Reroll

Ralph reports on the state of the Resistance, “Most of the shifters are werewolves, of course, mostly because we're infectious and compelled to hunt… but that same compulsion to hunt brings us to the attention of the Inquisition, so we tend not to live long.  We have about seventy packs scattered across North America, eighty in South America….” he continues giving me the rundown, continent by continent. Those seventy packs in North America work out to about five hundred members… over the entire continent.  And the numbers change every full moon as they make recruits and lose members, which is why it's all approximate.  Ralph is one of the few natural born werewolves; most are not (‘uplifted humans’ is the term Ralph chooses - a term which needs some work, as it still implies Mythics are inherently better).

The vampires are in a similar state: The need to feed flags an area as having vampires, and the need to avoid the sun (for most varieties) means they aren't very mobile.  They're also a breeding variety, so their numbers are similarly in a stste of 'dynamic equilibrium'.  This faction also includes the more monstrous types, and consequently a lot of them hit the wilderness: Their state of living isn't great, in general.

The Arcane faction doesn't give themselves away as easily (they just need to avoid being directly observed by the Guardians)… but the only “infectious” varieties here are the witch covens; most have to breed the slow way… which mean that women outnumber men by a considerable margin, and this group is the size of the other two put together… which still isn't saying much.

There's also a large number of unaligned groups - Mythics who aren't at threat from the Inquisition for one reason or another (deep sea types, underground types, the small and invisible types, et cetera), and the ones that are too stupid, aggressive, and/or unstable to be allies of anybody (goblins, gnolls, ogres, trolls, and such). For obvious reasons, Ralph doesn't have useful estimates on their numbers. Still… it is good to know they exist.

Thinking about it, I expect the Inquisition would have driven the surface Mythics to extinction if they didn't arise seemingly spontaneously regularly. Hmm.

We reach the address without any hassle - some el cheapo random self-storage facility - and I leave everyone else behind to go deal with Vinny.

The place is a bit run down… but it is locked up tight.  That's not really an issue: Warp gets me past the door trivially, and Invisibility means I don't set off alarms.  I head towards unit 37… slip past the lock there the same way… and yes, a single big crate in a garage-sized storage unit.  Popping it open… yep, it is indeed full of dirt.

I consider for a minute: Do I really want Vinny back? He did try to kill me when I told him I wasn't going to accept him murdering folks.  But what are my alternatives? If I just let him stay dead, I either need to take his place… not very attractive when the life expectancy of a newly-crowned Vlad is just three years… or wait for  a newly-crowned Vlad and hope he's better.  And really, who in their right mind would seek out a position with a life expectancy of three years? Realistically, the next guy is going to be just as crazy. This Vlad already knows he's outclassed, and that I didn't simply get lucky… given how nuts one needs to be to seek his position, the next idiot will likely think he's better than this idiot.

So… I guess I'm sticking with this idiot.

I let Vinny out… and his misty form pauses, seems to look around, pauses a lot longer looking at me… and then retreats to the open crate, seemingly being absorbed by the ground.

I get out on my armor's comm, and flag Betty and Ed, “Go ahead and get back to the ship; I'll catch up once Vlad is on his feet again.”

“Sure.  Think we'll…” Betty pauses, “...get together at midnight?”

Level up, you mean, Betty?  Ah, Marigold, that's why she’s being indirect.  Fair question, and when we're far apart… ah, I got it: “Hard to say, I don't know how long this will take.  Side note, we probably ought to discuss what we're going to name the mothership. If we do get together at midnight, that should be on the docket for discussion.”

There's a pause, and I hear Ed’s voice, “Yeah… we should do that.  I’m sure we'll go back and forth on the mothership's name a lot.” He gets it.

I say my goodbyes, “Be seeing you eventually, either way,” and disconnect when they acknowledge with their own.

I then sit down to wait, posting a few of my soldier Shadows to keep watch.  They are, of course, fully armed and armored.

To pass the time, I experiment with shadow builds.  I have an idea about using the Fusion talent to double up on their health and proficiencies… which would let me put all the Starfinder weapons on a single target. It also lets me use the abilities from the secondary creature as Shapeshift traits on the primary, so I can make a Mage with Regeneration that actually works to keep it intact and still have the ability for me to channel spell points into them… or even get a total of five Conjuration traits on one creature by way of the Beast archetype on one of them and spending the shapeshift traits to transfer things. I find I don't greatly care for the results, though:  It takes as much effort to make one merged minion as two regular minions, but cuts down on the action economy.

Still… I keep my regenerating mage, my soldier with all the Starfinder proficiencies, my soldier with extra BAB, and other experiments: There's no reason to drop them, really.

At sunset, Vlad gets up out of the dirt pile… naked, but alive.  He has some decent muscle definition, slightly above average block and tackle… and why am I focused on that?  I create some illusory clothes for him, backed by shadowstuff, and hand them to him.

He quietly puts them on, “So… why aren't I dead?”

I shrug, “The delay of your people selecting your successor, and then getting to know said successor, sounds annoying. I'm hoping you've learned I'm serious about the ‘don't murder humans’ thing.  If not… well, I can just kill you again later, no big deal.”

He considers that remarkably calmly, “So the price of life is bad food forever?”

I shrug, “Are winning the war with the Inquisition?”

He frowns, “Not yet, but…”

I cut him off, “Are your numbers increasing with time?”

His frown deepens, “No, but…”

I cut him off again, “Are your hunting habits part of what gives you away to the Inquisition?”

He's scowling at me, now, “Yes, but…”

I again cut him off, “Then peace is your best bet for survival as a species, not just individually. Do you really think, given the current situation, that baseline humanity will entertain any peace agreement that involves them continuing to be your prey?”

I think I might be getting through that thick skull of his, as his scowl has finally vanished, “I wouldn't, were I in their shoes.”

“You've always needed something like that amulet, then: You just didn't know it.” I look him in the eye, “Yes, my solution sucks.  It tastes bad. It will be annoying as all get out to be chained to some tiny little trinket where losing it means you're going to go hungry. It feels WRONG to be the one to yield when you've been wronged. You're going to have to subsist on what amounts to just-barely-enough stale beans when there's big juicy fresh steaks just walking around in front of you all the time, there for the taking. It's not fair.  It's beneath you. IT SUCKS.  I get it.”

I take a breath, “But if you keep going like you are, sooner or later, you WILL die, as will every other vampire.  I still need to convince the baseline humans running the Inquisition… or maybe those funding it… to try it too, so there's still a ton of work left to do… but that stupid little tasteless barely-enough amulet at least provides some chance at getting out of this tangled mess of a dance of death with your skin intact.” I pause, “Tell me I'm wrong.”

He considers for a long time, “I don't like it.”

I shrug, “I'm not asking you to LIKE it. I'm asking you to recognize reality. I'm asking you to make AND ENFORCE suitable laws for your kind that will allow peace with the baseline humans to be possible, once I can supply enough of those amulets.  I'm quite certain those laws will require quite brutal punishment, meted out often.  I am asking you to carry a very heavy burden, and I won't be able to help much with it. I'm asking you to choose to live. But I'm NOT asking you to like it.”

He looks at me, “You're about as subtle as a sledgehammer, you know.”

It takes one to get through a thick, solid wall, “Correct.”

He looks at me a long time, and I just stand there looking back.