Sounds kinda like somebody who goes bankrupt in the casino business, right? But we're told over and over and over that Toda was "a successful businessman". Let's take a look at one of the rare examples of his supposed business savvy, which is rare because, while SGI tells us that Toda had "ten businesses" or "seventeen businesses", it only identifies TWO - the publishing company that went bankrupt and the failed credit cooperative.
Hmmm...
Anyhow, on to business! This is all from The Human Revolution, Vol. 2, First Edition 1974. First, a bit of a lead-in about the failing publishing company because that's an integral part of the narrative:

When word got out about the condition the company was in, Toda's associates in the publishing field were certain to react in different ways. Some would sympathize, others would laugh, and perhaps some would make derogatory comments about Toda's abilities in business.

Perhaps 😐

But none of this would alter him.

Why not? If you fail at something, shouldn't the thought at least cross your mind that you need to do something different to avoid that outcome again? If you were able to understand why you failed, wouldn't that knowledge help you perhaps make better decisions in the future? Ah, but that would require change, something Ikeda prides himself on never doing, so naturally, his "mentor" would never, either.

Let the publishing firm stop operations, let it go bankrupt, Josei Toda was and would remain a man with a great mission.

See, when people can't focus on their work, they don't tend to do as well. This is one of the dangerous aspects of religious zealotry.

But he would always rise to the top again. That was the kind of man he was, and Yamamoto was certain that some day the whole world would come to understand and respect this great personality. (p. 200)

Made to order in his ghostwritten fictitious novels! But the truth peeks out once in a while from under the sloppy covering of lies. Let's back up a few pages and see what led up to all this.

As one of the initial steps to implement the Dodge Line, all new loans from the Financial Bank for Reconstruction were halted. This dealt industry a crippling blow and caused a panic in financial circles that had immediate repercussions in the offices of Josei Toda's publishing firm.
Reopened after the war primarily to serve as a basis for the rebuilding of the Soka Gakkai

THERE's a big problem right there....

Toda's company, Nihon Shogakkan, had in that sense been a success, largely due to his efficient and able management. But it was already financially shaky when the Dodge Line, by stimulating a tight-money policy in local banks, seriously reduced Toda's operational funds.

Okay - let's pause here. It appears that Toda's supposed "efficient and able management" was all about restarting the Soka Gakkai. What we learn here is that Toda's company is "financially shaky" - it is only surviving thanks to infusions of other people's money in the form of bank loans. His publishing business is NOT profitable, though earlier we were told it was! If the only way you can stay open is by taking out loans on an ongoing basis, you're insolvent.

It is possible that he ought to have acted quickly to reduce business expenses by cutting back on the staff and effecting other emergency methods.

Yes, that would have been consistent with "efficient and able management" IF that "efficient and able management" had been referring to the management of his publishing business.

But he could not because he was fundamentally positive and humane in business. He could not find it in his heart to fire people who had been loyal to him, the company, and Soka Gakkai through very trying times. Perhaps he was not cold-blooded enough to succeed in modern business.

Or perhaps he simply WASN'T capable of "efficient and able management".
But that would mean he wasn't a successful businessman, and the whole rest of the narrative insists that he WAS a successful businessman! None of this is making any narrative sense.

A resourceful man, never at a loss for fresh ideas, especially in times of trouble, Toda gave much thought to his predicament. At last he decided that when money is tight the way to profit is to open a credit association. A small moneylending business would provide the operational funds so badly needed by his publishing firm. As luck would have it, something promising in this line turned up quite soon.

Sense of foreboding...rising...rising...

One morning in June, 1949, Toda received an unexpected visit from Taro Kurikawa, an old acquaintance who had been kind enough to lend office space to Toda when he first reopened the publishing business after the war.

This source stated plainly that Toda bought the whole building at the very beginning. With his own money.

The two men discussed many things, including the Dodge Line and the menacing effect it was having on Toda's business. Kurikawa, who had once been a member of the Tokyo metropolitan assembly, had many friends.

Maybe HE should be the one starting a credit cooperative!😃

When Toda told him of his idea to start a small finance company, Kurikawa listened attentively. Then slapping his thigh, he suddenly said: "I've got it. You're right that in times like these lending money is the only way to survive, and I just got wind of some news that might interest you."

Isn't that a strange way of thinking? That when people don't have any money, the best way to MAKE money is to lend THEM money? How are they going to pay it back if they don't have any money? Isn't that predatory and UGLY?? Like loan-sharking?? DEFINITELY non-Buddhist!

"It's not definite yet, but I hear that an old acquaintance of mine - Toru Oi - is trying to convert his consumers' guild into a credit cooperative. He used to be a high government offical; but he's gotten old, and it would be dangerous for him to assume management of a business."

WHY "dangerous"??

"So far, he is having difficulties changing his guild into a credit company because he can't find the right partner. That's where you come in with your great knack for business."

Ha ha ha.
There it is again.

"What do you think? I'll help too, if you need me. If you're interested, I could call on him today and check the matter out."
Toda knew too much about business to become overly enthusiastic over all offers presented. After thinking a minute he said: "It's not a bad idea, but it wouldn't be so easy to make a success of something like that. To be frank, if someone else had come to me with the plan, I'd have turned it down."

Odd...if he really "knew so much about business".

"Oi is absolutely all right, except for his age. There will be some legal problems, but since the investor will be the same person, they shouldn't amount to much. It's not as if you were starting a new company from scratch; you'll just be changing an old one."

This doesn't sound very good...

From what Kurikawa said, it appeared that the new firm could start operations immediately. Still Toda hesitated: "Are you sure this consumers' guild isn't in danger of going broke? I couldn't afford to take on anything unsound at this stage in the game."

Does anyone know what a "consumers' guild" even is?

"No. It's not making much, but I know for certain that it's not in the red, either," said Kurikawa.

Doth the lady protest too much?

"I'll talk to OI, see what he says, and call you again. Maybe you could arrange a meeting in a few days."
"All right," said Toda. "We can meet first. I'll decide whether to get involved in this after we've met."
A few days later, Toda met Mr. Oi, who explained to him the legal procedures for changing the present status to that of a credit cooperative. He then outlined the running of the company, listed the board of directors, and briefly related their duties. Toda was appalled at the inefficiency with which Oi managed things. But the very challenge of taking on such a company, which was not in fact in desperate financial straits

Methinks the lady doth protest too much!

whetted his appetite for business.

So here we've got someone who knows nothing about this type of business, who considers himself qualified to judge whether it's solvent or not - given that there were not audit provisions or reporting requirements for businesses like there are today. Why couldn't "Oi" have shown him falsified financial statements? Toda would have never known...

Toda accepted the offer of partnership that Oi made and set out immediately to take the necessary legal steps.

Notice that this credit cooperative is originally a partnership but becomes solely Toda's as the narrative goes on. Even though it originally had its own board of directors, who would have stayed in place if this had been a partnership bringing a new partner on board as described. What about them?

...the new company, named the Toko Credit Cooperative, finally opened in the fall. The offices were on the first floor of Toda's Nihon Shogakkan

Remember, that building TODA purchased.

and most of the staff, too, came from the publishing company. (pp. 190-193)

Why would anyone think that people who had worked for a publishing company would know anything about how to run a credit cooperative? The savvy businessperson, when embarking on a new venture, hires the most qualified people that can be found in that type of business! NOT people from church, neighbors, relatives, and that guy he has drinks with at the bar most Thursday nights!

In contrast to the rising trends in Soka Gakkai affairs, the Nihon Shogakkan publishing company pursued a steady downhill course. The tight-money policy, overproduction in the publishing business, and finally, the rebirth of many of the popular magazines that had been discontinued during the war defeated small publishing houses. Toda's magazines, Ruby and Boys' Adventures, had done well at first, even when book sales were dropping.

That's because they were PORN: Take a look.
This is a page from Ruby.

But soon these two periodicals could no longer withstand competition from the big magazines. Ruby failed first, as large numbers of issues were returned unsold each month. Boys' Adventures managed somehow to stay in the black for a while. In August, 1949, Toda changed its name to The Boy of Japan in the hope of attracting buyers, but by autumn unsold copies had reached eighty percent of all issues printed.

Changing the NAME and not the CONTENT to fix a failing publication seems like a BAD business decision to me.

One chilly, cloudy fall morning, Toda assembled his employees in the main office and had Okumura, the accountant, give a full statement of the financial status of the firm. The figures that Okumura read in a dispirited voice left no room for doubt: the company was facing a severe crisis, with a deficit of millions of yen each month.

See? It was only loans from the bank that were keeping the company afloat.

Until that moment, many of these people had not opened their eyes to the true significance of the returned books, the unsold magazines, the unpaid bills, and the complaints about arrears from the printing and paper companies. For one thing, the glow of happiness they had experienced at the wonderfully successful fourth general meeting of Soka Gakkai still lingered.

This should illustrate the danger of mixing religious zealotry with business. Religious zealotry makes people addled.

But more important, no one who worked for Toda could believe that he would not somehow pull them out of any preidcament. While realizing that the company was in trouble they nevertheless continued to trust that Toda would fix it all.

Oh, where, oh where is someone who can STAND UP??

"I have thrown this open to you becasue I trust you and need your suggestions," Toda said, addressing everyone present.
"Those figures must be wrong," came a voice from the back of the room.
"Figures don't lie," retorted Toda. "And Okumura arrived at these figures after long and very careful calculations. Human beings - especially people who lack strength - interpret things the way they want them to be.

"You're weak, you worthless worms!"
Also, preaching.

"When it is convenient, they can convince themselves that black is white. But cold, hard figures can't be treated that way: you can't make a credit out of a debit.

Actually, that is very easy to do! Debits are your assets; credits are your liabilities. You can use your "debits" as a down payment for something; then all you have left are the "credits" for what you are on the hook to pay back! Sheesh. Obviously, these ghostwriters weren't accountants or even Accounting Honors Students!

"Figures do nothing but illuminate the incontrovertible facts, and recognizing them frankly for what they are takes courage. The way a person acts on the basis of these frightening figures shows what kind of stuff he is made of. Facing the facts and using them is what is meant by true human strength."

Ugh. MORE preaching.

The employees believed for a moment that this remark was another one of Toda's introductions to a splendid solution. But from his solemn look and from what he said next they saw that the situation was grave.

That ol' ~~incompetent~~ omniscient narrator again. SUCH terrible writing.

"I'm serious. If any of you have any ideas to offer, please speak up. These figures are not just correct, I suspect they are optimistic. They are still incomplete, for one thing. The number of returned magazines covers only the period ending three months ago. We can be fairly sure that when the rest of the figures are in the picture will be still darker. Since the situation is certain to get worse, we've got to put our minds to it now. Don't misunderstand me; I'm not blaming you. I only want your ideas and opinions."

THIS isn't "leadership". And it isn't the clerks' job to figure out how to save the company. They weren't even aware of the company's desperate situation.

Bewildered by the gloomy outlook of the company and by Toda's complete lack of his usual wit and humor, no one had anything to suggest.
"Well," said Toda, "it's not surprising that you have nothing to say on such short notice. I've been thinking about this for a long time, and I have only one idea. We must stop publishing. It may be that in the near future we can start again, but examining the pluses and minuses has convinced me that we must stop right now. If we do not, we will only be adding to our deficit, no matter how hard we work."
"Of course, I shall expect all of you to do your best in cleaning up the remaining affairs of the publishing company. We'll gradually start thinking about what future steps to take at the proper time. I hope you'll all take this bravely. Try not to be discouraged. Remember that I expect a lot from my disciples. Stopping publication is hard on us, but we won't be causing anyone else any trouble."
As they drifted aimlessly back to their desks, the employees of Nihon Shogakkan were in a state of semishock. The publishing company was going to close down. Toda's words of encouragement

THAT's what passed for "encouragement"??

had little effect. Many of the people thought most seriously about what they would do for a living if the company closed permanently. Still, all of them cared enough about Toda not to betray such feelings by so much as a look, let alone a word.

Because that's the Japanese way.

The news of the cessation of publishing activities came as a deep shock to Shin'ichi Yamamoto. Since joining Toda's firm in January, 1949, he had devoted himself to the magazine Boys' Adventures, which had gained some popularity. In May he had been appointed editor-in-chief of the magazine.

Recall that Ikeda had been employed at a different publishing company before he came to work for Toda.

... A sense of accomplishment and happiness at his promotion inspired Yamamoto to devote all his time to the magazine, of which he was proud. His work brought him into closer contact with many small children.

