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Vengeful Sun. Light of Judgement. Scourge of the Pestilent, Glory Most High, Smiter of the Wicked and Venal. Beaming down from above, all across the South, the harsh rays of the Daystar sear all they touch. It is high noon; the time of day when no shadows are cast in the city, save for by the poor fools desperate enough to become criminal in a city like Gem. Tied out in the daylight, their lives come to an agonizing end, out of sight and mind of those fortunate enough to not share their fate. Beneath the carved stone homes of the rich and powerful buried in the rock, and the brick homes of the moderately wealthy below them, and the hastily constructed hovels of the poor beneath them, and, yes, even beneath the poorest of the poor who must huddle in whatever shadows they can find and take shelter under thin rags, yes, even beneath these poor vagrants, there is the Sunken Bazaar. Lit by reflecting mirrors, even hear the Daystar's gaze does reach, but it is not so hellish as the places above. The air cannot be called cool, at least not above the lowest levels, but it is not so hot nor so stifling as to be suicidal like the surface. In Gem, that is almost magic. It is RY 768, 6th of Ascending Fire, and Gem is bustling. Traders who arrived in the season of Air are preparing the last of their goods to travel northwards to the coastline, leaving the city's markets in a constant fever. The last bits of inventory are being sold off to ensure nothing is hauled unnecessarily on the long journey across the sands. Mercenaries offer the skill of their arm and the blood within it for shining baubles and metals some would call precious, for the roads have become dangerous places. The odd thaumaturge offers charms to protect against the spirits of smokeless flame that are said to lurk in the dunes. Gem is alive. This is where the story begins for five travelers, whose disparate destinies drew them inevitably to the volcano city. In the tunnels of the Sunken Bazaar, they find themselves, for one reason or another. The hewn stone still has a smell, even after all this time, and ancient graffiti marks the walls here and there. Exceedingly ornate silver filigree lines the edges of a fancy bar at the end of one tunnel, but this is nothing of the wealth flaunted by its bubbling fountain. Voices echo and blend into a constant background hum that soon seems strange whenever it periodically dims. And, of course, at the feet of all travelers, there is a fine dusting of sand. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- (Aaaand here we go, folks! What's everyone doing?)
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| # ? Jan 26, 2013 03:32 |
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| # ? May 18, 2013 10:13 |
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Bambang a-Lafia There are stories everywhere. Stories are what have brought Bambang a-Lafia so very far, his payment and his recompense. But the cool is good, too. The traveller sits hunched over on the edge of the fountain, resting his feet for a time. He is covered in the travelling white of the distant Delzahn, with a colorful and detailed veil concealing his face, but his shape is heavy-set and almost hunchbacked. A merchant's daughter stops to peer at him, and he lowers his gaze and holds a white-gloved hand out to her. When she tentatively holds hers out, a plated tail stretches from beneath his robes to shake the girl's hand. Her father hurries her on with a scowl, and the traveller watches them go. There are stories everywhere. In the fine lining of dust on the merchant father's hand, the flow and positioning of the mercenaries offering their arms, the transactions - order and sequence of business, where the money moves. Stories are Bambang's trade. And if he doesn't find one today, well. There's tomorrow. No rush. — Let's start right off. Crafty Observation Method, 5 personal motes. Investigation action to pick out interesting happenings (or people, let's say) in the crowd? I Am Just a Box fucked around with this message at Jan 26, 2013 around 17:02 |
| # ? Jan 26, 2013 16:16 |
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In Gem's famous - infamous - Sunken Bazaar, there are always stories. Today, those playing out appear to be that one particular Guild merchant has acquired some rare and exotic creature from the Wyld - a fire lion - and is demanding a king's ransom from anyone who has the money to buy it. A few Ashlanders are politely dealing with harassment by Guild toadies, but they seem to be doing fine on their own; their smiles and gentle manner seem to be almost limitless. There is one merchant Bambang is almost certain is a raksha, too, or at least a half-fae, but they don't seem to be causing any trouble for the moment. Oh, and a lot of people seem to be wearing blue robes. Very blue, in fact, almost sky-blue. Halfway between blue and cyan. Far more people than could ever be coincidence, mingling amongst the crowds. All of them are armed with flame pistols and swords but, with all the mercenaries around, one might assume them relatively unarmed. Perhaps another mercenary troupe or some sort of religious or political group. Hm. A few of them seem a little antsy, though.
