nice tension created with the Dsus4 chord. We finish on a D7, which can then act as a perfect cadence into the chorus.

Chorus:

-Perfect cadence from end of pre-chorus into the chorus places us in G minor. -Gm |Cm |F7 |Bb |Eb C/E |F D/F# |Gm Eb F |Bb | Lots going on here! If it looks similar that's because it is! It has the exact same harmonic function as the intro, just in a different key. At the start of the chorus we are solidly in Gm, with the same diatonic circle of fifths, followed by the same chromatic rising bass and then the same IV-V-I perfect cadence in the relative major, Bb. This means by the end of the chorus we are in Bb, which is a pretty classical standard classical place to modulate. However we do move pretty much immediately to Gm as we move into the next verse/bridge. -A thing I think is interesting to note is that the diatonic circle of fifths takes the 'dark' direction a circle of fifths can take (essentially towards flat keys/chords). I think this really fits the vibe of the song and also provides a nice contrast against the rising chromatic bass in the following bars.

Bridge:

-Metric modulation! We have changed from 4/4 to 6/8 or 12/8 (depending on how you want to divide it). We have also changed tempo, to approximately 37 DOTTED crotchet beats per minute. We use a dotted crotchet here because we're in compound time rather than simple time (4/4 is simple time, which is why we used undotted crotchet bpm there). Creates a very different vibe to both the intro and the rest of the song. This is not something that is particularly common in Muse songs (or most songs tbh). -Gm Dm |Eb Cm |Bb Bbm |D D7 :| x6 Here we are pretty solidly in Gm throughout. There are D/D7 chords at the end of the sequence which repeats back to create perfect cadences with the Gm at the start of the sequence. The Bb to Bbm creates some nice contrast to what is otherwise a very diatonically Gm (harmonic scale) chord sequence, as the Db in a Bbm chord is not diatonic to the key of Gm. I do think having the III become minor is a very interesting decision and not one I've seen before.

#WHAT ARE YOU GONNA USE ALL THAT MUSIC EDUCATION FOR??!?!?#Obviously for making longwinded harmony analysis of Muse songs; what else?#I'm SO SORRY if this doesn't make any sense #If you're confused tell me and I'll do my best to explain it #muse band #harmony analysis #this is what happens when you give slightly insane musicians free time ig

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bagea · 2 months ago

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1/100th gm spartan. based on the master grade gm type C. custom made in 2007. although the FMS has been an obscure piece of gundam history, being where the gm spartan originates from. this custom predates the HGUC gm spartan by 15 years. as of now i can not find any earlier customs of the the gm spartan. (source)

#gundam #gunpla #mecha #going downnn another old website gunpla thing. will be uploading more of these to the modern internet so everyone can see the cool customs #making this more of a profesh kinda style of post

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autistic-autumn · 20 days ago

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Does this count as music for the exchange? https://youtu.be/VHrUfj6s2R0

okay now I'm no longer either drunk or hungover I can finally get to this.

I think you might however be forgetting I do a lot of contemporary music and microtones and additive time signatures don't scare me. I can also tell this is a really dodgy musescore rendering as all the percussion has odd amounts of reverb and I'm 90% sure that bass flute is just the regular flute soundfont. I couldn't tell you if it was musescore 3 or 4 though. I can also look at the score and spot about 100 errors because it hasn't been nicely typed but if I was to go into every one of them this post would be about 2000 words long. Dynamics and articulation are a bit shoddy though, particularly for woodwind, and the sheer number of percussion staves is quite ambitious.

That being said 11/8 is a lot of fun and there are a lot of fun ways you can do it. This is the standard cut the last beat out of the bar technique that leaves you with 3+3+3+2/8 (or more of a 6/8 + 6/8 depending). The microtones don't particularly stand out to me but they are a nice coloristic effect. The fact the microtones are used only on certain notes makes me think it's more tuning system thing. That being said the notes that are detuned are interesting as they appear to the the 3rds of chords but not exactly the direction I would expect them for a tuning system such as just intonation.

Now I haven't' checked the entire score but here is an example:

What is notable here is that this is a Am7/E that moves to a Dadd11. The piece isn't in G major, but the effect remains the same. Normally however minor thirds are tuned about 16 cents flat, so if you want to make it line up perfectly with the harmonic series you would want it to be slightly sharp. Here's it's a quartertone flat which is a very neat effect. The same thing happens with a number if F quarter sharps. It still mostly sounds like an alternate tuning system or something similar but in such a way that isn't causing a huge layer of dissonance.

Now I know the music exchange is only meant to be one but this did get my classical musician senses tingling so you can get multiple with a brief analysis of the piece after. I've tried to find stuff that do interesting this with dissonance, microtones and rhythm specifically.

