Content Warning:
Language, Personal and Vehicular Violence, Gambling, Sexual Situations, Drug Reference and Use, Cheating, Sleaze and Misogyny. I’ve been trying a thing recently where I write or play characters that aren’t entirely good guy heroes or even sympathetic anti-heroes, feeling like a lot of my characters were bland variations on a theme. Carbon copies with a different coat of paint, even, sometimes. Flaws are…challenging. Not because I’m not personally full of them but because determining how to respectfully approach these ideas in writing that is ultimately, technically public is hard. So know that I’m not glorifying shitty behavior. And, even though I’m still new at it and this kind of character might lack a more developed layer of accurate sleaze conjured by a more experienced writer, like, jeeeeeezuuuuus, I need a shower.
Populating Mythic Lists
Mythic helps you keep track of story threads and characters, objects, events, groups, locations, and the like. It does this via a List Tracker for “Threads” and “Characters,” describing the former as quests, tasks and missions you undertake and the latter as anything or anyone that can influence the adventure. As they pop up, you’ll write them into the slots provided on the tracker. Each slot has a die roll result associated with it, so when you need to cook up something random, you can simply roll on your lists. Now, lists are obviously barren by default at the start of a game but there’s no reason why you can’t insert some of the Threads and “Characters” you came up with in worldbuilding and/or Session Zero (our Game Launch here). As listed items take on greater importance in the story, they gain more entries on the lists (up to three) so that there’s a greater chance of them showing up in the game. As listed items fall by the wayside in importance, you’ll scrub them from your lists to both make room for more interesting stuff and to clean up the lists to keep them from becoming unwieldy. Almost all of Mythic is about doing the organizing for you so you can focus more on the game. I think it can be easy to get lost in the sauce with this kind of thing, though, so as with many things: moderation is key.
From our Game Launch, I think there’s maybe not anything super compelling in the way of Threads but I’ll put “Take the Top Spot” as an entry anyway to represent Spender’s need for hedonism (halfway to a need for speed joke in there somewhere). It can represent his desire to be a top racer but also his desire to maintain all the benefits that come along with doing so. For Characters, we have a few more options. I’ll slot in “The Wraith,” “Lancer,” and “Guest Drivers.”
Building the First Scene
As I said, I’m flying by the seat of my pants here and I’ve got no greater plan. I kinda want to see where the track takes me. So let’s try things as Mythic lists them under the First Scene section. We’ll try generating an Inspired Idea by looking at Planning a Session under GM Resources in the corebook. Inspired Ideas are generally something you’ve already got brewing in your head at the game’s start but it seems a shame not to try at least to use the session generator the GR author provides us. If that doesn’t kick anything off or we want more context, I’ll look into generating a Random Event using Mythic or utilizing its Meaning Tables to come up with something.
Rolling a 6 and 3 to choose randomly from the Planning a Session prompts, we get “Help a Rival to perform well” and “Racing outlets think you’ve got strong odds of winning the next race, which means there’s a fortune to be made if you were to throw it on purpose. But it’ll have to look real.” Hm, seems my sponsors want me to Job this next race. Build up another driver to create a dramatic rivalry, so as to stage a rematch later. Lose there, bumps this other driver up in fan estimation, and we get both a kickback from their sponsors and we make bank on insider betting. It’s scummy but it makes sense. My reputation precedes me and we can’t exactly wait around for some prodigy to arise out of nowhere to provide an adequate and entertaining challenge. So we make one ourselves. I’ll be forgoing prize money on this and the next but my kickbacks are going to be astronomical. So, of course, I unhesitatingly agree. My only real worry is surviving being on the losing end of a death race.
I think that gives us a strong overview of where to start but I need a couple of key pieces of info first. Namely, who is the other driver (which GR can provide us with its random racer tables under Conjuring Machine Stats) and where will this first race be taking place (which Mythic’s Location table can provide)? But I’d also like to determine whether or not the other driver is in on this (which the Fate Chart can answer for us).