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| # ? Jan 26, 2013 16:53 |
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Grandmother Scales-The-Sands Ah, market day. What a wonderful and horrible time; anything you could ever need, alongside everything you wish to never see displayed for sale. Ah, but there was little enough time to be too concerned with less-ethical merchandise; she had things to do and people to see. The withered old woman made her way through the crowd, making a beeline towards one of the apothecaries which doubtlessly lined the streets, hawking medicines and cures, her wrinkled face curving itself into something approximating a smile; time to work her magic, such as it was. "Ah, good day to you, my fine sir, and how do you do?" she begins, tottering up the druggist's stand, putting on a show of being a creaky old woman. "Beautiful day, isn't it? Such a fine, lovely time for business. If you've an interest, I have wares to trade with you, friend." she rattles off, rummaging in her rags for a little vial, which she made a production of retrieving as she leaned in close to whisper. "Pure sidewinder venom, fresh from the sands, friend, and yours for the taking in exchange for a few doses of fever-relief for my ailing grandchildren. I know it's not a particularly standard transaction, but milking snakes is the only trade my creaky old frame has left, won't you please take a little pity on an old grandmother?" she pleads, holding herself to emphasis her age and frailty, looking at the apothecary with sad, pitiful eyes. After all, what hard-hearted monster could possibly resist the pleading eyes of a frail old woman who was reduced to milking snakes to care for her children? Manipulaton + Socialize to bilk a poor unsuspecting merchant out of their medicines. For the children. Pity Grandma:
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| # ? Jan 26, 2013 23:30 |
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7:24 Seven steps from her usual bath house on the lower levels of the Sunken Bazaar, this mornings soot freshly washed from her now-perfumed skin. She begins her trek back to her shop, examining the crowds as she walks, scanning for possible customers. Unlike most smiths she wasn't looking toward the mercenaries and fighting men; no doubt you could make money selling weaponry here. No, Seven was looking for small groups of women in fine clothing, it was astonishing the amount that the noble houses would pay for shiny baubles. As she neared her shop she spotted exactly what she was looking for. Three women, all in fine silks, giggling at an old fruit vendor. "Excuse me ladies," Seven said, flashing a smile at the same time she flashed the gold and emerald band around her finger, "could I interest you ladies in the finest jewelry in Gem? The Despot himself wears a ring I fashioned." Manipulation + Bureaucracy (or Socialize if that's more proper: same value) to sell some shiny stuff at premium prices. Seven needs a new pair of shoes
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| # ? Jan 27, 2013 15:13 |
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Praan "Where is he?" Praan wonders aloud, bouncing the tip of one foot impatiently against the ground. He's taken up a spot near the fountain, and for the past three=quarters of an hour has been fidgeting with everything from his hems to the pebbles on the ground to the jian scabbard slung over his back, waiting for his master to meet him. Idly he wonders if this is another part of his training, some cheap exercise to teach him patience. He vows to go get a drink if his teacher isn't back in another quarter. A glance at his reflection leaves him frowning; white is beginning to show at the roots of his hair. He'll need to see if someone in this torturously dry city has a good dye they'd be willing to part with.
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| # ? Jan 28, 2013 16:57 |
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Gem is reputed for its fire and its stones, and its people are little different; known for fiery tempers and hearts as hard as rock. Still... They're flesh at the end of the day. Playing on the heart-strings of the apothecary, Grandmother Scales sees the kindly doctor's face twinge. Fever medicine; very valuable, especially in a place so hot as Gem. Venom, not so much... "Well..." The apothecary bites his lip. "I suppose I can make that trade... But just this once! I'll go out of business if I keep making deals like this." With a heavy sigh and a chewed lip, the man hands over what is easily a few weeks of wages to the old woman, in exchange for something barely worth more than the vial it is kept in, and smiles, even as he tries to squash the sensation that he's just cut his own wrist. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Seven's fine gems do their own talking. In the land where the precious stones are not quite so precious, where cutting them is an art in which competition abounds, she is still someone who could name her price. What her quick words lack, her efforts at the grindstone make up for in spades, and the wealthy women wandering the bazaar ask their valets to make out bills of sale for more silver than would be advisable to carry with them. Precious paper trades hands, and gemstones go away with these examples of high society, who gave wealth that could buy a farm for the price of a few shiny baubles. And yet, Seven cannot help but get the feeling that, on a better day, she might have made twice that, but someone who complains over that much silver is someone who has lost a great deal of perspective. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It is so close to the high point of noon. The routines are familiar to Praan by now; all the fresher goods sold in the morning, with all the cleaning getting done from the previous day, just in time for favourite good to be sold in the Gem markets: Slaves. The swordsman felt his internal clock ticking very close to the time he would let himself sip from that amber fountain when he heard the repetitive thud-jingle, thud-jingle of chattel slaves marching in unison. Further down, in the lower levels, the truly skilled and beautiful slaves, intended for house servants, would be sold where the wealthiest took their drinks and pleasures. These unfortunates were not even the second-best; they were the leftovers; the unwanted detritus cast off from the Despot's mines. The old, the young, the broken and weak all marched, stripped of dignity and name, wearing only rags to cover themselves. It was quite a spectacle, and sounded the turn of the hour better than any clock ever could. Guards with long, sharp halberds walked at the heads of coffles destined for the market square. One stopped near the bar, its guard lashing the chains to a pole while he moved to get himself a drink, pushing his way through a line to demand some refreshment for his throat. Praan felt the armoured gauntlet reaching to shove him aside, as its possessor moved to quench himself. "Bartender! A tall glass of water! Quickly!"
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| # ? Jan 28, 2013 22:08 |
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Bambang "Fire lion..." the beastman in white murmurs to himself, as he hops down from the fountain and passes close by Praan. He frowns as he passes, craning his neck backward for a time to look over the line of unfortunates brought by the armored guard near the fountain. But he passes, with but a silent prayer for their fortune. He approaches one of the antsier men in azure, as subtly as he can - which is not very subtle, between his size and frame. His ears twitch only slightly as he silently sharpens his hearing for the sound of lies. "Hard times, friend? Relax, relax! I've had my share of hard travels, but it's nice and cool in here. What brings you here?" Though his distant accent might confuse the issue some, he plays the role of the eccentric rich, perhaps looking to hire arms, assisted by the gold and jewels adorning his Delzahn white. — Essence is for the using. Judge's Ear Technique goes up, then Manipulation + Investigation to try to draw out what's up with the folk in azure?
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| # ? Jan 28, 2013 23:10 |
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Joshi Chaos. That was the only way Joshi could describe the market. Wonderful, beautiful chaos, nothing like the carefully ordered and color-coded precision of Talt's market. This place was almost a living thing, the ebb and flow of the crowds through the day like breathing, or the flow of blood through gigantic veins. He'd never been in a place where it was so easy for him to get lost in a crowd. The marks of his station, the square black tattoo of the Casteless, the grey clothing, didn't earn him pity, or scorn, or disgust, just mild curiosity when he was paid any attention at all. For a thief used to scrutiny, this was a criminal's paradise. Still, no need to get careless. His last haul had been more than enough to let him lay low for some time. So instead of working, he watched, noting where expensive and portable goods changed hands, where the wealthy went to get drunk and careless, and taking note of fellow criminals. Operating in another's territory was always a bad idea; best to know who the gangs were before the knives came out. Perception + Larceny, casing the joint.
