|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm There you are. Thought the fog of ages come and gone could hide you, hmm? Not without reason, it nearly did, but you underestimated the tenacity of your own memory. Oh, that slim forward profile and low silhouette may have passed for humble once, let you fade into the background of an age of wonders but those days are gone. Your swift wheels and blushing sails shone true in tales of tales of dreams. From your birth in the old Solar order of battle, to alleged fall in the records of the Great Revolt, then made immortal in the epic of the western war. Now you are here. Your tale is mine. They once called you Envoy of Eternal Peace. No more is that your name - It is your mission. Here begins your final saga. A hidebound tome slams shut in time with a crack of thunder. Its first page is freshly inked in blood. The herald of a sound, to some, feared more than any storm. "Crew," two dozen humans swiftly break from the assembled mass. Each is sharply dressed alike in red and black. They cascade into formation around the banner of Winter Navy, flying from the shoulders of a deathknight. They part as her hand sweeps to sea and locks unerring on the shadow floating beyond. "take a good, hard look at the Storm-Mother-loving ship where you shall serve your final days." They look well. "Number Eight, prepare supplies for transfer. Number Twelve, ready the inaugural sacrifices. Number Twenty-Three, chilled Tengese wine." The crew scatters in a well-ordered panic. When each is scrambling to their task the breeze turns slightly to the north, She shifts her stance. "Number four. Stay where I can see you." The sailor sprints to stay in view as Wyrm slowly turns to face her fellow knights. "Ladies, and Skeleton," the wine arrives in hand, in time to toast, "To the sea."
|
#
¿
Nov 10, 2012 19:41
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 27, 2024 19:29 |
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms Sunken deeply into the ample substance of the captain's chair, Wyrm looks quite at peace. Gods, whatever they skinned to wrap this thing must be extinct. If even one still roamed the air itself would hunt it down to claim its hide. And she would sooner plunge it through the mouth of the Abyss than let another know its touch. The Crew knows well to keep the proper distance, at all times no less than three, no more than five keep watch over their leader's reprieve. Ever wary of what may come. A languid sweep of her hand returned the ship's inhabiting spirit to life. Her eyes barely crack open to take in its flickering visage. She enjoys the sensation of shifting closer more than what she's moved to see. "You'd best be." Says a lion to a mouse, "I am a woman of considerable demands." Slowly at first, as though greatly pained, one hand coils. The crew stand rapt with alarm. Tap. Tap. Tap. One finger, another, back twice to the first. A rest. A raise. They dare not disappoint. Her hand slams down. Light erupts from bitter memories of old wounds, pouring over ever surface as they infest the ship with undying essence. A symphony of mechanisms grind and slam to their stations. Her blood, her ship, her crew, now sing as one. Committing 5 to wake the beast. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 05:43 on Nov 12, 2012 |
|
#
¿
Nov 12, 2012 05:40
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the Undying Sail Ship Envoy of Eternal Peace Log of Wyrms - 9th Of Ascending Bone - Year, In Memoria 5684 Having received the first commandments of her mission, and having made my essence appropriately omnipresent in her halls, our voyage begins. May it end only at my own hand. By command, courier, and creative maneuvers, I have assembled from the knights of my ship the first general meeting of our senior staff. She sits, nearly sprawls, at the head of the table. Crew stand ready along each wall, a sharp attentiveness known only to those who live or die on the whims of the mad. Behind her, dancing lights converge into an image of the western isles. The spirit has spoken what is known and may be said of their destination. Be it because the ship's residing spirit has stopped making noise, the claiming of another exquisite seat of power, or just another chance to hear herself speak, Wyrm sounds pleased. "Ladies, Skeleton." "What awaits us on our journey - over the next wave, beyond the horizon, to each corner of each direction of heaven and earth - we will face it, as one. So long as there remains one star to sail her by, this ship shall drive on to her destiny. Under my command." The walls resonate as her caste mark gently weeps. "However," The ship settles. "The world itself does not stand on the bold vision, strength of spirit, and statuesque beauty of a single pillar. If we would call ourselves its enemies, we must share that strength. On matters of the ship, the sea, and their use in battle my word is law. On others..." She begins to look about the table, settling first on the well-dressed assemblage of bones. Their inescapable grin and open posture don't quite mask their confusion. With a slight tip of her head, Wyrm speaks suddenly and fluidly in the finest dialect of the world's central nobility. "Wandering Rainbow, from the moment you arrived you have unceasingly amused. No other here so purely represents the essence of our greater mission, of the spread of final peace. I would name you Fleet Ambassador, and differ to you on matters of diplomacy and morale." Those first 3 exp? Linguistics 3 - High Realm She rolls back into seatongue as her eyes catch the nervous shifting of a self-appointed watcher. "Never Within Reach, you are Never Off Alert and your foes Never Beyond Sight. Such vigilance will Never Go Unwanted. I would name you Head of Fleet Security, free to combat our enemies above, below, and beyond the veil as you see fit - they do not the same to us." Wyrm lingers longer than most would call polite on the vision of her next officer, being as they are alike in... presence. "Last Forsaken Poem, words would not suffice. I would name you quartermaster, unquestioned in matter of logistics, supply, and expense." She lingers longer than polite before completing the circle. She visibly regrets not saving that for last, "Butterfly, Surgeon-Engineer. Whatever you do, keep it clean." Wyrm points out one of her crew. "Those are off limits." Welp, let's get to sailing, ladies. (and bones) A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 18:08 on Nov 15, 2012 |
|
#
¿
Nov 15, 2012 04:16
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the USS Envoy of Eternal Peace The ship is underway, her authority asserted, and her orders pleasing to the eye. A heavily worded blank cheque to rampage about the seas as she so pleases, and a dainty little scrap of intrigue. Asking about the 'good old days', old man winter? Didn't mark you for a poet. The bloody memory of the morning sun cracks the horizon on the second day of the voyage. Though it is generally her way keep the crew's lives well-spiced in variety, there are some rituals which Wyrm allows to settle in. From time to time. A more pleasant start to what will become a less pleasant day. But some things are better done sooner. West. The place the stone-headed Queen Bitch of The Middle cared least for. Yet, as the abundance of delightful seafaring tools of the age will testify, no less loved than any other by the old realm. The Reds have long been quite content to skim a pittance of tribute from the island tribes and be on their way. The better to overlook their treasures. A thorough analysis of the history of the target isle, the surrounding waters, and in time the whole direction must be conducted to identify targets of opportunity. Diamonds in the rough with which to guild her claws. To this end she much apply the vessel's scholars. Which means going to have tea. She will save Rainbow for later. Requesting of Butterfly and Rainbow - Do a Lore. Lore at island.
|
|
#
¿
Nov 18, 2012 00:06
|
|
|
... This weather was not called for. She'd arrived on deck to drink deeply of her first night in command of the living sea. But the sea is breathless. She stands, arms outstretched at where the Revelation was last seen, head bowed in disappointment. One drop falls from her mark, sliding down her face. One hand draws back to meet it at her chin. She draws slow breath, but has no words to give it. She throws up that hand in resignation. The gun speaks for her. Dex+Arch+Excel+Spec+Accuracy+Valour for (3+5+8+1+3+5) 25 Dice of giving the old man a ballistic shave. Full Power, Lethal Intensity, Trick shot -> Air burst above and around the noggin. So as to thoroughly scour him of attitude problems. I-16/16 O-13/23 W-9/10
|
|
#
¿
Nov 18, 2012 06:49
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the USS Envoy of Eternal Peace There. Was that so hard, old man? Some people just need firm motivation. Blazing away, that all things may look upon her and despair, Wyrm laughs. "Should have spoken up sooner, would have saved you a hat!" The lack of immediate retaliation is appeasement enough for now, as Butterfly comes skipping all full of questions and concerns. "Oh, never you mind. This was just a... momentary breakdown in fleet communication. Easily solved. I may need to devote some time to constructing a more intuitive means of contact between my counterpart and I. Something for another day." The decks rolls sharply as the ship begins to reorient towards the lighting. Wyrm rides it to the other exalt, taking her under wing. "Still, a fine question you have about that bird. A question, deserving answer. An answer, our dear Chief of Security already swiftly pursues." The wheels grind into action, the bow turns to face the distant storm, the Envoy is underway. Let's go roast a storm-turkey.
|
|
#
¿
Nov 18, 2012 23:37
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the USS Envoy of Eternal Peace With the eye of the other storm drawing near, Wyrm finds the place to best present her grim radiance to whatever dares approach her ship. Without word, the crew know to call the Ambassador above-deck. When near enough that her weapons could reach out and touch the animate weather, the engine halts. The colours of the winter army, the city of thorns, and the dual-crown of Stygia flare out from the main mast. The Envoy of Eternal Peace stands ready to welcome guests. Charisma+Perform = 9, +1 sux for on a boat for a full 7 worth of good first impression for bird.