First one here is Béla Bartók - Six Dances in Bulgarian Rhythm No.6 Been recently learning this one on the piano and it's a fair bit of fun. As the title suggests, it's a Bulgarian rhythm that is directly notated as 3+3+2/8.

This part here in the score is particularly fascinating I think (about 0:28 seconds into the video). If you actually study what's happening it's a fairly basic call and response in the two parts, both moving down in 5ths each time. However the first phrase in the right hand sounds as Gm while the left hand plays the counterphrase at the tritone in C#m. And this is repeated downwards a 5th each time. There is also the fact the rhythm doesn't quite like line up as you would expect as both are playing 3+3+2 but offset from each other (hence the stems going over the bar). it finishes by repeating in unison two octaves apart, which is a classic of the early 20th century. This is genuinely one of the most difficult passages in the entire piece just because of how fiddly it is to get those rhythms to stand out at the tritone while playing at speed.

Phrases like this are also interesting because it's fascinating harmony. It's Bb/d - G - Eb/Bb - C/G (in the following bar on the next system). This particularly fascinating to me because the Bb - G are effectively done as chromatic transposition, as is the Eb - C are. But the relationship between the G- Eb is what's known as a chord rotation. I can't easily explain it in a tumblr post but it's a fascinating post-tonal technique used on fair standard chords, and it's used a number of times throughout the piece. Basically the relationship between the chords and the phrasing isn't entirely random.

Bartok was also living in the early 20th century and so his enharmonic notation isn't quite there sometimes. Here is the worst spelt C major and F major chords I've seen in a while (treble and bass clef respectively.

I think you would get killed for trying to write enharmonics like that these days but it was like 1930 and they hadn't figured out how to write harmony like this yet.

SECOND PIECE: Joshua Mallard — State Machine 90% sure I've put this in one of my music ramble posts but it is pretty neat. The youtube channel that uploaded it is a great place to find huge amounts of contemporary music but the three movements are genuinely a really neat example of a lot of contemporary styles. You'll notice the first movement sounds fairly dissonant and jaggard, despite the fact it's time signatures aren't particularly complex and there are no microtones (not including the gliss at the end). The second movement is full of weird ways of playing with microtones and has a really neat way of notating it. The third movement is anyone's guess but I'm sure you can figure it out enough if you want the score. As odd as the score looks it's genuinely a lot easier to parse on a first glance than the Bartok's is, so a full rant isn't really necessary.

Third piece is my own because I'm a freak. I did amazingly forget to get the one recording I have of it (not the best recording but still far better than musescore). This means you're stuck with the extra crunchy musescore rendering that barely gets half the notation in. I've got the rendering below and you can find the score here. The notation still needs some tidying but it's not entirely terrible.

The piece is about the great abyssal plain at the bottom of the ocean. It's the name for the great black expanse of mud and rocks 1000's of meters deep. Part of a suite I'm writing on sinking deeper into the ocean for piano quintet.

You might also notice some funny things in the score:

Musescore hates this. That's a cluster chord on both black and white notes on the piano. You literally get your arm and place it ontop of a bunch of notes. The strange notes in the cello are artificial harmonics, which I don't have time to explain but musescore hates it. Like the piece you sent in there are a few places where I've adjusted the time signature to something additive to throw it a bit, although the bigger rhythmic interest is the fact that the 3/4 sections are effectively a lot of polymeter. I had almost the entire piece in 6/4 because it's the lowest common denominator but I had to try conduct it at the tempo it's in the it just fell apart with how long each bar was. Some of the parts are effectively playing 4/2 (or 2/2 I guess?), some 12/8 (6/8?) and some 3/3 so just had to find something I can squeeze everything into to make it work.

There is also the fun part with the sost pedal that musescore cannot do. When you hold a bunch of notes down with the sost pedal they remain as part of the piano's resonance as they don't have dampers on them. What I've done is tell the player to do a cluster chord on all the low white notes and then leave it in the pedal while playing a C# in the middle of it. The C# clashes really nicely against the low diatonic notes that resonate behind it without the full and kind of washy sound of the full pedal. This only really works on grand pianos or any piano with a sost pedal, but if you have a real piano you can try this technique by just holding down the white notes with your arm and playing a black note in the middle of it all.

Anyways huge post over. You hit my music autism mode in exactly the right specific way so you get this. Feel free to send in more stuff.

#Autumn's Asks #bellcarved #Autumn's Art #Music #Bartok #ask game #sorry this is actually like 1400 word wtf

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asherlockstudy · 4 months ago

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GMMore 2637 was interesting...

a) Rhett totally painted Katrina as a closeted lesbian in his mind or at least that her husband comes second in her heart XD

Rhett: You really want to... you want to get close. Like when you want to connect to somebody, we need to - we need to bring your hubby in here. Do you go into your hubby's pores? Katrina: No. Rhett:

"Poor husband living a lie" This was what he was conveying but I don't think Katrina caught the joke. BTW she really sounded obsessed!

b) Maybe I see too much in this but I think Link and particularly Rhett were a little pensive about the great relationship Meghan has with her mother. When she said they don't hide anything from each other and that they communicate everyday, they were slightly taken aback, in a "wow can family relationships realistically be that good?".

