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 Marshfield. Many of the original names of the old Ancient settlements are long lost, but Marshfield endured. Possibly this is because the Mistake made the name terribly appropriate; the small but thriving county seat woke up the morning after the Mistake to find much of its 5 square miles sinking into a fetid swamp (about the catterbleep lair in the rotary park, the less said the better). Still, after generations spent driving out feral lizardfolk and stamping out the rotgrub epidemic (seriously, stay out of the rotary park), Marshfield is teetering on the precipice of being marginally civilized again; aside from the change in climate, the monsters here and there, and the sudden explosion in population diversity, Marshfield was apparently more or less the same in every reality. No castles sprung out of the municipal library, no lightning rails cut the city in two, and the mayor didn't become a slavering goat-faced demon. Things could have been a lot worse. Sure, an awful lot of basements and cellars were lost forever, and the Methodist church is still full of zombies, and Sunset Avenue is host to a vampire or two, but hardly anyone just plummets into bottomless sinkholes anymore. And that's the important thing, really. No amount of education can protect you from sinkholes (hoverboots can, of course, but who can afford them?). Unfortunately, this state of (relative) safety may be a temporary thing. The weird glowing tire iron that helped dry out the land and lift dozens of homes from the muck has recently stopped glowing. If there's a way to get it going again, the brave Marshfielders who brought it back from Kansas City took the secret to the grave. The situation is only a few weeks old, and only the town elders really know the score; your average Marshfielder may have noticed a little more mud on his boots, but nothing more. Worst comes to worst the whole population could flee to Springfield or one of the smaller settlements nearby, but that would leave the First Families Museum prey to the ravages of time and the elements. Who could live with the guilt if the only known surviving portrait of Dowager Empress Barbara I were to be sucked into the mud? To avoid widespread panic, the elders have confided in a few strangers passing through (and one young local, wise beyond his years). Most have been unreceptive, to say the least; Marshfield has precious little to offer as reward other than abandoned real estate and a handful of historical artifacts at the First Families Museum. But a questionable team was, at length, assembled, drawn together by curiosity, greed, wanderlust, or possibly the intent to find a solution to Marshfield's problem and then use it to rule over what was left of Webster County with an iron fist. Several solutions have been proposed: finding a way to recharge the tire iron would be best, but perhaps some other bit of tech could accomplish the same things. Failing that, perhaps a wizard could be persuaded (using the broadest sense of the term) to do Marshfield a favor. The elders would prefer to avoid this if possible (wizards are disgusting). Really, anything that helps keep the town dry will do. Fortified with their personal effects and the handful of questionably useful supplies the Marshfield elders could afford to them, the five wanderers convened outside the city center. Active Party  Sharn's Dox, a changeling artificer dreadfully short on worthwhile components. Played by Captain Walker. Santa Fe's Otto Psichico, a tiny robot gambler temporarily down on his luck. Played by CommaToes. Niagara Research Centre's Experiment 259, a hulking, furry shape that moves too quickly to make out (may be some kind of gorilla). Played by berenzen. Marshfield's own Golden Boy. Do not look directly at Golden Boy. If you work or play in the vicinity of Golden Boy, stay hydrated and remain in the shade when possible. Played by Brother Entropy. Olga, about whom little is known. Marshfield has been a comfortable place for her in the few days since she's arrived; everything's damp enough that she doesn't need to take special precautions to avoid burning the city to the ground. Played by Xun.Sheets (Obsidian Portal): Dox Olga Golden Boy Otto Experiment 259 The elders, for all their very helpful ideas, have no real advice about where to start looking for a solution. It's possible some of the other Marshfielders may know something, provided they can be questioned without twigging them onto the coming disaster. Failing that, it's time to hit the road. The dangerous "big city" of Springfield is about 30 klicks southwest; slightly closer to the southwest is Straff, even smaller than Marshfield. See-More is about 29 klicks southeast, Ford Land about 29 to the south, and Roguesville about 33 to the south-southwest. About 25 klicks to the west-northwest is Fair Grove, though the Marshfielders call it "Unfair Grove" whenever it's mentioned (and then laugh a little too hard). Elk Land's about 20 klicks to the northwest, but most folks reckon it's good for venison and not much else. The itsy-bitsy settlement of Nang Wa is only 10 klicks to the northeast, and 25 klicks northeast is Onway (though there's been no news or trade from Onway in a month or two). 