|
|
#
¿
Nov 19, 2012 19:08
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the USS Envoy of Eternal Peace It is known to many that a thing set on edge will, for a moment, seem to ponder which way it should fall before committing with full fury to its chosen path. So it is with Wyrm a each extreme of the ship's sway, savouring the endless possibilities before her, "My... dear bird," Yes, that will do. "Markets are a place for business." Like trading a good look at you for a good look at me. "Anything that you'd see ravaged could only be a pleasure." The Envoy wheels about the way it came, allowing her to pace its deck without truly moving from her place. Her little world revolving around her, swinging the Thunderbird to her side. She gazes deep into the unnatural haze beyond, dead air lets her hair lay deceptively calm. Her Aura does not lie. "I am Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm, Captain of the Envoy of Eternal Peace, and here tonight to lay what troubles you to rest." The engines howl. Wyrm throws her hand out to the well-dressed Skeleton, "Ambassador Rainbow, make our guest at ease, as though at home. We have much to share." Why no, I'm not waiting for a response, why do you ask?
|
|
#
¿
Nov 20, 2012 04:57
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the USS Envoy of Eternal Peace Number Twenty-One stands where and when the Captain's Quiver needs to be. As Proper. Her obvious preference for tools of higher calibre aside, Wyrm still takes pride in her considerable accuracy when working by hand. She begins to sort out her choice of munitions, should she see fit to put those skills to use. Of course, such preparations do not fully distract her from her guest. As Proper. Before the elemental warrior is taken from her sight, Wyrm looks ever so slightly not-at-him. The rippling shadows of her aura sharply accent her every line. "Don't keep him too long." The mechanisms on the forward bow, very loudly reset. "We'd not want him to miss the show." Going all in on Charisma+Perform+Excellence, 5 periph' & 4 personal to put the anima just short of maximum - for 18 dice to... facilitate the opening of diplomatic channels. pre:I[ | | --X-] | 12 O[ | -X----X----X---] | 8 W[ | -] | 9 A[---X---X--X----|] | 14 - Bonfire
|
|
#
¿
Nov 21, 2012 01:51
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the USS Envoy of Eternal Peace - Decisive Acts. There is a well-worn pearl of wisdom all too often thought of in reverse, its meaning perhaps lost in passing ear to ear down the ages. But however many ways it may yet be misread, the fact remains - A Devil's hands are never idle. The crew scrambles about the envoy, above and below, preparing the Envoy for battle. Satisfied that she is appropriately armed, armoured, and on course for something worth dressing up for, Wyrm is brought up to date on the tragic and peculiar nature of the present scenario. "Bolt," For a moment she is serious, "You will have revenge." The moment ends. That smile returns. "If all's near enough to expectation, The Jewel is already well under assault by one of our compatriots. One more than equipped to scale a few immaculate. They've managed to fashion a serviceable, if unsightly fighting platform. By the time the Envoy intercepts them, Xulan will in no state to answer for her actions." She strokes the feathers of an arrow, A scroll is tied around it, "If we're to get word in edgewise, we'll need a quite fortunate turn of winds." Wyrm stands quite assertively aside the thunderbird. There is work to be done. "Never, Poem, you're with us. I need another set of wings, a thorough appraisal of what's left when we're done with them." She looks over Poem, "And despite your excellent behaviour I am already familiar with your other talents." Next, to those she'd leave behind. "Butterfly, I've locked the helm to follow me. If the situation calls for it call up a good tailwind, otherwise save your breath for ammunition. Rainbow," Crewman Twenty delivers a very expensive looking bottle of something. Wyrm Promptly dives it down the Skeleton's open collar. "I expect it fully intact when I return. I could leave it in no safer hands." She slides back to Bolt, a raised hand readily intercepting the first wave of retorts. "Whoever our true adversary may prove to be, their methods reveal reliance on second-age thinking. They fight from weakness - luring, deceiving, wounding, and circling - the tactics of a scavenger. But tonight things are not going to their plan. Their schedule's been interrupted, their nose bloodied, and we will be there cut off their means of escape." She gives Never a firm pat on the shoulder, "Good hunting." Wyrm strikes the stance of a rider awaiting her chariot. She is not one to keep waiting. To Action! (Ride the lighting?)
|
|
#
¿
Nov 24, 2012 05:20
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm, Storm Rider She clings tightly to the Thunderbird. As far from fear of falling as sea is from the sky, Wyrm has unquestionably claimed the place best suited for a mounted archer. She is situated such that no force be wasted when steed and rider move as one in battle. The other benefits of such close contact are quite coincidental, but no less welcome. Buying Ride 5 for 12xp. The Herald's approach is many things to Wyrm. Foremost among them, his tale is confirmation of her own strategic intuition's accuracy. A very close second, his freedom is a pleasure and a reassurance to her newly adopted brother in arms. Such windfalls in morale assure victory in this and... future conquests. She is quite nearly face-to-face with Bolt when she speaks. "Well then, that puts us two free-birds and a dead tree away from a good night's work. The others would need more than a little convincing to not just put the other prisoners to work for themselves. A choice between anything and stitching more weapons to that pile of dead fish they call a ship is no decision at all, to them." She readies the hungry steel spike of an arrow, "But this little armistice provides the perfect chance to make it for them." With a mutual twist the cut close to Poem and her reluctant means of transport. "We pop the guns - throw the vessel into disarray, You drop in - claim the target. Take the best that you can carry, leave the old man to gnaw on the fat. In and out and home again before the blood is cold." Nice night for a raid. A good day to fly. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 19:39 on Jan 23, 2013 |
|
#
¿
Nov 25, 2012 20:22
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm, Storm Rider Through the sound and fury and the sweet release of a shot well placed, Wyrm spies fragments of the battle unfolding below. Other knights have boarded the vessel, Onyx and Damnation each seen quite engaged in their trade. Expected. Terrestrials moving aside them, and all parties largely intact, less so. Whatever complications infest this ship have already begun to unfurl unseen to her. Still, Wyrm had a plan. One more bird, one dead nun. Nails yet undriven, for which she rides the ideal hammer. In the heat of battle, the mind of a skilled warrior will attain a degree of speed and precision of action which transcends words. No amount of martial wisdom yet written or spoken can truly express the nature of tactical reflex. It must be experienced. It is during such a moment that Wyrm, knowing the structure of a ship is roughly thus, stressed here and there about yea-much, should leave someone there-ish safe enough. The flight of an arrow and a slight twist of the hips conveys these insights to Bolt. A dip of the wings passes them along to his wingmen. A moment later, lightning strikes twice. Going to coordinate the birds for their second pass on the ship, aiming to rip open as much of the innards as possible without disturbing the showdown with Thing-Nun or sinking the Jewel. Charisma+War+Compassion for 11, 1 bonus sux from Ride 5 yielding 5 Total pre:I[ | | --X-] | 12 O[ | -X----X----X---] | 8 W[ | --] | 8 A[---X---X--X----|] | 14 - Bonfire A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 01:45 on Nov 26, 2012 |
|
#
¿
Nov 26, 2012 01:42
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm, Storm Lounger Wyrm relaxes her grip on Bolt and slowly rolls onto her back. Her arms outstretch, and gently return her bow to its resting place. Now disarmed, she slides aside to accommodate her guest and gives Bolt a little pat. Never's words ring in her mind as she begins to herself comfortable. <Nice catch.> This mission may work out after all. "Sister, I don't know the half of what you've been through," Wyrm sounds positively sedate as she finds just the right spot, "but if you are stressed, you've landed in the right place." Wyrm yawns, one arm slipping aside to point out the cage as it comes into view again. Silently, she mouths 'That makes three'. Resuming normal breathing she carries on, "Last I'd checked my evening was nearly squared away. Nothing else in sight, in mind, as it were. 'Course, since then you dropped in, so who knows. Maybe it's all just getting started. Calm before the storm." Calm indeed. One wouldn't think she'd just gutted a warship without the hole below to testify. "So yes, Sister, speak and be heard. Stay a while, and we will listen." Chillin' on a bird. Best. Night. Ever.