Rhett: Wow, so you are an open book? Meghan: With my mom, yes. Rhett: Y'all talk every day?! (looks down, speaks seriously, emphatically) That is a beautiful thing. Do you want to get in her pores? Meghan: Sometimes. She has such nice pores. Rhett: (looks down again)

Meghan did not even respond to the joke in a typical supposedly humorous way like "ewww that's weird haha", she fully went "yeah I love me mom, whatever it takes". It definitely felt like Rhett and Link were making comparisons inside their minds and I wonder whether they projected themselves into this from the perspective of the parent or the child. I won't go as far as to say they looked jealous of this but Rhett especially seemed to openly consider regular, healthy and honest communication between parent and child an unusual occurence.

c) Lastly, Link's dream of course. He and Rhett being trapped in a large house, except Link was scared as hell and wanted out of it whereas Rhett was enjoying its creepiness. This dream left enough of an impression to Link for him to discuss it with his therapist. As he explained, he thought the dream was revealing what is going on in his psyche.

Link was itching to go back to his dream. Nobody asked him what his dream meant but Link was just dying to say more. Both Rhett and Stevie made a quick hard pass on him. Now, you're all welcome to tell me what the message he was trying to convey was and I am honest in saying I am not sure. Does he need a break badly? Does he want to quit GMM / Mythical? Short-term? Long-term? Is this about the other type of escape I have talked about? An outing? But this would suggest the outing is complete in his private life, which, again, I am not sold on at all. Or, back to it, is this really just professional? He's so done with GMM. He needs a break? But if it was just a short-term need for a vacation, would Rhett and Stevie be as uncomfortable about it as they were? Maybe Link thinks they are overdoing it? He wishes for fewer days, maybe he would like GMM to become like GMS or even just be a weekly show...? They make all the content in MS too, it could be too much for him at this point... Just throwing some guesses out there...

#rhett and link #randl #r&l #gms #good mythical summer #gmmore #gmmore 2637 #good mythical more

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khanhannahlewis · 7 months ago

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Star Commander Hannah Lewis, last warrior of Clan Blood Spirit watches with a steely gaze as a group of hired mechtechs load her custom Marauder onto a rented dropship, to take her and her mech into orbit where she will await the SLDF forces en-route to Helios. She had pulled the Marauder off of the leader of a small pirate group further out in the Periphery. How they got the Clantech was beyond her, but she chose to keep it and upgrade it, swapping out the autocannon for a PPC, removing the medium lasers, and mounting a Streak SRM and 4 jump jets. The Marauder had served her well so far, a fearsome machine against the pirates of the Periphery. But would it stand against the Blakist remnants awaiting on Helios? That is what she is now asking herself.

Marauder C (HL)

Mass: 75 tons Chassis: GM Marauder Power Plant: Clan 300 Cruising Speed: 43.2 kph Maximum Speed: 64.8 kph Armor: Valient Lamelor Armament: 1 ER PPC 2 Large Pulse Laser 1 Streak SRM 4 Manufacturer: Custom Communication System: Angst 2400 Targeting & Tracking System: Series XXX Multitrack Introduction Year: 3153 Tech Rating/Availability: F/X-X-X-D Cost: 7,871,500 C-bills

OverviewHow a pirate force got a Clantech Marauder is beyond Hannah Lewis, she decided to upgrade it with a myriad of clantech available in Canopus. The UAC/5 was replaced with a Clan ER PPC, the medium lasers removed, a streak SRM-4 and 2 tons of ammo were mounted in the left torso, and 4 jump jets were added.

Type: Marauder Technology Base: Mixed (Advanced) Tonnage: 75 Battle Value: 2,277

#battletech #mechwarrior #plot

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ratjay · 5 months ago

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I hope you don't mind the @ @cavernanomaly but i didn't want to take over OP's post.

Our Eberron game is our team (known as the Super Friends because none of us could come up with better) working to be a big name hero team in Sharn. We're currently C-Tier Heroes. Superheroes are a relatively new concept in the world, and are only in a few countries that have superheroes over adventurers. Vibes are very much Golden Age of Comics with occasional jokes thrown the way of the edgy 80s/90s reboots.

The party is:

The Beast AKA Johnny "Hammerhands" Price (Shifter Barbarian): veteran of the last war. He was a semi-popular boxer before enlisting in the Breland military, and now that he's home he's struggling to pay rent on his gym. Almost everyone knows that The Beast is Johnny due to how shifter abilities work + us having a Plucky Young Reporter (his name is Figs) following us around covering what we do.