33 klicks east-northeast will take you to Gravesprung, which is less a town than a scattering of barns along along some dirt roads. The empty space between these named settlements is a mixture of forest, empty farmland, a scattering of businesses benefiting from occasional traffic along the old highways, and the occasional Mistake-borne oddity. Our travelers are (mostly) new to Marshfield, and don't entirely have the lay of the land yet. The actively-used buildings they can see from the town center include the savings bank to the southwest, the post office to the northwest, a cartographer's to the north, the registrar of deeds to the east, a fuel dealer to the south-southwest, and, of course, the First Families Museum at the town center itself. Unused and abandoned structures nearby include several lawyer's offices, an insurer's, a realtor's, and the Marshfield Mall (which only boasted five stores at its height, but who's counting). Of course, Golden Boy has been around for a while and can probably ensure the group's ability to navigate to anyplace in Marshfield they might want to go, general or specific.
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| # ? Jan 19, 2013 22:13 |
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| # ? May 22, 2013 18:56 |
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Otto Psichico Otto sits upon a street planter outside the civic center. OR what seems to be a street planter. It's next to the street and there are things growing in it. Anyway, no matter what it is, Otto sits on it. He looks at his new traveling companions. In his electronic mind, the odds of this diverse set of adventurers finding a solution are not very promising, but overcoming adversity is the first step in becoming a respected legendary warrior. No one messes with legendary warriors. "So, what does everyone thing the best course of action is? If you give me your suggestions, I can calculate the odds of us finding the solution. Right now there are too many variables, so some heuristic guidelines can speed up the process." The tiny robot pulls out Old Catarina and checks her to see if she's still straight. Way more humidity in this region than back in New Mexico, can't be too careful in checking for warps in the wood.
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| # ? Jan 20, 2013 00:34 |
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Dox As Marshfield's tale of woe and tire irons was spun to Dox, he had to physically restrain himself from saying the five words he was sure would solve their problems but not his. Instead he awaited the gathering of potential allies, partly as a contingency and partly because, well, despite all the time he spent in his workshop he wasn't a complete recluse. As the party assembles he approaches Golden Boy, the native, and says of the magic tire iron, "Let me have a look." Science!: 1d20+8 21 I might not fix it but by Onatar I know what's wrong! Captain Walker fucked around with this message at Jan 21, 2013 around 15:31 |
| # ? Jan 20, 2013 17:31 |
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Olga Olga lies sullenly under her cape, looking for all the world like a discarded rag with smoldering edges. Being humanoid is hard work, okay? Quite honestly, she doesn’t know what to do about the silly crowbar, or whatever it was. She’s quite painfully aware that her consciousness is made up of a couple hundred bits of sentient rubble that’s only recently learned how to work together. Not really the best candidate to figure out what’s wrong with a weird artifact. But hey, she likes Marshfield and is perfectly willing to help out her new home. She’s fairly optimistic about the group’s chances, the fancy artificer and robot seem smart, and Golden Boy is shiny! Maybe his magic sun powers would be the answer. The fancy artificer didn’t seem to think so, he was looking at the…tire iron? Maybe the ground wasn’t such a good vantage point.
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| # ? Jan 21, 2013 03:56 |
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259 Crouching down in the street the furry hulk, coloquially known as Gorilla Falcon, looked on as the artificer examined the bent metal object. The primate knew little of the aspects of magic, just that it made some things tick and other things break down. Whatever the hairless male or the shiny metal talking thing figured out, 259 would be able to help the group out in anyway he could- there's always a need to smash things up.