WHAT??

He watched them fondly as they played pranks, laughed, cried over quarrels, or chewed their pencils as they puzzled over difficult problems in their textbooks. Often he felt an impulse to hold them in his arms. He felt that he would be willing to do anything for them.

What IS this? This is so weird! And remember, once Ikeda had children of his own, he turned into the world's foremost absentee father and deadbeat dad! Is this supposed to gloss over THAT uncomfortable fact?

... Yamamoto's personality and and his ardor for his magazine won him friends among the artists and their families. From time to time, when writers or painters were out of sorts, the charm of Yamamoto's way triumphed over their bad humor and enabled them to finish on time tasks that otherwise might have been late. For the most thorny personal problems, Yamamoto called on the intercession of wives and other family members. He always made a good impression and won the affection and confidence of everyone with whom he came into contact. As he learned the many aspects of his work, day by day Yamamoto found it more interesting and worthwhile. Gradually, as he became proficient in his tasks, his self-confidence grew and fed his aspirations for the future.

Gaaah - my fingers just threw up all over the keyboard. Gimme a minute...

In the fall of 1949, he started working on ambitious plans for a special New Year issue of The Boy of Japan, as the magazine was by then called. Blah blah blah.
Because his hopes were high, the announcement of plans to halt publication came as an especially great blow to Yamamoto. It was almost as if an airplane that he had been piloting had suddenly lost power and started hurtling earthward. He saw with painful clarity that he could do nothing but resign

If only!

himself to the collapse of his beloved boys' magazine.

Yeesh, such overblown, puffy, florid prose. Yeah, we get it - reality sometimes bites. And having to FACE reality can be painful, especially when one has obviously been operating from a position of delusion. But lay off the flowery phrasing a little...

Fortunately, a messenger boy from a printing company came in with the galley proofs of the December issue of the magazine. Remembering what Toda had said about not letting the halt of publications interfere with outstanding business, Yamamoto started thumbing through the pages of proof. As the smell of fresh printer's ink filled his nostrils, Yamamoto quickly became absorbed in his task, aware all the while that perhaps this was the last work he would ever do on the magazine to which he had devoted so much love and care. When he finished his proof, he looked at his watch and saw that he had read through the lunch hour. He was hungry.

Big boy's gotta eat!
Yamamoto started chewing on the proofs.

Deciding to go out for something to eat, he rose and moved toward the front door of the office.

What, they couldn't just write, "He got up and headed out" instead??

As Yamamoto passed the reception area, he caught a glimpse of Toda laughing happily over a game of Japanese chess that he was playing with a frequent visitor to the company.

"What a man!" thought Yamamoto.

There he sat playing a game as if nothing was wrong, when only this morning he had announced that the company was about to collapse. (pp. 194-199)
While the rest of Toda's employees suffered under the paralyzing effects of the bad news, Yamamoto set briskly about his afternoon errands. First, he had to call on an artist to pay for some work. Then he had to pick up the plate for an ink drawing for the December issue of The Boy of Japan.
The artist's house was cold, bleak, and disorderly; but the man had apparently been eagerly awaiting Yamamoto's visit. ...Almost before he was aware of it, Yamamoto was talking about Nichiren Shoshu and the philosophy of Nichiren Daishonin. He did not intend to try and convert the artist.

SUUUURE he didn't...

In fact, he was still not actually talking with that aim in mind. But the painter became very interested. Though he had no knowledge of Buddhism, what Yamamoto told him fired his imagination. Before they parted, the painter said he would like to discuss the matter more fully some other time. Yamamoto, after promising to contact him again soon, went out into the twilight. (pp. 201-202)

...and that's the last we ever hear of this artist/painter! I suspect this vignette was inserted for the sole purpose of making it appear that Ikeda had ever attempted shakubuku, even inadvertently. Because Ikeda has never shakubukued ANYONE! Not ONE of those "world leaders" Ikeda has ~~paid for a photo-op with~~ held DIALOGUES with ever converted... SENSEIFAIL!!

The day the last issue of The Boy of Japan - the December issue - came off the press, the weather was clear and bright outside the Kanda offices of Nihon Shogakkan. Inside, a gloomy silence reigned. As Shin'ichi Yamamoto sat caressingly reading the final product of his work

eeeewwwwwwww

others in the office were whispering among themselves about where they would go to work and what they would do when the company finally collapsed, which it was certain to do within a matter of days.
As a matter of fact, on the very next day, Toda called his staff together to announce the closing of the publishing company and, on a more hopeful note, to explain the nature and policies of the new credit cooperative. All members of the publishing staff who wished to remain were automatically put on the payroll of the credit company as soon as Shogakkan was officially declared closed. Toda had sensed the dissatisfaction and insecurity of his staff members and he held this meeting of explanation in an attempt to calm fears.

Ugh. SUCH awkward writing.

While relating stories of his many years of management experience and the successes and failures he had lived through, he illustrated his points by referring to the basic principles of both communism and capitalism. He explained what a credit cooperative is

We were just told that same information only a few sentences ago...

and went on to relate why he had decided to undertake this kind of enterprise, showing wherein he saw hope for its future development and growth.

Blah blah blah. Lecture, preach, lecture. Ugh.

Yamamoto realized that much of what Toda said was not being sympathetically received by members of the organization who were already planning to quit at the earliest chance.

Why not yesterday? Or right NOW if they truly had such intent?

Nonetheless, he was deeply moved by the speech, especially when Toda concluded with: "All business enterprises are subject to rises and falls. Economics, like all other things, has its own rules, which cannot be ignored. Once those rules are understood, it is effort, enthusiasm, and patience that determine the success or failure of a company.

Wow - pretty OBLIVIOUS to be lecturing/preaching at his staff like this when his OWN company has just failed. No self-awareness at ALL, that Toda!
Meanwhile, Ikeda: "What a man!"

"Hard work is the same in all companies, big and small. As far as my experience teaches, as long as people are not afraid of hard work, even though things may sometimes seem desperate, a way will always be found."
Before adjourning the meeting, Toda instructed Okumura to divide all cash on hand equally and to distribute it among his employees as part of their salaries. None of them ever knew how valuable that money could have been to the firm itself. (p. 203-204)

Another for our #ThatHappened files. The biz is supposedly insolvent, can't pay its bills, is months behind in its bills, yet they have money to pay "an artist" and to hand out as a lovely parting gift for the staff who are just transferring directly over to the new credit cooperative. WHY would he give them the business' money when he'd already given them new jobs to slide right on over into?? Without even a day's loss of pay?? THAT's not competent management.
This is the end of 1949.

What they're also not coming right out and stating plainly is that Toda started up a lending operation, and that he lent money to desperate people as incentive to join his Soka Gakkai.

From around the spring of 1950, the performance of Toda's credit association fell into decline and its business operations were suspended. In August, Toda announced he was stepping down from his position as general director of the Soka Gakkai in order to prevent his business problems from negatively impacting the organization. Source

BOY, THAT ship went down fast! Didn't even make it out of the harbor!

Notice that Ikeda started working for Toda in early 1949. There are reports that Ikeda was involved in collections. Notice that, once Ikeda got involved, Toda became more successful, though it's typically couched in terms of how many more families they convinced to convert. One can only wonder how much of this was because these families were on the hook to Toda because they owed him money. This type of private lending was probably completely unregulated as well - along the lines of the "payday loans" businesses that charge astronomical interest rates and get people caught up in a cycle where they can never pay back their debts and must be constantly borrowing more and more and more. There's a whole "honor code" in Japanese culture that we gaijin have no way of understanding - Japanese people will often go to great lengths and do all sorts of unimaginable stuff just to avoid "losing face" and because they owe someone else. Source

Is it possible that Toda got into one of the prison gangs for a lot of money while he was incarcerated and had to quick pay off some deadly debts? I've seen "Drive" and "Shot Caller" - I know how that works. Pretty quick to drive the credit cooperative straight into the ground, given that he was just a partner AND there was supposed to be a board of directors watching over the operations! Whatever happened to the board and Oi?? See how it's suddenly ALL Toda's?

lost story for /u/neolordie

thank you! this helps... seriously! it gives me some hope and feedback that i'm not completely nuts (if i'm asking the question, i'm probably safe... probably :), plus there's the off and odd chances that run wild sometimes.
i'm enjoying writing today, so please forgive me my liberties as i start to tell a story. some of it you inspired! i'm not done with it, but i enjoy it, and the act of writing is the ends and the means; this story is coming into existence because i am enjoying my play...
^{^{├◉─◇───◇──◇─◯◦─}}

you end up at this year's oddlyreal conference/festival thingy, which just announced its 10,000^th physically present (at least cranially) biological entity, ”a new record” the announcement continues in a somehow perceptibly excited low and relaxed androgynous voice. despite yourself, you are grudgingly impressed with the oddly tasteful decor and some subdued, relaxing minor key japanese string thing... the word kuto or koto flashes in your head as remembrance. usually these conference/shindig things are visually loud enough for chinese new year and audibly worse than the morning after the taco and chili competition endemic at a government-in-exile rally in a certain ex-president's last remaining casino.
in a word, elegant. in another two: oddly (you sense a theme here) relaxed. like you imagine miami in the '80s, during sunset over the ocean... minus the grime and old people driving on the median. you hear some obvious digitally created lo-fi sounds. 8-bit? looking in the distance, you see a sign with an arrow pointing down and to the left: ”arcade”. mystery solved! your stomach involuntarily receives a flutter of excitement and anticipation; underneath the larger letters reads ”5 tokens $1, 11 tokens $2, 42 tokens $5”. a long, straight haired androgynous couple, one dyed black and the other bleached white lets out a simultaneous laugh in the distance; you hear ”ski-ball!” as the pair run underneath the sign and disappear. this might actually be fun!

^{^{├◉─◇──◇─◯◦─}}

you checked in with only one minor incident: your reserved room wasn't ready yet. before you could say that you didn't mind waiting (an excuse for the arcade... not that you needed one) the concierge asks if you will accept a complimentarily room upgrade to one with a deluxe balcony, japanese bath, and view of the night sky over the ocean (really the gulf) facing west. you thank your lucky stars that that light pollution law passed a few years ago. everyone thought it was too odd and unimportant to pass at the time, and nobody thought it would pass, but it did... without riders, without debate, unanimous. first the house, then the senate an hour later, and the president shocked everyone by signing it at the stroke of midnight on the winter solstice. now you can see your lucky stars... from within a city, of all things. energy use went down because of it, and so did pollution. unexpectedly, cities became quieter at night, and there were less therapy visits for generalized anxiety disorder. book and app sales about astronomy and astrology were trending, and in general, people seem more chill, more relaxed, more focused. it was not uncommon to see your neighbor on a lawn chair on their roof watching the sun set after work.
this night sky was gorgeous! how did so many generations give it up? and for what? crappy 7/11 and motel-6 neon lowglow? lame. the evening sky over the gulf is even more spectacular than you remember, and you pause in your unpacking and settling into your room to watch for a few minutes more.
the keynote speach is listed as a costume formal: tux, gown, dress uniform, and/or come-as-you-are, shoes optional event: another oddly satisfying and kind of exciting contradiction. so the choice is yours: do you pick the expertly tailored black and white tux you had taken in a bit last week? or a below-the-knee black and white gown your partner insisted you pack... just in case. it would be an an oddity for you to wear a gown to anything, you laugh. oddity. this place must be infectious! what the heck, gown it is! luckily its easy to put on and more far more androgynous than expected. it's very nearly like wearing a lightweigh black and grey kilt, like at the highland games. you look over your balcony and see a contingent in formal black-and-white star-trek looking body suit type unforms pause and bow to a group in what appears to be tuxedo labcoats with tails. looking in the mirror, you don't look half bad!

^{^{├◉─◇──◇─◯◦─}}

you have a few good drinks in you, or was that a good few? the air is pleasantly neutral, sometimes just a bit warm, at others a slight chill. the ocean makes the air noticably humid with a slght salt tang, but it's the perfect temperature for it. the slight breeze feels good on your legs, and the white, nearly glowing sand covering the outdoor conference room's floor is pleasing between your toes. your shoes are probably gone with the glass from the previous manhattan... you didn't like those shoes anyway. good riddance!
the keynote was actually pretty good! a little bit dull as you knew all the stuff the keynote speaker was talking about, and she seemed a tiny bit bored herself, like she's given the pitch eleventy-one times already... come to think of it, as she's a founder and cto of a company doing the kind of thing this conference is about, you realize she probably has. her wild perple hair... you've seen it before. the next sip of your drink brings back the memory of its namesake city, and an elevator.