Vax AKA Shady (Half-Elf Warlock): a doctor with heavy decay/bug motifs (with a homebrewed patron). She's fairly reserved with details about herself, but we do know she woke up one day with an entity known as "the Doctor" in her head and a rash developing on her arm, and this entity is somehow tied to the long dead House Vol.

Psion AKA Ethan Terrance AKA the Betrayer (Human/Dhalkyr Sorcerer): Ethan is another veteran of the last war for Breland, who found a dying Dhalkyr named the Betrayer and offered to let him take over his body to survive. This is entirely due to Ethan wanting to do something good with his life and they both are currently sharing control of Ethan's body until the Betrayer fully takes over. They're very much a Martian Manhunter type character.

Gh0st AKA Kaine d'Cannith and AB13 (Human/Warforged Warlock/Artificer): dragonmarked member of house Cannith who walked away during the war due to being sick of war profiteering & a warforged he found broken down and abandoned in Cyre. Ironman kind of situation, only the 'suit' is the warforged that only really started working again after the human accidentally created a mental link between them. Kaine's recently rejoined the Cannith South house due to a need for resources (and the house needs dragonmarked members desperately)

Most of our adventures so far have been fairly silly and a lot of the Big Bads have given the GM excuses to subject us to the worst puns imaginable. First arc we had to break into a House Kundarak vault to steal a freeze ray before a member of the house could sell it off to an Ice themed villain league that had recently started up in Sharn. Second Arc, we had to rescue an up-and coming politican from being forced to marry a bug villain hellbent on taking over the whole city with mind control drugs & an army of Kruthiks.

(Our GM actually made little front pages for us at the completion of each arc, with our very own Sharn Inquirer owned by James Jonald Johnson)

Currently we've had the misfortune of ending up in the middle of a fight between the Kech Volaar and Kech Shaarat, two warring goblin clans trying to re-establish a long dead empire- entirely because Vax was chosen by the blade of one of its leaders. Along with this, we also have what seems to be a member of House Vol trying to steal the blade from us.

So we're currently outside Breland trying to Solve that Problem while working alongside a group of goblins known as the Word Rangers (they are Just the Power Rangers) to try and gather the rest of the magical items tied to the dead empire before the more violent of the two clans OR the remnants of House Vol get their hands on them.

It's honestly been a real fun time and is easily one of the highlights of my week to see what the GM has set up for us for the game.

#long post #Super Eberron #Eberron

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theoldaeroplane · 1 year ago

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Intercessor

Behold, a hyperfixation-fueled day-in-the-life of my new Apocalypse World character! His name is Fray and he definitely isn't 85% just BotW Link. This was written mostly for my GM and fellow party members, so the brief rundown is that we're in an eternal magic winter, surviving in pockets of tolerable cold, with steampunk/Victorian-esque tech.

4.3k, no content warnings. I put his character sheet under the cut at the bottom as a bonus :)

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“Fray! Saint Fray!”

Hold on.

Saint?

Fray’s not sure when that started happening.

He’s heard hero and gallant and even champion—all of them kind of feel like too much—but saint is new. Sainthood seems really excessive.

He was not consulted on this. But then, he never is.

Fray stops in his tracks, peering over a heavily-obscured shoulder to see who’s calling. His new scarf, all wool and possum fur, feels like sitting in a sauna, but it’s terribly bulky, especially with his pack in the mix. It might be too big. He doesn��t cut an impressive figure in it. But then, he never does.

Behind him, squeezing between frozen-over remains of archaic vehicles in the narrow alleyway with all the grace of a puppy, comes—ah. Of course.

Andrei.

Fray turns, eyebrows cocked as Andrei halts his bulk bare inches in front of him. Fray is short, but Andrei’s ridiculous. Six and a half feet, top-heavy, all muscle he’s never done a thing to earn as far as Fray can tell. Deep pockets and a deeper voice. Sort of cute with his gold hair and dimples, but not Fray’s type. Still, he’s nice enough. If nothing else he’s bought his way into Fray’s good graces with beer after beer at the Manufacturing. “You’re so fast,” Andrei complains, leaning on his knees. “Gimme a second.”

So: Fray shoves his hands in his pockets and thinks through his agenda. He’s not in a rush. The tailor’s doesn’t close for hours yet. The yotes that have apparently found a way to worm their frozen bodies under the wardings and onto the Merchants’ land won’t come out until the shifts change. He’ll work dinner into the middle somewhere. He’s got time for whatever this is.

There’s another thing about Andrei that Fray likes. When Fray tugs off his top pair of mittens to free the thin-gloved fingers underneath and signs S-A-I-N-T?, he can see Andrei focus on his hands, lips jutting out in his concentration. Andrei is nowhere near fluent, probably will never be, but being able to sort-of read what feels like Fray’s first language goes a long way in endearing Andrei to him.