|
|
#
¿
Nov 26, 2012 05:23
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - On a Bird If the protocols concerning infection, disease, and malignant forms of life did not deal in dire threat to her person, property, and territory Wyrm would have no patience for them. Good fortune that they do. Rosene's sheer visceral revulsion for the events unfolding around her stirs something in Wyrm. The radiant heat of the Dragon-Woman's rage sweeps over her, distills her thoughts to a few vital points. There are many things that Wyrm will spend in excess for her entertainment, time is not one of them. "I have a doctor, best you'll find a thousand miles. 'Nathema, naturally, but we're past that for now." She barely shows her reluctance to rise from her resting place, greater pleasures await elsewhere. The Hunt is on. "You have a parasite. Insidious, and clever, but it's skittish. Even with how deep it's gotten in - to the island, to your ship, to the other one, it's still hiding. Still Running. Because it's smart enough to fear you." They approach the Jewel again, "Free that bird and I'll have no grievance with you save the obvious, which we can settle any day. I will bring my little doctor here, she will verify that you're as pure of body as of spirit." Her anima highlights her manic grin. "And say exactly what is hiding from those hands of yours." Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the USS Envoy of Eternal Peace - on deck The steady gnashing of the Envoy's wheels falls silent as Wyrm drags a fingertip along the hull. She dismounts into the place of honour before Butterfly's grim parade. Insulting, disgusting, and just a touch adorable. But fist, more pressing matters. "Rainbow, don't pop that cork just yet. The evening's complications aren't through with us yet, and will call for your... resilient spirit." And the inevitable, "Butterfly, I have a puzzle for you to solve." She stays remarkably less well spirited in briefing her staff. <Never-Not-On-My-Mind, bring the doctor to the Jewel. Keep her on her best behaviour. Good Hunting.> That done, she turns back to Bolt. "Next one's coming to us. Time to get my girl dressed for the occasion." When the Thunderbird is off, Wyrm circles back to where her night began. In her chair, on her ship, attended by her crew. "Number five, present arms." With finely drilled precision, the crewman tears open a flap on his uniform sleeve and kneels at the captain's side. When she is finished he ties a cloth around the wound, withdraws, and is swiftly replaced. Before starting on the next she calls forth the vessel's spirit. "General Alert." Gonna gnaw on the crew a bit and try to get half and hour's rest to get my motes back up. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 04:22 on Nov 27, 2012 |
|
#
¿
Nov 27, 2012 02:37
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the USS Envoy of Eternal Peace - At Rest Appropriately respectful and respectfully terrified, Crewman One stands alert as Crewman Twenty-Three suffers the consequences of interrupting the Captain's rest. With the dust settled and the threat defused, he delivers his report, "Message from the Revelation, ma'am." Irate mumbling about senility and rotting fish is allowed to run its course, "Containment of the former Captain Xulan established, investigation of her lair yielded items of interest." Hungry eyes are duly noted, "Creature is confirmed unable to swim." Something about the god's needs for warships drowns in sound of Wyrm resettling in her chair. "Additional - Further Intel reveals inbound Solar warship significantly better armed than initial estimates. Beyond measure by modern standard, minimum class four by Old Realm." The are many way this news sets Wyrm a-quiver, none pleasant, "Revelation requests aid in towing the Jewel to safe distance." Slow to rise and quick to fall, Wyrm seizes the control points on the arm of her chair. She bids the Envoy to match course and speed with, and keep some distance from, its less pleasant sister. The implications are immediately and thoroughly understood. Once the captain is safely asleep once more, Crewman Twenty-Three is recovered by Crewman Twenty-One. Number One attends to throwing lines. Following Watcher's lead for this maneuver, to get in on that Fel Captain action. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 19:54 on Nov 29, 2012 |
|
#
¿
Nov 29, 2012 14:41
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, of the USS Envoy of Eternal Peace - Interrupted by a Force The incessant ringing just behind her ear offers no target for retaliation. Wyrm is forced to suffer it long enough to hear the summons of her Security Chief. <Never, if you need me to spend this operation breathing down your neck you should have asked me sooner.> That aside, she hears Never's report. Her temper soothes at hearing all's proceeding well. As never begins to shift from salient points to finer details Wyrm interrupts, <Never Fails to Impress, not another word is needed. I will attend, witness, and commemorate your triumph. Well done, Chief.> Never soon arrives. While the doctor is below, retrieving her materials, Wyrm shares a glass of something expensive-looking. Freshly retrieved from the ambassador. Seeing her smile takes the edge off withdrawing from battle. Indeed, they leave having denied much of their enemy, and claimed much for themselves. For one, a very important prisoner. A swift flight later they are upon the Jewel. Wyrm dismounts from her perch atop the centre of her noble sentinel. She is pleased to find the doctor true to word about keeping her work clean, the deck at her feet is so clinically sterile Number Six could eat off it. For this, her voice is far more kind to Butterfly than in recent days. Speaking soft and sweetly, she bends down to see the doctor eye to eye, "Surgeon-Engineer, I've the opinion of an expert on the subject that our enemy will not be completely put to rest until the contents of both your expertly crafted prison, and this safe are both destroyed. What, in your expert opinion, should occur when only one is destroyed?" Caught, cornered, and caged, Xulan is defeated. She has much to answer for. Wyrm has much to ask. Would like a chance to talk to Xulan, preferably after crippling her by crushing her other half. Supposing that wouldn't destroy enough of her mind to leave her beyond words. I mean, her soul is in the head or something, right? Is that how it works?
|
|
#
¿
Nov 30, 2012 01:47
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Before the Bodies of Her Enemy Wyrm would never doubt her comrade's strength, of flesh or spirit. Damnation's zeal would ever drive him on to victory. Whatever he may catch from other women's fluids. As the song rolls on Wyrm looks deep into his eyes. Through them. Through him. She was ready to let the creature draw one last breath before the deed was done. No need. It will hear her just fine. "Cynis Xulan." Her words command the deck fall silent. With the sea air struck dead her voice stands alone. She waits till all all eyes fall on her. "Was devout." Eyes close, head bows, she turns on each echo of Xulan. "Leader, healer, warrior, Cynis Xulan was a woman of great faith. Faith that her cause was right, faith that her hands held the power to do right, faith that her brothers in arms would ever struggle by her side, and when all else failed Cynis Xulan had faith in mortality. She believed that whatever dire force may come against her, her blessed hands which surged with life would strike it down. If not hers than the next, and next, and evermore the next of ten thousand chosen to defend the world. She believed no wretched soul could escape death's final judgment of its sins. She believed no saint who fell before, beside, or after her for the cause could be denied death's last reward. Cynis Xulan knew that she, as all things for all time have, would answer to her end and there be cleansed. Renewed. Reborn." "And she was reborn." Wyrm's aura flares out, bleeding onto the deck as she goes on. Subtle gestures have already set Damnation to preparing the advance. "She became wood which conquered flame, drank the ocean, drowned the sky, and hurled the earth to heaven." Pulsing veins of light slither around her as she profanes the elemental cycle, "She cast her seed into the wind and set her roots into the world until she spread beyond her very self. She aspired to be more, and so she became - Immortal. A timeless force of purest will beyond the grasp of mortal minds, that which stands astride the world where nothing may deny its whim, that which claims men's souls and makes of them its slaves. She betrayed her cause, profaned her skills, devoured those who'd fight to save her, and placed her soul where none could be its judge." "Cynis Xulan," The strand of gore expands. "Born noble, Exalted of Gaia, Sworn defender of the world," Flesh, skin, scales, feathers, claws upon claws flare up in the majesty of the foundations of the world. Its head rears up, its jaws fly open, and the Wyrm clamps down on whence it came. "Died Anathema." Thus Spoke The Void.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 1, 2012 04:27
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Victorious Sprung from earth, consumed by flame. All as it should be. Her word said, her peace made, Wyrm need only bask in her own presence as she surveys her work. The doctor's prompt arrival is as much a footnote as her first point of concern. Wyrm lets her aura coil around Butterfly's shoulder, soft and kind again, "He's had worse." Xulan is slain, her remains in the capable hands Wyrm's officers, and her former compatriots shaken by the horror of it all. For now, her work here is done. She Makes her way to the bow. Mortals are quick to clear her path. At the chains which drag the Jewel ahead, the water nun stands firm. She'd placed herself as far from the unfolding madness as her duties would allow, but the crew who'd helped distract her recoil at Wyrm's approach. She stands alone, before the face of death. Already content with the evening's entertainment, Wyrm passes her by. With the grace of a restless spirit, Wyrm sets off down the chain bound to the Envoy. Wyrm, Out. Unless someone needs her for something, back to sleep.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 2, 2012 06:09
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Homeward Bound In much of creation, to so such weakness so soon after such prowess would meet with humiliation. In mourning, the thunder god has solemn dignity enough for both. Watching their approach, Wyrm reflects on how much of their good fortune in this battle was Never's doing. Her swift spring to action on arrival, initiative in making contact, feats reconnaissance navigation and relay which negated much call for her considerable firepower. They draw near. The captain smiles. Wyrm is proud. "Bolt," the name is given all due force short of breaking Never's rest, "It is customary among the dead - that a free spirit who, in good faith and in peace seeks shelter in another's home shall not be denied. Tonight, as I've preserved your brothers' freedom I shall extend that hospitality. You and yours are welcome on my ship." She looks, quite deliberately, back to the Sister on the Jewel. So much is left unsaid, but all will have its time. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 18:23 on Dec 2, 2012 |
|
#
¿
Dec 2, 2012 18:21
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, USS Envoy of Eternal Peace Log of Wyrms - 24th Of Ascending Bone - Year, In Memoria 5684 In the aftermath of our first battle with The Root Which Gnaws Souls, spirits are acceptable. This unnatural peace between natural enemies endures but on uneven terms. Much remains unsaid, much remains to be seen. In the interest of my vessel's namesake I have proposed that, for the duration of this voyage regular meetings between our convoy's leadership convene to determine the terms of our eventual departure. The board shall consist of myself, accompanied by the ship's ambassador, The Watcher at the Gates and an officer of his choosing, the senior Immaculate warriors, and the elemental Bolt of Brightest Day. The time of place of meeting shall rotate between our vessels, alternating day and night that all parties hold even time on their native plane and territory. The first of these shall meet this morning, to establish terms of treatment and quarantine of our infested officers, and to begin exchange of information vital to our mutual survival. By the light of day Wyrm is no lesser, but a rather different sort of beauty. She boards the Jewel, unarmed and unarmoured, her dress uniform decorated in martial honours of the Winter Army. Rings of dried flowers, carefully treated to preserve the illusion of still life adorn her cuffs and collar. She looks as thought a work of art, made to remind of her true self. She ignores the hawkish gaze of the surviving senior nun and swiftly finds Damnation. She notes well the deliberate absence of the younger Gaians. The jibes and jollities between veterans of common wars make their rounds before Wyrm assaults her first point of business. "What were the creature's final words?"