^{^{├◉─◇──◇─◯◦─}}

you were on your way up to the 58th floor for an interview^†, and (yes, the memory is clear now) this nervous seemingly little girl with purple hair and an actual physical portfolio case (black and leather looking and nearly as large as her) rode the lift with you, although you notice she's not as young as she appears: she's just short. you notice that the only other floor selected is 103. and you notice that she is staring at you now, probably because (you realize belatedly) you've been staring at her for at least a dozen floors.
"interview? your first big one?" she asks.
"um... somthing like that," you manage to mumble
"it's dangerous to go alone! take this." as she is saying this (sounds familiar), she's expertly juggling her purse, the comically oversized portfolio case, and something aroud by her left hand. (you feel she just quoted something important, but can't place it)
as the bell for your floor dings and the doors open, she tucks something warm and maybe metal? into your hand and says "quick! put it in your pocket for luck! look at it later or you'll be late. give it back to me someday!"
you nearly fumble putting the whatever-it-is into your pocket as the lift doors are closing. the last you see is a smile as you hear a fading "don't panic!"

// current tail. betwixt here and the footnotes seperator, there be unfinshed dragons. and that you heard the elevator version of that pitch waaay back, 5, maybe 6 years ago, before she was a notable cto giving a keynote address to a large and prestigious^* ) vr gametech conference this one. ke back when there were 2 founders and a part time employee with a mohawk and studs in his head
run in to someone at a conference in a little out of the way bar where it's just a bit quieter and you can hear yourself think

^{^{├◉─◇───◇─ footnotes ──◇─◯◦─}}

*

you feel the word 'pretentious' slip past your right eyeball and invade your frontal lobe. it breaks into the stream of your thoughts, despite your conscious and diligent efforts to be less cynical... aaannnnndddd theoretically happier, because you are sort of reading ”the tao of pooh”, based on the footnote of some really weird lady's post on reddit a handful of years ago, and this whole thing about being an uncarved block kind of made sense, but was frustratingly both seductively elusive and easy to be cynical about at the same time.

^{^◯◦─}

†

you got the job! you were very nervous at first, but you felt the thing the purple haired ~~girl~~ ~~princess~~ woman gave you in the elevator. every time you started squirming^‡ because of a question asked (c'mon, "where do you see this company in 5 years?" how the hell are you supposed to answer to that?), you got stabbed on the top of your thigh, right in the rectus femoris, by something in your pocket. this sensation was nearly like getting an injection, and you found it distracting enough you couldn't quite focus on the more inane questions (squirm - stab, repeat) and just said what was on your mind. apparently it, whatever 'it' was, was working, as the facial hair on the man bobbed slightly out of sync with his nods. the woman next to him was quiet and very tomboy-ish; if the peter pan played by maud adams on broadway had a kid with the tinkerbell from hook (1992 julia roberts, not the awful 2024 remake with a cg remade kardashian- glack) and they were raised climbing trees in pixi skorts decorated with pink skulls... but decided to put on an immaculately tailored gray zoot suit made just for her by the costume designers of the matrix... (1999, not the 2023 reboot)
anyway, the tomboy (maud, she introduced herself as later, and she said she liked her name and never changed it) seemed to enjoy your answers, and cut... ned? hagbard?... off in the middle of some convoluted thing he must have proudly dredged from the bowels of the earliest internet archives; rumores and tall tales of ''questions" steve jobs asked potential apple employees like jony ive to tourture them where the scars wouldn't show.
at a glace from maud, "hagbard, pollice verso, commodus? tick-tock! tick tock!"
hagbard locked eyes with you, straightened his posture, and the facial hair grinned a few milliseconds before he did. without looking away he extended his arm like a roman emperor, made a fist, and gave maud the thumbs up. he turned on his heel, his beard followed a tad later, and out the door he went.
"so.... would it sound weird if i asked about what you have in your pocket?" // better phrasing. possible lotr gollum reference.

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‡

it's a bad habit you have that is more common than you realized back when you were asked increasingly awkward questions by that guy... what was his name at the time? ted? ned? hagbard? he has changed it at least 3 times since you've been working there and got to known him a bit. at least he got rid of that ridiculous face eating victorian english thing he called mutton chops!

A Deep Dive - Ghislaine Maxwell: Silver Spoons and Hard Times

[Let's build D100] Ships you might come across in a busy port.

The party has come into a busy port and decide to visit some other ships. Who might they discover, what might they find?