Rolling 2d20 (13 and 15), we get Joe Canniblast in the Leviathan. Rolling four more for further details (20, 10, 15, and 1), we discover that Joe races for the Shocking Violets and is a fantical ex-bounty hunter symbiote who occupies a host body. Shocking Violets is obviously a play on Shrinking Violet, so I think the team tends to recruit out of the box thinkers with a penchant for hiding or obfuscating their strengths. I think Joe dedicates themselves to the job, at the expense of all else. Their initial nickname, “Joe the Cannibal'' was an unfair characterization stemming from a misunderstanding of Joe’s rare species. They’re exceptionally long lived symbionts who occupy the host bodies of other sapient species. They can only occupy a willing participant’s body but there’s some doubt at large as to what happens to the host. The answer is symbiotic, a shared experience between both parties, but concern (or just straight up bias) remains in consideration of submissive personalities, worshiping behaviors on the part of would-be hosts, and the fact that the symbionts can repair even dead bodies to a usable state (if only for a short time). Joe is a dominating personality who fuels fears of the uglier rumors, having little to no respect for their host bodies. They have a history of riding them til they drop, ghoulishly repairing them even beyond death to accomplish their goals (once upon a time to hunt down criminals), and then switching hosts to one of their adoring fans. Joe don’t quit. The Team tried rebranding them when they became a driver but the original nickname was stuck and so we’re left with this weird portmanteau instead. The Leviathan is a heavy machine which dominates the track with its sheer girth. It’s segmented into three parts, which makes it surprisingly agile and adaptive to changing track conditions. The front part is broad and well armored, the middle section houses the primary cockpit with razor fins to either side, and the posterior section trails and flails like a spiked mace. Both the forward and rear sections have small, exceedingly cramped emergency cockpits that the driver can be shunted into and all three sections can detach from one another. This was mostly intended as a redundant ejection system but Joe has used it as a means to turn the great flying fish into an impromptu, makeshift projectile weapon. The Leviathan has an acceleration of 0 and a weight of 2, making its integrity 10.
Rolling for a Location, we get “Clean” and “Modern,” which kinda gives us fuck all. So I’ll reroll. “Creepy” and “Personal.” I read that to mean claustrophobic tunnels, wending their way through the darkened underground. I imagine there being several routes, perhaps dug by burrowing great worms, that criss-cross and meander before connecting up to intermittent, large caverns.
Before I ask the Fate Chart any questions, I want to note that I’m not the hugest fan of the Chaos Factor. I’m going to use it because I want more experience with it in practice before I start disincluding it or reducing it. That said, I think I prefer to Revert Toward the Mean, which means that I’ll reverse how it normally operates. Typically, when your character is in control of a scene, the Chaos Factor drops. This makes it so that further scenes are then calmer and easier to control and so the Chaos Factor will probably continue to drop. The reverse is true as well, where when things get nuts, the CF goes up and things continue to spiral out of control. This setup is the default, I’d imagine, because it gives you the most control. It doesn’t sound like it but I think the idea is that you get to decide when to shake things up in your own time (adding chaos to control or control to chaos). Reverting to the Mean makes it where the Chaos Factor goes down in the event of a lack of control and up in the event of too much control, always pushing the dial back toward the middle. I prefer this as a mitigating factor to the swinginess of the extreme ends of the chart. What’s more, I think I will consider things in a more general context (fate chart-wise) over the default personal context. By default, the CF operates on Chaos and Control, making that determination by how much control the PC(s) exert on the scenes. It’s a small thing, but I think I’d rather consider Calm and Commotion to be my guiding factors for CF. This is more about how much shit is happening in a scene rather than anything I’m doing about it.
So, is Joe in on this whole scheme? I’m actually inclined to think the odds are slightly against this, so I’ll call it Unlikely. With a CF currently at 5, we roll a 46: No. Had they been, given their disposition, I don’t know if it would have changed the outcome, to be honest. They’re probably still going to do their level best to kill me. But this way, things can look more real if Joe’s actions and reactions are genuine.