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| # ? Jan 21, 2013 04:21 |
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Golden Boy "Ah, yes!" GB had been briefed on the others among the group, so he was already prepared to let the pale mechanic have a closer look. GB was pretty sure the elders said he was a mechanic. "As you can imagine I have found little information within Marshfield about the artifact's nature." He fished the dulled tire iron out of his bike messenger's bag and cautously handed it over to Dox. "I would tell you not to break it, but well..." He let his half-hearted warning trail off and turned towards the sitting robot. "If time were not a factor I would suggest a trek to Kansas City, our first known location of the iron. However, our wisest move may be to the nearby Springfield. It's the largest settlement around the Marshland area and would be our best bet for finding more information or some kind of replacement." GB hesitated for the next part, shoulders slightly hunched and sun rotating back and forth to mimic a more humanoid head looking to confirm no one else was around. "...or a wizard."
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| # ? Jan 21, 2013 04:26 |
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Otto Psichico "I estimate the trip to Springfield would be a fruitful endeavor, however would there be some historical records of the creation of the artifact, or ones of a similar nature in the general vicinity? Perhaps we could analyze the contents of the city's famed Museum prior to departing." Otto finishes examining his cue. No warping of the wood. This may be because the "wood" is actually a carbon polymer usually found in industrial mining equipment. Otto is well aware of this, but the mannerisms of a billiard player of old is something he has yet to shake from his programming. "It may be unwise to not exhaust all potential avenues for information here. If the answer can be found within the town, no travel is necessary." Otto tries to gauge the groups' reactions to his suggestion. Angering strangers got him into this mess in the first place.
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| # ? Jan 21, 2013 05:01 |
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Dox examines the tire iron thoroughly. He looks at it from the side. He looks at the top of it, and also the bottom. In all respects it appears to be a totally ordinary tire iron aside from its reputation. It's entirely possible that the correlation between the tire iron and Marshfield's relatively dry years was just a coincidence. His hands are feeling a little dry as he handled the tire iron, so maybe it's still operating at a minimal level. Or possibly his hands are dry because he's standing next to a man with a fireball for a head and a surly heap of embers. Hard to say. If he had access to his normal supply lines, it would be a relatively simple affair to store something appropriate in the tire iron; control water seemed like an obvious culprit. It would take significantly more experience than he had, however, to keep the tire iron humming for the decades it had reputedly operated. Besides, there was talk of entire homes being hauled out of the mud; that meant large-scale levitation, which was hardly the sort of thing you could just weld to a stick. It might be simpler (if arguably more dangerous) to bind an elemental to the tire iron and set it to work. If that was the case, then the creature must have escaped. You'd think somebody would notice a thing like that. Still, the possibility remained that it was a more experienced artificer that was called for, and not a wizard. Maybe a gnome. On the other hand, maybe it just needed new batteries. In the end, Dox doesn't really have any solid answers, just more hypotheses. Well, it definitely wasn't solar-powered. They could rule that out right off.
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| # ? Jan 21, 2013 13:08 |
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Dox Dox seizes upon the one thing he is certain of--the drat thing's broken, but not irreparably so. He informs the group with a series of rapid-fire out-loud thoughts. "Analysis inconclusive. Thing's arcane power source is utterly discombobulated, but structural integrity of artifact otherwise impeccable. Matter as simple as replacement power source, easier said than done of course. Important problem: Nature of said power source still unclear. Control water? Unlikely. 6th-level spell, probably 7th or 8th with extensive metamagic. No self-respecting Vancian arcanist devotes that type of power to utility when self-defense like cloudkill, meteor swarm, et al exist. Bound water or earth elemental? Very risky but not impossible. Regardless, gone now. Suggest constructing an eldritch dynamo of sorts to keep it running while we nail down original power source. Where to get parts? No idea. Probably best we go to Springfield. Find arcane department store of some kind. Museum might have more information for interested parties but otherwise, wisest course of action to set out at once." He slips the tire iron into into one of his belt's many loops and ties it snug. "Postscript: No harm in bringing along if truly out of power. Better to test our options on-site than lug incorrect solution all the way back."