|
|
#
¿
Dec 3, 2012 16:40
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Speaking Freely Oh this is just too rich. Just another day on force. Stiff upper lip in the face of oblivion, keep calm, carry on, lie back and think of Daana'd till the storm winds sweep you home. So much just under the skin, screaming out for release. Wyrm wonders if the nun's bubble of professional delusion will give way before or after the table yields to the vice-grip of her dragon hands. "No need to rush." By day, she sounds a little off, "You will return, he will destroy you, and whatever's left he'll feed to his next project. I await what he will make of you." Her attention snaps swiftly and completely to Brother Mnemon, the Thunderbird, and her fellow undying captain. Despite setting off of an odd foot, experience has proven the old man at least partly capable. His most recent insights further the case for keeping his head on his shoulders. "Watcher, combining your analysis of the device's energies with Butterfly's knowledge of the creature's vital structures should yield insight into the infestation's chain of command. Xulan made it, Xulan ruled it, Xulan reported to Tide. We need to know how much of that broke when we broke her..." When to sleep on a subject Wyrm gathers an alarming number of thoughts. Were it not time to put them to action, she'd have stayed asleep.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 7, 2012 05:16
|
|
|
Diplomatic Contact - Jewel Meeting Room The sister's hand slams home into Wyrm. Though not wearing proper armour, her uniform is stronger than an untrained eye may realize. Irrelevant, as Sister Iselsi is more than trained. If anything, the silk's resistance goads her into driving on with force well in excess of what her technique demands. Perhaps she hopes to recreate the swift and unceremonious death of Tepet Ahazda the night before, to see this wretched mouthy temptress as quickly cast aside. Such higher cause is well beyond this moment's reach. Instinct drives her hand. Passion. Hatred. Sorrow. Good. Wyrm's blood stirs. Her skin hardens under the blow. Sheena presses harder. Yes. In an instant Wyrm's flesh yields, accepting every contour of the enraged dragon's claws. Sheena can feel Wyrm's vital essence redirect... to what!? Routine Operations - Envoy Midship Turret The day shift was underway well before the sun rose, let alone the Envoy's captain. And well before that shift's first bell, a stout Marukan and a slender Nexan were well at work tending the ship's de-facto main gun. Though the higher principles of the finer mechanisms are beyond their skill and clearance, the regular cleaning and tuning of the Implosion Bow makes each feel less frivolous and wards off the captain's wrath. Though they live in interesting times, it at least leaves no drought of conversation. "... and then, Chakra Root." The short one kneels at the base of the weapon, polishing the focusing mirrors, "Of course. What else would we find on the open sea, navy? Pirates? Lintha? Sharkmen? Giant Moon-Squid? No, Chakra Root." The tall one's thin hands guide a razor over the bow's moving parts, scraping off fine layers of sea-salt. "Eh, it happens." The short one quite firmly re-wets and wrings his cloth. "We are, quite literally, a world away from where that stuff belongs. There is some serious bad news going on here-" "Says the man serving on a ghost-ship under the voice of oblivion," The tall one is quite careful about collecting the powder off his blade in a little jar. "I'll give you that," back to cleaning, "but that all sort of followed form, this is weird." "So's a necromancer who holds tea parties." On to another mechanism, "We're on the weird boat, weird happens. Deal with it. You go north, you dress heavy. You go south, you dress light." "Yeah, how do you dress for Chakra Root?" The tall one's response is cut off as the light of day is briefly drowned in shadows and an... unexpected sound echoes across the sea. For a moment, they stop. Then they resume. "Maybe a scarf? Veil? Big heavy collar..." Business as usual. Flows Both Ways - Jewel Meeting Room Exhausted and satisfied, Wyrm and her namesake aura fall back into her chair. The apocalyptic serpent barely gnaws its own tail-feathers before drifting off to sleep and melting into its mistress. The horrified silence breaks with a match-strike as Wyrm draws a cigarette from her tunic pocket. In one deep drag it is consumed, its last embers light another. For a moment, the abyssal was undeniably alive. Though quite disoriented by the blow, she is also quite unharmed. She gently massages the point of impact, gazing lazily at her assailant. "Sister, please, think of your vows." She is loving every minute of this. And again she turns her eyes from a predator, this time to the Thunderbirds. "Distribution of the cure holds great priority. Its composition and preparation are comparatively simple, but western societies are not trained to recognize and combat this threat. Word must spread quickly to establish containment - The Siren and any isle it's touched must be made pariahs..." Essence Crisis into Hardened Spirit Frame and Walking Cadaver Grotesquerie for 16 exp, Spend all the motes, tank all the damage. Didn't notice the preq on WCG until Thes had approved crisis-buying it for this, was settled in IRC as things were already in motion. I didn't need that point of essence anyway. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 16:23 on Dec 8, 2012 |
|
#
¿
Dec 8, 2012 02:05
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Meeting Room Wyrm lays back, waiting for her head to clear while the others apply their expertise to the matter at hand. The degree of detail lost to the haze is a touch more than her usual perceptual filters born of confidence and sloth. The bits that matter catch her ears and eyes. By the time she can speak steadily again there is much to discuss. First, the old man has prompt, precise, and interesting news. "Fragmentation in response to trauma, elementary wooden strategy. The plant maintains a structure whose parts each contain all the vital organs of a whole, such that any one severed may take root and live on. Insidious, but it is both strength and weakness. Tide could rule the hive through Xulan, but she was already losing her mind. The plant has a will of its own, and unless Tide has some other means to chain it these new roots slip beyond his control." There are many implications, possibilities, potential moves and counter-moves exploding out from each new piece and player brought to play. Beyond the scope of just one sit-down debate, and all meriting exploration. Next, as much as Wyrm would love to see The Neck explode into inner conflict, the Thunderbird's call for discretion prevents a necessary compromise between ideal and reality. And any spirit who'd defy the Dragon-Temple deserves to be encouraged. "Yes, the local gods the temple fights to hard to suppress would delight in hearing and retelling that even their grand-masters can be, in fact, masters of the dark arts who would feed the island peoples to exotic plants." The complete implications for the spiritual politics of the island, archipelago, and direction as a whole could be one hundred times the length of the ambassador's already extensive writing on the subject. It need not be restated that here, the realm lacks the power to act in force without regard for them. Instead, Wyrm moves on to the bird's other subject. "But they must harbour somewhere, or they are not the danger they appear." She brings the diagrams of the Siren to better view. "A ship so well armed has an appetite for power which even two well-seasoned exalts would be hard pressed to satisfy without leaving their resources strained. Fuelled directly, they'd rely on themselves but lack longevity. Even a compliment of divine-blooded or enlightened crew could only sustain fire so long before exhaustion, if lured into protected battle they will bleed out. Each alternative presents its own vulnerability. Alchemic fuel, readily mass produced and stockpile by one of the proper skills but leaves the vessel primed to blow from one good hit." Wyrm's martial zeal cools a moment in respect for Bolt, "and their savant is laid to rest, they would again be hard-pressed to rearm. They've shown no precedent for using gods as ammunition," they'd spent the last night experiencing the risks of that, "Geomancy grants sustained power but provides abundant targets, too widespread to be all defended by one ship by nature of the direction. Secrecy stands their primary defence, and words travel quickly on the wind." The focus of Wyrm's attention is self-evident, aligned with her other expertise, so she pays little as her cohorts speak of conflict ashore and in shadowed backrooms. Those fronts are in capable hands. It leaves her free to watch Sister Iselsi flounder.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 9, 2012 19:11
|
|
|
Captain Spawn of Wyrms, USS Envoy of Eternal Peace Log of Wyrms - 28th Of Ascending Bone - Year, In Memoria 5684 <On the page is an irregular mark which, on close inspection, is the imprint of a hand gesture commonly used as a taunt by archers in the south. Above it is written a peculiar formulation of the High-Realm character for 'water'.> She woke that day, pleased to find the world already acceptably in motion. While Never surveys the isle, Wyrm takes in the sight of her new... passengers? No. That won't do. No free rides. Rose will see the world she swore to defend for what it is. Auling will atone for all the life he's made. They will fight. They will learn. They will serve. To Wyrm, Never's report is all good news. Hearing Damnation pounce on the opportunity to hunt the root is all the better. She savours some of a less aggressive local plant as the others make their rounds. For a moment, Wyrm ponders how the root would taste ground down and flushed with boiled seawater. Perhaps it would be resilient enough to feel itself brewing alive. In such a pleasant state of mind, Wyrm cannot help but smile. "Butterfly, before you leave, I have another project for your little team. Knowing how your drug should harm a living subject of the root, determine the ideal dose for delivery by point, blade, arrowhead," She smoothly looks to Bolt, "And drop of rain." Who wants poison everything? She finds Damnation's tactical instincts sound. "Thoroughly entrenched, he raids the surroundings at his leisure - Feeding his forces, extending his reach. Elementary wooden strategy." A sharp drink and a wicked grin. "On the slope of a vacant volcano. So it is we will burn out his roots and salt the land beneath him, before the others return to feed him bodies." To that end... "Rose," The Immaculate Apostate has kept herself between the assembled council and the younger dynasts, "Numbers, Aspects, and Techniques of the Monastery. No surprises when we put them down." Wyrm is appropriately grave, "Any found to have escaped the root will understand what is at stake."