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| # ? Jan 28, 2013 23:44 |
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Praan Praan eyes the slaves quietly, entranced with the suffering and inhumanity of it all. Every day it is the same, but somehow he never feels inured to it. He's so mesmerized in his silent horror that it doesn't really register that he's being touched until he's pushed aside, causing him to stumble against the stool. He reaches up to where the large man touched him, the skin on his shoulder squirming from discomfort at having had such filthy hands laid on him. The Eclipse grits his teeth, turning back to the bar. Patience, discretion, structure, stability. He repeats the mantra over in his head, and it cools his blood like it always does, keeping his swords sheathed and his hands idle. But not his tongue. "Enough for all of your 'precious cargo,' right?" he snidely remarks to the man as he fails to keep a scowl off his face. Ironslave fucked around with this message at Jan 29, 2013 around 06:59 |
| # ? Jan 29, 2013 06:56 |
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Grandmother Scales-The-Sands The old woman's face lit up like fireworks, and she bowed deeply to the merchant, relief and wonder flooding her face. "Ah, thank you, young man, you're too kind to an old woman. May your stores never go dry and your coffers never go empty!" she exclaims and makes the exchange, waddling her way back into the crowd. Once she had a few bodies between her and the stand she straightened up and smirk, chuckling softly to herself. "Sucker." she muttered, rubbing her incisors thoughtfully. What a useful little trick that was - milking sidewinders indeed! "Still, he was a good kid. I should leave him something nice next time I'm down this way. Maybe some of that nice clay all the rich ladies use in their mud rubs; he can probably move that for a pretty penny." she resolved, threading her way deeper into the crowd. Of course, its about that point that she spots the caravan of flesh, and she suddenly stiffens, her lips pursing into a hard line. It never got easier seeing that particular sight; and of course, she couldn't blame the poor unfortunates, it wasn't their fault they had been broken and corralled like animals. Not much that she could do on her own, with all these people watching, but...hmm. Heh. That gave her an idea. It was a foolish, stupid idea, but it would put a kink in the orderly operation of the slave-march, and honestly, it was about time she did something a little...reckless. Grandmother Scales-The-Sands faced the marching waves of slaves, shuffling her way along, and "accidentally" nudged one of the guards over, disrupting the orderly march. "Oh, my goodness, are you alright, I'm so sorry child, I didn't mean to knock you over, heh, getting a little blind in my old age!" she called out, her voice suddenly taking on the loudness of the diminished and demented. Dexterity + Martial Arts, and spending 1 WP to use Valor, to "accidentally" trip one the slave-guards and play it off as an old woman being clumsy. Down Ya Go, Sonny: 6d10x7 0 Ahaha, oh boy, here we go! First Botch of the game!
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| # ? Jan 29, 2013 07:44 |
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Walking and pacing in circles, the gentleman in blue that Bambang approaches glances up when approached and gives a polite, if awkward smile. They're in the middle of chewing the nail on the middle finger of their right hand when approached, seeming really to be quite anxious over something. "Oh, hello." They answer in a rather pleasant and friendly manner, smiling through gritted teeth, finally lowering their finger and spitting the torn nail onto the sand below. "Your concern is noted, friend, and I would love to stay and speak with you, but there is a journey approaching." The stranger in blue explains, before giving an awkward laugh. "I'm a little nervous, myself, but... Well... There are some passages we must make, even at great cost." He says simply, only to be distracted by the gentle clacking and shuffling of slaves. "Oh, will you excuse me? I guess it is my time to go." The stranger in blue asks with a smile, and turns to walk away from Bambang, towards one of the many coffles. They seemed such a gentle soul, with their nervous smile and gentle demeanor. The blue-robed youth couldn't be more than twenty-five, perhaps on his way to his first caravan journey. One had to wonder where he was going. Bambang could see him approaching the warden at the head of the train of slaves, and had a moment to wonder if perhaps he was buying them for such a purpose. Click. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Walking uninhibited, Joshi could feel the secret pleasure that came with inward knowledge of one's own secret power and its lack in others. It would be like taking candy from a baby from under the nose of even the most seasoned treasure guards, and some were quite seasoned indeed; the Despot's personal gem exchange would hold a- Well, a Despot's ransom, really! That said, there was no need to be so greedy. Plenty of smaller pockets to be picked and purses to be plucked. Something was off about Gem today, though. There was no change in routine in most things; the usual guards for the Despot and his legitimate businesses, and the illegitimate businesses who could afford to be more trouble than they were worth, all stood around the entrances to anywhere with money to be pinched, but this was not any more of an obstacle than usual. There were no more or less of the idle rich or the desperate poor, no more or less mercenaries... What there was were these people in blue. All reasonably well-armed, yet not a part of any gang Joshi knew, nor any mercenary outfit, yet they did not seem to mingle or associate with one another. He'd seen them in the Bazaar before, of course, but never so many... Then the slave-wardens started their way into the markets, and that was when they began to move. The coffles moved in a predictable course, and the blue-draped souls all waited, right in their path. Right until the wardens were up against them. Click. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Perhaps Grandmother Scales really was getting old, for a guard with such a heavy helmet to have seen her step her foot out in front of his ankle, and, for a moment, she caught him, but he had himself balanced and turned towards her before she could send him tumbling to the ground. A man who could march and abuse his fellow human beings like this was not someone who would be quick to forget or forgive a grudge, and there was murder in his eyes for the old woman who had tried to make a mockery out of him. "I saw that!" The warden snarled, turning towards the old woman trying to play dumb. Spittle bounds from the edge of a heavy lip, livid eyes glaring from the gaps in a wrought-iron helmet. "Do you think that I didn't see that!? Trying to assault a representative of the Despot in Gem, and thinking you can get away with it. Maybe time in the diamond mines will show you the error of your ways..." Each word became more of a growl, less of a bark, as bloody anger quickly cooled into bubbling hatred, like molten glass thrown on the sand. A fierce hand reached out towards Grandmother Scales, too slowly to grab the 'feeble, old woman' on her worst day, though it might certainly have caught the person she pretended to be. Vicious intent was writ on crooked teeth and the snarls of the face. "Let me help you there, Granny." An unfamiliar voice said, as a woman swathed in blue approached Grandmother Scales, as the warden savoured a moment to advance on her, only noticing the approaching woman as she stood almost against him. "What do you-" The warden started. Click. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By the bar, Praan's indignation with the slaver draws a cocky smile and a dark chuckle from the bulky brute. Taking his drink easily, he enjoys a long, slow sip of the water, making sure to let the Tengian hear him gulp and watch the droplets of moisture run slowly down the glass as a sip turns into a chug. When the glass is empty, he gestures for a refill. "Perhaps you're right, outsider. Maybe they could use a drink too." He agrees with a disquieting intonation. Turning, rising from his seat, he calls out to them: "Tell me, which one of you would like some cool, refreshing water?" A tentative hand goes up. The bartender looks with frustration at Praan, knowing what is coming, and the other bar patrons watch in silence. With the glass in hand, the slaver walks towards the first captive in his chain and, with an unnecessarily violent gesture, smashes the glass across the anxious prisoner's face, sending him tumbling to the ground, splashing the sand with precious water and the innocent's blood. "That was very refreshing. I'm sure I've got enough in me to refresh them all... Unless you'd care to buy me a drink, foreigner." The warden grins, letting the emotional blackmail cut at Praan as a reward for daring to talk back to the slaver. In the crowd surrounding the bar, a man in blue struggles to get through the mass of bodies that has backed away from the counter-top. "Excuse me... Pardon me... Coming through... Excuse me, please." He mumbles, struggling to get towards the bar and quickly. Curse this slaver for wandering off the route! If he wasn't there soon, he'd miss the- Click. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- BOOM! The Sunken Bazaar shudders. The ceiling grumbles and the ground quakes, dust falling from loose cracks to land on the heads below, as dozens of flame pieces go off simultaneously. All around the grand gallery, the armoured enforcers of the Despot's flesh trade are licked roughly by tongues of fire, and those that do not die instantly are pounced on with sword and spear. "DEATH TO THE DESPOT!" Goes up the cry, and then the screaming starts. Panic sets in quickly, as bursts of flame continue to ring out, and the blue-robed pilgrims open up with a volley of violence on everything remotely hostile. The wardens are the first targets, as are the soldiers of the Despot. In mere moments, the tunnels are filled with smoke and screaming bodies running for escape, while the robed fighters begin to set about freeing the slaves. Looks like today is going to be an interesting day in Gem...
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| # ? Jan 30, 2013 06:35 |
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Grandmother Scales Though her body cowered and bent in all the proper ways to display fear, she felt nothing but contempt for this loathsome guard - well, contempt, and perhaps a bit of pity for what would have happened to him had he dragged her off to the mines, where no witnesses would see his fate. And then that woman had to get involved, and then, quite suddenly, things got interesting, as bits and pieces of the city disintegrated around them and the crowd of blue-robed men and women suddenly and irreversibly became her new best friends. Shouting 'Death to the Despot', stabbing guards, freeing slaves? My oh my, but these were her kind of people! Naturally, she couldn't let them do all the work by themselves - that would be rude, not to mention ungrateful for her rescue (un-needed though it may have been). Quietly, she let loose the moonsilver razor claws that had been stitched into her flesh, and strode boldly into the crowd of slaves, cutting and slashing at the chains that bound them. "Be free, friends! Be free!" she cackled, acting with the boldness of a woman a half her age. Under the assumption that the slaves are chained, acting to free them by striking apart their chains.  Viva Liberte!: 11d10x7 5 Raw Damage: 11 Dice.Edit: Too many damage dice, should be 11 not 12, my bad! Punting fucked around with this message at Jan 31, 2013 around 02:16 |
| # ? Jan 30, 2013 08:22 |
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Praan Praan's cry of indignation is drowned out by the sudden ring of a dozen small explosions. His hand reflexively flies to the small scepter at his waist, until sense causes him to instead reach behind him and grab the hilt of his jian. Wide-eyed, he looks out at the bazaar and finds himself frozen; this was not the sort of situation he'd ever considered being a part of. Sense demands he head for higher ground and try to meet up with his master there, that this isn't his problem and he is best not getting involved in others' affairs. But his heart demands he stay and participate, to do his best to mitigate the inevitable loss of life. Screw it, he'd learn to compromise. "You!" He whirls on the vindictive guard he'd been antagonizing a second ago. "You," he repeats again, raising a hand and waving it before the man's face, "will take your slaves away from here, find safety in the upper city. You will defend them, with your life if necessary." He pauses. "You'll also give them some water." It isn't much, but at the moment it's the least he can do. Now his eyes settle on the approaching man in azure. They narrow as the man approaches, and he begins to draw his sword. It admittedly feels a bit scummy getting ready to defend a slave-driver, but it also doesn't feel right standing by when you know they're a few moments from being shot in the face. That, and it would make what he'd just done a waste. ~ ~ ~ Using Hypnotic Tongue Technique on the guard in order to convince him to get his slaves outta there and to safety. Also to be nice to them. Hypnotic Tongue Technique 1 9 6 10 1 4 6 3 = 3 Successes Personal 4/14 Peripheral 26/31 Will 7/8
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| # ? Jan 30, 2013 19:15 |
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7:24 Seven had just stepped from her shop when she felt the blast that rocked the bazaar. As she wafts a hand in front of her face to clear some of the dust she hears the cries. She begins stepping forward to assess the situation and immediately stops herself; she was still wearing her ring emblazoned with the seal of the Despot, and if there was to be violence she'd best be prepared. She steps back into her shop, slips the ring from her finger, and reaches behind the counter for Tomorrow. Now prepared, Seven steps out from her shop and through the corridors to survey the situation. Fighting the flow of the crowd she nears the what used to be the slave trading area, and sees the carnage the men in blue have wrought. She didn't like the idea of slavery, slave to a man was just as bad a slave to a clock, so at least part of her silently commended this groups efforts, but if they killed everyone loyal to the despot she'd be out of customers and unable to buy her army. Seven grabs the nearest man in blue, yelling "What are you doing!?" Spending 2 motes to use Consumer-Evaluating Glance to determine the man in blue's intent. Consumer-Evaluating Glance http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3895548/ 5 successes
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| # ? Jan 31, 2013 02:19 |
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Bambang "Of course, of course," Bambang says, following after the azure-robed man as if he'd said nothing at all. "I know a great deal about cost. I might not look it! Where are you headed?" The blast causes him to duck instinctively, though in the wake of smoke and fire, he says only, "Ah." Having detained the youth in azure as long as he has, he reaches a hand to clutch the man tightly by the shoulder before he can join in the fray. "You don't want to die," he says; and it is more of a statement than a question. "And it's not too late to get you out of this. Tell me, now, friend, who put you up to this." — Charisma + Investigation to interrogate the youth. Judge's Ear is still up to assess what he says. 4 8 6 0 1 8 8 4 - 5 sux.