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| # ? Jan 21, 2013 15:56 |
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With no better ideas forthcoming, Dox sets out for Springfield, sparing the occasional glance behind him to make sure the rest are actually following his lead. The most efficient route is probably the I-44 (rumors of a beholder with 44 eyestalks roaming the interstate are unsubstantiated). Alas, they've barely traveled half a klick before finding Jack St. impassable, occupied as it is by a trio of Orcish dentists. Though professional dentistry is certainly in high demand post-Mistake, very few of the folks who have taken up squatting in old offices have actually bothered to learn the trade, content to get by with some vodka and a pair of pliers. And sometimes the vodka was in short supply. Of course, the group is, statistically, relatively toothless to begin with, so in some sense the advantage would be theirs, should confrontation ensue. They could always turn back and take Washing St. out to the Spur, but this would take them past the combination temple to Baphomet and bazaar that had sprung up in what was left of the old Freshmeats supermarket after the roof collapsed. A body could waste days at the bazaar, largely because uncleared slabs of roofing had turned the building into a perilous maze from which few of its vendors had ever escaped. The dentists are gradually closing in; dragging the elaborate dentist's chair along has made their approach fairly sluggish. "Molar toll!" cackles the eldest dentist. "Give up your bicuspids or get... um, disgusted!" "Too late for that", shouts a three-armed gnome from a window on the south side of the street.
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| # ? Jan 31, 2013 11:15 |
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Dox Dox quickly shifts out of his natural form of a changeling artificer in search of components, and adopts the disguise of a toothless changeling artificer in search of components. It's very subtle. He opens his mouth to reveal the toothy truth. The toothless truth? The can't handle a tooth truth? Regardless, he shows the orcs he appears to have no teeth, and points out that robots, yetis, sentient piles of coal, and miniature versions of the sun are even less likely to have teeth. "Of course, you would know all this if any of you had acquired your respective DDS at an accredited orthodontic institution. Leading me to believe that your education was a great sham, you poor things. For your sake, I imagine you'll want to demand a full and immediate refund from the alumni relations department of your alma mater, on the grounds that they failed to actually instruct you in the orthodontic sciences. Then you should burn the place to the ground. Then get a real DDS. Have you looked into Oral Roberts U? I hear the weather in Tool-Sah is lovely this time of year." Interaction: 1d20+18 22
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| # ? Jan 31, 2013 16:42 |
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Otto Psichico "I am not sure any of us have teeth at the moment. Are you instead offering to sell your services?" Otto asks in an attempt to confuse the orcs.
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| # ? Jan 31, 2013 20:16 |
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Oh no, Olga did not like dentists. For some reason. She gathers up the bits of her body and finally makes the effort to stand up just to be able to properly glare at the hated dentists. Insight Check : 1d20 + 9 = 16
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| # ? Feb 2, 2013 00:16 |
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"What?!" snarls the elder dentist, displaying a mouthful of teeth which clearly do not belong to him (you can tell because of their enthusiasm for escaping his mouth and tumbling down the road). "How dare you imp... impu.. grrr." "Please, cousin, stand aside", mutters a smaller orc to his left. "You're just giving them fodder for their insulting suppositions about orcish intellect. As you will see, sir, my cousin is accredited by one of the finest Obdurodontic schools in the continent." He brandishes a laminated sheet bearing the older fellow's credentials.  The seal bears an image of a toothy platypus (or a particularly husky Thought Eater) giving the degree-holder a thumbs up. "As you can see, he is a respectable professional and not to be mocked for his unfortunate speech impediment. However, as you say, you all appear to be a pathetically toothless lot and have no right to judge our qualifications in the first place. Away with you." He trundles the dentist's chair aside so the company can pass, ducking intermittently as its many mechanical arms flail around in all directions. The third dentist sidles up to Otto, assuming a posture somewhere between a conspiratorial lean and an awkward squat. "Business has been slow. Bunch of toothless chumps, no offense, and cowards afraid of proper dental care. They'll soon be sorry when their teeth get too big for their heads and impale their brains, I tell you what. Point is we ought to be moving on. Do you know of any place where the fine art of obdurodontics would be better appreciated?" Olga just stares hatefully at the dentists for a bit. There was definitely something fishy about them. For example, the nametag affixed to the good Dr. Bog's tattered and yellowing lab coat read "Hi! My name is Bill." Also, his hands were filthy.