“Um,” Andrei says. “Are you not? That’s what they’re calling you.”

Fray squints at him. Signs: T-H-E-Y?

“The Children?”

It always takes Fray a moment to realize people usually say Children with a capital “C” around here. His face twists up in a grimace, and he shakes his head no emphatically. W-H-Y?

“Don’t know,” Andrei says, guileless as always. “I won’t say it no more, if you like.” At Fray’s resigned, bewildered shrug, he goes on, “Well, but, I’m glad I caught you!” With this he claps a huge hand on Fray’s shoulder, the blow barely cushioned by the thick layers of wool. Fray staggers instantly, unprepared knees almost buckling. Andrei yelps and helps him regain his feet. “Sorry! Sorry! Here, this is it, this is all, look, my sister got these and I thought to myself, you know who’d love that? Fray, that’s who! Lucky thing we crossed paths!”

The thing he shoves in Fray’s face smells like heaven. He starts salivating like a damn dog. It locks Fray in place momentarily, trying to piece together where he knows it from. What it reminds him of. It’s there somewhere, on the edge of things, but—

“It’s doughnuts,” Andrei tells him, conspiratorial. “Like at the market that time. You know?”

Fray remembers. A wagon on the merchant circuit pulled by four aurochs. The overpowering smell of fried dough drawing him nearly straight from his house. Standing in line for thirty minutes when Andrei pulled him in. Finally being handed the paper bag, translucent with oil and steaming hot, and looking into it to see not just the miniature doughnuts, but for the first time he can remember in—a long time—sugar.

It had been physically painful for him to keep himself from cramming the whole thing into his mouth. Instead he forced himself to savor it. That had almost been worse, it turned out, because now his memory of it was such that he does not think anything will ever near its equal.

Andrei had said they were pretty good doughnuts.

Fray stares at the oil-soaked paper that Andrei holds level with his eyes, and before he can quite stop himself he looks from bag to man with naked want on his face. He points at himself with a disbelief that is exaggerated both to be clear enough for Andrei to pick up on, and as a show of his genuine surprise and delight. He probably does look like a dog, waiting for a treat. That’s fine. Fray knows what he is about.

Andrei, generous enough to overlook how Fray is practically vibrating, pushes the bag into his hands with a lopsided grin. “You bet! I remembered how much you liked them—oh, no, no,” he cuts himself off when he sees Fray pull out his wallet. “It’s a gift!”

Fray looks at the bag again, to Andrei again, to the bag once more. He gets it settled in his off-hand so he can use the other. W-H-Y?

“Well, because we’re friends, twerp,” Andrei says with the kind of smile that Fray can only read as knew you’d say that. Because this has happened before.

Because Fray kind of doesn’t … do friends.

Not on purpose. He’d rather if he did have friends. It just seems like it never quite sticks. It’s not unusual for him to be hailed in the street by someone grateful for some favor or other he’s gone and done for them months ago, something he’s already forgotten. But those aren’t friends. Or at least, he’s pretty sure they aren’t. Lots of people ask him for favors after what happened.

There just seems to be something about him that keeps people from wanting to stay too long.

Except Andrei, apparently.

Fray pulls the bag closer to his chest and lets the fried smell warm him inside and out. He works his face into something he hopes looks appropriately sheepish. “Thanks,” he signs, because he’s pretty sure Andrei knows that one. (He does, by the way he beams.) Fray adds, afterwards, F-A-V-O-R-I-T-E.

“Hell, Fray, you’re my favorite too,” Andrei says with amusement. Before Fray can correct him—tell him he meant the doughnuts—Andrei straightens and sticks his hands into his armpits against the cold. “Hoo! Bad as witch piss out here. I��ve got to be getting. See you at Manufacturing tomorrow night? I hear there’s going to new music!”

Fray nods, giving up on the favorite comment. Sure, Andrei might as well be his favorite person. He likes him well enough. It’s not like there’s anyone else, not really. The thought stings a little more than it used to.

---

He doesn’t get swarmed just trying to cross the dome anymore, at least. That had been a problem last year. Far Haven has a scant few hundred souls to its name, and Fray is sure every single one of them has talked to him at one point or another by now. It drove him into hiding for a while, nerves shot with so much attention. The flocks of opinionated strangers only died off with time, as memories and emotions faded and what he’d done drifted out of the city’s mind.

Saving the lives of every one of those few hundred souls takes some time to drift.

These days he’ll only get a few hangers-ons, most of them children who want to see the sword. The children do not get to see the sword. Fray tries to prevent anyone from seeing the sword in general. This has never deterred them, and he cannot bring himself to frighten off kids. It’s not uncommon to see Fray making his steadfast way through snow and slush with three or four ragamuffins tailing him, telling each other stories of the thing their parents say he did. Fray never confirms (or denies) anything.