|
|
#
¿
Jan 7, 2013 23:32
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Aside, with birds. "I did say, vacant, Bolt." Wyrm has only vaguest understanding of the various classes of spirits and substance of the world, "No surprise a god would step out for a smoke for eight hundred years, but where they see scrolls growing moss on the bottom shelf all I spy is - Earth, Wind, Fire. At each great turn of history it has been you, your kind, your kin, who fight and die to decide creation's fate. And yet, you are heaven's slaves." All she knows is, it offends her. "That hill lays dormant when it could save these people with one breath, because there's some ink on a page in the sky that say it's not open? No, because in eight hundred years no one spark in this direction had the balls to reach out and claim it." "Such is fate," Said the woman who refused to die. Commence elemental rabble-rousin' Rehearsal - Envoy of Eternal Peace, Common Room Strategy is built on expectation. Petraya expects few visitors. Of visitors, it expects a certain class thereof. Of them it expects little. The plan is simple - Appear to meet expectations, Perform beyond them. "As is self-evident, You, Jackal, are a man of such import of which this Isle can scarcely dream," The newcomer quickly met with Wyrm's approval, she gladly entertains his zeal. "they shall know at sight that the absurdity of their pitiful half-existence will serve, at best but one scene of the entertainment you are owed. And that show, must go on." A natural for the leading role, Jackal's in among the few faces the hive has yet to see and wields sufficient force of personality to demand its full attention. A Lord of such stature that to need to ask his name proves one unworthy of his time, if not their very life. Behind that man, a lady of exceptional demands. A precious jewel of such lustre that the faintest glance drives lesser creatures mad with envy and desire. It is for their own protection that such wonder is kept out of sight, closely guarded and thoroughly appeased. Aside, ever present and never noticed, the cold grip of reality. A wholly civil servant, ever at hand to attend the bitter practicalities of the world at large. A bridge between the common people and they who rule the base of heaven, that one needn't suffer the other. And who else would be of notice? No one at all. That would be foolish. Just a rat. Just a the wind. Just shadows dancing in corners of your eyes. Nothing at all... Team Urban Plan 1 - Jackal and Wyrm are on a very distracting Vacation, Poem fast-talks everything that moves, Onyx IS THE NIGHT. Showtime - City Harbour Five men, well-dressed, attend a covered litter just ahead-of-centre of the ship. A figure clad in polished steel stands sentinel before them. One would be hard-pressed to find a part of it not fit to deal a killing blow. Within, it would be just as hard to tell which folds of brightly coloured silk are bed or bard or any of a dozen layers of gown. Wyrm completes her preparations, setting aside the last bottle needed to get into character. She sinks into a pile of cushions, settling in aside the wood-blood prisoner of this gilded cage. Auling holds a harp, and wears enough to spark imagination. With such a muse, Wyrm reaches out and strikes one note. The lad begins to play. Spring Break?
|
|
#
¿
Jan 13, 2013 21:59
|
|
|
Unmasked Winter, - who, by grace of sovereign elements as passed to man from Gaia by the blood of holy dragons who through The Scarlet Empress (Ever May She Reign) guide all lesser souls down the Immaculate Path to enlightened service of Creation's harmonious Five-Times-Blessed prosperity, shall soon act as befits her as one of the lineage of her progenitors who bind the world's foundations by, with great sound and fury of her undeniable nature of natures, sweep her hand across this land that in its wake it shall be ever changed, leaving only peace and fortune. V'neef Auling has been trapped at sea long enough to know at sight when Wyrm is thinking, when said thoughts amuse her, and such amusement can't end well. So when he sees the painted lady smiling faintly, breathing deeply, flourishing her fan in little practice sweeps, he knows a speech is brewing. He moves to intervene. To this point his strumming was at best a distraction, a way to calm his nerves. The warm-up was over. He matches her natural rhythm, and when the proper moment comes the song begins. First, Wyrm listens. Then, Wyrm reclines. Then, she sings. Perform time 5m, 1wp, for 10sx + whatever help from Auling - get everything in earshot loving the thought of having Wyrm around. Personal 11/16, Will 9/10 A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 20:48 on Jan 19, 2013 |
|
#
¿
Jan 19, 2013 20:44
|
|
|
Unmasked Winter - Whose deeds, unerring, ignite Creation's passions in all things. For hers in but the nearest, and in this time of need the sweetest verse in the grand chorus terrestrial, the hallowed legacy of form and spirit whose coils preserve against all foes our history, whose claws rend to barest elements all present who oppose it, and whose eyes gaze ever up and onward to the most serene and tranquil continuation of the age of man, in Gaia's care, as passed down through the Empress (Ever May She Reign), eternal and unyielding, the line of holy dragons. Ah yes, dear mortals, do go on. The Spawn of Wyrms could not hope for more dear and true applause as these - to hear you sob in anguish as you stand helpless victims of your race's atrocities, prisoners of your own feral flesh gone mad its innate desire to persevere and propagate, terrorized not by the spectres ever screaming out the verse of your destruction - oh no - fear now that they have left you at the mercy of your beating heart. Fear that you will live to see final consequence of all that gave you birth. Writhe in the shared agonies of your kin and know that you do envy their release. Know that when the time arrives you will grovel and my feet and beg to be the next to hear the hammer fall... Another change of song keeps Wyrm at bay. For now. For now, there is work to do. The launch bore little not meant to go ashore. Crewmen eleven through fifteen, under temporary designation of directions, see their lady's extensive luggage brought to the expected hands of local carriers before seeing to she, herself. The extensive pile of cases stands to the height of a warhorse, easily seen Servant East leads the majestic beast ashore. Immaculately cleaned and brushed, it wears decorative barding suited for parade or formal hunt. It suits as well to hide the thing's protective mask. Throughout the process Poem is omnipresent, darting about with smiles and bows and pre-stamped letters of registry and explanation between the brutal roar of her Lord and the waking dream that is her Lady turns this vital cog. The pleasant whirl of her voice easily slips from mind in moments of import, such as any time her masters speak, but as quickly as they fade she returns to fill the vital gaps in the display. "...so when, as said, her duties afford time to experience any of the innumerable territories of The Realm Eternal, my lady will without fail drink most deeply of its pleasures, that she may become closer to the Emerald Mother and from this enlightened state reveal to all the innermost beauty of creation, that all may know the rightness of the Realm, the Empress, and the Blood of Dragons. From each such epiphany she returns renewed, empowered, and prepared to better serve The Realm. In her kindness, she sees fit to share the bounty of this wisdom by returning with some great symbol of her revelation which may endure to spread the Dragon's will, as revealed through her, to future generations." "To that end," Another scroll is at the ready. "My lady issues, above all else, this order of business." Within, a list of demographics. Age, sex, ethnicity, ranges of height and weight, and with each some quantity. "In her studies of these lands, My Lady has witnessed that the people of the west are blessed with certain regal hues most pleasing to the alignment of the sovereign elements. She finds this most auspicious. That despite the debasement of these poor savages by heathen spirits, Gaia waits with open arms, for her chosen soldiers shall soon deliver them from evil. So it is, My Lady shall take those among them who clearly carry nobler souls into her protection, and bring them into the light of civilization. She will survey your stock in person and make final choice by hand." The standard would ensure none would offend her. It would fall to them to impress. A ledger arrives from somewhere out of sight, already open to a most fortunate set of facts, figures, and legal codes. "Be it known that such an order of export, set forth from such a place, in such a season, in answer to a sacred vision and in service of the state would stand as greater tribute to The Realm than simple weight of coin. As such would it be duly counted. As is right." Among other things, we're here to buy a whole lot of slaves with government money, and make it tax-deductible for everyone involved!
|
|
#
¿
Jan 25, 2013 19:06
|
|
|
Unmasked Winter - Sown softly on the purest hearth, the better that she may take swift root and in such divine embrace hold fast the world against the storm, the deeper that it may nourish with the timeless soul and substance of almighty Gaia from whose graces all life springs, the sooner that she may burst forth with all the world her witness in full bloom, the higher that this peak of seasons may thus ascend in celebration of all life, in all lands, under the kind and righteous hearts of Gaia's chosen warriors as united by The Scarlet Empress (Ever May She Reign) Wyrm is quite distracted from the sympathetic torture of the customs officer by a much nearer tormented soul who's had the courtesy to crawl into her lap. Not quite so from the mission. News of the creatures' little hive sing praises of Wyrm's prior insights into their prey. Hide, harass, ambush, and when pressed in earnest flee to better ground to fight again. She'd chased her share of vermin from their holes in Thorns. This will be fun. The colour-coded poisoning indeed stands out. She recalled vaguely from Butterfly's reports that the colouration of a Chakra Orchid indicated the individual's particular breed, and with a rank and role within the structure of the hive. To make all but one fall silent serves some purpose. Indeed, are these specially treated seeds slain or merely dormant? Another piece has entered play. She is, as always, pleased to see a comrade recognize opportunity for action. Her breathless words are quite easily read, "Indeed, you don't know me. Since they've put so much work into building their funeral pyre I'd love to see it put to use. We will leave quite satisfied." Vila There is much shifting and shuffling and otherwise disembarking of things before the litter is set down. The attendant in white stands ready aside its door, the remaining four surround him, each opposite their antipode. Far afield, the household staff find their rush to take up the former burdens of the haulers intercepted. In the service of nobility, one learns to hold dearly to a higher standard. It is a world where any less than excellence is tantamount to atrocity. Here stands one who has found a service under par, one who will shortly take matter into her own hands. "Leave." Within the litter, Wyrm silently rebriefs The Daughter. "When they are gone, you will determine the degree of our privacy. Make note of prying ears and eyes. Make way for unexpected guests. When we've a measure of our foes, then we shall plan our moves." In no hurry to depart, Wyrm grants Poem ample time to clear the place of weeds.