Now, I don’t want to start this shindig off with the race itself. Do Story Mode first, as seems right and proper. And a guy like Spender? Gotta be at a party. Domicile table gives “Aromatic” and “Dirty.” Drug house, then.
It’s a rare driver that maintains a permanent residence. You’re either not gonna be around to pay rent come the first of the month or you’re successful enough to be put up in posh hotels and penthouses without end and no questions asked. Some RIP racers gotta pay their way, of course. Struggling to pull together enough in winnings (and maybe some side bets) to keep the car running and the hotel clerk happy. Drivers like me, though? I’m on a yacht in the harbor, a few miles outside the Crater and shuttled in by stretch whenever my heart desires, all week. Well, except tonight, I guess. No telling where tonight is gonna take me. And who knows where I’ll be next week. I’m sure it’ll be great, though. It always is. Long as I keep winning. Or, well, doing what I’m told. Eh, a job’s a job. Especially tomorrow’s. I ain’t real keen on thinkin’ about it just now. I got some pride.
But tonight is for fun. There are endless umbral hours ahead and I mean to take advantage of at least some of them. So here I stand, about to do just that. As I said, drivers don’t really keep residences. So I ain’t got the first fucking clue whose house I’m in. Just happens to be where the party is tonight. One of them, anyway. Not everyone is into the harder stuff but I see a couple of my future victims here. There’s Particle over there on the couch, konked to the world. Hittin’ it early tonight, kid ain’t got no kind of self-control. He’s in good company, though. Three or four other race fans splayed out beside him, blearily watching the highlights of the last race on the Holo. I wave to Austropteryx as I pass by the doorway to the kitchen. She’s chatting up some local but raises a leathery wing in response. I like Aus, she’s good people, but I need a little less talking tonight so I pass out of the main room toward the lighted stairwell.
The place is pretty barren with very little in the way of furniture or personality. I already passed by the majority of it in the front room. Through the doorway past Aus, I could see a simple wooden table with a gas station run’s worth of chips and soda scattered across its surface, but not so much as a dining room chair in sight. Curious amount of plants, though. The music is a little louder here by the stairs and I can tell it’s coming from the basement. Red fairy lights run along the top of the stairwell going down. In the opposite direction, blue lights heading up. Someone here is a deep thinker. I wonder briefly how many famous, dead musicians the owner can see and speak to before rolling my eyes and heading downstairs. Because where else would I go?
And lo and behold, but who should I run into making their way up the stairs? Tall, broad shouldered, bald as a billiard ball. Straight legged blue jeans and a too small black t-shirt make for a simple but classic look. Great fucking arms. Too bad they wouldn’t last. They were definitely a keeper.
“Heeeeey, Joooooe,” I say sweetly, blocking his upward progress. “Surprised to see you here. Thought this wasn’t your scene.” I have to raise my voice a little to be heard over the thumping bass shaking the foundations of the house from within its bowels, so the effect is lost a little.
Canniblast looks up at me in annoyance. “It isn’t, Shine. Move.”
“Yeah, I thought your kind had a bit of a rough time even getting drunk or high. What could you possibly want here?” I’m being nosy…and rude…but I’m genuinely a little curious. Joe, for all their ridiculous, over the top, bad boy, anti-hero branding, is about as straight edge as they come. I think they think that drugs would just get in the way. Laser focused, this one.
Chaos Check
I’ll roll Chaos against my Chaos/Theory of 4 to see if I can bully this guy into telling me what he’s doing at a party he’d normally never be caught dead at. 6 vs. 4 is a fail, so he tells me to bugger off.
“How about none of your goddamn business, you preening twit.” He advances several steps toward me. “Now get the fuck out of my way before I pick you up and chuck you down these stairs.”
“No need to be hostile, Joey boy.” I say as I step aside to give them room. They push past me, shouldering me roughly into the wall. By all the saints, they even smell delicious. “Oh, hey, you racin’ tomorrow?”
“You know I am,” they say to me without turning as they tromp up the steps, “better you stay out of my way there too or I’ll run you over just the same.”