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| # ? Feb 2, 2013 05:31 |
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Dox "Nu Ork Varsity? Really?" Having spent some time around Morgrave University, Dox has an appreciation for the diploma mills such so-called 'institutions of higher learning' can be once they've acquired your money. There were warforged-operated factories in the Cogs that did not turn ore into metal with the brutal efficiency that Morgrave and its ilk turned students into graduates. He's also pretty sure their alumni outreach program is a cult that worships the tarrasque; there's no other explanation for where all those donations go. Dox has heard stories of Nu Ork, and most of them resemble Morgrave in more ways than one. This will not stand! He sniffs imperiously. "Well, I hear they have a very comprehensive scholarship and financial aid program for mutants who come from out this way..." He stops himself from saying, "so you got what you paid for, I imagine." Calming himself, he examines the diploma again, and a plot comes to mind. From one of the many pouches on his armor he surreptitiously removes a mascara bottle and applies a few strokes to the name, so it displays D.UMAG B OX. "Goodness!" he cries exaggeratedly. "This is no diploma! It's an extremely well-laminated sheet of magic paper that displays the name of the smartest individual in a group, only there's lots of fancy lettering about so it looks like that person is a graduate!" He holds his hand over the sheet and furrows his brow. "And it's not even a permanent enchantment! It expires in two weeks! Why, the nerve of these hucksters!" Handing it back to the older dentist, he ushers the party forward. "It seems your alma mater has some explaining to do. Godspeed and good luck, friends." He subtly indicates to the party that they should beat feet, lest they get beat. Interaction: 1d20+13 20
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| # ? Feb 5, 2013 18:19 |
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Otto Psichico "We must depart. I know the signs of a bad beat when it approaches. And this one is approaching fast." The small robot waddles away with Dox in a hurried fashion. It looks kinda ridiculous.
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| # ? Feb 5, 2013 20:19 |
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Golden Boy GB, unsure of matters of 'teeth' or even 'facial structure' chose to stay back while Dox talked to the friendly gentlemen. It wasn't until Otto's words that it occurred to him that the orcs might not be entirely on the up and up so he wordlessly followed his smallest companion.
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| # ? Feb 6, 2013 05:08 |
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The wanderers hastily move along, leaving the dentists in a harried state of doubt and dismay. "What?! How terrible! Dumag, this is serious. We have to give all these teeth back to their owners." The eldest shakes his head woefully. "Most of those people are dead! Or disintegrated. That probably kills people, I don't know how this thing works." He kicks the dentist's chair, which issues a harsh electronic hiss. "Well, we've got to get off the grid, man", the third dentist mutters. "If John Law finds out about our illegal dentistry we're gonna have nine hells to pay." "I hate that guy!" growls the eldest, as the orc's voices fade into the distance behind the travelers. The rest of Jack St. is uneventful, save for a lone overturned moneybox machine outside FriendlyBank pleading for someone, anyone, to insert and then quickly remove their card. The sad machine had been a fixture in Marshfield for some time, and none of the various cards people had tried did anything to satisfy it. The thing is either too picky for its own good or just incorrigible. West Washing is also sparsely populated, though there are a few locals hanging out at the Come & Go diner ("Eat Here & Get Gas" recommends the sign over the door, though the old fuel pumps are long gone). A recent change is noted as they pass the Price Chopper parking lot; someone has pried off some of the large letters on the facade, reducing the old grocery to merely "Chopper". Another impediment rears its head as the group reaches the intersection of Washing and the Spur. A dabber-run antique market has completely overgrown its lot, spilling onto the Spur and rendering it practically impassable. Dozens of tables piled with ancient rubbish clot the road for at least half a klick, with eager vendors exhibiting much more enthusiasm than the few listless patrons wandering the rows. Dabbers typically offer very generous prices, though they're less generous in discussing the sometimes quite-dangerous origins of their goods. The market can be avoided by staying on Washing St. and taking a more circuitous route, but this will add hours to the journey and keep them off the I-44 (and, not insignificantly, the large used-auto merchant located where I-44 meets the Spur; there's an old auto parts store on Washing, but the machines are significantly easier to take apart than they are to put back together again).