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| # ? Jan 31, 2013 20:10 |
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Coarse steel chains are no match for Granny Scales' sharp claws. The thin metal links do not take much more than a single swipe before they give under the edge. The slaves, freed of their manacles, race to grab whatever weapons they can off the fallen warden and the guards who follow, then from nearby shops... And that is where the carnage begins. "Thank you, auntie!" One of the slaves says, one of the few to vocalize as their chains are cut, but all bow their heads as the elderly woman breaks their bonds. The shopkeepers turn to run or hide in their stalls, those walking the marketplace looking to flee. The slaves charge about in an equally chaotic manner, pouncing on anyone with a drawn weapon who isn't in rags or blue robes. Anyone in jewellery is next; signs of obvious wealth or slave ownership leads any too slow or stupid to run having their blood spilled on the sand. It is an orgy of violence and pent-up rage. Amid all this, the woman in blue watches Grandmother Scales with an expression that shifts from shocked surprise to a pleasant smile as the slaves are freed. With no concern for the carnage they set about causing, she reloads her flame piece comfortably on approach to the old woman so eagerly joining in with their revolution. "Were it that my sitto could be so bold; the world would be a kinder place." The blue-robed woman says flatteringly in a more easterly Southern dialect, and bows - and low at that - to the old woman. "I am Aisha, and, if I am not mistaken, the Moon smiles well upon you, sitto." She rises from the bow, taking a look around as she draws a sword, ready to pounce if anyone comes near. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I will take these slaves somewhere safe and give them water." The warden repeated to Praan, echoing him in a low monotone as if he were reading a script from the strange line to infinity into which he gazed. Standing up, turning around, and helping the downed slave to his feet, the warden walks and acts as if in a trance. The crowd cannot help but look on in confusion at this strange and rather sudden change of character, and their eyes fall on the foreigner with the sword. The man in blue pauses, and watches the display as well. The warden changed, and so easily, that it gives him pause. His eyes go to the warden, and then to Praan, and he finds himself hesitant. Their eyes meet, and the man looks conflicted. "He must die! The slaves must be freed!" The robed man calls to Praan. He does not raise his gun, even as the crowd clears around him, only breaking his gaze to stare at the warden trudging away, who is rapidly coming to his senses. He swallows hard, realizing what he is about to do. "If you are who I fear you are, I ask your forgiveness, Chosen One, and that you end me quickly!" He calls out, and, with that, races towards the warden and readies his flame piece to fire. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tomorrow, Seven reaches for. Tomorrow... Tomorrow... To deal with the creeps in this petty place who have appeared from day to day to this last silly brawl of recorded time. All these yesterdays have lighted fools (with their flame pieces) the way to dusty death. Bursting out of her shop, Seven finds the air already thick with sand and smoke. People run in a blind panic for the exits of the stone bazaar, followed by the loosely-dressed slaves wielding whatever weapons are available and pouncing on targets in the fleeing crowds without restraint. Amongst them, the blue-robed warriors meander, being far more selective in whom they point their weapons at. Seven's astute eyes even seem to catch that they seem to be trying to make sure the slaves do not follow the fleeing masses down some of the passageways... Yanking one of the blue robes aside, Seven finds a man well past his golden years beneath them, his face heavy with lines, yet he wears no signs of authority over anyone else. "We are bringing an end to the Despot, and to all unlawful rulers of men in this world!" The elderly man declares, and pushes his flame piece up against Seven's gut. There is a click and a hiss, as the powder begins to burn and sparks into a conflagration against the Exalt's stomach. Dex + Archery - 10,8,5,8,9 - 5 sux. Luckily, she's wearing her breastplate, so it's only ping damage, or one dice, but it was an 8, so Seven feels a very nasty pain in her gut as the heat is transmitted through the armour ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Let me go!" cries the young man, struggling in Bambang's grip, trying to squirm away. The flame pistol goes off in his hand, the shot soaring wide, but the warden going down just the same. The crowd scatters, the slaves descend on their downed captor, and the youth finds himself hissing through his teeth at how close he came to missing his target. Just the same, Bambang's question is irresistible, and he feels strangely compelled to answer; his faith has been challenged, after all. "No-one put me up to this; I chose to come! [Truth] This world has languished in pain and misery for too long; too many people suffer needlessly, and for so long I wondered why. Now I know, the Shining Ones who once ruled this world have returned, and they're going to put an end to it all! [Truth] I'm here because we have to show them that we're ready; that the time to cast off mortal despots and tyrants has come, so that they might return to us! [Truth]" The youth's face grows increasingly serious as he spouts his dogma, busily starting to reload his pistol. "I am not afraid to die [Lie], but if my death is necessary for the cause... There are things in this life worth the cost. [Truth?]"