|
|
#
¿
Jan 31, 2013 23:43
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Vila With the most obvious eyes of her enemy driven off and her borrowed set loose upon the countryside, Wyrm is left to contemplate the nature of the hunt. Though the enemy offends all aspects of her being, she cannot help but appreciate its potential use in war. Not for anything so superficial as its physical prowess or capacity to consume what defeats, but for its supreme mastery of communication. For a force spread over such a space to coordinate with the same intuitive speed of reason and reaction with which one governs their own fingertips is without doubt an achievement. Although, of course, she had already seen the consequences of such intimate harmony of mind and body. It is little surprise it prefers to hide. Were it forced to fight in earnest and in scale, the shared horror a thousand bodies wounded, dying, and dead may well wholly snap the vital spirit of the hive. Could such a thing, struck down with all its parts in such great anguish, find the will between its great mass of shattered souls to defy the wheel and rise again? In this, Wyrm finds the will to rise from her seat. This time she shall not be serenaded out of action. She erupts from the Litter in a great whirl of silken gowns, eyes alight with excitement as she draws her first deep breath of the manor's atmosphere. Auling is caught in her wake, dragged into open as the crew rush into formation around them. She sifts through the subtle traces of the world around her, setting aside the familiar pulse of terror from her faithful servants, the primal heat and vital innocence of her terrestrial companions, the ethereal chill of her fellow undead. She sifts through the scents of salt and sweat and stone, the taste of all the worldly delights this place prepared to entertain her, seeking out the sweetest prize of all - The spark of hidden life. The unmistakable perfume of her enemy. The hunt is on. Buying Awareness up to 4 for 8xp. Hunting for traces of life within the building. Personal 5/16 Will 7/10
|
|
#
¿
Feb 2, 2013 18:21
|
|
|
Unmasked Winter - So self-evidently splendorous when clothed is purest silk and sunlight that no barricade could dare deny such vision of the verdant blossom born of holy union between man and dragon, lest it collapse it collapse in anguish at the knowledge that a between the blink of eyes a soul may fall astray without such a vibrant beacon to set it on the immaculate path to one day be reborn as so great a being as She, and dwell in the Great Houses of they descended from Gaia through The Scarlet Empress (Ever May She Reign) Wyrm stands before the artwork on the bedroom wall, inevitably closing the distance to the errant disc. When her eyes draw near enough that can see their finest details in the stone's reflection, she turns to gauge its view of the master bed. At this, the lady makes her opinion known. "How Rude." At a flick of her fan, the servant in blue springs to action. The proper tools quick in hand the intrusive chip of enchanted stone is wrenched from wall and, as punishment for its audacious voyeurism swiftly imprisoned in a lockbox. Its accomplices soon follow suit. Before the last is thrown into its cell, Poem, duly informed and appropriately irate, addresses the final stone. "When my lady wishes to be seen or heard it shall be by her will, and no other." The final box slams shut, and unpacking proceeds in earnest. Wyrm allows the dust to settle and the woodblood to disentangle from her clothing. Elsewhere, Poem leads the crew in taking final stock of the contents of the building. Satisfied that anyone who still surveils her deserves a good hard look, she settles somewhere comfortable to consult with Rose, "Recognize anyone's handywork?" Debug the house, then we have us a sitdown. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 23:26 on Feb 2, 2013 |
|
#
¿
Feb 2, 2013 23:09
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Tending Roses The offending item is in hand. Wyrm looks from the mask, to the shaken woman laying before her. At that moment, there is nothing else. The world beyond has vanished. All her senses focus on the fear and sorrow curled up at her feet. This isn't right. Wyrm approaches, slowly descending on her. She lays the mask beside Rose. The nun recoils at the sight of it. As she twists to look away Wyrm takes her firmly by the shoulders. "She loved you." The words hang just long enough. "It saved her soul." Wyrm moves closer, grips tighter. She smiles softly as she draws Rose into her embrace. "You did the best you could, what you had to do, for her. To stop what she'd become. To set her free." The smile is gone, "It hurt you, both of you, that it had to come to that. That there could be no better way. It will never stop hurting you, because you will never forget - She loved you." "That pain," Wyrm takes up the mask again, and set it before Rose, "is not your enemy. It's yours. It's part of you. It's who you are." An odd undertone creeps into the captain's voice, unheard since Wyrm took on her Regal costume. The dry rasp of a knight of death. "Embrace it." It wasn't so cold in here before. "Mourn her, Rose. Take in her torment, let it burn with yours. Take up her cause. Swear vengeance in her name and that love, that pain, will guide your hand to victory. Then, she will know peace." Wyrm's grip relaxes, leaving Rose resting in her lap, "Tell me, Rose, who was Cynis Xúlan to you?"
|
|
#
¿
Feb 6, 2013 16:36
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Trophy Room "She was your friend, now she is your memory." Wyrm gives Rose a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "Guard her well." With the nun's suffering eased, Wyrm has time to again consider her surroundings. The masks, spears, shields, figurines, all so neatly arrayed around her. She hears Onyx's abrupt and dry report. She picks up the mask, "After all, a Girl needs her Trophies." The crew, ever-present on the sidelines stand to a slightly safer distance as from their leader rises a most feared and dreadful sound - Wyrm laughs. Gripping the mask the face of a dear friend, Wyrm whirls about a quick lap of the trophy room, cackling all the while. "Oh, you would have been a pleasure." She slams the mask back in its place in the display. She looks, delighted, back at Rose, "Pick one, to keep her with you. The rest, we send home." She spies Auling in the corner of her eye. He's kept around, alert, but can't shake off the look of a lost puppy. Time to throw a bone. "You - prepare the ceremony. You will appease your first victim." Snap of the fingers, flick of the wrist, and crew is assigned to aid Auling in preparing to pay respects to the slain. Wyrm departs, taking Onyx in tow. "You found their way in, good. Trap it. Let them learn how we entertain unexpected guests." As quick as that she's off again. There are other fires to set. He, Jackal, is swiftly bypassed, leaving the little icebox defenceless. A few bottles of good years of this and that are swiftly pillaged, dragged sloshing and bubbling to the Reflecting pool to meet their destinies. A ring of firedust is set around a groove meant for incense. A nagging sensation behind the eyes that this is what one should not do swiftly drowns in Wyrm's share of the offering. This is important. "Bolt From Brightest Day," His share is poured into the ring, "May these good spirits find you well. If not, may they light your path to brighter days. Know that you have made your presence felt, and that your name is on the lips of those who would call you to battle. For good or ill. Know there is no doubt that you shall face their slings and arrows with strength, and grace. Know that none can cage the thunder." Wyrm strikes a little match, "To brightest day, from darkest night, amen." The hammer falls, the powder lights, and with a roar of thunder, her words take flight. Charisma+Perform+Wp to spread the good news. Will 6/10
|
|
#
¿
Feb 7, 2013 18:59
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Re-Requiem for a Plant Wyrm eyes Rose's choice of keepsake. Plain, practical, experienced. Perfect. Respectfully assembled on the hearth, the worldly things of the late Cynis Xulan stand ready. Before them, her crew has placed a high-backed chair. Beside it, a small table holds a glass of wine. She takes her place, and looks warmly at the mask. At her guest of honour. "Here we are again." "I've said your peace once already, but then, I only knew you from some ill words a little bird told me, and you were hardly in the state of mind to listen." She takes a slow sip of her drink, "So, here we are again." "Your family is doing well. They've inherited you clever little tricks, your blessed persistence in the face of adversity, your sympathy for a sister's pain. They will fight on, to preserve what you became, with all your strength of spirit. Just as She will fight to end them." "Your Rose is well. You saved her from your bitter fate. She was there to share your final moment, but then, you were hardly in the state of mind to listen, nor her the state to speak," Another slow drink, "So listen now. Hear the lamentation of your final student. Teach her to wield your strength, so she may slay your last mistake." She motions for Rose to address the waiting pyre. Rest in Peace, Prepare for War - Study Gathering folks around nice tables happens often around Wyrm. "The northern team has discovered a point of interest in the local shadowland of great and non-specific power, desired by the enemy. A hostile force under one of the officer plants was met and destroyed in open combat with minimal resources spent. Officer was captured alive, preserved and imprisoned. Native population confirmed to be under violent supervision of local deities, the dominant spirit was subdued and captured, further investigation and recruitment of local settlements is under way." The past covered, Wyrm move on to the future. "In two hours time, the force in the city will complete their summoning ritual. Herein lies opportunity. The spell will place two friendly combatants in the heart of enemy territory. Knowing this, they're prepared the site accordingly to defend against assault from within should their binding fail. Knowing that, we can do better." "First, it a known tactical reality that to be at its most effective a defence must privilege one side over the other. To best prevent a hostile point from striking out, they must turn their fortress inside-out. When they call out the birds, we place them under assault and they will have nowhere to brace their backs." "Second, Invitations. Their efforts will be calibrated to contain or combat two powerful elementals. Two sorcerers to perform the bindings, meaning two officer plants, and enough warriors to defend them should they fail." Though fresh from a funeral, Wyrm is back to having fun, "So we send more. Use each summoner's call to inject a volatile payload alongside their intended targets. Enough to swiftly break their ritual concentration, then proceed to break them." "Once this is done secrecy will be at an end. We must be prepared to engage the enemy at all its vital points. Burn out the roots. We shatter the infested command structure within the city, freeing the natives to rally behind us and press the offensive. Once our positioning favourably aligns, we retrieve the ships and assault the core of the enemy. City-folk from the south, villagers from the north, an ill wind at our backs over the sea." It is only all of this that Wyrm acknowledges Jackal's odd question. She turns to the two who'd lived here a time and raises an eyebrow. 12/16 Personal, 6/10 Will A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 02:04 on Feb 11, 2013 |
|
#
¿
Feb 10, 2013 02:11
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Vila Loathe to miss an appointment for mass violence, Wyrm is being redressed and rearmed by her crewmen some time before the discussions close. Layers of various shades of green adorn her body, coils and frills of vibrant red around her neck. For the time being they shall maintain their act, returning to the city to go through the business of preparing a rousing hunt. The purchase of maps and bait, hiring scouts and beaters, and of course the invitation of respectable guests to share in sport and leisure befitting their status, all on their agenda. Under this pretense they would maneuver into range of the target and wait for the festivities to commence. Wyrm would go on horseback, Auling would be allowed to dress for the occasion and ride with her. The crew would march in escort, Poem and Rose serve as carrot and stick in any semblance of business they saw fit to conduct. Onyx would remain the blade dangling over the throne. All said, the act would not be needed long. When the time was right and the pieces set, they would embark.
