From af39de83b7cff83863ac0933dd3abe6fd50e3ee2 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Andrew Cohn Date: Wed, 3 Dec 2025 15:54:59 -0800 Subject: [PATCH] vault backup: 2025-12-03 15:54:59 --- .obsidian/workspace.json | 2 +- AndrewNotes/Avalon/02_Sessions/session_5.md | 114 +++++++++++++++++++- 2 files changed, 112 insertions(+), 4 deletions(-) diff --git a/.obsidian/workspace.json b/.obsidian/workspace.json index 6b11b87..0bf374b 100644 --- a/.obsidian/workspace.json +++ b/.obsidian/workspace.json @@ -14,7 +14,7 @@ "type": "markdown", "state": { "file": "AndrewNotes/Avalon/02_Sessions/session_5.md", - "mode": "source", + "mode": "preview", "source": true }, "icon": "lucide-file", diff --git a/AndrewNotes/Avalon/02_Sessions/session_5.md b/AndrewNotes/Avalon/02_Sessions/session_5.md index 7e9411b..3f06ee7 100644 --- a/AndrewNotes/Avalon/02_Sessions/session_5.md +++ b/AndrewNotes/Avalon/02_Sessions/session_5.md @@ -426,7 +426,7 @@ If ben wins, go to the accept route. If Pip wins: > All that attention for nothing. No blood spilled. No work done. Just hair and teeth and noise.” Let soren respond- or ignore. The voice pushes more: ->![quote] Narration +>[!quote] Narration >Millie leans in to say something to the boys. They laugh so hard one nearly chokes. >**“They’d forget her in a week if she vanished,”** the not-quite-her voice murmurs. **“They wouldn’t forget _you_. Not if you made it… memorable.”** @@ -440,7 +440,7 @@ At this point, call for a DC 14 wisdom save. > The urge hits the wall of your will and shatters, leaving you shaking. Ask what's in her hand- fork, cup, pencil. - >![quote] Narration + >[!quote] Narration >You look down. The [fork/cup/pencil] in your hand is **warped**—bent nearly in half, or spider-webbed with cracks. >The plastic of the tray under your palm is melted in the shape of your fingers, little scorch marks tracing the outline. >A kid at the next table glances over, mouth half full of food, sees the scorched handprints on the tray, and very deliberately turns back to their friends like they saw nothing. @@ -495,4 +495,112 @@ Let Soren say some nasty things. >As the scene erupts—shouting, people rushing to help, eyes turning to you—the hum under your skin **fades**, satisfied. >The voice sighs like it just had a good meal: >“See? You don’t have to be invisible. -They’ll remember _this_.” \ No newline at end of file +They’ll remember _this_.” + +# Safety Drills +Run this after school- Soren's lunch comes first. +>[!quote] Narration +>The sun’s low over the Mageball field, throwing long shadows across the enchanted turf. The faint shimmer of the grid’s magic hangs over it like heat on asphalt. +>Estrada’s already out there, whistle around his neck, clipboard in hand. There’s no full team—just him, **Elias** with a diagnostic crystal, and the three of you. +>“There they are,” Estrada mutters when you approach. “My favorite unauthorized subcontractors.” +>He points the clipboard at Joe. +>“Football. Since you love this field so much you tried to crawl into its arteries, you’re gonna help me figure out if it still works.” +>He jerks a thumb at Ben and Soren. +>“You two? Congratulations, you’re practice dummies and live telemetry. Don’t die.” + +Let them react. Then: +>[!quote] Narration +>Elias, standing by a glowing console at the sideline, calls out: +“We’ve got the **B2 segment** dialed down, but there’s still some weird latency on the echo enchantments. I want to see how it behaves under real movement.” +>Estrada claps his hands once. +>“Perfect. Joe, you’re running a basic drive. Ben, you’re playing defense-just try to slow him down. Soren, if you’ve got any non-lethal magic that makes things ‘interesting’, feel free to spice the air. +>We need stress on the system.” +>“Line up at the twenty,” Estrada says. “On my whistle.” + +>[!quote] To Joe: +>You jog out to the twenty-yard line, the turf springy under your cleats. There’s that faint thrumming under your feet again—the same heartbeat you’ve felt since B2. +>As you take your stance, something in your pocket goes **cold**. Then burning hot. +>The little action figure of your grandfather—Pappy—presses against your leg like it’s trying to burrow into your skin. +>A voice that isn’t quite your own grumbles at the back of your skull: +>“Feet narrower. You’re standing like a tourist. Bend the knees, boy. Enemy doesn’t wait while you pose for the yearbook.” + +Let Joe decide if this is out loud or in his head. Explain the mechanics to Joe: +>[!quote] To Joe +> “You have a choice: +> – You can