Underprince Pip Gofern
Male Laxidazian/6 (‘Troll’)
Noble/2; Rogue/12; Vizard/6
Strength: 18/(48) (10 tons) Height: 4’4”
Dexterity: 19 Weight: 144 lbs.
Constitution: 28 Hair: Red
Intellect: 14 Eyes: Pink
Wisdom: 12 Age: 43
Charisma: 16
Health: 74
Soak: 112
Movement: 40’
Racial Powers: Magical Adaptability; Celebrate to Live; Enhanced Constitution; Enhanced Strength; Enhanced Vitality; Enhanced Durability
Acquired Powers: Teleportation (IX)
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The short fellow with nobby horns, cloven feet, and pointed ears looked at the information with a shifty expression, trying to hide his interest in it.
“You’re not what you think you are, Prince Pip,” I informed him calmly.
“Is that so?” he asked with a roguish smile. “Investigating me carefully, are you?” he grinned salaciously.
“Not at all.” I waved my hand at the Assay. “Just a surface divination, it doesn’t go into a lot of detail, just looks at who and what you are, and gives a rough idea of what you are capable of.”
“Izzat so?” He looked like he wanted to palm a cigar, but there was no smoking on the station, and every time he’d lit one up, it had disappeared from his three-fingered hand with a pop, totally annoying him. “You think a bunch of numbers and stuff can sum me up so well?” he asked with a contrary grin.
“Like I said, you aren’t what you think you are.” The rest of the Assay dimmed, while Laxidazian/6 (‘Troll’) expanded. “Do you know what this means?”
He glanced at it, at my unperturbed face, back at it. “It means I’m a troll, a subspecies of my people. We’re kind of looked down on by most Laxidazians, to the point we’re kind of outcasts,” he admitted without embarrassment.
I nodded slowly, then shook my head. “No.” I raised a finger as he blinked. “You are a Laxidazian/6, you are not a Laxidazian Troll, a Laxidazian Mutate, a Laxidazian Deviant, or any form of subspecies.
“You are a Laxidazian, full stop.” I kept his eyes as he blinked, then he frowned. “Do you know what that means? Don’t try to make me think you’re dumb. By human standards, you’re near genius-level in intelligence, and although you dissemble well, you cannot fool me, either.” I paused for a moment. “Do you need a reference point?” I asked kindly.
“Wouldn’t hurt,” he admitted, clearly hesitant to make any deductive leaps.
I flipped up the Human Race progression for him to look at. He leaned forwards despite himself, although it wasn’t very complex. Feats, alternate Caster Levels, potential Class Levels... nothing fancy or special about it.
But it was all about being Human.
His eyes flickered over to that Laxidazian/6.
“For your information, remarkably few Humans ever get past Human/1 or /2,” I informed him. “The average for a bipedal species is /3.” He noted that Human/4 was the level of Obsession. “You, however, are a Laxidazian/6, not a /3.”
His roguish smile had faded somewhat as he considered that. “So... you’re saying that Laxidazian Trolls... are actually more advanced Laxidazians? Not a subspecies?”
I spread my hands, then pointed at his first racial ability: Magical Adaptability. “The intrinsic ability of your people is this trait. It means that when you are exposed to magic, you evolve. I will note that you are not relying on some magical device to teleport around any longer, the power is all your own.”
He grit his teeth. “My necklace was destroyed in a scuffle against some nihilists on Scourtier. I haven’t needed it since then...”
“I posit that exposure to magic or cosmic sources of power helps you evolve and adjust to those energies, making them your own. Certainly you are incredibly strong and tough for who and what you are, no? You’ve survived things which should have killed you, and can recover with basically some good food, good drink, and some dancing, yes? You’ve faced some incredibly powerful enemies wielding fell powers, and you’ve gotten stronger and tougher as a result.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Simply put, do you know any other members of your people, trolls or not, who are as powerful as you are?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it thoughtfully. “No...” he admitted after a moment. “Most of them aren’t much different from most bipeds, and even the Trolls are more interested in eating and drinking than anything else.”
“I will posit that the Laxidazian equivalent of a /4 is a ‘Troll’. You aren’t a subspecies, you are the next evolved step of a Laxidazian, probably responding to some magical impetus. Is it true that Trolls in general are stronger and tougher than normal members of your species?”
“Yeah. Oh, we aren’t violent about it, but we can easily out-brawl any two or three normal folks without a problem, and have fun doing it!” he grinned cheerfully.
I just nodded along. “And you... are not a /4.” The /6 glowed. “I will point out that /7 is usually the next stage in such advancing.” I pointed out the Human/7 Level, Actualized. “Again, most bipedal sapients follow the same progression, even if what they gain is very different.
“I believe, Prince Pip, that your race needs exposure to magic and other energies to evolve, and it is both the fear of those energies and the fact that you change form and become stronger than them that has earned you Trolls the reputation you have.