d100 Interesting Ships in a Port

Shani and Aurora's Tent of Two - The two goblin sisters Shani and Aurora sail providing services to port settlements. Shani claims to be a seer and charges 60gp for a "reading" of the future (she is not). Aurora 'The useful one' provides the service of casting identify for 20gp. She may also agree to sell some of her extensive library if offered the right price. [dweeb_bush]
The Bones Brothers - The bones brothers are a travelling group of jolly bards. As their name suggests they are animated skeletons. Jimbo-double bass, Timbo-guitar, Limbo-vocals, Dimbo-marimba and Franky-drums. They are very hospitable and put on a show for anyone who comes and visits them! [dweeb_bush]
The Lovers - A small nondescript boat lies just off the dock. The is no sign of activity on board apart from the dock inspector who is trying to find out who's boat it is. The truth is the owners of the boat died ten days ago and the boat has miraculously drifted safely into port. on a successful DC 10 investigation or perception check the party members discover two young male elves cowering in the cannonball chest. When the lid is lifted they start begging for their life. If pressed they reveal that the crew was attacked by sirens, the majority of the crew succomed to the siren's calls however the two young boys, deeply infatuated with each other did not care for their temptation. They ran out of food last night and thought they were surely doomed! [dweeb_bush]
The Crows - A large black boat rests in port, neatly secured off one of the more expensive jettys. The most defining feature of the boat is that it is bustling with activity, not by humanoids but 3d12 black ravens. One wears a small captains hat and appears to undersatnd the party. If the party casts speak with animals they discover that the crows were awakened through a series of trials on a new spell aimed to mass awaken a group of creatures. The crows have varying degrees of intelligence and are all chaotic neutral alligned. The crows rebelled from, Hignory Flip, the wizard running the trials on a small island about 2 days sail from the port, and stole his ship. [dweeb_bush]
Captain Redbeak! - A suspicious longship hovers low on the water. There is a steady stream of humanoids entering the covered boat and leaving a few minutes later with a small package. The ship belongs to Captain Redbeak, a feirce pirate captain who runs a drug trade: the drug in question is a relatively cheap drug called "Peak Water" and is collected dew from mountaintops, it gives the user a high that lasts 1d4 hours and gives the user a d4 of bardic inspiration. It costs 10gp per hit. The ship is manned by 2d6 Bandits, and if threatened or reported they will attempt to kill the party in defence of their lives. [dweeb_bush]
Crazy Mr McGee - A delerious man stands warding off the dock guards with what looks like a loaded blunderbus. He's yelling about his notorious reputation as a savage pirate and keeps claiming they have come to "Take away my princess". The princess he's referring to is his boat- he imagines that it is a glourious gallion but in reality it's just a rowboat. If the party manage to subdue the man the dock guards thank them and offer to buy them a drink later that night in the tavern. [dweeb_bush]
A Con??? - The players are drawn to a commotion hidden behind a crowd of people. A large goliath (Manneo) seems to have taken a small dwarf (Skalgrouth) hostage and is threatening to slit his throat if the dock guard do not meet his demands "I'll bloody well kill 'im if you don't give me what I want: 100gp worth of rubies and free passage out of this shit hole!". In reality the goliath and dwarf are working together pulling off this stunt at various ports in the area, so far, to great success! [dweeb_bush]
The Rat's Den - The players follow a stream of rats on board a decrepid looking riverfairing vessel. When they make cross into the canvassed interior they see an old kobold playing the pipes, he seems to be a rat-catcher. If the party interrupt him in his ritual he turns the a swarm of rats against the party and runs off into the port. [dweeb_bush]
Seeking Refuge - A smallish sloop titled 'The Diamond Endeavour' pulls into port, it's sinking and fast! A crew member (Emery Green) jumps onto the dockside and is yelling for help. The vessel was struck by a great storm while at sea and they sustained damage when they brushed by a reef. Luckily they werent wrecked but unluckily they could not repair all the damage with materials on board. They've been bailing for hours and can no longer bail as fast as the ship is filling up with water! If the characters wish to help they can make a DC 13 group athletics check to bail enough water to stop the crew from having to jump ship and leave it to sink. If the players are successful Emery thanks them profusely and offers them a map to a shipwreck they were on the way to dive at before the storm hit them. "It's rumoured that this is the wreck of the old pirate lord, Feather Toothed Bill's ship and may hold riches beyond imagine!" [dweeb_bush]
The Gilded Sail - A group of merchants, all of various races, each offering unique, and expensive, magical trinkets. True to their name, their sail is actually a thin sheet of gold, and the rest of their ship is covered in valuable metals and gems. It’s also very well armed, as are the merchants aboard. Keep an eye on the rogue when this one’s around. [Dragon_Overlord]
The Patchwork - A large ship which seems to have been destroyed and repaired numerous times with whatever material the crew had, from birch wood to copper metal to even welded armor and weapons. Speaking of the crew, they appear to be a mishmash of Kenku, Kobold, Halfling, and the occasional Tabaxi and Goblin. The captain appears to be a raccoon by the name of Majos, which, if your party stumbles upon the question of why and how a raccoon is a ship captain, she would respond with “a salty mage who didn’t know how to win a simple game of cards had a tantrum.” She would then offer the party a game of cards in which if the party beats Majos, she rewards the party a hefty sum of 100 GP, and if any party member is any of the races listed above, she rewards an additional magic item (DM’s choice) and offers a position to the party member for them to join her crew. Accept and the party is taken to an additional encounter to an island for treasure. Decline is acceptable and Majos would accept any favor from the party. [SpyroAndToothless]
The Feyr Winds - An elegant ship that carries goods and treasures from far off Elven lands run by a mixture of elven and faerie creatures. Their most illustrious goods are fruits that can do many things such as heal wounds, cure poisons, or even granting stat bonuses for a minute! (Vendor: Fruits are magical and can take on the effect of any potion you want.) [OSpiderBox]
Gnasher's Maw - A tribal-ized longship driven by a "merry" band of lizard folk. They obviously don't understand personal space or social norms, and are seeking people to help them with a Giant problem. (Hook: if your party is having downtime while they look for their next quest, this could be that hook they need.) [OSpiderBox]
The Esteemed Steamboat - Artificers run this marvel of steam engineering. However... it's currently in a state of disrepair. Looks like heavy damage from some monstrosity. While they're extremely proficient in fixing it, they have no money and are looking for work to pay for supplies. (Allies: party could hire some of them for an upcoming task/adventure, or even offer to fund the repairs in exchange for favopassage.) [OSpiderBox]
The Mainstream (You’ll never need a bigger boat!) - A casino cruise ship featuring a large game room, several bars, comfortable rooms, a pool and a hot tub fueled by a continual flame spell. It is captained by a tall, brown scaled lizardfolk woman named Kepesk. The dealers are kenku bards repeating rules and barking (“Step right up, try you’re luck at the Wheel of the Goddess of Fortune!”) There is also a large vault of gold on board, guarded by lizardfolk soldiers. One particular patron is looking for a few helping hands for a bit of a caper now that he knows the guards patrol schedules. [spiff2]
Rocinante - A relatively fancy and expensive ship being up kept by the Quijano family and their servants. The last living member of the family is a young man, obsessed with swords and thirst for adventure. He agrees to let the team borrow the ship, in exchange for him coming with them on their adventures to wherever they’re going. [DrFishPhd]
Deep Blue - In a corner of the harbour, a seemingly empty ship. Sails are neatly furled, crew seems to have left the ship mere hours ago. On the deck, small openings allows the visitor to enter the hold, in it, some barrels, hammocks. Beside one of the hammock, a book, quite old, written in an old version of Common language.In the middle of the hold, some blankets cover a group of trunks, under these trunks, another opening ... leading to another hold. In this hold, vessels, old fashioned lanterns, and some parchment written in ancient language. At the bottom of a bulkhead, an opening, some stairs gong down in another hold.Wood seems ancient, and strange figures are carved into the wooden parts of the boats. Some ancient runes are covering pillars. In the middle of the hold, a panel with nails made of some unknown metal, once open, stairs going down in the dark. From the shadows, the noise of little splaches. [doctor_providence]
The Mosquito - Run by a crew of githyanki pirates. What seems like a normal battle vessel, once on the open ocean, the sails begin turning outward and suddenly the ship begins gliding above the waters surface at fast speeds. [GladiatorJustin]
The C.H.U.D.- The Shell of a massive deceased Dragonturtle floats next to the dock, it’s ends sealed by mechanical claws, and a viewport fitted into the front. The C.H.U.D. (Chelonian Hammerworked Underwater Dirigible) was designed by the Gnomish Inventor Hector Copperspark. Crewed by gnomes and halflings as they are the only ones small enough to man the complex machinery crammed into the turtle shell, the C.H.U.D. is a mercenary vessel that hires out to perform naval attacks. Hector just got a lead on a new job, and he needs some muscle to pull it off... [Lakandalwa]
The Temple - A ship that serves as a mobile temple to a water deity. It goes from port to port to carry services. [SMGB_NeonYoshi]
Cloudscraper - One of the gems of the Romish Empire's formidable fleet, the Cloudscraper is a powerful warship specially constructed for defeating sea monstrosities of all kinds. Developed after the Queen's late husband was killed by an island feeder (colossal sea beasts known for swallowing swaths of land whole), this vessel with an imposing tower-like bridge is loaded up with all types of harpoons, cannons, and magical armor. Some even say that, thanks to a powerful magical engine, the top half of the ship can separate from the brig to chase after flying beasts attempting to get away. With how famous it is, plenty of townsfolk are eager to get a look at the shining bronze beast of a boat. But what's it doing here of all places? [MildlyConcernedGhost]
The Wistful Wanderer - A small sloop with a single cabin in the middle of the deck. A skilled observer might note that the sails and rigging as well as the rudder occasional shift to right the ship or tighten and secure themselves more. The cabin is actually permanently enchanted with a Mordenkainen’s Magnificent mansion and the ship is handled by a permanent crew of 20 unseen servants. It is owned by the Wandering Wizard Wesley Wrycroft. He sails the world at his leisure, seeking trade for scrolls and arcane artifacts. He also regularly hires adventurers to gather difficult to reach artifacts from unworthy hands whenever he finds a lead on the location of such a relic. [Lakandalawa]
The Magic Brawler - A merchant ship with a very strong looking captain comes to port. If the party chooses to look at their items the captain will challenge the party to an arm wrestling match. Beating a DC 20 strength check will award the party one minor magic item from the captain's personal stash, and beating a DC 25 strength check will award a magic item of the DMs choosing. [TheInstitute4]
The Friend Ship - A comfortable looking wooden ship full of people just hanging out on the deck. While aboard this ship you find yourself under the effects of the Charm Person spell to make everyone friendly with each other. [Stormkiko]
The Dragon Ship - Captained by a Dragonborn with a dragon head on the prow, this ship is a merchant vessel crewed by a muscular Dragonborn who sits on the deck smoking a long pipe. The ship has put down for repairs after grazing a rock which tore a few holes in the starboard side. [AndreTheSalty]
Kender - A rag tag ship filled with swashbuckling Kender. The ship looks like it was made from bits and pieces of many different ships.The Kender are very drunk and have no idea how they got to this port. [Slainlion]
The Poor Captain - A ship that looks broken and near sinking, in truth it's one of the most armed ship on the seas. It uses help calls or just their non threatening look to lure ships close so that they can attack them. [DungeonsAndScouts]
The Fisticuffs- A medium sized rowdy ship sits a little way out from the dock. The ship has two massive hands stemming from the hulls on long mechanical arms. The hands have an AC of 25, a damage threshold of 5, and 30 health each. They ship can leave the water and "walk" on the hands. The ship is primarily a combat ship and is crewed by a band of mischevious gnome tinkerers. In addition to attacking (+10 to hit: 4d6 + 8 bludgeoning damage) the hands can also cast Bigby's hand once per day. [dweeb_bush]
The Grain Barge - A large barge with a dirt floor and wheat growing. A single old man lives on the barge, and sells wheat for 2 pountds per copper piece. In the hull of the barge, accessible only by a trapdoor in the old man's shack, is a large pile of carrots. [serious_tabaxi]
Sea Rot - A large gallion speeds into port with a yellow flag raised. As soon as they dock and have paid the docking fee the captain, a large half-orc woman called Mishka, starts calling for help! She reveals that over half of her crew has contracted a strange plague and she fears for her life. She came to port to seek medical assisstance but fears she is infected so dares not go ashore.The plague - Sea Rot - Is highly contagious and air-borne: if a creature comes within 5ft. of an infected creature they must succeed on a DC 17 Constitution save or become infected themself, symptoms take 1d10 days to manifest. The symptoms of Sea Rot are gruesome, starting with the extremities of the body, the body starts depositing water in cytoplasm-like sacks. At the end of every long rest the creature takes 2d6 cold damage and must succeed on a DC 13 Constitution save or suffer 1 permanent constitution damage, the infected creature also has disadvantage on strength and dexterity checks. It can only be cured by magical means that remove a disease.If the party fetches help she rewards them with a small favour and a pouch full of gemstones worth 50gp, in addition, if the party can cure the 20 crew members and contain the plague she offers them passage anywhere, offers an additional 100gp, and her cutlass- a +1 scimmitar that also increases the holder's charisma by 2 while holding it. [dweeb_bush]