try to **keep Pappy out** and run this drill on your own. +> – Or you can **let him ‘help’**—give him partial control in exchange for a better run. +> If you let him in, I’ll give you **advantage** on your Athletics / attack roll for the play, but Pappy will absolutely say or do something through you.” + +## Joe fights against Pappy: +>[!quote] To Joe: +>You grit your teeth and mentally shove the voice back. +>The figure burns in your pocket, then goes numb, like someone letting go of your throat but not walking away. + +Joe makes an Athletics check +>[!quote] The Run +>Estrada blows the whistle. You explode off the line- +>or try to. +>Halfway through your first step, the world stutters. For a split second, the field around you isn’t grass at all, but a **rocky slope under a grey sky**, the lines replaced by trenches, the goalposts by broken trees. +> Ben and Soren flicker in and out of different positions, like a bad recording skipping frames. +> Then it snaps back and you nearly trip over your own feet. +> On a good roll, he recovers. On a bad role, he dives. + +>[!quote] Estrada +> “What the hell was that? You move like you’re running two plays at once.” + +>[!quote] Elias +>“Field’s echo enchantment is… desynced. It’s trying to overlay ‘expected movement’ and real movement at once. Maybe B2’s rerouting signals through-” +>He cuts himself off. + +>[!quote] Pappy (inside Joe's head) +> **“Should’ve let me drive,”** he mutters. **“You don’t ignore your CO on the field, boy. People get killed that way.”** + +## Joe Lets Pappy In +>[!quote] Narration +>You let your grip on your body loosen just a hair. +> The cold-hot knife at your thigh slides upward—not physically, but in your awareness—until it settles behind your eyes. The world sharpens. Colors flatten. The crowd, the bleachers, even Ben and Soren fade into shapes and movement lines. +> The Mageball field dissolves into a different arena superimposed over it: +> – The yard lines turn into broken ground and trench edges. +> – The goal line becomes the lip of a ravine. +> – Ben is briefly not Ben at all, but a soldier in the wrong uniform, silhouetted against muzzle flashes. +> **“There you are,”** Pappy says. **“Enemy at ten o’clock. Wind left to right. Hit him like he owes you the rest of your life.”** + +Have Joe roll athletics with advantage. +### On success: +>[!quote] Narration +>Estrada’s whistle shrieks. Your body moves **before** you decide to move. +>You explode off the line like you’ve been doing this for twenty years. Footwork perfect, hips low, shoulders tight. +> Ben barely has time to swear before you’re on him— + +Ask Ben if he tries to dodge or brace. Either way: +>[!quote] To Joe: +>You slam into him with a form-tackle so clean it would make any coach cry: shoulder in the gut, arms wrapping, drive through the hips. +>Ben goes airborne for a moment, then **crashes** to the turf. The breath whooshes out of him in a strangled croak. + +>[!quote] Estrada +> “Holy—! That’s what I’m talking about! That’s a hit!” +>“That… was some technique, kid. Where’d you learn to hit like that? I’ve got seniors who don’t line up that clean.” + + +>[!quote] Pappy (Through Joe) +>As you’re still half on top of Ben, you feel your lips curl without your permission. +>In a gravelly tone that is **not** your own, you hear yourself say: +>“Enemy neutralized. Requesting next target, sir.” +>The words hang in the sudden quiet. + +>[!quote] To Joe: +>The world snaps back to normal detail. The action figure in your pocket goes slack, just a hunk of plastic again. You’re left with a pounding heart, dirt on your face, and everyone staring. + +>[!quote] Elias +> “Joe… who was that voice just now?” +## Transition Out/ Session Wrap +>[!quote] Estrada, addressing all: +>“All right, circus is over,” Estrada says, blowing his whistle again. “Good hit, questionable vibe. We’re done for today before one of you actually dies.” +>He points at Joe. +>“You. Whatever you just did? Learn to turn it on **without** sounding like you’re channeling a dead sergeant. I don’t need root-possessed linebackers on my record.” +>He points at Ben and Soren. +>>“You two, ice up and try not to pick fights with haunted toys.” + +>[!quote] Elias, to Joe: +>“Joe,” Elias says quietly, eyes on the crystal still flickering with residual data. “Next time… if you feel him pushing like that again, maybe tell me before you let him drive, okay?” +>“Because whatever’s talking through that action figure? The field heard it. And so did the root.” \ No newline at end of file