That’s happening now, as a matter of fact.

“I heard you’s killed the thieves dead!” says a gap-toothed girl at least ten years younger than him, but nearly as tall. She reminds him of someone, he thinks as he eats the doughnuts. He wonders who. “I heard there was forty of ’em!”

“Nuh-uh! It was three! But they were big and scary and frostbitted!” This from a blond-haired boy with huge glasses and a mouth entombed by a scarf.

“You jokers gotta get your stories straight,” says that absolute goblin of a red-head girl with the false arm. Her voice is like a vulture croaking. “Short stuff, hey! Mr. Hero! You were there, weren’tcha? Cough up the details!”

She’s all but dog-piled by the other two. “Mr. Fray can’t talk!” protests the boy. “Because he got hit in the throat by the frostbitted!”

“Horseshit, I see him talk. Came saw my dad about maps and shit last week, didn’t he? He talks. Not a lot, maybe. You guys think he’s too stupid to say much or just stuck-up?”

“Definitely stupid,” says Fray in the painful scrape of his rusted-over voice, loud enough to catch all three of them off guard. There’s a shocked silence until he looks back at them and winks, and then giggles send up after him like a train of bubbles.

They peel off when he’s about a block from the tailor’s. Just as well. Fray pauses in the dark overhang of the tailor’s doorstep to pull his scarf down and palm his throat. The heat from his hand does little against the stain of discolored skin, blanched pale and blue against his dusky skin. It bleeds down his neck like a port-wine stain, a slashed jugular bleeding ice.

Fray thinks he is maybe supposed to be dead, with the way that ice-white blemish hugs his neck. The skin is cold and hard, and it glitters at him whenever he looks at it in the mirror, like crusted snow.

Well. Nothing to be done. Fray fixes his scarf and pushes his way into the relative heat of the tailor’s.

Warm air licks at his face. He sighs in relief, stopping for a moment to relish it as it caresses his ears and cheeks. The shuffle of fabric and leather draws him out of his reverie for but a moment, long enough to cast a glance toward where Elle’s apprentice sticks her head out from the back. “Oh! Mr. Fray! Got more?”

Fray gives her an apologetic nod, unshouldering his pack to pull it open. From within he produces no less than five shirts, all of them damaged in exactly the same place and exactly the same way. Each one is black—he learned that lesson a long time ago, not to wear anything but black against his skin—and each one has perfectly round holes burned into the same spot on the forearms. They’re as big as eggs, two on each arm. One of the shirts has similar burned holes in a long row down the spine, all identical and evenly spaced. Elle’s apprentice looks the garments over and tuts. “There won’t be much of these left to repair at this rate, you know,” she scolds. “One day I’m going to refuse you until you at least tell me how you keep getting them.”

Fray nods and has the decency to look embarrassed.

She scoots him out posthaste, telling him to return in two days. He should really learn how to repair his own clothes. It’d be a way to pass the time if nothing else. And to avoid awkward questions.

That’s all Fray has in front of him for the rest of the day: passing the time. He meanders. He picks up and loses more trails of children, none of whom get to see the sword. He finds lunch in the form of beaver steak and turnips at that place that has a jester on its sign. He pings back and forth slowly between shop after shop, recognized at each one, buying nothing.

Mostly he thinks, stopping at a mirror in one store to surreptitiously peek beneath his scarf again: this frost thing would have looked cooler if it had gone over my heart.

Because Fray’s kind of … done everything around here. A couple times. Often with encouragement and enabling from strangers who see his bright eyes and dull hair and go oh! Fray! Come in! He’s done everything, including worry about the cold-dead magic stuck to his throat, but nothing’s changed. Now he just thinks it’s ironic he got a neck wound only after his voice skedaddled.

If the frost-rot weapon had connected with his heart instead of his neck, Fray muses, he would probably be dead. That seems like a more vulnerable part of him. Which—that might have been interesting, to see what happened if he died. But that would come at the cost of him probably not being alive anymore.

Which itself probably hinges on whether or not he counts as alive.

He gets a snack as he makes for the Merchants’ territory. The doughnuts are gone. The sausages he buys aren’t nearly as good as he wants them to be. He’s nearly out of the market when he’s waylaid by a tall, dark woman with wide eyes, the most visible thing in her bundled-up face. “Aren’t you the one who saved the city?” she says, breathless. “From that break-in?”

This is one of those questions where the answer makes him feel like a jackass, no matter how factual it is. But he nods anyway, meekly. The vibes on this woman aren’t great. He’s not sure how much he wants to admit to her.

Her wide eyes go wider, until Fray thinks they might eclipse the rest of her face. “Saint,” she breathes, all awe and devotion. Fray almost cringes. “The Children are with you.”