Grok's Galley - A medium-sized ship piloted by a Tortle named Grok(He Understands Things)11. The ship is a 2 sailed vessel with few cannons and other wartime mechanisms on them. The crew is very resilient and full of ragtag non-humaniods. Gnolls, Dragonborn, Ratfolk etc.He's about to set sail back home as he's heard of this group of ratfolk that are trying to overthrow the government in his home town. [VKilledTInternet]
The Abigail - An old warship thought to be lost that had been renovated and turned into an inn. It’s run by two very attractive siblings, who turn out to be sirens and one night, they take the boat out to the sea and eat all the passengers. [TardyTortoise]
The Comfort - This massive galleon is an independent freebooter that refuses to pay allegiance to any nation or city. Housing a collection of skilled healers and clerics, the Comfort sails to areas struck by famine, plague, and war, providing healing to whomever requests it. The sailors aboard the vessel have all sworn the same oath, to defend the healers and their patients with their lives no matter the cost.While the Comfort usually is accepted at any port, it sometimes comes under attack when it travels to war torn regions and as such is well equipped to defend itself should it come under attack. [Lakandalawa]
Arabian Traders - An exotic merchant vessel filled with silks, spices, and strange spirits is disembarking. A dashing arabian prince asks basic questions about the city, potentially becoming enamored with one of the party members. He is rich and slightly crazy, and believes anything can be bought for a price. This gets him into trouble when he tries to buy someone's hand in marriage to add to his collection of luxuries and many wives back in his home port. [jfractal]
Deep Sea Scavengar - Salty, untrustworthy sailors (who look like pirates) are disembarking/unloading from their latest voyage. They have been at sea for months, and haven't seen a woman in that long - they openly hit on and jeer at any females in the group with a CHA score of 11 or higher. One sailor tells a fanciful story about sirens that they encountered on their voyage, killing 3 of their men (it's hard to tell if they are serious or not). [jfractal]
His majesty's secret - A heavily outfitted, small warship is in a secret mission from the king. Heavily armed/armored guards stand watch over the docks, turning away everyone, and refusing to divulge their purpose here. [jfractal]
Smallminded Yokels - A small, local fishing vessel filled with xenophobic, small-minded fisherman. The make disparaging remarks about any non-humans if approached. If the party gives them lip, they will get jumped by the crew the next time they wander the harbor at night. [jfractal]
Mussel's Mate - A large fishing vessel that has seen it's better days. Rigging is in tatters, masts are spliced together, mismatched patchworks sails. Oddly enough the captains quarters are extremely well apportioned not at all like the rest of the ship. [hamlet_d]
The Wayward Lady - This ship has an all female crew. The species on board are the outcasts from different lands. They serve as a place for any who are lost to have a home, though men don't tend to stay for long for some reason. After a successful DC 20 insight check it can be found that men on board the ship for 4 months become women. [42firehawk]
The Gypsy - On the deck is what appears to be a stage where beautiful female dancers perform to music provided by a small band of bards. One of the dancers, who is known as the Storyteller, tells stories through song as the rest of the dancers provide her the visuals/backup dancing. Her voice is noticeably quite low for a woman, but is very enchanting nonetheless. An insight check with a DC20 will reveal that all of the performers are cross-dressing men. [Crystalized13]
The Stable - A ship of decent size that carries horses (or any other kind of mount in your game) from port to port and sells them at a decent price to tired and/or injured travelers. It is crewed by a family of six (mother is the captain, father, three sons, three daughters) and a few extras the gathered along their journey, namely; a nice old man who wants to see the world, a young woman with a fiery attitude and an obvious crush on one of the party members, a muscular Dragonborn who has obviously seen some action who now tends to the horses, a bard who offers entertainment to the crew on board and is particularly liked by the children, a mute Druid who helps the horses and is good friends with the Dragonborn (who interprets their sign), and an ex-pirate who loves the sea but wishes to leave their past behind them. [Crystalized13]
The Penny Bucket - The penny bucket is barely a ship. It's looks like a wash-bucket with a wooden T nailed to it and has a large white shirt as a sale. As far as you can tell there's no way to steer, its an utter mystery to you how it ended up in port, let alone why the dock authority would charge it to dock. When you peer inside the bucket you see a small red pseudodragon peacefully sleeping on it's hoard, which consists of 3pp, 16gp, 103sp, and 56cp, 6 rubies worth 30gp, and a dusty diamond worth 300gp , and a small magical trinket of the DM's choice. If woken up the Pseudodragon wakes up and fiercely snarls , cowering, and protecting its stuff. The dragon will trade any of the items in its hoard if the adventurers offer something of value, or a large amount of food. If the party wants to adopt the dragon along with it's hoard it may be won over with gifts and a DC18 animal handling check. [dweeb_bush]
The Crafty Raft - A makeshift raft has floated down the coast and slammed into the dock. There is no one on board and it appears to be unmanned. There is a note fixed to the mast with a tiny butterknife. The note has directions, "at the lightning stump follow the stream and rescue us". The raft, and attached note were made by crafty goblins attempting to lure creatures down the coast right into a trap. The goblins have made finding their hideout incredibly easy. With a DC 5 nature (tracking) check the party can find the tree and follow it down to the river. The real trap is a series of pitfall traps cleverly hidden in and around the stream. If the adventurers continue along the stream they must succeed on a DC18 Perception check to avoid it and must succeed on a DC14 Dexterity save or fall 10ft. into spikes and take 1d6 bludgeoning damage and 2d6 piercing damage. They are then accosted by 2d4 goblins. [dweeb_bush]
The Illusory Boat - Moored in the port is a huge gleaming golden pirate ship, there must be at least 50 richly dressed halflings manning it. There's a long gangplank extending to the dock. Suddenly there's the noise of several cannons firing off. The guards rush over to the ship, fearing that they are attacking the port. They scream at the ship- "come down here and speak to us you cowards, we can't board your ship without permission but we will call the town guard!" A voice calls from the ship yelling insults at the guards aiming to infuriate them till they board the boat. If any one steps on the gangplank they must succeed on a DC 14 Dexterity save or fall into the water, as they do the ship dissapears and it's revealed that the entire ship is a major illusion cast by three giggling wizards who run away from one of the neighboring piers. [dweeb_bush]
The Question - There's a metallic ship floating in the water. From it you hear loud beeping, chirping, and whirring noises coming from it and it's attracted a large crowd of 3d10 townsfolk, who are fearfully inspecting the ship. As you approach closer you begin to hear a voice in all the artificial noises. You hear it asking thousands of questions, in thousands of voices: "who am I?", "why am I here?", "What's that ugly thing over there?", "what is the meaning to life", "Why are there people watching me?", and other creepy remarks that give the idea that the ship is conscious and scared. When the adventurers look into the boat they see a blinking green, light with a swirling marbled texture on it. The light turns red and starts asking questions very specific to the party. Before long it begins speaking in tongues and a flash of blinding light appears. The adventurers make a DC13 constitution save. On a failed save they are blinded for a minute and take 4d4 psychic damage or half as much on a successful save. When the adventurers look again the ship is gone and there is just a small gemstone floating in the water, whispering to the party in tongues that are unintelligible. [dweeb_bush]
The mistake -A small boat that seems to have been renamed fairly recently. The - ake part of the name is in a different calligraphy and color from the rest of the name [Ido97]
The Barnacle - An old weathered gun-ship bearing it's scars from many a battle, but nevertheless being no worse for the wear. Built strong from some ancient hardwoods and it has been well maintained to the best a ship of that age could be. The crew is a rowdy bunch of salty Dawgs that work as hard as they play...and they fight even harder. They may squabble amongst themselves, but don't you dare mess with or insult one of their brotherhood. They have come to port ready to sell their wares, collect their bounty and spend it irresponsibly. All so they can find their next mission and do it all over again. [gothic03]
The Bauntoo - A strange ramshackle ship occupied by amphibious humanoids that spend near their entire lives out at sea, trade in weird cool stuff they've found deep diving into cool underwater locations like ocean ruins, and wont be at port for long. [Swerve-Bro]
The Leviathan - A huge ship listing hard to one side, its mast broken halfway up and the sails drooping to the deck. All of the wood is dark brown, slimy and rotting out. It looks like someone pulled a shipwreck from the bottom of the sea and it remained afloat by some miracle. If the party inspects the ship, they will find it has already been thoroughly looted and all that remains of the crew are skeletons. (Whether the skeletons are animated or not is up to you). The dock guards will tell you that a huge fog rolled in last night and this ship was there when the fog lifted. [painterinsomniac]
The Menagerie - A decent sized merchant ship, this one is run by all sorts of different creatures though none are humanoid. This ship was originally a travelling circus showing off all manner of awakened animals who were kept captive. The animals are quite amiable and will offer carry passengers in exchange for assistance selling their goods in markets. [painterinsomniac]
The Coffin - A casket-shaped ship that contains the body of a 21-ft giant. The top of the casket has been fitted with sails and rigging and is manned by a crew of humans who tell the party that the giant hired them before his death. He always wanted to sail around the world, so half of all his treasures would be given to the crew who sailed him around the world. The money is to be awarded upon the crews return to the giant's family home, and the crew must have an artefact from each land to prove their voyage complete to the family and get their loot. Of course, the crew isn't bothering with actually sailing around the world - they're content to just make port for a year and trade people for ancestral trinkets so they can return to the land of giants in a year and take their massive loot. They've been given a hefty advance to cover the cost of their long voyage, so money is no object. Adventurers can sell their items if the item is from a distinct background (eg a Dwarven Warhammer, an Elven scroll of healing, etc). [Anceaus]
The Lighthouse - This ship is captained by a young cowardly wizard and an equally nervous-looking crew of young human men. Atop the central mast is a large lighthouse light, which the owner uses to keep other ships far away from him while at sea so as to avoid any trouble. If approached, the captain will immediately begin grovelling and handing over loot at the sight of the party's weapons, offering them any onboard services he can think of for his crew to do for them (shoeshines, blade sharpening, armour mending).Turns out it's all an act - the captain is actually a conniving trickster who transports and deals in Light Blue Light, a magical drug that induces paranoia/twitchy behaviour but grants a 1d6 bonus to Strength for a period of 1 hour. [Anceaus]
The Nest - A vaguely ship-shaped bramble of collected branches and tar, this vessel doesn't look like it should even float, much less sail. It's run completely by Kenku's. They love to collect shiny objects and every nook and cranny of the nest is filled with glittering pieces of treasure and trinkets, among which are a range of magical items.Anything can be bought for a price, but what they especially want is for the adventurers to help them get a shiny old chalice that they've spotted beneath the waters of the harbour - they aren't big swimmers. [Anceaus]
The Half-Pint - An average looking, 2nd-rate ship run exclusively by halflings and gnomes. The crew are rolling a large number of barrels off the ship. A DC 13 Investigation Check will uncover that the Half-Pint has almost twice as many decks as a regular ship of that size and the diminutive crew use the extra space to smuggle illegal magical ale that has explosive side effects. If approached, the first mate (a scruffy gnome named Sebastiano who trusts people a little too easily considering his trade) will ask the party if they are 'for hire' or just want a cask.If the party is looking to buy, refer to the http://dndspeak.com/2017/12/100-random-potion-effects/ to determine what effect their beer has.If they're interested in the job, he would have them guard a supply wagon transporting contraband IPA to an old wizard who lives in an ivory tower in the nearby forest for a sum of 25gp each. What the party doesn't know is that the wizard is in the process of transitioning into a Lich, and the beer is the magical conduit by which he has been transforming. The wizard has the stats of a Revenant if the party chooses to fight him. If an unconscious creature drinks the illegal beer, they will be revived and become Undead. [Anceaus]
The "Blu Moon" - A two masted Caravel. An ocean going merchant ship, that has recently been damaged by pirates, but escaped because they dumped all cargo overboard. The ship is being repaired and expected to be ready in two days. The captain, Quintus "Full" Moon, already has agreed to transport 24 bales of dyed fabric to [INSERT DESTINATION] but is now looking for some more cargo for the same destination. The rest of the crew is: first mate Eldan Wind (m half-elf), bosun Karrla (f half-orc), helmsman Olfie Re (f half-elf), cook Carlin Zwiet (f gnome), and four human sailors: Frenk(m), Ra(f), Tjoris(m) en Huub(m). Huub is a 12 year old boy on his first trip. [Jeeve65]
The Leatherback - A merchant ship from a faraway land. It is made of a beautiful reddish wood and adorned with many colorful flags. About half the crew is made up of tortles and the other half consists of various other races they picked up on their travels. They are very friendly people and will happily buy you a drink or two in exchange for stories of your adventures or of the places and cultures you’ve experienced. If they take a liking to you they're even willing to give you free passage to wherever you'd like to travel... as long as that place happens to be the next port along their voyage. [TheMightyLoaf]
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JoJo's Bizarre Adventure OC Tournament #5: Round 1 Match 26: Arpeggi VS Nalksi

