Bay 12 Games Forum

name: Willard
totem: Deck of Marked Cards
specialization: Illusions
weakness: Scrying

Name: Gershom Sauermann
Animal Species: Intelligent Raven
Size: 24 inches from bill to tail
Job / Class: Hypnotherapy Postgraduate / Mental Wizard
Special Trait: Voice of Sauermann - if I pick my words carefully and control my tone of voice, I can speak in such a way that anyone hearing me will feel a strong, deep desire to agree without thinking.

Stats
Mind: 4
Strength: 0
Dexterity: 0

Equipment
Magic Focus (Mental Magic): a walnut-sized crystal ball fitted to a collar, which shows anything I want it to show and magically attracts the attention of anyone who sees it.
Spellbook (Mental Magic): an enormous, horribly dry monography on all the spells that were ever known to influence minds. It's a great aid in hypnosis, since it drives lesser minds into stupor within minutes of trying to read it.
Robert Smith: a heavy-set orangutan with a football player's build and some neatly trimmed, polished nails. He is enthralled by equal amounts of magic and reason, and believes that I always have the best idea on what to do.

Gershom swooped over the heads of the Crabs and Wolfhounds alike, letting his magic ball keep shining with the Red Light of Crab Affiliation.
He yelled at the top of his lungs, letting the Voice of Sauermann give his words the air of a really, really pissed-off sergeant.
"You stupid, pox-ridden, cock-sucking maggots! You bought into a fucking distraction!"
"Someone told the Macks where our stashes are! Macks know where we're storing the product! Those pieces of shit are stealing our drugs, our fucking money AS WE SPEAK! And you buncha' cunt-lickers are out here partying with THESE losers!"
Now that Gershom's gathered their attention, he quickly flipped around onto his back so any birds that might be watching from above would see the Red Magic Ball of Crabbiness, too.
Having showed off the magic ball, he turned around and swooped over the Crabs' heads again.
"Get your dumb asses over to the stashes RIGHT NOW! If any crackheads around here are too strung-out to remember where those are, follow the ones who know where they're going!"
"Birds, get in the air unless you're too dumb to fly! I can't be everywhere at once, so you gotta spread the word, too! Pull your goddamn weight!"
"Find any of ours who are still standing around like idiots! Get their asses to the stashes! Macks are hitting our places one by one, so if we set up ambushes, we'll kick their asses and get back what's ours!"
He swooped over the fighters one last time, looking for the Crabs that looked uncertain, weaving over in the air to move directly at them as he yelled.
You gotta break through the bystander syndrome to get the first guy moving. Once a few people start running, the mob mentality kicks in and everyone else follows.
"What are you waiting for? Is that shit I'm smelling? Any of you faggots shit your breeches at the thought of a few Macks?!" he exclaimed, shifting his head to look select Crabs in the eyes, shifting his flight to fly directly their way - giving them every nonverbal indication that he was talking directly to them.
"We're the fucking CRABS! We RULE these streets! We'll stomp those Macks so hard their MOTHERS won't recognize the bodies! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"
All right, if those words weren't going to do it, nothing was. But... there was one finishing touch to Gershom's bluff.
Gershom rose slightly higher in the air, just below the roofs of the buildings, and swerved out of the Crabs' sight, trying to look as determined and busy as a raven could.
After all, it didn't matter to the mob that none of them saw Gershom before in their life: there was room for reasonable doubt. If he yelled with authority, if he moved with authority, the mob might just decide he was worth following.

Assert my authority before the fighting Crabs by showering them with angry expletives and showing off my Red Magic Ball of Absolute Crabbiness.
Incite panic: yell at them that this fight is just a distraction and that Macks are raiding their drug stashes right now.
While the Crabs I'm addressing are confused as to whether I'm telling the truth, slide in a few suggestions in the form of repeatedly yelling at them to MOVE and insunuating that anyone who doesn't MOVE is a coward unworthy of the colors they're wearing.
Immediately exit the scene by taking flight between the nearest buildings. Hopefully, my apparent determination to MOVE will convince them that there really is an attack on their territory and that time is of the essence.

Name: Gershom Sauermann
Animal Species: Intelligent Raven
Size: 24 inches from bill to tail
Job / Class: Hypnotherapy Postgraduate / Mental Wizard
Special Trait: Voice of Sauermann - if I pick my words carefully and control my tone of voice, I can speak in such a way that anyone hearing me will feel a strong, deep desire to agree without thinking.

Stats
Mind: 4
Strength: 0
Dexterity: 0

Equipment
Magic Focus (Mental Magic): a walnut-sized crystal ball fitted to a collar, which shows anything I want it to show and magically attracts the attention of anyone who sees it.
Spellbook (Mental Magic): an enormous, horribly dry monography on all the spells that were ever known to influence minds. It's a great aid in hypnosis, since it drives lesser minds into stupor within minutes of trying to read it.
Robert Smith: a heavy-set orangutan with a football player's build and some neatly trimmed, polished nails. He is enthralled by equal amounts of magic and reason, and believes that I always have the best idea on what to do.