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| # ? Feb 7, 2013 07:43 |
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Olga didn't really care for going around the stupid giant antique market. Unfortunately she didn't have much of an idea on how to get through it quickly except, well. She looks down at her flaming arms. And then at the large mass of very old very flammable items in front of them.
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| # ? Feb 10, 2013 06:29 |
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Dox Olga's intentions do not escape Dox's notice. He decides it would be futile to talk her down and simply says, "For my conscience's sake, please consider giving warning before setting world ablaze. Suggestion: 'Out of the way, please, I'm about to set the world ablaze.' Up to you though." He scurries to a safe distance away from the imminent conflagration.
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| # ? Feb 10, 2013 16:50 |
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A wave of flame rips through the antique market, immolating stacks of Highlights for Chaotic Neutral Children, thousands of old taffeta curtains, and at least one priceless box of the Nintendo Cereal System. It would be a tremendous loss of historical artifacts if it wasn't all worthless tat. While shouldering their way through the fleeing crowd is not the most efficient method of travel, it beats navigating through the same mob while every vendor tries to pull you aside for a look at their fascinating wares and most of the other customers try to pick your pockets. It's only as they come upon an elegantly-constructed 1/5 scale silver dragon crafted from aluminium foil that they realize not all the market's denizens have fled. A dabber brandishing a well-maintained Ancient firearm moves to block their way, and another blocks their retreat. Worse, a small family of goblin dogs ("Free To Good Home") escape their kennel in the confusion, and a small but malicious elemental manifests from the inferno. Initiative Olga: 22 Otto: 16 (Otto wins coin toss vs. elemental) Fire Elemental: 16 A 14, F 12, R 14, W 13, H 27 GB: 15 Dox: 12 Goblin Dogs: 11 A 13, F 13, R 11, W 9, H 38 Dabbers: 7 A 16, F 13, R 14, W 13, H 32 259: 6 
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| # ? Feb 15, 2013 02:53 |
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Olga turns around and attempts to hit the dabber behind them with a dart cough Attack Roll: 1d20 + 5 + 1 = 12 If it somehow manages to hit : 2d10 + 2 = 6
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| # ? Feb 17, 2013 00:07 |
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Otto Psichico "I did not see this coming. Time to adjust my heuristics." Otto says as he walks over to the barking dogs and screams some binary their way. I'm sure if the dogs spoke binary it'd be a much more effective move. Move: to G10 Standard: Blue Screen of Death on Goblin Dogs (F9 & E11) (+4 vs Will): 2#1d20+4 8 12 1d10+1+3 7 If either of those hit (unlikely) the dog takes a -2 to attack rolls until my next turn. Minor: Equip Old Catarina
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| # ? Feb 17, 2013 00:21 |