The results are in for Match 24.
Both sides were starting to show signs of exhaustion. Max, no matter what he did, couldn’t push back the titaness in front of him who was looking much worse for wear physically, yet was still standing strong.
10
[Work It] whipped out one of its wrappings and Elliot made a launch for the lever. Max intercepted, using his own body weight and his stand as a deterrent, but to no avail against the unstoppable force that was Elliott.
Crash!
They both went flying to the front of the trolley, Elliott powering through the electric current passing through her, while Max himself was effectively pinned by Elliott’s arm and the front wall.
A struggle ensued, feeling like it lasted for an eternity. Slowly but surely, Elliott managed to get a wrapping around the lever, and was pulling it towards her.
The trolley kept speeding along.
Time felt as if it was going in slow motion, and the trolley was heading towards the museum when the lever flipped all the way. However, the back wheels had yet to pass the intersection.
The two fighters were launched towards the door as momentum suddenly shifted. The trolley derailed, flipping end over end. Forgetting about the fight, Elliot and Max, were holding each other and onto whatever they could find for dear life.
“CRACK”
“CRACK”
The trolley had crashed through a large glass panel, its own windows starting to shatter from the impact. Now sliding along the ground at a quickly decreasing speed, the trolley made its way through its final destination, the hall in which Los Fortuna’s largest fruit cart and glass panel convention was being held, with a loud CRACK! THUD! CRASH!
Commotion could be heard outside and a man could be heard yelling about his precious produce. The two released their grip from each other, Max having had his ribcage slightly crushed and Elliott having had her hair singed on top of the other injuries they had both suffered in their fight.
Max coughed and made a weak smile, still slightly out of breath, “I think… we can call this...a draw.”
Elliott just weakly nodded, less winded but still woozy, “Yeah, maybe we can go get dinner together. Call it my apology for this whole thing.”
“I’ll… Consider it,” Max answered, thankful at least that nobody seemed to be physically injured by the crash.
The match is a draw, with both parties earning a score of 71!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Baker Street Rat Pack	17-13
Quality	Baker Street Rat Pack	23-20	Reasoning
JoJolity	Sharp Lookers	21-28	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10