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| # ? Jan 31, 2013 23:35 |
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Praan Were he a warrior, a true warrior, a dozen small thoughts might flash by in an instant: that if the cultist pulls that trigger, it'd only worsen the conflict he can already hear beginning down the tunnels. That it might break the guard's trance, or incite the slaves to turn on everyone else at the bar. That he needs to put a stop to this is to stop him--and to draw attention away. Praan is not a true warrior, but he impulsively reaches for the scepter at his waist anyway. The Eclipse almost drifts forward, kicking up dust as his feet slide through the loose dirt and guide him to the side of the azure-robed assailant. There's a steamy hiss as a blade of gold and wavering silver blossoms between the two of them. It whirls, lashing out so fast it barely leaves an afterimage in the eyes of those who witness it. There's a dull hum as the robed man's piece falls into two pieces in his hand. Praan twirls his weapon, the small scepter in his hand issuing forth the golden blade, and regards the blue man coldly. "How do you know what I am?" he asks, buying into the mystique. There's a moment of silence as his eyes dart down to his weapon. "Before," he clarifies. ~ ~ ~ 3 motes to activate his beamklave. Multiple Action to draw his weapon and disarm the dude. Checked ahead of time with the ST to see if I'd rolled enough for Praan to pull it off. Dexterity + MA + Spec - 3 internal penalty 8 4 6 2 6 8 7 5 9 7 5 6 3 1 5 = 5 successes Personal 1/14 Peripheral 26/31 Will 7/8 -2 DV
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| # ? Feb 1, 2013 00:48 |
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Grandmother Scales Ah...now this was nice. To be sure, she didn't necessarily favor a huge, rampaging stomp across the face of the market, but there was something undeniably cathartic about watching slaves take their vengeance. It was a feeling she had known all too well. Still. It might be a good idea to see about calming things down - at least, after she had dealt with this strange young woman who seemed to know more than she should about Granny. "Aye, that it would, lass, but you can't blame old women for choosing peace - after all, not all of them have my robust and cantankerous nature." she replies good-naturedly. "And you'd be right, Aisha, I'll not deny I'm a bit - ah - moon-touched, as it were. And while this is a rather glorious celebration of freedom, I'm going get these fine people out of harm's way before the rest of city guard decides to cut them all down. If you and your companions could keep the guard busy and off our tail for at least a few minutes, I would be most grateful." she said, and turned, facing the rampaging horde of slaves. She whistled once, a sharp, piercing sound that seemed to carry on the winds themselves, as Essence began to stir and flicker about her. "Oy! While I know it can be very tempting to loot and rampage, the fact is the local guards aren't going to be long in coming, friends! If you must burden yourselves with trinkets, take only what will be useful and only what you can carry while running, and follow Auntie to safety, before you find yourselves in chains once more!" she roared out, and turned, speeding away with surprising vigor. Making a social attack against the freed slaves as a unit, supplementing my action with 1st Charisma Excellency; Charisma + Presence + Excellency dice for the dice pool, spending 4m from the personal pool. Better Listen to Granny: 11d10x7 8 Personal Essence: 15/19 Peripheral Essence: 24/32
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| # ? Feb 1, 2013 02:32 |
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Joshi He threw his hands in front of his face when the first explosions came, and could only watch in awe as the bazaar erupted into violence. The surprise is such that he actually laughs, a slightly crazed sound. He snorted in disgust at the slaver now helping his charges. Change of character or no, a slave was still a slave. He approached those still in chains, drawing a short blade of something more than gold. His arm was a blur as he sliced and before each one ran he put a hand on their shoulder. "Don't get greedy, don't get angry," he warned. "Don't give 'em more reasons to look for ya. Be somebody else. Don't matter who, long as you believe it." But he had more reasons to approach than just the slaves. As he worked through the crowd, he quickly found himself close to the old woman, only to have her dart away at astonishing speed with a gaggle of slaves in tow. There would be questions later, but for now, he works the tail end of the line, herding stragglers into the group and keeping others at bay. Helping granny free the slaves. attack roll, Raw damage 10.
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| # ? Feb 1, 2013 04:11 |
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Bambang "Is that so," Bambang says. He lifts the hood of his robe and fixes the youth with an authoritative stare. The edges of his armored scales come faintly alight with golds and deep oranges, and pon his forehead, a half-disc of gold and scarlet sears to life: the mark of Solar Twilight. His eyes rove around the chaos — the sound of a something or other igniting, cackling grandmother piercing chains. "Well, I don't know who told you this was a good idea. Personally, I think you could do us more good alive. Put the weapon down, and let's have no more blood than is necessary tonight, not yours and not theirs. Now stay behind me and quit acting a drat fool." He reaches forward to tilt the young man's flamepiece down towards the ground, and then pushes him along by the shoulder before breaking into a hurry, expecting the youth to follow. He traces the chaos to where it seems to be flowing: the spry old woman with the claws of lunar silver, whom he addresses. "Grandmother," he says with a bowed head. "Do you know where we can hide these people? The Despot's men will not be far behind, and nothing good will come of a suicide march. And we will need to lose the azure if we don't wish to alert the Despot's men whom to slay. Soon, preferably." He pause, glancing back at the nervous youth, if he's still following. "Now would be a good time." 1m for caste mark display. Defend Other on the nervous youth, ready to discharge his khatar-armed gloves at a moment's notice.