He doesn’t know how to react until he remembers to capitalize that “C”. Oh. One of them. One of those cuckoos that worships the arcane frost that sits outside their little dome waiting to kill anyone it can. Fray gives her a weak smile and hopes it’s not very encouraging. “I would walk with you, Saint,” the woman says, catching up his left hand as she slips to his side. “Allow me to feel your presence.”

Oh, son of a bitch.

There are people you do not want to piss off, and those people are the Children of the Frost. They’re a religion? Cult? Club? Something. They’re fans of the cold nightmare outside this pocket of survivability. Really into Frostbitten, he thinks. Most of them seem a little moonblinked. Unfortunately for him and everyone else, they’ve wormed their way into the council seats. They run half of Far Haven.

She starts walking before Fray can pull back, and as she is nearly as tall as Andrei, she does a marvelous job of pulling Fray along like one of those toy ducks on wheels. She’s power walking, even. They’re still headed where he needs to go, to the outer bounds of the dome, but there are fewer and fewer people here as witnesses. Fray does not love that. Fray’s of the belief that the Children need babysitters.

There’s just one person left in sight when Fray finally locks his knees and digs his heels in. He pulls his hand away and the woman rounds on him with alarming speed. “Something the matter?” she asks sweetly, looming.

Fray puts his hands up and shakes his head, then throws a thumb over his shoulder. I need to go that way. He could get to the Merchants’ from here, yes, but he could get there from a couple streets over, too, and those streets have lights. And people. It’s not that he feels in danger—Fray very rarely feels like he’s in danger from anything—but something about this is making his skin crawl.

The woman watches him with eyes that seem much too large for her skull. “Oh, of course,” she says, as if in a daze. “But, brother in the snow, would you grant me one favor?”

Well. He’s the favor guy. It would probably not go over well if he turned down what is evidently such a big fan. He makes a point of not actually nodding, but he does pause and wait to hear her request.

The woman says, “May I see it?” Her voice trembles. “Your kiss?”

Fray mouths the words what the fuck? before he can stop himself.

“Your mark?” the woman tries again, grabbing the plush fabric of his coat when he tries to back away. “The gift the frost left you. Grant me this, let me gaze upon it, Saint Fray of the Frost.”

Before he can think better of it Fray pulls her hands off with a firm grasp, and squares his shoulders before he shakes his head. To emphasize his point he crosses his arms in front of him, the universal gesture for no. No on several levels. No on the levels of stop-calling-me-that and who-the-fuck-are-you-anyway. (And perhaps most importantly, no-one-gets-to-see-that.)

“I understand,” the woman says after a long pause. She sounds a million miles away. Her hand lifts again, drawn toward his scarf as if it was magnetized. “At least then allow me to fix your wardrobe.” Her fingertips brush the very edge of the scarf. The hair on the back of Fray’s neck prickles and shivers, and that’s his signal to leave.

By rights he should have been out of there before she could manage anything. He would have been, except his foot slips on the iced-over cobbles when he tries to retreat. The woman’s fingers sink into his scarf and it tears away in her hand as he pratfalls hard. The cold air strikes like a serpent at his exposed throat, and he swears he actually sees the glitter under his own chin as the uncloaked moon falls upon him.

The woman is agape. She falls to her knees in fervent prayer. Fray wonders if all the Children are actually fucking insane, or if he lucked out. For now he snatches back his scarf and sprints back up the road. Not as fast as he can go, nowhere near, but more than enough to put a few blocks between himself and the Child. He weaves through a few other snow-crushed buildings and through the edge of the red-light district just to be sure he’s not followed.

God. That probably won’t lead to anything good. But there’s nothing to be done about it now.

Fray shakes himself and sighs and politely waves off the folk pulling double shifts on the world’s oldest profession. He tugs the scarf tighter against his neck. There’s nothing for him here, either, not until he figures this frostrot thing out.

---

It’s dark, the borders of the pasture empty of lights or people. The yotes shine dull white, glossed with blue icicles melting off their fur outside the embrace of the permafrost. They snarl and yap at him with eyes as pale and empty as the moon. He is between them and the Merchants’ wool flock. If these creatures get loose among the merinos, not only will Fray not get paid, but will probably not go a week before someone tries to assassinate him. The goodwill he’s won does not, he suspect, apply to the pragmatic Merchants.

And then he’d have to kill the assassin, and it would just be messy and he doesn’t want to piss off the Merchants.

But he’s not worried about that.

They’re not enormous, the yotes, but their skinny bodies are lithe and fast and hard to predict. There’s six of them. They have claws and superior weight. They have greater numbers. They have those ice-bound teeth that shatter into frostrot the moment they hit blood.

Fray has the sword.

The yotes mouth at each other, excited and riled. Only two of them seem to stop long enough to notice that Fray has set his arms before him as if he held a shield and a blade. For a moment he looks idiotic. In the next, he looks inhuman.