Elliot and Max, despite everything, had a decent time of things, a sort of respect having mutually come of their shows of force in the brief runaway trolley trip, and when the time came for them to part ways, it was on decent terms, even if in the long run the methods of their teams were still so very radically different.
However, even as for once in the manmade islands that were Downtown Los Fortuna, nobody else was discovered to have died today, the pair were not the only ones to have had their eyes on the trolley.
Some saw in the crash opportunity, while others saw further reaffirmation of all that they stood for and deemed necessary.
The problem of the trolley has been resolved in this delicious way, but elsewhere, other vehicles speed out of control. In the furthest-off mountains of the Metropolitan Outskirts, two pairs fight in their cars, protected by the Angel they were pursuing.
Scenario:
An alleyway on the northern edge of Sound’s Garden, 7:34 PM
With a loud thud, Arpeggi Osso Buco slammed the head of a mugger into a wall, standing by some sort of small, barely-legal casino. The mugger had come up to him and demanded money at knifepoint, likely to fund his gambling addiction or something like that. The mugger had no idea what he was up against, swiftly getting disarmed and defeated, Arpeggi not even needing to bring out NEXT LEVEL.
“Arpeggi, calm down. This anger isn’t helping you fight better - it’s making you reckless. What would you have done if your opponent had a stand? You have to remain cautious and prepared for all eventualities.” NEXT LEVEL chided once the fight was over. “Yeah, yeah, I know, and I’m trying, but… Whatever. I’ll do better next time.” Arpeggi responded, NEXT LEVEL clearly not content with the response.
As usual, Arpeggi was tired, stressed, and more than mildly annoyed even before the mugger’s attack. Somehow, since he came to the city, the rate of people who tried to mug him in random alleyways around the city had seemed to drastically increase, and he was sick of it. Perhaps he needed to avoid alleyways altogether. Then again, he had come to Sound’s Garden to dish out some vigilante justice for such people, so maybe sticking to alleyways was the right call.
Though he had only been in Los Fortuna for a couple of months, it didn’t take long for Arpeggi to realize that focusing more on Sound’s Garden during his stints as a vigilante would be a good idea. He’d caught onto faint rumors of underground fighting rings and other such places, contract killers and bizarre games which his allies brushed perilously against and barely survived, but even when ignoring the district’s underground he found plenty of work to keep him busy.
With a sigh, he began making his way out the alleyway, before hearing a rustling from behind him. Someone was there. Quickly turning around, he spotted a figure moving through the alleyway at a distance, and then disappearing into a wall. It was cast in shadow, and yet he could tell that there was something… off, about it. It was almost humanoid, distorted and warped, and through the shadow, it had a red, almost fleshlike color. Moreover, he couldn’t help but notice the pungent smell it gave off.
“... Nex, suit me up.” Arpeggi quietly said, taking slow steps towards where he last spotted the figure. After transforming, and with NEXT LEVEL forming around him, Arpeggi made his way over, remaining alert and keeping a fighting stance, prepared for any sudden attack. Reaching the spot, he saw nothing. Whatever had been there before was gone. Suddenly, he heard something from right behind him -
Click. Click. Click.
The smell having grown even more overwhelming, Arpeggi quickly turned around, spinning and driving a fist into what was behind him, only for the strike to do… nothing. Despite the increased strength NEXT LEVEL gave Arpeggi, the figure, now looming over him, its malformed skin and so many eyes upon him now quite visible, quickly recovered. With a quick movement of its arm, it stabbed NEXT LEVEL’s rubber sleeves with something, and Arpeggi lost consciousness.
A street on the northern edge of Sound’s Garden, 7:36 PM
Following Alexis and Cybil’s successful foray into the world of theater a few weeks back, the Judecca Highrollers had heard of a secretive underground fighting ring that operated from within Sound’s Garden. From what Nalksi Stracciella had heard, it certainly was not to her taste, but she needed to know more about it, and to that end, she had sent one of the few members of Focolare that had come to spread their mission in Los Fortuna to seek it out and to gather information.
With Nalksi having already had business in the area as the CEO of Taicarn, she had decided to meet up with said member afterwards, organizing a meeting spot and taking time out of her schedule to take in the information that they had gathered. Fifteen minutes past the specified time for the meeting and with no contact from the information gatherer, it was clear that the meeting wasn’t going to happen. It made her apprehensive, certainly; people loyal to her were not the types to simply blow a meeting off, but every follower she had here was in a sensitive position, and she couldn’t simply send more the problem’s way. As it was, she had no leads.
And so, she walked through the street, cars and people alike passing her by. Her ride back to the Eighth Circle was a couple of minutes away, leaving her to walk alone through the bustling streets of Sound’s Garden, taking in the sights. Unfortunately, the sights weren’t much to take in - many drunk partygoers, many desperate people who lost their savings in casinos, and many overwhelming neon lights, which, in Nalksi’s opinion, were somewhat garish.
As Nalksi walked, however, she spotted someone, walking right past her. He stood at 6’6”, broad-shouldered, bald-headed with dirty blond facial hair which had been kept to a stylish stubble. His vest had odd shoulder pads, and his sunglasses hid his eyes well, yet he seemed unafraid.
While he was not a man he had met in person, she had heard much of this man and seen his reprehensible face - this was none other than the suburb of Aurelio’s very own serial killer, and an all-around frustratingly aesthetically skilled home designer, Mr. Jones. She’d heard much of the spectacle of the personal “game” he had set up and streamed on Bifrost, both from her teammate who had gotten caught up in it and from the ones that had watched it (Bucket in particular seemed particularly enthused about it, even paying extra to boost the server’s stream quality and be able to see Manta “getting the shit kicked out of them”, in his words, live as it happened).
Nalksi turned to get a better look of him, but as she hurried after him, she couldn’t find him within the crowd any more. Mr. Jones... She couldn’t help but think of what he might have been doing in the entertainment district. He was scum, toying with others for his own amusement and making a spectacle out of it. In tandem with the district’s seedier underbelly. Nalksi’s displeasure with the fact that Manta had let the killer go increased even further, seeing the man walk free like this, even look quite relaxed in the brief glances heard.
A distorted voice, yet still familiar, came from behind her.
“We had a feeling you’d be in the area, Stracciella. What a stroke of luck we bumped into each other, though… A good stroke for me, less so for you, I guess.”
Nalksi turned around, trying to spot Jones, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Whoops, missed me! You just have the worst luck with meetings today, don’t ya?”
Nalksi turned and turned, but always he seemed just behind her, surer-footed with his Stand, likely, than she could be now. She didn’t want to do this in public, but the situation seemed desperate, and if anyone in this crowd gave a damn what Mr. Jones was doing, they sure didn’t say a thing. She would need to match him and overpower him, use her Stand, maybe. But even then, where the hell was he? The crowd was busy, but not busy enough to completely obscure him from her watchful gaze, and yet he had managed to disappear. He must’ve used his stand to-
Click. Click. Click.
As she turned behind herself to look again, from the ground in front of Nalksi rose the enormous, distorted arm of Conqueror Worm, giant eye-sporting hand and all, holding onto something. Nalksi quickly tried to double back, but not in time, as the Worm reached out and quickly stabbed her with the odd object he was holding. Before Nalksi passed out, the crowd passing over and ignoring her, she just barely managed to catch a glimpse of it - a small and inconspicuous pen.
The last thing she heard as something engulfed her was a reassurance. “Hey, don’t panic now… I won’t be the one to hurt ya, after all, so you might just stand a chance.”
An intersection by the edge of Sound’s Garden, 7:52 PM
With throbbing headaches, both Nalksi and Arpeggi woke up, finding themselves on a concrete sidewalk. Getting up, they saw each other, a few meters of distance between them. Around them were still the bustling streets of Sound’s Garden, right by a large and bustling intersection. Still somewhat weary, they noticed a familiar smell.
“You’re finally awake! Guess what, you two, ya passed out hard, and now it’s rush hour and you’re so very very far from home!”
That disturbed voice was enough, of course, to fully wake both of these people up, as well as the horrible smell - they were so damn close to the seemingly invincible Conqueror Worm. Dazed, confused, and aware they were under some sort of effect, though neither was the type who quite accepted being so brazenly screwed around with, they had a feeling it would be useless to do anything but let him peacock until it was time to explain what the hell was happening.
“Alright, we rolling? Send your pogs in the chat if the stream is comin’ out A-O-Kay!” Worm waited a few moments, then, and his wide maw turned into something resembling an amused grin. “Great, alright, good! Welcome to your inaugural stream, the start of a new era for Sound’s Garden… Rigged together by yours truly to be completely free of any Internet monitoring types, with my own proprietary systems in place keeping any of you deep web viewers at home or elsewhere from being spotted! And introducing to you our contestants here, Arpeggi Osso Buco and Nalksi Stracciella! The humble Agora Row pastry chef and the hash-tag-girl-boss of that coalition making waves by our waterside, you might be asking, ‘what do these two have in common? Well, you didn’t hear it from ol’ Wormy, but I hear both of them have some pretty involved double lives that have made them little blips on the big boss’ radar!”
“He’s just…” Arpeggi was confused now, as the man gallivanted around the nearby intersection, muttering quietly to himself and, coincidentally, to the nearby Nalksi. “He’s parading around in the streets… Do the people driving seriously not notice this? They aren’t even swerving around him!”
“That… I’m not sure it’s so simple,” Nalksi said, putting her thoughts together, under the impression they were having a conversation, “because I also ran into him in a crowd, earlier, and even when he started taunting me, throwing that Stand around, and even bystanders didn’t seem to think twice. But his Stand is the type normal people can interact with… Isn’t it?”
“Quite proudly in fact!” Worm called out loudly, pointing his extended arm, hand, finger, and an eyeball on his palm Nalksi’s way, the anonymous stream viewers hearing a bell dinging to imply a correct answer edited in. He started to saunter on over, shrugging and idly fiddling with a pen in his hand. Arpeggi tried to step away slightly, still yet to activate his Stand, while Nalksi stood her ground. “So that is quite the contradiction, right? What on earth could the answer to all this beTHINK FAST!”
He wound his arm, and suddenly he was cleaving at Arpeggi with an enormous, lengthy swinging axe, meant to fit on an enormous ceiling, the blade hitting him square in the neck, while the nearby Nalksi, much less agile, simply was grabbed by the head and callously tossed into the street in front of a semi truck.
Both sounds made a resounding thud, and the truck felt its balance thrown off for a moment, before skidding to a halt in the middle of the road. An auburn haired, middle-aged woman with a soothing voice, wearing overalls and a cap, stepped out of the vehicle, running over to where Nalksi previously was. “Wh-what the hell?! Did someone get thrown in front of me, or-?”
Nalksi, after getting flung by the car, got up, completely unharmed, if a little shocked and trying to collect herself. She muttered to herself, “I’m… I’m not hurt? What is…” She glanced at the older woman, then. “You, if you don’t leave here, you’re in grave danger. I’ll be fine, just forget what you’ve seen and drive off!”
The woman didn’t respond, stroking her chin and crouching, walking directly past her and looking where she was laying. “There’s… Nobody there. Not even a pothole, or something displaced. I coulda sworn I felt like I ran over a body or something…” She shrugged, slapping the side of the truck. “I’m takin’ you to a mechanic and sendin’ Omar Keshem the bill. That joyride through the forest really put you through hell.”
The truck drove away, and standing on the other side of the intersection, still reeling slightly but completely unharmed by the axe casually introduced and then stowed away, was Arpeggi, still himself trying to work out what happened here. “This… What have you done, Worm?! Why does the physical world mean nothing to us?!”
“Oh, wow, now it’s 1:1 on guessin’ what’s up first, so we have a match, ladies and gentlemen and everyone else!” He gestured at a seemingly random location with pointed clarity, specifically posing for it and then spinning around on his fell heel to address both of them. “That’s right, Arpeggi!” He produced the pen again. “Take a look at this ‘Pen!’ I know, it just looks like a cheap-lookin’ ballpoint you can buy in bulk in the middle’a July when they start the back-to-school sales these days, yeah? BUT! It ain’t an ordinary ‘pen,’ you know, though I’m sure ya realized that… It’s called ‘Generational Synthetic!’ Thanks to this thing right here I’ve gotten ya with, a favorite little piece I’ve borrowed, you’re basically Stand Objects now! And who wants to go over the basicmost rules of how Stands work, that everything either follows or deviates from?”
“First of all, you’re entirely invisible to anyone that isn’t a stand user! So you can run around like a ghost and spook’em or kill’em or somethin’ like that, and they won’t even know what hit them! In addition, anything that isn’t a stand or a stand object can’t hurt you! I’ve already showcased this on you both, what with the axes an’ the cars and whatnot, so no reason to elaborate further!”
“Now, that all sounds fine and dandy, doesn’t it? However, what about becoming normal? Now, obviously I wouldn’t do this to myself without knowin’ how to get outta this state, yeah? However, you lot have no idea how to free yourselves, and without assistance from ol’ Wormy here-” Jones said, taking a step forwards as a car drove right past him and barely missed him, “You’ll be stuck like this forever!”
“Now, I’m a busy Worm, and so are my associates, so that eternal scenario ain’t exactly something we’re interested in either, but if you wanna get out of this state, you gotta work for it first! And so… I’ll have you two put on a show!” Jones said, striking an exaggerated pose towards another random direction where a camera was likely hidden. “... but not one of those theater type shows, yeah? No… What’s more interestin’ is having you two fight it out, right here in this very intersection! That sound good to you? eh?”
“... And why do you expect us to trust you on this?” Arpeggi said, staring at Jones with contempt.
“Fine, fine, fine… You want proof? Well, not sure if this’ll be enough for you what with that attitude of yours, but it’ll certainly be enough for Miss Straciella over here!” Worm said as a giant, cracked TV screen covered in greenery emerged from his maw, showing on it a picture of three figures sprawled out on the floor somewhere unfamiliar. It wasn’t hard to recognize two of them - Nalksi and Arpeggi, but the third one was recognizable only to Nalksi as the member of Focolare she had sent out to find out more about the district’s underground. She tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but even then, the slight shift of her brow and increased focus on the screen gave the truth away.
“Yeah, betcha thought that the little spy you sent over wouldn’t be found by us, eh? Well, too bad! If you don’t want somethin’ else unfortunate happenin’ to this guy, then you better give us a damn good fight, capiche? And as for your bodies, well… I think it’s pretty clear that without’em, you’re not getting back to normal, yeah? And sure, sure, maybe right now you’re both thinkin’, ‘we just gotta get back to ‘em, and then we’re home free,’ right? Well, it’s a free country, so you’re free to try if ya want, track ‘em down wherever they are, and the people takin’ care of you three are free to stop you WAY easier than I could. Like this, though, only one of your bodies is gonna get messed up real bad, probably! Since you’re basically your own infinite-range Stands with substands now…”
Nalksi clicked her tongue, staring at Worm with contempt. So that was why the person she had sent didn’t show up… This, and the way he was using them as leverage against her, forcing her to abide by his disgusting games, infuriated her.
She would have to make Manta pay for letting Jones go once she got back to the Eighth Circle.
Arpeggi looked back at Jones with a similar disdain to Nalksi, ruminating to himself about what to do. “Arpeggi, despite how much it pains me to say this...” NEXT LEVEL quietly said, only to be interrupted by Arpeggi.
“Yeah, I know. We have to do what he says, both for ourselves and the one caught up in all this. Then, when we’re back to normal...” He curled his hand up into a fist. For now, he would just have to subside by imagining how beating the living daylights out of Jones would feel.
Though he wasn’t much of a fan of having to fight a woman he’d just sort of happened to see on the street, something about her, her reputation as a businessperson and the rumors surrounding that, and the way she carried herself, the words the Worm said directed to her in particular, made him realize that she was a vicious opponent who could certainly hold her own in combat against him… No, wait, that may have been too generous, by how she spoke next.
“So it has come to this… I don’t know you well, Arpeggi Osso Buco, and I don’t intend to tell you more about me than what this insect has already revealed, but I cannot die here, as some phantom hidden from the world in plain sight, and I will not tolerate what this man and his associates have done to one of my own. I must live on here, return to my body, and wreak something worse than any hell they could ever know upon every individual watching this place. I suggest that you, yourself, stand down and let me pass easily, and for such a favor, I will not forget you. For come the future-”
“Be quiet,” Arpeggi interrupted, voice snapping and leaving the distant Nalksi taken aback. “You said you weren’t going to say more about yourself to me, and then went on anyway… You think I want to hear it? Or that you’re better than them? People like you, sending someone into this hell in your stead and acting like you’re not to blame when it goes awry, talking big about the world you intend to shape… I’ve known so many like you, Stracciella, so I know damn well what you are. I don’t like that we’ve been forced into this circumstance, and I damn well intend to wipe the floor with these men myself, with people worth a damn to have by my side, but that doesn’t mean I intend to stand aside and let you thrive!”
The young man prepared his Stand, then, striking a pose as NEXT LEVEL surrounded his body. He was ready, willing, prepared to fight. “I’ll knock your self-important ass into the pavement!”
“You…” Finally, the previously speechless Nalksi was able to find her words, clenching her fist at what he was saying, seething and beginning to allow the underlying viciousness seep into her outer demeanor. “How dare you liken me and all I aspire to to them? If that’s what you see me as, then I will show you no sympathy either.”
“Eheheheh, looks like we’ve picked some good ones tonight, everybody! They’re gonna rip each other to shreds right here in traffic!” Worm, then, slipped away from the scene, sliding away and reemerging atop a nearby overhang, a microphone clipped to the maw of his Stand now. “I’ll be commentating the entire thing, and doin’ on-site everything-I-can to get you fine people the best of audio, visual, you name it! But hey, looks like they’re about to start, so let’s all say that loud and clear..!”
“OPEN THE GAME!!”
(Art by CaptainSpooky27)
Location: The middle of a busy four way intersection, cars passing by almost all the time. The road is represented by the grey tiles, the sidewalks by light grey tiles, and nearby buildings by dark grey squares. The dark grey rectangles are dividers. Each tile is 2x2 meters, making the arena 40x40 meters overall. There are four lanes on each “side”, each 4 meters long. The traffic lights will mostly be red at any one time, with the lights becoming green in a clockwise order, swapping every ten seconds - first, the lights at the northern side will be green, then they’ll become red after ten seconds and the ones on the eastern side will be green, and so on. Civilians will be using pretty much any opportunity available to cross the street, whenever the rules allow for it.
Goal: RETIRE your opponent!
Additional Information: Due to Generational Synthetic’s effect, the players have effectively been turned into stand objects - non stand users can’t see them, and will ignore them. Due to this, the players are also immune to damage caused by regular objects, and will simply get knocked back by it instead of being wounded. This applies to any byproducts of their stands as well, even if they could ordinarily be seen by civilians. It also means that, even if they ordinarily couldn’t, they are able to harm stands with their attacks.
The drivers of the passing cars and any of the civilians involved have 222 physicals, and they drive at speeds of up to 30 mph. They all want to get to their destinations soon, and as such will focus mostly on that, rarely getting out of their cars unless they’re forced to. If their cars are destroyed, they will get out of them and make their way on foot, exiting the arena before calling a cab or uber to pick them up.
Mr Jones has given you the okay on hurting civilians. You’re not sure you want it from him, but it’s there nonetheless.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
BADD GUYS	Arpeggi Osso Bucco	"The blood's... slowly turning invisible... but in the center... she should be there." Make the most out of this odd “stand object” state that Generational Synthetic put you in, and utilize it creatively throughout the match!
Judecca Highrollers	Nalksi Straciella	“The invisible baby. Earlier, when your back was turned, I wrote on the baby.” Make the most out of this odd “stand object” state that Generational Synthetic put you in, and utilize it creatively throughout the match!