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Suddenly queasy, Olga turns in Golden Boy's direction and coughs up a mucus-drenched (and smoldering) lawn dart. The demigod sidesteps the projectile without undue alarm and watches it bounce harmlessly off a pallet of Otter Pops. Ah, mutants. What wouldn't they eat? Showing unusual (if situationally inappropriate) technical competence, one of the goblin dogs seems to actually comprehend Otto's burst of indignant code, struggling with the irresistible compulsion to code:The elemental creeps up on 259, quietly muttering dark imprecations that may or may not be fire puns. The poor thing seems rather unsure of itself. At length it lashes out with a tendril of flame, singeing a little fur but leaving the ape none the worse for wear. Elemental Slam: 1d20+4 8 GB Dox Goblin Dogs: A 13, F 13, R 11, W 9, H 38 Dabbers: A 16, F 13, R 14, W 13, H 32 259 Olga Otto Fire Elemental: A 14, F 12, R 14, W 13, H 27 
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| # ? Feb 19, 2013 01:25 |
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Golden Boy After narrowing avoiding Olga's gross projectile, GB looks over his shoulder to see who she was attempting to maim. He aims at the Dabber with a pulse of solar energy from one hand while pulling his trusty golf club out of his bike messenger bag with the other but the poor guy's never been great at multitasking. Standard: Glowing Blades (vs. Reflex): 1d20+4 6 Minor: Equip 9 iron
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| # ? Feb 25, 2013 19:29 |
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Dox Well, this is another fine mess. Dox unslings his spellgun (minor action), presses the RANDOMIZE button, and fires a shot at one of the goblin dogs... Standard action: Hostility: 1d20+4 9 The dog shudders briefly and growls at its nearby ally. Dox takes the opportunity to beat feet. It must attack the nearest creature if possible, save ends Move action: can I get to L14? Captain Walker fucked around with this message at Feb 28, 2013 around 00:18 |
| # ? Feb 25, 2013 19:50 |
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Hostility damage: 1d10+6 14 Dox confuses the incoherent-at-best goblin dogs even further, and they turn on each other, snapping and snarling in a completely ineffective manner that harms neither of them. The dog that lunges at Olga only hurts itself, yelping as it gets a mouthful of third-degree burns. Unfortunately, Otto's stride is inadequate to avoid being clamped in filthy, slavering jaws and shaken like a particularly unfortunate hare. His plastic casing is badly cracked and one shudders to think what the slobber will do to his internal components. (15 damage to Otto; bloodied. 5 fire damage to dog at H13. Hostility-afflicted dog fails save.) DOG EAT DOG HOHOHOHO: 1d20+6 8 Biting fire is a good idea: 1d20+6 9 Eat that robot: 1d20+6-2 20 Robot-bitin' damage: 1d10+5 15 Additional robiting: 1d20+6 8 Stop being so drat hostile: 1d20 8 The dabber to the rear opens fire, spraying 259 with bullets that plunk harmlessly into the aluminium art behind him. The other dabber is slightly more devious, circling around the dragon to confront Dox as he flees the dogs. (11 damage to Dox; bloodied) Shoot a monkey, why not: 1d20+9 11 Shapeshift around these: 1d20+9 18 Shapeshift into a brass golem: 2d6+3 11  259 Olga Otto Fire Elemental: A 14, F 12, R 14, W 13, H 27 GB Dox Goblin Dogs: A 13, F 13, R 11, W 9, H 33 (H13) H 24 (E12) H 38 (F9) H 31 (F11) Dabbers: A 16, F 13, R 14, W 13, H 32
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| # ? Feb 28, 2013 00:32 |
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Otto Psichico *brrrzt* Otto's chassis was scratched up quite a bit, triggering his self-repair module. "Wise guys, huh? I shall see that you dogs are decompiled in record time. For reference, what is the current record for canine decompilation?" Minor: Second Wind - 11 hp regained and +2 to defenses until end of my next turn. Move: Shift to H10 Standard: BSOD on Dogs F9 and F11 (+4 vs Will): 2#1d20+4 16 17 1d10+3 4 Both dogs take 4 damage and have -2 to hit until the end of my next turn.