|
|
#
¿
Feb 13, 2013 03:05
|
|
|
Unmasked Winter - Who, in this most crucial moment knows the wisdom of the Emerald Mother, for the path of righteousness is on all sides besieged by the vile deceptions of the wicked and tyranny of ancient beasts, so she shall ever stand as her sacred brother's keeper and defender of Gaia's children, for she shall strike down with great vengeance and terrible anger all who attempty to poison and destroy the bloodline and they will know the true name of their lord when she lays her vengeance upon them. With all fury of the very sword of the earth, held firmly by The Scarlet Empress (Ever May She Reign). Through the vibrant colours of her finely painted form, her Heart's each whim unfolds into a beauteous display of emotion. Throughout the evening a mask of serene contentment bore the odd fleeting ripple of warm approval of her servants' efforts, shimmering anticipation of the joyous sport to come. And a lingering concern for the ambient unwellness and unease. A grim, moonless night is falling on the city. The last night of her season's rise, an auspicious time to embark on such a familial venture and yet this city is not right. Tension rises as men at arms stumble through the streets, as though bewitched, when mere hours ago they seemed quite well. Although, they spoke of aches... Surprise - even the customs man, though dragon-graced, can barely speak. Alarm - He raises arms against her dear groom! He spits that hated word. Shock, recoil, denial. Rage. Focus. Knowing its master's very pulse, the warhorse surges into action. She slams forward in the saddle, her startled passenger only just has time to not slide off its back. Create the needed room, set him in place to act. Wheeling wide, it charges between her guard and secretary. The two women are forced to scatter, her mortal servants dive into place to attend their superiors. Into formation, defensive claw, two points, one lash, as flame. With one mighty leap it closes on the reeling fire aspect. On landing it ducks low, slams its full weight against the official's legs, and throws the man onto its back. Though strong of will and pure of purpose, this man is in no state to fight. So valiant a heart as his must not be sacrificed in vain. Buying War 5 for 12xp and "Rescuing" our valiant civil servant. A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 21:30 on Feb 19, 2013 |
|
#
¿
Feb 19, 2013 20:35
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Assuming Direct Command Personal 16/16, Peripheral 23/23, Willpower 6/10 As the man slips from consciousness, Wyrm claims centre stage in his final vision. Meeting his weary eyes, taking his shaking hand. "Well done, now sleep. Your fate is in good hands." She takes the repeater from his grip in time to see his soldiers obediently flop over on the stone. The dominoes begin to fall. Would her foe now set their horde against her? On what ground? Look down. You've laid your roots in poisoned soil. Your callous deeds have dusted it with tinder. Now you smell the smoke. Now you hear the thunder. Now you know. You are too late. She looks out over a lush field of green, ripe with rage and sorrow. They look to her in awe. In fear. On all their eyes one question - What now? In all their hearts lurk one answer. Wyrm slams her mount to a halt at the edge of the mob, her captive proudly on display and trophy tight in hand. "Now, you fight!" Seatongue serves so well for orders. Rapid sweeps of her sleeves part the crowd into even slices, a commanding roar grants each a number. The first is set upon the fallen guards, to see them bound, gagged, stripped of arms, and safely stowed between four walls. Now the best armed of the present rabble, they are designated shock troops and assigned to serve, unerring, their Dragonlord's first lieutenant. They would form the main line and begin to press the advance. Already duly trained and equipped, her ever-faithful servants shall take favourable position on local rooftops. Her ever-faithful secretary shall ensure they are met with no unscheduled appointments. The rest, second through fourth, shall fall into her wake and as a great conflagration sweep through the city crushing any stragglers under foot and encircling their foes. Let's form 4 Magnitude 3 units for now, give one to Rose and keep the rest under Wyrm. Get the sleepyguards bound and locked in a building for later, and get to fightin'.
|
|
#
¿
Feb 20, 2013 17:24
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Battlefield Wyrm finds her foes appropriately shocked and awed by the sudden change of winds. As they scramble to assume defensive formation around the warehouse they twist and turn in predictable patterns. Their roots struggle to recoil as the soil rejects the foreign blight they are. They fall back in little bends and sweeps of lines, collecting around their vital points. Revealing their locations. No movement is wasted in taking her position. Repeater slipped away, bow into hand and quiver onto back. She seizes the vibrant white and orange weathers of a certain breed of arrow. Her hunter's eyes lock on the one most dearly guarded of them all. She draws slowly, giving her prey just time enough to look back at her eyes and know its fate. She lays her thumb just so, placing a strip of flint set in her glove against the arrowhead. Set loose, it lights. It hungers. Start moving to flank, aim for three, then shoot a fire arrow into one of the enemy leaders/relays. Pulse of Prey to Negate the called shot, four motes into first archery excellence. Got a 6, Plus Ride 5 bonus gives 7 Sux pre:===============Fight Block===============
Essence: Personal 9/16, Peripheral 23/23
Willpower: 6/10
DDV 3(5 Mounted) PDV 2(5 HorseParry?) (6/6 in close vs unmounted foe)
Soak: Nat 3B 1L | Mobility -1
Arm 14B 15L 15A |
Tot 17B 16L 15A | Hardness: 6B 6L
Health: -0[ ] -1[ | | ] -2[ | | | ] -4[ ] I[ ]
Attacks: (All base Accuracy)
Punch: Speed 5, Acc 4, Damage 1B/1, Defense +2, Rate 3
Kick: Speed 5, Acc 3, Damage 4B/1, Defense -2, Rate 2
Clinch: Speed 6, Acc 3, Damage 1B/1 (P), Defense -, Rate 1
Plasma Tongue Repeater: Speed 5, Acc 10, Damage 10L, Rate 1, Range 20(Max), Ammo 5/5, Tags F S
Flame Piece: Speed 5, Acc 9, Damage 8L, Rate 1(2), Range 8, Ammo 1, Tags F
Short Powerbow: Speed 6, Acc 10(12), Base Damage 3(5)L/2, Rate 2, Range 250, Tags 2 B
Ammo Types: Broadhead - Dam 5(7)L
Frog C. - Dam 7(9)L Double Armour
Target - Dam 3(5)L P
Fire - Acc 9(11), Dam 6(8)L/1L, Range 100, Cause 1L/Action Trauma 1 Fire Hazard (Max 25 Ticks)
Incindiary- Dam 5(7)B/2L, Range 100, Ammo 12/12, Cause 2L/Action Trauma 2 Fire Hazzard (Max 50 Ticks)A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 21:05 on Feb 21, 2013 |
|
#
¿
Feb 21, 2013 20:51
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - Setting Course The Blue and White metal fins of Wyrm's next shot are firm in hand well before infested sailors scramble to adapt to her first. As they twist about in shared shock and agony she sees a few convene upon the burning body of their former root. That's right boys, best you put that out before- She draws as Auling makes his... adequate attempt to motivate the mob. Leaning back with the bowstring she settles near his ear and quietly snarls, "Boy, this is no sporting pitch. You're on my battlefield, and on my field you lead by action!" Striking Auling has the natural consequence of loosing Wyrm's arrow. The motion leaves her turned about to face the mob which rose this night to battle in her name. The Horse already turns to follow, the lavish silks which hide her armour flow out in a vibrant wash of colour. shone through by the setting sun. Forgotten, but not lost, the arrow sails true into the mass of sailors. Its glass tip strikes home on one sailor's burning corpse, and under another's falling boot. Her arms outstretched, Wyrm is thrown into silhouette as the battlefield erupts with flame and thunder. In one great sweep she calls the tribal moths to dance upon the edge of day and night, of life and death. And there, find victory. Flurry - Napalm Arrow at Sailor Scale 2, looking to compound their fire hazard, then Attach to Tribal Scale 3. 1m To Archery Ex for a net accuracy of 10. 4 Sux pre:===============Fight Block===============