Link to the Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
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[RF] Pale in Comparison

Winter had sucked all the color out of the world.
The prairie in the glory of midsummer had been a surge of green, summer winds sending pulses through the tall grass, causing it to wave like an underwater kelp forest in a strong current. Now, however, it had relinquished its blooming majesty, its former radiance dulled to straw the color of a deerhide. The flowerheads were stripped of their colorful identities, appearing like sepia photographs of themselves; the ghosts of summer past. The sweetclover, which had extended from one horizon to the other back in June, covering the prairie in a blanket of gold, was now skeletonized, its broken-off stems rolling like tumbleweeds in the winter gales.
Trevor was over it. Another South Dakota winter, another four months until the snows would cease and the ice would melt in the creek. In March and April, the spring blizzards would bury the world and on the subsequent sunny days, the combination of blue sky and white land would be startling, like finding oneself living in the center of a bicolored flag.
But for now, a capricious midwinter thaw had left snowdrifts only in the prairie draws, on the north-facing ridges, in the shadows of the ponderosas that speckled the hills. And around the trailer, mud. In a few nights, a deep freeze would turn the sides of the tire ruts into knife edges, testing the suspension of any vehicle that took the approach too fast. Still, that was better than the loamy mud, which could imprison even a 4x4 until freezing cold or drying winds finally freed it.
The view from the front porch could be gorgeous. Back in July, when the church group from Virginia had constructed a wheelchair ramp for the trailer, the evening sun had set the prairie on fire, its light reflected by a thunderstorm hanging in the sky as if by a puppeteer’s strings. “God almighty,” the youth pastor had exclaimed. But now, grays and browns mingled in a decidedly drab palette. Over at the little bird feeder, the goldfinches were no longer yellow-and-black exclamation points, but had acquiesced to dullness, dressed for a time of year when vibrant color seemed to be outlawed by some unseen authority.
Trevor stared at the expanse of mud that spooled out from in front of the trailer and unwound into a ribbon that led over the hill toward the old sundance ground and, eventually, the paved road. He wondered if he would get out today. Always a calculation this time of year. Driving on the muddy channel that was his approach was out of the question; he would set a course across the grass, which would provide enough barrier to keep his tires from sinking in again. Two-tracks radiating out onto the prairie showed how many times he and his family had taken this course of action since the last snow.
It felt ironic that their approach took them by far the long way around – heading north to go south; harder than it needed to be, like so much of life around here. But the way south was blocked by Roanhorse Creek. This wasn’t all bad; the creek provided nice wading in the summer and water for the horses for most of the year. It also gave rise to the only trees on the property, although the cottonwoods whose leaves whispered in the summer breezes now stood dumb and impassive, and resembled skeletal wraiths at nighttime.
A horse would make it, of course. He could saddle up the buckskin, ride cross-country and be in town in twenty minutes. But that would be silly…he snorted at the ludicrousness of this thought. First of all, he had to go way beyond town today. And even if he were just going to his old job at the tribal building, was he supposed to just hitch it up outside for the day? Tie its reins to one of the smokers’ benches by the entrance? What was this, 1895? No, better not to risk TȟatéZi getting stolen or having some gang sign spraypainted on it or some shit. Besides, he needed to pull into his job interview looking halfway decent, not spattered with mud and smelling like horse sweat.
Trevor regarded his truck, sitting smack in the middle of the sloppy mess. Fuck, he thought.
Still, he didn’t really have a choice today. No job interview, no job. No job, no funds. Another calculation, but this one was straightforward. He went back into the trailer and made his way to his bedroom in the back, passing his brothers in the living room. One was sleeping on the couch and the other was crashed out in the recliner, oblivious to the flickering hearth of the muted TV. Let ‘em sleep today, Trevor thought.
In the bedroom, he stepped across piles of clothes – some clean, some dirty – and over the miscellany of his life; a pile of old DVDs, a defunct gaming console, a canister of Bugler and squares of broadcloth for the tobacco ties he was supposed to make for ceremony, a scattering of empty Mountain Dew cans, a 24-pack of ramen, a basketball.
He hunted around in his closet for the dressy clothes that he knew were there. He had worn them once, on the day of his high school graduation, three years before. And there they were; a purple button-down shirt, a solid black tie, and black chinos. Further rummaging found him a pair of brown loafers and a tan braided belt. He would look sharp for this interview – couldn’t hurt.
Trevor took a quick shower. The hot water always took forever to come and once it did, didn’t last long. He got dressed hurriedly, glad the tie that had come as a set with the shirt was a clip-on, and ran a comb through his hair. It wasn’t long enough to do much with other than backcomb it a little with some hair gel, but he figured that looked better than not. He considered putting in big stud earrings to look extra fly, but decided again it; might not be the right look for the occasion.
Now fully dressed and ready, Trevor took stock of his appearance. His summer tan was long gone and his skin was as pale as the white kids he had met during his one semester of college. The same change of season that had desaturated the prairie and garbed the birds in dull colors had undone all those days spent out in the badlands sun – working with the horses, swimming at the dam, helping keep fire at sundance. Too many French fur traders in his lineage. He recalled the book that his eighth grade teacher had assigned them – Part-time Indian or something – and thought, Yup, that’s me. Indian in the summer and wašiču in the winter, like changing plumage.
Trevor envied his brothers their melanin. He had learned that word in one of his college classes and now thought of it nearly every day. Travis was a rich brown complexion even in the dark days of midwinter. Trenton was in between the two but had jet-black Lakota hair and definitely looked “ethnic,” enough to be followed around stores in the border towns. Trevor knew it was his privilege to be exempt from such treatment, but it bugged him nonetheless. He hadn’t asked to be light-skinned. His brothers called him žiží – a reference to his tawny hair. They had gotten into scraps over this, and Trevor even bloodied Travis’ nose in one such altercation. Once one of them had even called Trevor a “half-breed” but Trevor retorted with “Fuck you, boy, you got the same blood as me. Fuckin’ dumbass.” This seemed to put the issue to rest.
Trevor’s brief stint at college had been at an out-of-state school, which now struck him as an ill-advised decision. At least South Dakotans had some experience with Natives. Even the East River kids had at least crossed paths with one at some point, and didn’t think of Indians as something from the pages of a dime novel. Trevor was the first Native in many years – maybe ever – to attend the small-town liberal arts college in a neighboring state. He thought the fact that the college was reasonably selective would mean that the students were smart enough not to ask dumb questions. He was wrong.
The queries were predictable enough, clichéd even; Are you really Indian? (Yes) Do you speak your language? (No) Did you get in because you’re Indian? (Who knows? I’m pretty smart and got good grades.) Does the college have admissions quotas for Indians? (If it did, you’d think more would go here.) What’s it like on the reservation? (I don’t know; different.) Do you prefer “Native American”? (I find the question annoying, to be honest.) Do you like Leslie Marmon Silko? (Who?) Have you seen Dances with Wolves? (Some of it.) Do you know a guy from Pine Ridge named Verdell? He used to work with my dad. (Maybe) His last name was something Horse. Running Horse? (No)
Fielding these questions was exhausting and added another layer of weariness and alienation to his college experience.
He found himself having to answer such inquiries from his roommate, classmates, professors, his R.A…Sometimes they were cloaked in well-meaning concern (I bet you get tired of all these questions, huh?) but they were always there. Most evenings, Trevor would retreat to his room and call his mom. His roommate, Skyler, a cross-country runner who was handsome in an unspectacular way and who monitored his water intake religiously, was hardly ever around. He seemed to have no trouble making friends in college and reveled in the social opportunities around him.
In his phone calls back home, Trevor found himself experiencing a homesickness that inhabited the pit of his stomach like a hunger pang. He had never been gone from home for that long. Really, his only trip away had been the summer before his senior year, to a weeklong STEM camp for Native kids that one of the state colleges had put on. But that had been with a half dozen other students from his high school. Here he was alone.
The subjects of their conversations would leave Trevor feeling a gravitational pull toward home: Trenton got into a fight at school and got suspended. Travis is drinking again. We had sweat for your auntie because they have to amputate her leg after all. Those dogs were back again. Everett hit $200 at the casino on Tuesday night but of course he put it all back in. They’re having a basketball tournament for that boy who got paralyzed in that wreck. Our hot water heater went out but uncle came and fixed it. They still haven’t found that Two Arrows girl that went missing. Travis wants to go up on the hill this spring – maybe that will get him to quit drinking.
Good news, bad news, mundane news…The latter tugged at him the most. Like many who grew up on Pine Ridge, he had a love-hate relationship with the reservation. It was the home of his people after all, and could be so beautiful (“God’s country,” as it was called by even those who had no time for the white man’s God). But the hardships, the tragedies, the death…it all wore away at your spirit, hardened you. Still, the news of day-to-day life going on in his absence; a school powwow, a bingo tournament, tribal council drama, rumors of a Dairy Queen opening. It made him miss home in an ineffable way.
The last vestige of his indecision evaporated after a particular conversation in the lounge of his dorm. He had been sitting on a beanbag chair, discussing random topics with two friends (at least, he considered them friends, in some ill-defined adolescent way). They had all left a dull party that hadn’t livened up even after a couple of drinks, but still felt heady and obligated to prolong the night a little longer. So, they were shooting the shit, in a garishly-lit common space that smelled of burnt popcorn, and Trevor was feeling rather collegiate. An off-campus party, late-night conversation; weren’t these the trappings of university life that he had seen in teen movies, if a much more prosaic version?
Kayleigh, tipsy off Jäger bombs, started the chain of events that would unravel his college experience with a simple, but pointed question: “How Indian are you, anyway?”
Colton snorted at this comment. “Kay, you can’t just ask that!” But he was clearly more amused than disapproving.
“You mean like my blood quantum or what?” Trevor asked.
“Is that what you guys call it?” said Kay, now playing the innocent party. “I just mean, like, you say you’re Indian, I mean like I know you are, like, I know you are on paper…” The alcohol was causing her to trip over her words but she plowed on. “I mean like, okay, if I were to like, run into you on the street…” Kay was now gesturing expansively, as if the meaning of what she was saying wasn’t explicit from words alone. “Like, I wouldn’t be like, ‘Damn, look at that Indian,’ right? I’d just assume you were a white guy. I mean you know what I mean? Ugh, I’m not making sense.”
She was making perfect sense. Colton looked embarrassed, and for a second, Trevor thought he might shut Kay down. But instead, his inhibition similarly worn down by a few shots of German 70-proof, he followed suit. “I think what Kay’s drunk ass is trying to say is, like, your ancestors are Indians, right, like in the history books. Like Geronimo or whatever. But do you consider yourself one of them? Or are you, like, their descendant?”
Trevor could feel the ball of rage growing within him, a sea urchin radiating spikes in his gut. Stop talking, he thought. Just stop talking.
Colton continued, heedlessly. “Okay, so like I’m Irish but I’m not like Irish Irish, like a leprechaun or some shit. Like my ancestors…”
Trevor stood up, his fists balled. He was now stone-cold sober but his anger was its own intoxicant. “It’s none of your fucking business. It’s none of your business what the fuck I am!” He was shouting; he couldn’t help it. He picked up a half-empty can of PBR and threw it at the wall, slamming the door to the lounge on his way out. The sudsy contents of the can leaked onto the ugly orange dorm carpet, as Kayleigh and Colton sat in stunned silence.
“Jesus,” said Colton finally. “Just trying to ask an honest question.”
After that, Trevor had holed up in his room for a few days, skipping classes and avoiding other students. When he told his mom he was dropping out, she hardly sounded surprised. He knew she would be glad to have him back home; the prodigal son returning. Trevor, the one who had his shit together, who had gone to a STEM camp and was almost salutatorian. He knew she thought that once he got back, he could do what she couldn’t; get Travis on a better path, bring another income to the household, fix what needed to be fixed around the trailer, shoot at the stray dogs when they came around. It would all fall to him. His failure was their blessing; they would lean on him as long as he could stand.
So here we fucking go, he now thought, patting his gel-stiffened hair and giving himself one last hazel-eyed glance in the mirror. Gotta get that bread. His brief stint at the tribal building hadn’t panned out. He was a good worker but wet weather made his road too sloppy to get out easily. Too many latenesses had translated into a pink slip. “Shit man we all got bad roads. Gotta leave earlier,” his boss had said.
So, lesson learned, he was giving himself extra time getting ready for this interview. Really, the lady had just told him to come by “around mid-morning,” so he’d probably be okay. The job was off-rez, down at the county livestock auction and sale barn in one of the closest border towns, “white towns,” as Ridgers called it. It was mostly going to be paperwork – inventory and itemizing and that kind of shit – but it was decent pay and Trevor hoped that he could transition over to working with the animals before long. On most days, he preferred their company to dumbass people.
Grabbing his bag, Trevor stuck the loafers inside with his other miscellany. He would need to wear his cowboy boots across the muddy expanse between the bottom step of the porch and the door to his Blazer so he jammed his feet into them. Outside, he walked gingerly so as not to stain his black slacks with muck. Once in the driver’s seat, he figured he would leave the boots on for the drive, since they were already smearing mud on the floor liner, and in case he got stuck and needed to get out. Trevor knew that the people who worked at the sale barn were as countrified as he was and wouldn’t judge muddy boots under most circumstances, but he also knew that being from Pine Ridge meant he had to put his best foot forward, literally in this case.
Trevor fired up the Blazer, put it in four low, and gunned it. His tires found grip and he jerked along, slimy divots of earth spattering his windows and roof like hail. His windshield wipers left a pasty smear that obscured much of his view, but he practically knew the way by feel. As soon as he could, he bumped up onto the grass, gopher holes and clumps of prairie bluestem jolting his ride, testing what was left of his suspension. When he finally hit the pavement, the smoothness was startling as it always was, like a TV being suddenly muted, like silence after a door slamming.
He cruised through town, passing the gas station, the other gas station, the commod building, the quonset hut, the old BIA headquarters…and turned south into Nebraska. He tried to ignore the persistent squeal under the hood that had gotten worse lately. The overcast sky reflected the dullness of the land – as below, so above – and Trevor alternated between zoning out and counting hawks on telephone poles. A handful of miles south of the border, the vehicle gave a jolt and Trevor felt a temporary loss of control. He hit the brakes and steered toward the shoulder, but the Blazer was suddenly steering like an army tank. Fuck, he whispered.
Once he wrestled Blazer off the road, Trevor got out and popped the hood. He already knew what he would find under the rising steam. “Fucking serpentine belt,” he hissed to the universe. Trevor was good with cars but he didn’t have the tools for this fix. Luckily, he thought, out here in the country, somebody who did would be by soon. Lots of Natives on this road, maybe even a cousin would happen by who could at least give him a ride to town. Trevor thought of calling his dad’s brother Everett on his cell, but figured he’d give it a bit. He hated the thought of owing Uncle Ev anything.
Sure enough, in a few minutes, a gunmetal gray truck passed by slowly, hit a u-turn, and pulled up behind him. Trevor felt a twinge of envy over this late-model Dodge Ram MegaCab with duallies. It had county plates on it, so the cowboy-hatted driver was a local guy, and as he got out, his Carhartt overalls and mud-caked boots identified him as a rancher.
“Trouble?” MegaCab asked, giving Trevor an easy smile.
“Serpentine belt busted,” said Trevor, unconsciously smoothing out his rez accent in favor of a more neutral affectation. Code-switching – another term he had learned at college (by the professor who asked him if he prefers “Native American”).
“No shit, huh?” MegaCab considered this information. “I got nothing for that but I could give you a ride somewhere. You call anyone? Someone coming after you?”
“No,” said Trevor. “I’m trying to get down to the sale barn for a job interview.”
MegaCab looked at Trevor as if for the first time. “Oh ok so that’s why you’re all fancied up. Well, hop in if you don’t mind leaving it here.”
Trevor considered this. He was off the rez so there was less of a chance that the Blazer would end up with busted windows or slashed tires. And he was eager to get his interview over and done with.
Before he could answer, MegaCab added “I have to stop in Whiteclay first but then I’ll take you down.”
This was only a few miles out of the way so Trevor assented and climbed into the rancher’s idling behemoth. It still retained some new-truck smell, mixed with a tinge of manure and rich earth. Really, it was almost luxurious.
MegaCab flipped a u-ey again and headed back north toward Whiteclay. Formerly notorious for copious alcohol sales to people from the dry reservation whose border it sat on, Whiteclay’s package stores had been shuttered after the state had revoked their liquor licenses following years of protests over their depredatory business model. Now, it was just a town of a couple small stores and fewer than a dozen permanent residents, its streets empty of vagrants, its ghosts banished.
“So, you from Hot Springs?”
Trevor momentarily wondered where this question had come from, and then remembered that he had 27-plates on the Blazer – Fall River County, a relic of when he bought the car from a white lady over there. He had kept the off-county registration because the plates were far less likely to get you pulled over off-rez than the infamous 65s of Oglala Lakota County.
MegaCab continued without waiting for an answer. “I used to go up to Hot Springs a lot when my dad was in the V.A. hospital up there. Nice town.”
“Yup, it’s pretty nice,” said Trevor, wondering if he would have to sustain this small talk the whole way.
Luckily, MegaCab took it from there, reminiscing about his high school football team dealing Hot Springs a particularly lopsided loss, and then they were at Whiteclay. Trevor played around on his phone while his driver of the moment went into the little grocery store. He looked up his old roommate Skyler on Facebook (why, he didn’t know; certainly not to friend him) and then Googled “Pine Ridge South Dakota Dairy Queen” just to see if there was any truth to that rumor.
MegaCab returned with some mail – Trevor had forgotten that there was a little post office in there – and they turned south toward Rushville.
Two miles and five hawks-on-telephone-poles into their trip, MegaCab got chatty again:
“I still can’t believe that the state revoked the liquor licenses. They had no legal right to do that of course, but just like everyone else these days, they bowed to the pressure from liberal special interest groups. Those store owners – my brother was one of them – followed the damn law to a T but still got their rights taken away. They’re the real victims in all of this.”
Trevor, whose father was found dead in Whiteclay when Trevor was ten years old, didn’t answer.
“You know it’s just going to push the problem down the road. These Indians are gonna get their liquor one way or another. You guys must see that all the time up in Hot Springs.”
These Indians. You guys. Trevor suddenly recognized MegaCab’s presumption, and wondered when if he should correct it.
“If they wanted to buy millions of cans of beer in Whiteclay every year and drink themselves to death, shit, I say let ‘em. It’s a free country, right? Those AIM types are always going on about Native rights and shit, y’know? Well shit, you have the right to drink and die if you want. Not saying that I want that for those people or anything, but the nanny state can’t be protecting everyone from problems of their own making.”
Trevor, whose brother had first gotten jailed for drunk and disorderly at age 14, two years after their father died, said nothing.
MegaCab continued to rhapsodize about “the Indians” and their problems, adopting the tone of an expert, one who knew all about them. Trevor felt the blood rise to his face. Some coloration at least, he thought darkly. In the pit of his stomach, the sea urchin had returned to stab at his insides. What must it be like, he wondered, to live a life in which people aren’t constantly telling you who you are, naming your characteristics like symptoms, trying to trap you like a spirit in a photograph?
The Blazer came in sight on the shoulder ahead. “Can you let me out at my ride?” Trevor asked, his voice hardly recognizable to his own ear, like hearing himself talk underwater.
“Sure, you need to grab something out of it?” said MegaCab, reluctantly pausing his diatribe.
“No it’s okay,” replied Trevor, “I’m gonna call someone to come help me fix this after all.” He fiddled with his phone as if to underscore this intention.
“Well, if you’re sure,” said MegaCab. “And hey,” he added as Trevor stepped down onto the running board. “You be careful around here. One of these rezzers might see you here all by yourself and try to mess you or your car up. And watch out for drunk drivers. You just never know with these Indians.” MegaCab gave a serious nod to accentuate this show of concern. Then he wished Trevor luck and drove off.
Trevor watched the truck recede into the distance until it was merely a gray speck between the monochrome earth and the steely sky. He sat down in the cold front seat of the Blazer and looked into the rearview mirror. Hazel eyes stared back at him under a pale forehead. Fuck it, he thought; people are dumbasses. Let ‘em believe what they want; that he was from Hot Springs, that could be was related to that Apache, Geronimo, that he was only Indian on paper. Trevor saw what they didn’t; the hidden depths beneath the surface, and in their faces, in the spaces between their words, their ignorance displayed like a tattoo.
In another minute or two, he would call Uncle Ev for a ride. In another hour or two, he would be offered a job at the sale barn that would bring another income into his household (and buy him a new serpentine belt). In another day or two, he would finally finish the tobacco ties for ceremony, at which he would pray for Travis’ sobriety and his auntie’s diabetes. In another month or two, the lengthening of the days would be unmistakable.
Spring would come as it always had, first heralded by a single meadowlark piercing the predawn silence with his song. This would be followed by a green sprig on the prairie, pushing up, perhaps, through snow. Then a cluster of pasqueflowers appearing suddenly on a hillside, a skein of geese overhead, sheet lightning on the horizon. Small miracles, one after another. Finally, color would surge back into the world like paint scintillating on a canvas, causing goldfinches to glow like stars and evening thunderheads to stand like towering fires.
The brilliant Dakota sunlight would stoke the melanin in Trevor’s skin, and nobody would mistake who he was. He would go up on the hill for two days and nights with Travis that spring, and Trenton would keep fire for them. He would pray for the coming year, for the survival of his people, for enough blessings to outweigh the hardships. And there, among a sea of undulating green, facing the crimson blaze of sunrise, he would again know himself and find the strength to carry on, in the face of all the peculiar indignities of this world.

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