“The urges to party and celebrate are a naturally-occurring outgrowth of your ability to recover from injuries by doing so. The emotions you earn aid in your healing and give you energy to do more. In short, being a mouthy, sarcastic, sex-obsessed glutton is good for you, so that’s what you act out as.” The Laxidazian/6 glowed. “What, then, becomes of you at /7? Have you any legendary guidance?” I asked him archly.
He was eying me very uncertainly now. “There’s stories about Elder Trolls and how they use magic and things, very dangerous fellows to cross...” he finally coughed up.
“Do you know what kind of magic?” I asked him intently, and could see he was sweating.
“Their brews are famous. Enchantments, curses, illusions... stuff to bedevil and prank and make others miserable if they are bothered...” he trailed off, trying to remember the old stories.
“In recognition of your efforts and aid to Adam Warlock, we would like to help you become an Elder Troll, then,” I nodded to him. “What do you say, Prince Pip? You’d have to learn a lot about brewing...”
His pink eyes shifted once. “Could I meet whoever makes Dealer’s Best? That stuff is damn good...”
“Would you like to apprentice under her? I’m sure your vast experience with beverages would be mutually useful... especially if you can acquire some for the two of you to compare, contrast, and improve upon.”
Despite himself, his eyes almost glowed as he grinned. “That sounds a lot better than pipping into warzones, assassins, crazy fanatics, and slavers!” he admitted happily, and then his eyes narrowed. “So... how’s the food?” he asked, as that was a truly important matter.
“Have you ever had combicha?”
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“A new life?” the scarred green man repeated shortly, almost disbelieving the words.
“Surely you can’t believe something like that is unusual?” I asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Ah, no, it’s just... my mission is not ended...” he murmured.
“It is if you want it to be... and forgive me, but that choice is not yours. You have been programmed to lust for the death of Thanos, even if it means your own. You literally cannot set your quest down as long as Thanos lives, even though you have no hope of killing him on your own.”
His grim face twisted. “I know that, but...” he trailed off, his face set.
“You have learned how to fight, and you have been out and among the stars, countless alien races, your mind opened to the greater universe. Your homeworld can definitely use a man like you, Drax, and we don’t need to put up with an Eternal’s manipulation of your mind and that artificial body of yours.”
“A new body, a new life...!” he trailed off, clenching his fist with a crack and pop. “Thanos cost me everything...”
“Do you want to have children again?” I asked quietly.
He looked at me, and almost slumped. “I, I cannot, not before...”
“I’m afraid we’re not big into slavery here, Drax,” I said calmly, gesturing towards the gem on his brow. His mouth opened, about to say something, and instead he fell over stiffly, eyes glazing as he was sent to sleep.
“Let’s get you out of that shell and into something alive, and see how much that changes your view of the world...”
Our ability to make new bodies had grown with plenty of input from Xandarans, some of Thanos’ own tech, and that of a score of alien civilizations. We’d reverse the imprinting done on Drax’s soul, and if he wanted to serve, there was a potential Ultra Core waiting for him...
---------
Which shamelessly leads into...
-Hey, Dyna, you remember a Ben Reilly?-
It was a good thing most space-faring civs loved their energy beams, and I was immune to Fire damage. Shooty-shoot beams were coming from everywhere, slagging through metal and buildings and roads, and I was ignoring most of it, invulnerability high enough to deal with residuals, and the beams themselves of no threat.
Skrulls needed more rail guns, but I wasn’t going to tell them that.
-Oh, gawd.-
-And there’s a new mercenary and merc squad running around. Led by a time-shifter.-
-Oh, gawd. Please don’t tell me.-
-Kitty Pryde is sitting in my room, except she’s possessed by an older version of herself from an alternate future timeline.-
-Oh, gawd. When it rains, it pours.-
-Truth!-
---
“It might surprise you to learn this, Miss Pryde, but this is not the first time something like this has happened,” DiDi sighed, looking at the very intense younger woman in front of her. “You are way out of your natural timeline, to the tune of a divergence over one and a half centuries before the point you have landed in.”
Kitty Pryde blinked in shock. “What? Then... I can’t stop what is going to happen?” she blurted out in consternation.
“You never could. At best you’d create another timeline, which totally would not have affected the one you came from at all." DiDi spread her hands. “Your host and I have been friends for years. We helped set up the Baxter Operating System Service, together with a bunch of other eggheads. You probably don’t even know who I am?” DiDi asked archly.
Kitty frowned at her. “No...” she admitted. “And... I was surprised to find there’s no X-Men here...”
“While there is a definite anti-mutant bias among some people, particularly here in the States, over the whole world it is very minor. Powered are Powered, regardless of where they get that power from, and our advances in genetics, magic, and psionics mean there are many, many options open for the people who want powers of their own, if they have the willpower to handle it. The Human genome is incredibly ripe for modifications like that, it seems... and even if you don’t want there to be Powered, after the sheer number of alien and dimensional invasions and incursions on the planet, if you think you can live without them, you’re stupid.” DiDi waved it away. “The rabid anti-mutant hysteria of your time is not present here, although there are attempts by certain organizations to stir it up as a means of recruitment.”