“Oh, honey…you gotta catch me first.” I see their shoulders stiffen and even over the music, I know they heard me. I grin as I watch them climb the stairs and disappear from sight. I’m gonna fuck that man. Maybe that’ll loosen them up.
I turn and head downstairs. The stairs empty out into a totally barren, concrete room. There’s old graffiti on the wall but it looks more intentional than vandalized. In the far corner of the basement room, opposite the stair landing, is a DJ booth flanked by massive speakers. The bass down here seems powerful enough to crack the floor. There are a handful of people milling about. One or two doing something that looks like dancing. Three or four on the floor over there in the other corner doing a different thing that looks like dancing on an old, thin mattress. My target is leaning against the wall, smoking and bobbing her head slowly in time to music that definitely doesn’t match the tempo of the beat that threatens to drown us all right now.
Stryker. Bleached white hair, asymmetrically shaved in an undercut on one side and chin length on the other. Dainty, pointed features up top but taut, lean muscles below beneath her signature dark blue overalls. She somehow managed to make the look fashionable and functional at the same time. And one little eyebrow stud, shining in the dimness. Really works for me. My god, every time I see her, I curse the fact that I was born without a vagina. There are just some people like that, you know? People so blisteringly hot, it makes you feel crazy to look at them. I’m no fugly, I can tell ya that, but even if I were a woman, I wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with her. I’d just have to settle for being her friend and loyal worshiper. She was like the sun. Lot of times I came in from the cold and damp and just bein’ in her orbit warmed me right up. I got a sense it ain’t fair to her that every dumb asshole like me sees her stunnin’ good looks first and sometimes only when she’s one of the best mechanics around and knows more people than God.
Seriously, to know Stryker was to know everyone in the city. And hell, to piss her off was to piss off everyone in the city. Glad I am a friend, then, and that’s no lie.
Her eyes flutter open as I approach. She nods at me, still half-listening to whatever tune was in her head. I try to greet her but the noise is, at this point, far too overwhelming finally to be heard. She gestures with her cigarette, jabbing it upward and mouthing the words, “Blue Room.” I nod and follow her up the stairs to the first floor and then up the blue lighted stairs to the second. The pounding rhythm from below is considerably dampened up here. We walk into the first open room and close the door behind us. The sound moves down to a dull roar.
It’s a bedroom of some kind, though very spartan in its decor. Just a queen size, a single wooden nightstand with a simple lamp and a closet with sliding doors that were half open, revealing empty space inside. Not even so much as a comforter. Though there is a fitted sheet, saints be praised. Stryker crosses the room and energetically tosses herself onto the edge of the bed, swinging one leg over the other and leaning back on both hands to regard me.
“You’re a goddess.” I say automatically.
She makes a face and chuckles. “I know. But don’t flirt with me, Spendy, it’s gross.” She reaches up and fishes a small baggie from her overall pocket. “Here,” she says and tosses it to me.
I snatch it out of the air, pinch the top with my fingertips, and let it unfurl. I hold it up to the light to examine several little pink pills dancing around inside. “Saints, you’re the best.”
“Yeah.” She smirks as I stuff the baggie in my pants pocket. I’m wearing my white and bubblegum leather racing pants which, though relatively form fitting, still somehow have deep pockets.
“Got anything else for me?” I ask.
“The Burrows.”
“The Burrows?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” She looks at me in annoyance. “Now, what do you got for me?”
“It’s Joe.” I say seriously.
“Canniblast? Really? I just saw him.” She responds in surprise.
“I know. What’d you two talk about?” I want to know. I’m not sure why. Maybe because The Spectre is entangled with him now. Maybe something else.
Chaos/Theory
I’m not going to roll here and just continue forward with the narrative.
“Oh, come on, I’d call that a fair trade…” I say halfheartedly, knowing it isn’t.
“That was a two for one and you know it,” she confirms. I mentally curse my weakness for little pink pills.