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| # ? Mar 1, 2013 23:25 |
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OLGA Ugh, hopefully that dog didn't eat something important. She steps to the side just in case it decides to bite again and launches a fireball at one of the dogs menacing the robot. Better try to keep her party alive right? Move: Go to J12 Standard: Firey flare on Dog F11 vs Reflex 1d20+5 17 The fireball burns the dog and does 2d8 + 6 damage 17 damage
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| # ? Mar 7, 2013 02:53 |
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Having said and done nothing of use since his arrival, Experiment 259's accelerated metabolism abruptly catches up with him. The years of research poured into the Hominid Acceleration Formula vanish in an instant as 259 spontaneously combusts. The ambient heat of the burning marketplace alongside the body heat generated by his overworked muscles results in a surface temperature that is just high enough to ignite fur, and he quickly succumbs to the flames. The ape quietly slumps to the ground in a smoldering heap, keeping his secrets to the last. 259 extremely dead Nobody even notices the stink of burning fur, though; Olga's busy putting the goblin dogs to the torch, and the smoke coiling off their scabby hides is enough to mask a dumpster full of dead skunks (thankfully, the market fire didn't reach the dumpster full of dead skunks six rows east). Otto stuns two of the dogs, throwing the pack into further confused disarray. Technically, the speediest canine decompilation in history happened long ago at the epicenter of the Mistake when Puck, a golden retriever belonging to one of the researchers, was reduced to his component quarks and distributed evenly over the entire mesosphere within the space of roughly one yoctosecond. However, for obvious reasons this is not formally on record. The speediest recorded such event was fairly recent, when a clan of 15-18 Pansylvan gnolls angered a Semtex golem. Otto can hope for the regional record, at best. Dog F11 bloodied Though the fire elemental's attack had little to do with 259's fiery demise, it is content to consider itself responsible. If only all fleshy ones burned so readily! The emboldened little flame hurls itself at Golden Boy's robes before quickly ducking away again. Slam into GB: 1d20+4 16. Hit! 5 ongoing fire damage to GB (save ends). Just then, the overpowering stench of burning goblin dog rouses a particularly heavy sleeper who might have otherwise slumbered through the entire affair. It's that rarest and most treacherous of creatures, a descendant of the Ancients whose ancestors had never developed claws or scales or even rudimentary laser eyes. One of the Hideously Unadapted. The HU man glances around in alarm before making eye contact with the dabber to his left. They trade glares. Fang's Initiative: 1d20+4 18  GB Dox Goblin Dogs: A 13, F 13, R 11, W 9, H 33 (H13) H 24 (E12) H 34 (F9) H 10 (F11) Dabbers: A 16, F 13, R 14, W 13, H 32 Olga Fang Otto Fire Elemental: A 14, F 12, R 14, W 13, H 27
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| # ? Mar 7, 2013 17:57 |
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Golden Boy A sun godling's robes being set on fire surprises him as much as anyone else would be surprised. Maybe even more so, since, you know setting the sun on fire and all. "Hey watch who you're aiming at!" He leaps toward the elemental that was trying to skulk back, ignoring the flames at his heels in order to give the elemental a strong whack on the head with his golf club. The sight of so much tragic flame-on-flame violence lights a small (metaphorical, this time) fire in Dox, raising his spirits slightly. Move: to J10 Standard: Mythic Strike on Fire Elemental (vs. AC): 1d20+8 19 Myth Strike Damage: 1d12+5 16 16 damage to Fire Elemental and Dox gains 5 THP. Stop being on fire: 1d20 2
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| # ? Mar 11, 2013 04:47 |
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| # ? May 22, 2013 18:56 |
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Dox 17 HP + 5 THP AC 17, Fort 13, Ref 16, Will 17 Ouch. Dox had forgotten that physics work differently in Gamma Terra. What would be a glancing blow to an Eberron changeling becomes a grave wound to a Gamma Terra inhabitant. He curses his lack of outside exposure. Fortunately Dox is not without recourse. Thanks to Golden Boy's strike he is sufficiently energized to keep fighting. Tapping into his spellgun's arcane energy dispenser, he withdraws enough power for a healing infusion, and promptly applies it to himself. Charging for a big shot, he weaves through the burning stalls before darting into a small tent and encountering a large HU-man. Dox certainly hopes he is friendly. Shouting only "Move!" Dox unleashes a massive blast at the dabber and dives behind his new best friend. Spellblast: 1d20+8 19 1d12+4 16 (Second wind is a minor in GW right?)
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| # ? Mar 11, 2013 17:28 |
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