The shield ripples out of nothing across his arm, held there only with the humming of the gold-tinted implants set into his flesh. The air fills with the smell of singed cotton, the superheated elements too much for the fabric to resist. In his opposite hand the implant on his wrist makes a dull thrum, and suddenly the pretend sword in his fingers is not pretend at all. It is, instead (as Fray thought the first time he saw it), a fucking knight’s broadsword. The blade is made of light, and it sits easy in his practiced hand. Both armaments glow and roil like molten gold, not adorned with any boss but a constantly shifting pattern of faint hexagons. He knows from experience it’s not just them: his eyes are lit up, too, glowing gold, those hexagons mirrored by his pupils. Fray checks his grip on the sword, raises the shield, and charges.

There would be no point in detailing the fight. It lasts around seventeen seconds.

The yotes on the ground, now mostly divested from their heads or guts, lay still. Fray approaches one, ever on guard, and nudges its crazed face with the flat of the blade. It’s already dissolving into that sludgy, slushy substance so many frost-touched creatures return to if they perish outside their domain. It’s gross. He wipes the blade off on the clean snow to its side, despite not needing too, and then the blade dissolves from sight. The shield follows, and not long after the dull hum of the implants dies down and goes back to matching his heartbeat. (He hopes it’s a heart he’s got in there.)

Well. That’s his job finished, then. Nothing more to be done here.

Fray stands there for a long time, watching the corrupted bodies melt into the snow.

---

It’s not that the drop in his mood is unexpected so much as Fray doesn’t know how to mitigate it. Right now, curled on the nest of blankets he calls a bed, he feels like he’s in free-fall and he does not know why. It’s always worse if it’s a culling job like this one. He’s developed a sick kind of sympathy for the creatures he cuts down. They aren’t normal animals. Most of them were once, a pack of wolves, a flock of ravens, things the frost struck down before reshaping into its own kind of native inhabitant. They don’t eat. They don’t even kill, some of them. They just carry the frost with them, trying to bring it into the places the Chasm has not yet fully swallowed. There’s no understanding in their white marble eyes. They don’t know what they’re doing.

Fray tries to remember how he got here, to Far Haven. He’d been journeying, he thinks. He’d just done something he was grimly, blackly satisfied with. He could feel the stain of its gratification on his soul. He has no idea what it was, but he thinks he knew once, and he knows it was—

… he knows it was worth what he had to sacrifice. It has to have been.

Only, he wishes he knew which part of him had been used to pay for it. His voice? His memory? The flesh that had been excised from his arms and the golden implants set in their place? All of it, or a combination?

Does it matter?

No, is the answer he arrives on again, trying to sink further into the warmth of his bed. It doesn’t. He’s here now, he’s helping people, he’s doing what it feels like he’s supposed to be doing. That should be enough.

In his dream, Fray is again in the underground chamber that keeps the entire city warm enough to survive. The implants’ roar as they form the golden sword shakes him down to his teeth. The thieves are very annoyed that he’s here. In front of him they argue about who betrayed their plan to extract the generator’s heart and let Far Haven freeze to death, a few hundred miserable lives less valuable than their payout will be. Fray does nothing but keep an eye on the young woman that’s accompanied them, the one who looks fraught and sick with guilt. She barely looks past girlhood.

They fight. It gives him more trouble than it feels like it should. After one of the men shoves a strange gauntlet against his throat and squeezes, after the glittering death of frostrot embeds itself in his neck—after Fray cuts him down and rushes to recover the ancient battery and shove it back into the squealing generator—he remembers the girl.

He finds her clinging to the edge of the magic runoff and its mile-long drop into a red-tinted black, her arms bloody and slipping against the steep concrete. I’m sorry, she wails as he runs to her, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do this, please help me, please, please. I won’t tell anyone what you are.

He stops in the middle of reaching for her hand, startled stiff by her last words. Just for a moment. Just long enough that when her weakening arms seize and fail her, his dive to grab her is just that little bit too late.

She falls, and Fray watches in horror. In his dream, he can see her panicked face right until the very end. When she hits the ground impact shocks him awake, and he staggers off to the washroom to vomit up greasy doughnut batter and undigested sausages. In the mirror, the inert embrace of the arcane frost—the kiss of death—glitters in the candlelight, clutching his throat like a lover. The implants start to hum as his heart speeds up.

Fray wishes he knew her name. He wishes she could have told him what he is.

But there’s nothing to be done about that now.

---

Thank you for reading!!! as promised, Fray's character sheet. We're playing a hack of AW called Burned Over, and I'm playing a class called The Weaponized, which is what led to me calling Fray "RoboCop Link" until I settled on his name.

#saint fray #corgiwrites!#apocalypse world #northern echoes #writing

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