“It was a really important one, though,” I try, putting on my best grin. “Knowing where the drama is keeps your boy safe.”
She pinches my chin with her forefinger and thumb and laughs again. “It does. And I’m grateful, but let’s not pretend your motives there are entirely unselfish either.”
I pull a face and move back. “You’d both be safer if you left the Hellions and just joined up with us.”
She looks a little sad for a moment and says, “No, Spendy, you’d be a little safer if you left that psycho’s one man band and joined up with the Hellions. I believe in what we’re doing. No, listen,” she says as I start to scoff at the idea, “You’ve been lucky so far. Spectre doesn’t care if you live or die so long as doing so spotlights him.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, patting her hand and giving her a reassuring smile, signaling the end to a conversation we’ve had more than once. Immediately back to being annoyed, she snorts and pulls away. “Hey,” I say as she reaches the door, “is he here? Rico?”
“Jesus,” she half-laughs, “you in love? He’s up on the roof, Spender. Be careful, though. Folks’ll start thinking you’re serious.” She leaves, closing the door softly but firmly behind her. I stand in the barren little bedroom for a moment and pretend to myself like her words didn’t hurt. But, deciding I don’t know what the hell to do with them, I shove them down and leave the room for the roof. To see Rico.
I make my way up a set of back stairs to the roof access. I am surprised to see how much better appointed the rooftop is. It’s immediately like stepping into a botanical garden. Plants and flowers of all shapes and sizes line its edges, stacked on wooden railings that run the perimeter of the rooftop. Near the center sits a rather comfy looking patio set and lounging in one of those chairs is Rico Espinosa, a fine racer and a finer human being. He is long and lean, with cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. He has perpetual five o’clock shadow and his hair is a messy windswept mop but he’s one of those guys who makes the “just rolled out of bed” appearance look like he has a team of stylists working around the clock to make it look that way. He is effortlessly beautiful. Even the ragged, ugly scar that crosses his face from right temple to left jawbone does nothing but somehow exaggerate his rugged good looks. I stand by the doorway and marvel at him just sitting there watching the stars with a soda bottle in hand. I really do know a lot of genuinely gorgeous people. It’s almost like whoever is up there writing my story is just throwing them at me.
I must’ve made a noise because Rico startles and looks over at me. “Shine!” he says enthusiastically, heaving himself out of his chair and toward me. He wraps me up in a hug and I’m surprised as always by how much stronger he is than he looks. He’s wearing dark, slim chinos and a black silk button up, half un-buttoned to reveal his smooth, muscular chest. And Saints alive, he smells like cherry blossom. I hug him back and forget my own name for a moment.
“Hey, Showtime, how’s business?” I ask in my customary greeting.
“Booming,” he replies in his usual way, stepping back to arms length, gripping my shoulders and beaming. Christ, maybe I am in love. “Come, sit,” he gestures and guides me toward a chair. I take his meaning to join him at the patio set rather than if those words were only reversed. “You see Stryker?” he asks.
“Yeah, downstairs. She told me where to find you,” I reply.
“Oh, so you were looking for me, then?” he asks, somehow innocently. I almost gulp nervously. What the hell, you know? I’m the desired one, I’m the experienced one. People nervously gulp around me. While I’m trying to get a grip on myself, he leans forward and places a hand on my knee. Strong hands, muscular hands. The veins stand out against his olive complexion. Neatly manicured, powerful hands. I can think of nothing, in this moment, I want more than those hands to hold me and run the length of my body. “How…fortunate for me,” he finishes and almost brings me right along with him. I can feel his breath on my neck now and I’m realizing we have the rooftop all to ourselves.
Mythic Bookkeeping
In terms of Threads, there’s part of me that wants to include the situation with the Hydraulic Hellions. Maybe getting Rico and Stryker to join Team Spectre, maybe revealing my true identity (would they even accept me?), maybe abandoning Team Spectre entirely (if I could manage such a thing) to become a clean racer with the Hellions. There’s lots of possibilities there, swirling around these two NPCs (and their team, other NPCs I have yet to meet in this adventure) who clearly think I’m a better person than I actually am. But I think it might be better, because of the nebulous nature of these emerging possibilities, to keep these elements to the Characters list instead. That does leave “Help Joe Win,” though. Actually, no, that seems too specific. Let’s name that “Build Dramatic Rivalry with Joe Canniblast” instead. Gives us more options and more longevity with the list item, probably.