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| # ? Feb 1, 2013 05:21 |
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7:24 Seven bites her tongue to keep herself from screaming at the newfound pain in her stomach. She quickly knocks the spent flamepiece from the old mans hand and brandishes Tomorrow at him. "That was a mistake," she says "One, killing guards that are merely keeping the peace is NOT the way to bring lawful rule. Two, never fire at someone who could crush your skull without breaking a sweat." "Take me to whoever sent you, before I paint the ground red with whatever blood is left in you old man." Manipulation + Presence to scare the old man into submission http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3898547/ 2 successes
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| # ? Feb 1, 2013 21:03 |
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The old man is shocked to see Seven unharmed as the flame of the blast is absorbed against her, and his hand is hurt by the recoil forced by her unyielding breastplate. When the weapon is knocked aside, the old man does naught but sneer at her threats. Well, at least until she brandishes the orichalcum weapon at him. "You are... A Chosen One..." He gasps almost breathlessly. She saw no fear in him at her words, no threats reaching him, but that weapon... That gleaming metal. That fills him with a nearly religious terror. "She is nowhere I know! Chosen One. She is somewhere in the city, watching from afar! I do not know where! Please, do not cast me from your light!" He begs, dropping his weapons to the sand beneath him. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bambang's revelation causes the youth to fall to his knees and bow in worship, pressing his forehead to the ground in declaration of obeisance as the Solar unveils his glowing mark. He answers no declarations nor gainsays anything, and only rises when Bambang's hand brushes him to make him move, at which point he follows without question. Bambang joins Grandmother Scales, with Joshi not far behind, at what is soon becoming a nexus for the flow of violence and bloodshed. Aisha smiles with far more confidence than any other as she witnesses the arrival of Bambang, and bows herself low once again. "It is as was foretold; the Chosen Ones truly have come to walk among us once more." She pronounces easily, rising up again with a smile. "Sister Aisha, the Chosen Ones say-" The youth who follows Bambang begins, and she simply raises a hand, quieting him. Even amid fire and brimstone, Aisha smiles like a courtesan reclining by a fountain. "Whatever the Most Exalted Chosen declare, we shall do. The wheels have been set in motion, the journey has begun!" She answers the youth with a passionate flame in her voice. "If they lead us to conquer the Despot, we shall be their sword. If they order us to protect the slaves, we shall be their shield. When the Despot's men come to force them back into bondage, we shall fight until our blood is spilled upon the sand. Should they order us to flee the city, we shall walk until we die from heat or thirst. Should they order us to hide, we shall shelter the slaves as long as we can until we are all inevitably hunted down. They are the Chosen; we are their followers. They lead. We shall follow." It is a short tirade, but one that strong-arms the youth into silence. At that point, she turns to glance at the Exalted around her. "An army of slaves and soldiers who will fight to the death are yours to command, O' Chosen Masters. Please, use us wisely." She says easily, and glances between Scales and Bambang. More and more, slaves are funneled along certain paths, carrying whatever weapons are available rather than trinkets, moving down certain tunnels... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Praan's beamklaive cuts easily through the wood and metal of the flamepiece, igniting the powder leftover within and igniting it in a harmless but flashy display. The warrior drops the gun, looks in awe at the wielder of the esoteric weapon, and falls immediately to his knees to bow in worship. "Oh, Most Holy Chosen! I am not worthy!" The man babbles, murmuring incoherent chants of praise between his answers. "Prophecy guided us here; to where your inevitable return was foretold! We are your eager servants; the proud concrete to become the foundation of your empire! As Manu ordained, here you are, and, no doubt, so are the others!" Finally raising his head, the man in blue, tears streaming down his face, clasps his hands together, gazing up at Praan. "Use me as you will, O Exalted Master." There is a religious awe in those shining spheres; reflecting the light of the beamsaber illuminating Praan's face and showing a keen eye a picture of the nascent god-of-war within the Solar in his gaze.
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| # ? Feb 2, 2013 05:36 |
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Praan Praan scowls in disgust as the man in blue prostrates himself. There's a horror to the whole thing, entirely different from the violence and loss of life happening just up the tunnel. "Who did this to you?" Praan wonders under his breath before he collects himself. "Come with me, then," he says, pressing forward. He grabs the man roughly by the wrist, dragging him out of the bar. "I know my destiny, but I have a lot of questions to ask you and this is not the place or appearance to do it." Emerging into the bazaar proper, the swordsman takes in the chaos and violence about him; the freed slaves turning on their masters and... well, anyone else of some affluence. It hurries his feet, eager to get away from the chaos and the potential responsibility he might be carrying for it. His sword shines like a beacon in the dim light, left on in the confusion. ~ ~ ~ Praan's trying to make it to the surface and to some place he can hole up for a moment. Considering the chaos and he's carrying a weapon lit up like a neon bulb, I'd be surprised if he made it.
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| # ? Feb 4, 2013 04:53 |
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7:24 Incensed by this blithering fool, a host of scenarios to find the person that sent this blue cloaked menace fly through Sevens head. She quickly realizes the best way is probably the most dramatic, not to mention most dangerous, if "she" really was watching from afar, she'd certainly see this. Tomorrow still in hand, Seven drags the now-compliant man towards the center of the bazaar, yelling to "her" as she goes. "I know you're watching, and I don't want to have to stop you, but I will if you don't show yourself!" "SHOW YOURSELF!" Seven screams, the Twilight symbol on her forehead flaring into view. ~~~ 1m spent for caste mark. Perception + Awareness to scan the area for anyone taking notice of her (yes I realize virtually everyone in the area is probably now staring at me). http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3906734/ 3 successes.
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| # ? Feb 4, 2013 23:52 |
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Praan Praan stops in his tracks at the sight of a yelling woman. A yelling woman who is now blazing a golden mark on her head. He stares for a moment, caught between surprise and exasperation. It would've been so nice to head upstairs and leave this entire ordeal behind, but there's no doing that when someone else like him is running about. Sighing, he lets go of the robed man's wrist. "Stick around, run off, it hardly matters now." He approaches Seven, trusting that his sword of light is all the introduction he really needs. "Hi," he awkwardly begins. "I'm Praan. I'm feeling that you're trying to get to the bottom of this too, so," he shrugs, "hello."