Gershom stared at the slug for a moment. He must have phrased the question wrong. He didn't need a seller, he needed the location of a drug stash that he could give to the cat, sell to the Macks or just tell the cops as an anonymous tip.
Well, perhaps it was time for plan B. Something a bit more destructive.
"Thanks, my man. Now let me tell you a secret - listen closely to everything I say, every detail matters..."
Gershom talked deliberately slowly, in short words, so the slug would be sure to follow, even as slight worry rose in him at the faint sounds of combat back where he came from. He'll need to get to Bob soon, make sure the guy had brains to go with his brawn.
But first, he'll set up this walking time bomb to blow. Not telling a Sauermann what he wanted to know? Even a damn slum-slug should know better than that.
"I know how you're feeling right now. Being a Crab is mostly a lot of boring work, but it's still great to be with us!" Gershom points with a wingtip at the magic ball that he'd set up to shine red back while flying to the slug's location. "You've got friends, you've got drugs, all sorts of fun stuff. I didn't even need to ask you where to buy some stuff, I just wanted to see if you're the sort who'd appreciate my secret. And I'm really glad I've found someone I could share this with."
The raven lowered his voice conspiratorily.
"Aside from friends and drugs, there's parties, too. And there's a lot of fun stuff at the parties. We both know all about that. Crystal, molly, stuff that makes you feel at the top of your shape. Acid, PCP, the stuff that opens your mind. Ever wondered what would happen if you mixed meth with PCP and just a dash of molly?"
Gershom knew, after seeing one idiot in college go completely incoherent yet quite capable of moving around. Maybe the violence was due to some kind of a pre-existing mental illness, as some researchers claimed - but then, you don't need to be crazy to do crazy stuff. Sometimes the right word after the right drug will work just as well.
"The answer is: nothing interesting. Most mixes are not nearly as potent as they could be - unless..." Gershom chuckled. "Unless you mix them right. You wanna know how to make it hit like a hammer, or you'd prefer it to go sharp and smooth like a knife?"
The slug's answer didn't matter, really. But setting up a double bind would make the slug more likely to pay attention to the recipe.
"First, you swallow half a tablet of ecstasy or, better, pure molly to get you in the right mood, wash it up with a bit of beer or tonic, then smoke a hit of PCP. Salvia will work too, but PCP will make it truly mindblowing. Next, when you feel it all setting in, getting really strong, go ahead and snort some meth. Smoking it will do even better, or two hits of crack if you don't find any meth. You know what'll happen then?
"Simply put, this stuff will change your life. Clicker, Illy, jet fuel, they have nothing on it. It'll crash that brick house that we're all trapped in, roof and steeple, all the way down to the basement. It will free you. There really are no words for it, because only people who tried it have ever felt anything similar - and a dozen people aren't enough to put new words into English."
Okay, the sales pitch for the walking bomb was over. Time for the detonator.
"And the best part is? The more people there are around, the more drugs there are around, the stronger it'll hit you. If you're at a party, or around one of the stashes, you'll know it's the right time to try it. You'll remember the cocktail, you'll feel that this is the best time, the best chance to try it. Molly to set up the mood, PCP or salvia to open your mind, meth to send you skyrocketing from there."
Gershom tilted his head and looked at the slug coyly. "Granted, I'm sure that you'll forget everything I just said until it's the right time. It's cool - I'm just so small nobody remembers me all that well. You'll forget me, you'll forget what I said, you'll forget what I'm about to say - until it's time to remember. Then you'll feel it all flowing back into your head, flowing into you in all the detail, as if I've told you about it minutes ago.
"And once you've taken the cocktail - that's when the magic happens. Because you will not even realize this, but this stuff makes you want to do strange things. Go to the kitchen and smash up the gas pipes, drink the cocktails you never thought you'll try, go to your crush and scream your love for all to hear, put a bullet in one of the guys in charge... you'll do all of this, and more.
"It sounds crazy right now, but it all works. It's like fate tells you what to do, and then things end up going right for you - the guy you shot was setting people up for the Macks to kill or for cops to take in, the crush loved you all along, the gas pipes were leaking and lots of people would die if you hadn't shown them that..."
Gershom hoped the slug would be slow enough, doped-up enough and deep enough in trance to believe this kind of insane promises.
"Hold up. I hear some kind of shit going on nearby, gotta check it out. As I said, you'll forget all about me and what I just said - but it'll all come flooding back to you as soon as you're near a lot of people or a lot of drugs. Trust your mind, it's a lot sharper than people think it is."

Name: Gershom Sauermann
Animal Species: Intelligent Raven
Size: 24 inches from bill to tail
Job / Class: Hypnotherapy Postgraduate / Mental Wizard
Special Trait: Voice of Sauermann - if I pick my words carefully and control my tone of voice, I can speak in such a way that anyone hearing me will feel a strong, deep desire to agree without thinking.

Stats
Mind: 4
Strength: 0
Dexterity: 0

Equipment
Magic Focus (Mental Magic): a walnut-sized crystal ball fitted to a collar, which shows anything I want it to show and magically attracts the attention of anyone who sees it.
Spellbook (Mental Magic): an enormous, horribly dry monography on all the spells that were ever known to influence minds. It's a great aid in hypnosis, since it drives lesser minds into stupor within minutes of trying to read it.
Robert Smith: a heavy-set orangutan with a football player's build and some neatly trimmed, polished nails. He is enthralled by equal amounts of magic and reason, and believes that I always have the best idea on what to do.

Name: Ann Hunter
Profession: Veterinarian Grunt
Age: 29
Sex: F
Money: $5
Inv: Scalpel, Tweezers, Tourniquet, Rubber Gloves, DMSO, Yohimbine
Country: USA
Goal(s): become a real surgeon. No matter the cost.

Team: 1 Rich Grunt(Loyal?)