In terms of Characters, I’ll add Joe Canniblast, Stryker, and Rico “Showtime” Espinosa. I’m kinda on the fence as to whether or not to add Joe, since he’s already represented in Threads, but I think I will for purposes of NPC affected Events that may have nothing to do with our racing each other or public facing rivalry. Also keeping in mind that I am secretly two characters here. And to address that, I think if I get a PC affected Event, I’ll run it to whichever personality based on context. I think I’ll simplify my RIP Racers entries into one for that same reason I thought about adding Aus and Particle, since they were sent in the scene…but neither one was important to the scene and I don’t know how much airtime I want to give either one yet. So I’ll add Rival Drivers to the list…which I probably should have done to start with. Guest Drivers for Team Spectre drivers and Rival Drivers for opponents.
It’s notable that there is a kind of gamified strategic decision making process at play here. The order I put them in doesn’t matter too much because the odds of rolling any of them are the same. Until you get enough entries to start filling in secondary sections. When you roll for section and you have only one or two entries in the last section, there isn’t much in the way of odds to figure because the choice is clear. So choosing to place an entry on its own could have consequences.
Since this was a calm scene without a lot of action (well, protag got *some* action), I’ll adjust the CF upward to 6 (keeping in mind that I’m reversing the normal CF flow to revert toward the mean).
Thoughts on Solo Progression
So you might be asking yourself, where are all the rolls? One of the great benefits of good solo rpgs and gm emulators is that they can answer all those little questions that crop up during play. Reading the above, we might have asked and had answered what Joe looked like, even if we did already have a lot of background on him from the initial fate chart and meaning table rolls before the session began. We might have asked and had answered what Stryker’s name was, what she looked like, whether she was a friend or foe, why I was looking for her, what she had to offer, what she wanted in return, what team she was on and in what position, what her personal motives and disposition were, and if there were any quirks she had like smoking or whatnot. We might have asked and had answered those same questions about Rico. We could have asked and had answered questions about the drug house, who was in it, what they were doing, what the decor was like, what important rooms were in the house, and so on.
But this weird thing happens when I’m recording a gameplay session where my hobbyist fiction writer brain takes over. Sometimes I’ll agonize over a name, rolling on multiple tables to get ideas and visiting websites to learn name and surname meanings. But sometimes, names just pop into my head. I have this nebulous mental image that forms as I’m writing and that form seems to name itself. Both Stryker and Rico could never have been named anything but Stryker and Rico (though, to be fair, I did then agonize over picking his last name, so thank you as always to behindthename.com). The house was modeled on a real place I was dragged to in Fort Wayne as a teenager (a surreal experience I’ve written about before where I met God and his name was Bob…no, I was not on drugs). But as I wrote it here, I changed details and the nebulous forms came to mind and just went with it. Why the plants? Because there were always plants in this house that Spender visits. Why do you have a sad little cactus on your sill? That’s why. Anyway, the point is, I sometimes forget (when I’m in the story/interaction) part of an RPG (particularly when I’m recording/writing it) to make rolls and interface with game mechanisms (whether from the core game or from oracles and random tables or lists and the like from a gm emulator like Mythic). Heck, I even sometimes forget to interface as deeply with game mechanisms during recording when I’m in the parts of games which require them more frequently (like combat, for example).
If you’re enjoying whatever storytelling is going on here, I guess there’s no problem. Please continue to do so. But my intentions are to present gameplay records, so I’ll just have to keep reminding myself to use game mechanisms as well as storytelling narrative.
Author’s Note
Tell us you’re a square without telling us you’re a square, amirite?
Next: Episode One, A Job to Do, Part 2
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