Carlos Gennera, magical-investigator-for-hire, was at his favorite seat at the back of Texas Leo’s Bar and Grill. It was near the kitchen and in a corner. He was out of the way, and could quietly watch the world happen in front of him. He nursed his beer and leaned back. Tonight looked promising. A show was developing that looked more interesting than most of his cases this year.
An honest-to-God pixie had come into the bar. Carlos had met a few, but always far from the Sprawl. Seeing one right here in the city was a major eye-opener.
The pixie was a bold fellow. He dressed in a smartly-styled suit with cut-outs for his dragonfly-like wings. A cape attached around a below these, presumably giving him enough slack to fly. He strode in (much better than someone half-a-meter tall should have been able to) and asked for a booster chair at the bar without any visible embarrassment. When the bartender started to set it up, he stopped the man and had him move it to another seat. A seat next to a smokin’ hot lady elf in a red evening dress.
Over the next fifteen minutes Carlos watched in increasing bemusement as the pixie talked to the elf. Her expression changed a lot as he chatted her up. The first two minutes were obviously her wrapping her head around this new creature. Another two minutes were shocked laughter as she got the message that he REALLY was chatting her up. She spent about three minutes trying to brush him off. Then, seemingly to her own amazement, Carlos watched her come around.
She had started to lean into him, giggling at his quiet but expressive stories, when Carlos decided to do a little magical checking. A great talker was one thing, but magical coercion was outside Carlos’ comfort zone. And it was certainly outside the law. If the little guy was a little mind-controller, Carlos would call Lone Star before things got out of hand.
He called up his Sight, and took in the scene again. As always, the Astral world was a shocking change from the physical. It took a moment to re-orient, and sort out this new layer he’d opened himself to. And it was time for some new surprises.
The pixie was definitely magical. That was expected. Without magic, no 50 cm little man could move and maneuver, and even fly like this guy could. Unexpectedly, there were no signs that he’d laid any glamour on the pretty woman. No red flag there.
There was a HUGE red flag sitting three chairs to the left of the couple. Two humans fairly radiated hostility. Carlos looked more closely at the closest one. His core was seething mass of red. You didn’t get that way without working at it. The man had probably enshrined every actual and perceived wrong he’d suffered and lovingly chewed them, over and over. His buddy was a little better, but still had a core of rage. The closest one, who Carlos mentally named Hatchet-Face for his sharp nose, was developing black wisps around the red: impending violence. He nudged his partner, now called Clubber by Carlos for his massive hands. They both did something to their shirt pockets, and a pin or badge was now visible. Humanis Policlub.
Carlos groaned inwardly. Those knuckle-draggers gave honest racists a bad name. Nothing was off limits to them. Beatings and low-level terrorism gave way to mass lynchings, and rumors of widespread organ-legging. Carlos called up his Comm’s link to emergency services. He’d call Lone Star and hope they decided to show before the little pixie got killed.
Hatchet-Face stood up. The pixie looked at him and sighed. He spoke up, allowing his voice to be heard all over the bar. He had a surprisingly mellow baritone. “I’m sorry, could you say that again? I couldn't quite believe my ears.”
Hatchet-Face looked around, then spoke loudly too in a harsh voice. “I said, I ain’t never seen somethin’ so unnatural as a leaf-eater freak with a mini bug guy!”
The pixie’s face hardened and he stepped up onto his high-chair. He made a show of carefully unsnapping his cape. “I’ve been very patient, having to hear the two of you over there. I ignored racial slurs, and unkind words about my heritage.” He stepped up onto the bar itself.
The bartender, finally seeming to realize that something was wrong, made to walk over to the overly-visible “Emergency” button at the end of the bar. Clubber stopped him with a look. Carlos was pretty sure the bartender would just make a silent call with his Comm, but was now curious to see what the little man with the wings would do. Carlos closed his own unsent call to watch. This was now DEFINITELY more interesting than his cases.
The pixie continued to speak. “I was even willing to overlook the whispers about ‘selling my wings’. But now you've had to insult my lady.”
Carlos’ jaw dropped. His eyes snapped back to the HP thugs. He was certain that HAD to be a stage. But the two men’s auras continued to grow more and more angry. THEY weren't acting. And looking at the elf, she wasn't either. She was a mix of fear and hope, and not a little excitement.
The pixie now had his cape off, and was holding it across one arm, with his other hand on his hip. It was a very belligerent pose. “Apologize now, and I let you leave intact.”