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| # ? Feb 5, 2013 03:36 |
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Grandmother Scales The old woman expected many things to occur in the chaos, but not a one of them was the possibility of being approached by what appeared to be a....well, quite frankly, she wasn't entirely sure what the fellow was supposed to be. A beastman, naturally, but she couldn't quite place what critter was stitched into him. Ah, but no matter, she could ponder that at a later time - more pressing matters lay before her. The old woman claps a hand gently on Aisha's shoulder, offering her a wide, gap-toothed smile. "If that is so, then I have a task for you, child. As I asked, give us a few minutes to lead these poor souls out of here - but do not tarry overlong in the market. I positively forbid to waste your lives fruitlessly; once we have a decent head-start, get yourself and your people to somewhere safe, alright? You can find me in the slums - the poor folk know me well." she says, and turns towards the oddly armor-skinned stranger. "As for you, stranger, I know your intentions not, but...you seem like a good kid. Follow along, child, and Granny will do her best to get us all out of this riot." she exclaims with a little cackle, making a break for a side path. "Don't fall behind now, you wouldn't want to be shamed by being out-raced by a withered old crone like me!" she shouts, clearly having a hell of a time. Exit stage left, doing her best to herd the escapees in the deepest corners of the slums, to meet up with her followers and hopefully get some breathing room to plan what comes next.
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| # ? Feb 5, 2013 07:03 |
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Bambang Bambang scowls, and raises his hand as if to strike Aisha in frustration at her confident silencing of his temporary charge. The old woman addresses her, however, and he lowers his hand. Visibly calming himself, he draws his hood back over his head, colored veil obscuring his face once again. The light of the mark of Twilight remains for a time, burning through the traveller's cotton, and then dissolves. "I asked for no army," he scolds Aisha, claw pointed and visible through his white glove, "and my day would be a great deal better without one. Now you've shoved the responsibility onto us to make sure you don't get your fool selves killed, if not under the Despot's spears, then the Empress's." He sighs, shaking his head, and looks to Grandmother Scales, hoping for a moment of commisseration. Too bad she's having a ball over there, but at least she's on the same page as far as keeping these people alive. "Aye," he answers Grandmother Scales, doing his best to keep his composure and his dignity in the situation. Still, he hesitates, at the mighty shout that reverberates through the caverns, and the light of his fellow Copper Spider in the midst of the flame. He looks back to the side path down which Granny has disappeared, and then bellows after the Twilight mark, "OVER HERE, BEFORE YOU FALL BEHIND!" Having so shouted, he runs to catch up to Grandmother Scales, puffing at the exertion, and pulling the youth with him. "What's your name, son?" he asks. Bambang attempts to bellow the Circle-Assembling Shout.
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| # ? Feb 5, 2013 22:45 |
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Joshi The Varangian snorted, sharing the beastman's sentiment. "Only thing an army knows how to do is get itself killed. You know what's good for ya, you do what the old lady says." Truthfully, he had no idea who she was, but he was already starting to like her. Even if she seemed crazier than a broken clock. "If you want to do something useful, find somewhere these people can lay low. And get your friends together to make some more noise. They're good at that, I can tell. Get 'em good and riled and tell 'em to make a mess. And have 'em run as far away from these folk as they can get. You're all dressed up to be targets anyway, might as well make use of it." His words carried weight behind them, more than his dress or manner should command. He plucked a brave-looking slave from the crowd, leaning in. "Spread the word. Scatter. Hide. Don't make yourselves a target. Once it gets quiet, be someone else. Believe that someone else. It'll get you out. After that's up to you." Anything more he had to say was interrupted by the beastman's loud bellow. He clapped the slave on the shoulder, pushing him gently back into the running crowd, and hustled to catch up with the others.
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| # ? Feb 6, 2013 04:06 |
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"We do as the Chosen will it." Aisha answers Grandmother Scales' and Bambang, drawing her weapons. In an instant, she is off, shouting orders to those who seem to know their position as runners. They move with a degree of efficiency of practice but not military drill. By now, the riots are spreading further and further and the Sunken Bazaar must be nearly empty. As the warriors in blue herd the last of the slaves from this central area of the market and move to the outer tunnels to fend off potential counterattacks, the increasing quiet makes the tunnel almost eerie. "Hannam." The youth answers Bambang, sounding perhaps a little disillusioned and disappointed. "My name is Hannam." His face turns to an almost sobbing cringe as the ground begins to tremble. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Grandmother Scales was quick for a woman her age, but delays were delays no matter how old you were. Aisha's speech and discussion had kept her long enough that, by the time she reached the main artery to the tunnels, most people had long since fled. Bodies of all kinds of people lined the walls when she neared them and... Hm. It looked like there was still a fire burning in the smoke. "Lie down on the ground, sitto, and set aside your weapons. The Despot wills your obedience." A voice that rumbles like the crackling of wood in a fire urges her. The fire drew closer and closer, until Scales could just see its wielder... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That loud, rumbling thud grew closer. Seven, of anyone, felt it most acutely, close as it was to where she had emerged from her shop, but everyone noticed it. Small dots of fire appeared in all the small tunnels lining the central bazaar, and at the large, grand hallway lined with shops, a twinkling light glinted in the distance... And... Music filled the hall? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "All rioters, lay down your arms and prepare for enslavement, or face the consequences!" Voices called from the many hallways, from which emerged those dots of fire. Stepping forth into the light, their possessors proved themselves not to be human. Ornate shells of obsidian glowed from within with a dull, red light, and in the eye sockets of the faces carved into them burned a single smokeless flame. Each was as decorated as a nobleman's best china, covered in carvings and wielding a sword of coloured glass. The singing got louder as they emerged, but they were not the origins of the song. That was reserved for the beast of a thing that stormed out of the main pathway. It did not speak as it shattered through the stalls and shops with casual ease. It made no noise as its gigantic, bladed fingers scratched through the stone as it allowed itself to stand at its full height. