Except we hadn’t been able to break away from planning, and just going by his participation in our exchange of texts and calls, Grue hadn’t managed to rest much.

So they’re like a D&D group, constantly messaging each other about the next session.

It’s kind of adorable.

We’d arranged plans, discussed priorities, sent messages to Coil, tracked down information from our various underlings, and in the doing, we’d managed to hash out a general game plan.

Sweet. Any chance you’re going to share any part of that plan with me before I get to watch it unfold?

Not that that would be a particularly good idea considering certain narrative tropes regarding plans and the sharing of them with the audience.

So is this the setting of this chapter? Their D&D group chat?

Or maybe a complication is about to arise before they even start executing the plan? Perhaps one that Taylor can’t tell the others about or something?

With a hundred problems we needed to handle, we’d agreed the most important thing was to deal with the most inevitable ones.

They’re just gonna go ahead and deal with the apocalyptic threat in this Arc, no big deal.

Okay, so maybe that’s not one of their immediate problems. :p

There was no point in working out a complicated and involved attack plan against Coil if we didn’t wind up fighting him.  There was a point in dealing with the Chosen; they were bound to attack us at some point, regardless of how future events unfolded.  Better to take the fight to them.

Fair enough.

This sounds a lot like the way Dinah’s aid normally allows Coil to lay his plans. It also sounds a lot like chess.

So attacking the Chosen is a priority. Alright. I wonder who’s their leader now, if they’ve filled the spot. Cricket, perhaps?

I shrugged.

“Whore.”

…

Is his power essentially the D&D spell Vicious Mockery, as in insults that actually physically hurt?

Or maybe he’s conjuring a whore out of the gas?

The puff of smoke that accompanied the word detonated like a small thunder-clap, mere inches from my face.

Hah, it is! An explosive interpretation of that idea. It’s not a cutting remark or a biting insult, it explodes in your face.

I flinched, but it hadn’t been intended to harm.  Only to alarm.

Its bark was worse than its you get the idea.

I wonder if it has to do with the volume. Also, I wonder if the severity of the insult has to do with it.

I also wonder if he got this power from being viciously insulted by someone, or from being unable to physically defend himself and being given a power that could hurt with words only.

Does it have to be directed at someone, or could he help with the demolition by insulting some walls?

He sniggered.  I’d never met anyone who really sniggered before.

I could see how Coil thought Barker and Bitch would be a match.  I could also see where there would be some friction between the two.

Hehe.

I’d been given tips on fighting, even if I couldn’t remember by who or by whom.  Catch them off guard.

That would be by Grue. The real one. 🙂

My arms around my face, nearly blind, I charged him.

Certainly an unconventional move, which is exactly what she wants here. 😀

He caught me in the side with a kick, but I had enough forward momentum that I crashed into him anyways.  We fell to the ground, and I reached for the smoking vial that hung around his neck.

Wildbow, DMing the world: “Now where are those grappling rules again…”

This kind of close range combat is exactly what you want against a range specialist like Jack. He can’t slice very easily like that, especially if he himself isn’t immune to his own power. Though do suppose he could stab.

Jack already had the stiletto in one hand.  He jabbed it toward my face, my eye, and I jerked my head back out of the way, abandoning my attempt to get the vial.  Using one elbow, he shoved me to one side, then flipped over, simultaneously reversing his grip on the knife in his other hand and driving it down toward the side of my head.

Looks like he’s got experience in dealing with it, though.

I rolled with the momentum he’d given me to escape before it could pierce my ear or my temple.  He was already following up, slashing both knives at me, one after the other.

This would be cool in motion.

He knew how to fight, of course.  He’d said he’d been at this for a while.

Hated this.  Hated fighting without knowing enough about my opponents.

The miasma really makes things difficult. Maybe Taylor could get Amy to cure it real quick?

Oh right, another snag I’ve forgotten to consider: Healing the miasma’s damage would involve messing with brains.