Essence: Personal 10/16, Peripheral 23/23
Willpower: 6/10
DDV 3(5 Mounted) PDV 2(5 HorseParry?) (6/6 in close vs unmounted foe)
Soak: Nat 3B 1L | Mobility -1
Arm 14B 15L 15A |
Tot 17B 16L 15A | Hardness: 6B 6L
Health: -0[ ] -1[ | | ] -2[ | | | ] -4[ ] I[ ]
Attacks: (All base Accuracy)
Punch: Speed 5, Acc 4, Damage 1B/1, Defense +2, Rate 3
Kick: Speed 5, Acc 3, Damage 4B/1, Defense -2, Rate 2
Clinch: Speed 6, Acc 3, Damage 1B/1 (P), Defense -, Rate 1
Plasma Tongue Repeater: Speed 5, Acc 10, Damage 10L, Rate 1, Range 20(Max), Ammo 5/5, Tags F S
Flame Piece: Speed 5, Acc 9, Damage 8L, Rate 1(2), Range 8, Ammo 1, Tags F
Short Powerbow: Speed 6, Acc 10(12), Base Damage 3(5)L/2, Rate 2, Range 250, Tags 2 B
Ammo Types: Broadhead - Dam 5(7)L
Frog C. - Dam 7(9)L Double Armour
Target - Dam 3(5)L P
Fire - Acc 9(11), Dam 6(8)L/1L, Range 100, Cause 1L/Action Trauma 1 Fire Hazard (Max 25 Ticks)
Incindiary- Dam 5(7)B/2L, Range 100, Ammo 11/12, Cause 2L/Action Trauma 2 Fire Hazzard (Max 50 Ticks)
|
|
#
¿
Feb 22, 2013 18:32
|
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - She came in? The tribal mobs surge forward, grinding down the enemy, driving back the invader into the cleansing embrace of a hungry pyre. Sticks and stones, slings and arrows, smash headlong into the flesh and blood of abominations, guarded by the hands of dragons, driven by the voice of oblivion. The searing heat of battle and the cold grip of death temper the enemy into a finely crafted killing machine. The rich blend of pain, fear, desperation and rage churning within them sure to drive them to struggle to the last choking, gargled breath. This tenacity in the face of the inevitable, the core absurdity at the very heart of life, is to be expect of such a oh-so-vital foe. One should expect the melee raging on around them. All strategy requires expectations. Good strategies defy them. The Tribals pull back from their first assault. They rally around their angel for protection, ready to draw from her the courage needed to press on and drive these monsters from their homes. There is a natural rhythm to such acts, the ebb and flow of the waves of battle. The crowd gathers, their anger rising, ready to surge forward and sweep away all in its path. The wave breaks early. A hoof slams down hard on the paving stones, the crowd falls silent. Far from pressing on a brutal charge, Wyrm's horse has turned aside. She looks down from the saddle with idle contempt. The horse lazily struts between the battle lines as she massages another arrow out of her quiver. There is no attempt to hide her disappointment as she inspects these things who, thought to, stand to, fight as her foes. She feels such pitied revulsion as she knocks an arrow. Was this all that Xulan had died for? The genius spawned these celestial pawns? As she draws back the string, hefts her bow to sky, it's drat hard to spot one even worthy to die! Are there any here on the battlefield tonight, to go up against the wall? Say, that one by the firelight, will his soul be set free? Will he go against the wall? The stones fall. Which of you still standing? which who still draws breath? Which of all of these men recieves a clean death? She soon gets to the point, there's no saving this lot. There's only one way, She'll have all of them shot. Tribals 1&2 - Aim and fire, Wyrm sends a target arrow at their new leader (Roll + Horse - Called Shot) nets 12, Scale 3 - Crush. pre:===============Fight Block===============
Essence: Personal 9/16, Peripheral 23/23
Willpower: 6/10
DDV 3(5 Mounted) PDV 2(5 HorseParry?) (6/6 in close vs unmounted foe)
Soak: Nat 3B 1L | Mobility -1
Arm 14B 15L 15A |
Tot 17B 16L 15A | Hardness: 6B 6L
Health: -0[ ] -1[ | | ] -2[ | | | ] -4[ ] I[ ]
Attacks: (All base Accuracy)
Punch: Speed 5, Acc 4, Damage 1B/1, Defense +2, Rate 3
Kick: Speed 5, Acc 3, Damage 4B/1, Defense -2, Rate 2
Clinch: Speed 6, Acc 3, Damage 1B/1 (P), Defense -, Rate 1
Plasma Tongue Repeater: Speed 5, Acc 10, Damage 10L, Rate 1, Range 20(Max), Ammo 5/5, Tags F S
Flame Piece: Speed 5, Acc 9, Damage 8L, Rate 1(2), Range 8, Ammo 1, Tags F
Short Powerbow: Speed 6, Acc 10(12), Base Damage 3(5)L/2, Rate 2, Range 250, Tags 2 B
Ammo Types: Broadhead - Dam 5(7)L
Frog C. - Dam 7(9)L Double Armour
Target - Dam 3(5)L P
Fire - Acc 9(11), Dam 6(8)L/1L, Range 200, Cause 1L/Action Trauma 1 Fire Hazard (Max 25 Ticks)
Incindiary- Dam 5(7)B/2L, Range 200, Ammo 11/12, Cause 2L/Action Trauma 2 Fire Hazzard (Max 50 Ticks)
|
|
#
¿
Feb 26, 2013 06:20
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 27, 2024 19:29 |
|
|
Spawn of the Devouring Wyrm - In The Flesh Xu you clever girl. Wyrm's arrow had done well to find a worthy target for its mistress. There's been a drastic change in the state of the battle, calling for equally drastic change in approach and bearing implications bound shape the forward progression of the entire campaign. The moment calls for swift and decisive action. Yet all Wyrm can do is laugh. Curled up atop her steed she cackles on and on at this dramatic turn of fate. Her voice rises in intensity until one final joyous shriek slides sidelong into a word, "Enough!" The horse turns ahead, stomping the arrows which had only just failed to find their mark into splinters. Wyrm plants a hand in Auling's lap and hurls herself off the side of the horse. In the wake of the avalanche of silken folds, he finds himself holding four poisoned arrows. Wyrm lands with feet crossed in a dancer's pose, her gown casting ghastly shadows as it whips about in the firelight. Smiling brightly, she bows to her executioners. "Good evening, and to each of you a joyous second breath. On this blessed night you inherit a fearsome power and sacred duty of such great scale you may not begin to truly understand your gift until you draw your last. But with each which passes from this moment you take another step along the road to knowing Gaia's will. Even now it has begun. Do you see it? Do you feel it? Does it burn within your lungs? Does is crackle on your skin? It is surging in your heart? Is it racing through your mind?" Her voice rises again, "Do you begin," takes on an unholy reverb "to understand," "Who," She snaps upright, "you," The bow slips away, "Face!?" The other foot drops. She stands open. She stands ready. She invites a swift reply. Dismount, Coordinate Counterattack. Everybody get ready for the big finale. pre:===============Fight Block===============
Essence: 2 - Personal 13/16, Peripheral 23/23
Willpower: 6/10
DDV 3(5 Mounted) PDV 2(5 HorseParry?) (6/6 in close vs unmounted foe)
Soak: Nat 3B 1L | Mobility -1
Arm 14B 15L 15A |
Tot 17B 16L 15A | Hardness: 6B 6L
Health: -0[ ] -1[ | | ] -2[ | | | ] -4[ ] I[ ]
Attacks: (All base Accuracy)
Punch: Speed 5, Acc 4, Damage 1B/1, Defense +2, Rate 3
Kick: Speed 5, Acc 3, Damage 4B/1, Defense -2, Rate 2
Clinch: Speed 6, Acc 3, Damage 1B/1 (P), Defense -, Rate 1
Plasma Tongue Repeater: Speed 5, Acc 10, Damage 10L, Rate 1, Range 20(Max), Ammo 5/5, Tags F S
Flame Piece: Speed 5, Acc 9, Damage 8L, Rate 1(2), Range 8, Ammo 1, Tags F
Short Powerbow: Speed 6, Acc 10(12), Base Damage 3(5)L/2, Rate 2, Range 250, Tags 2 B
Ammo Types: Broadhead - Dam 5(7)L
Frog C. - Dam 7(9)L Double Armour
Target - Dam 3(5)L P
Fire - Acc 9(11), Dam 6(8)L/1L, Range 200, Cause 1L/Action Trauma 1 Fire Hazard (Max 25 Ticks)
Incindiary- Dam 5(7)B/2L, Range 200, Ammo 11/12, Cause 2L/Action Trauma 2 Fire Hazzard (Max 50 Ticks)A_Raving_Loon fucked around with this message at 23:59 on Feb 28, 2013 |
|
#
¿
Feb 28, 2013 17:13
|
|