Hatchet-Face laughed scornfully. “Maybe I won’t sell you. Maybe I’ll EAT you instead!” He took a big step forward towards the bar.
The pixie swooped his cape over to his other hand, winging it around himself like a stage magician. At the same time he stepped backwards, and dropped right off behind the bar. All anyone could see was the cape flapping down behind him.
Hatchet-Face paused a minute and then angrily bent over to look behind the bar.
“Whaaaah-ha!” A high-pitched howl came from the bar, and Hatchet-Face’s head snapped back. He stumbled backwards and landed awkwardly on his butt. The pixie lept back up onto the bar in a front-flip, and did a three-point landing with his arm held out straight. He then lithely hopped up into a Thai-boxer’s stance and skipped back and forth, arms switching up and down to guard positions. “Had enough?”
Carlos switched back into Sight. Hatchet-Face’s aura had gone to black with volcanic red spurts. He was going to kill the little fey. But the bigger show was the bright aura that spread out for several meters around the bar. It almost reached the raging racist. And the pixie was... a ghost.
Hatchet-Face reached slowly into a side pocket and made a show of bringing up a small caplet. He held it to his nose and squeezed. A snap sounded and a puff of smoke appeared for a moment. Hatchet-Face took a gasping breath and inhaled the entire cloud. He pushed himself to standing. As he did, visible veins appeared on his neck and face. His muscles seemed to bulge against his clothes. Carlos wondered if he ever split his sleeves when he did this.
Hatchet-face took another theatrical reach into his coat, and pulled out a long Bowie knife. Then with surprising speed he leaped in and slashed twice across the bar. The pixie did a perfect limbo move, dropping onto his wingtips. He snapped them closed and back, propelling himself into a front flip over the second slash. The third attack was a thrust directly into the pixie’s space. Before it split him, the pixie jumped onto the thick forearm and launched a knee-charge into Hatchet-Face’s nose. Blood spurted everywhere except, Carlos noticed, on the pixie himself. Carlos put a hand over his mouth to silence a chuckle.
Hatchet-Face, now Bloody-Face, lay protecting his broken nose. Clubber stepped forward. The pixie ran a step and lept to the ground. He kicked both of Clubber’s inner thighs and then his knee. Clubber shouted and dropped to both knees and tried to wrap his arms around his opponent. The pixie dropped back like a trained martial artist, then ran forward into a leaping kick. He bullseyed Clubber in the temple. Clubber went down.
Carlos reached the pixie just as he was walking out from behind the bar. He’d flittered his wings and flown out of sight, presumably to recover his cape. He was panting a little, seemingly from the physical exertion. Carlos knew better. He bent to one knee and held out a card. The pixie took it as he gave Carlos the once-over, eyes narrowing. Carlos knew the look of someone accessing Sight. “Don’t worry”, he said quietly. Then louder, “That was some show, Sensei Pix!” The bar started to laugh.
Bloody-Face was staggering out, holding the newly-christened Blubber up. They didn’t even made a final threat as the door closed on them. The pixie didn’t pay for any of his, or the elf’s, drinks that night.
As the strangely-sized couple made their goodbyes, Carlos sidled up to him and asked, soto voce, “You put on a good show for a man behind a curtain. What do you call that spell? I’d really like to learn it.”
The pixie smiled. “I’ll call you. And I call it, Kung Fu Action Theatre. In 3D!”
Thorguild
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Kung Fu Action Theatre - In 3D!
The magician casts a spell on an area within which he can attack targets. The caster takes drain when the spell is cast. Each round the spell is in effect the caster nominates a target and makes a spellcasting roll as if casting a stunbolt. The target takes damage as normal. The spell creates an image of the caster doing whatever he wants it to. Usually this involves making Trid-like stunts while beating the heck out of his opponents.
The spell does not render the caster invisible, so care must be taken to keep out of the line of fire. Even if the opponent (or others) discover that the damage comes from a spell, this doesn't give any special resistance to its effects.
Type : Physical +1
Range: Los +0
Area +2
Duration: Sustained +0
Combat - Stun only : -1
Illusion - Realistic : +3
Drain : (F/2) + 5
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This seems like a very useful spell, so I upped the Illusion-drain quite a bit. I think taking it down a point might be more in line with the RAW. Done right, though, this could allow the mage to beat up mundanes without any possibility of them even knowing what really hit them.
Comments?
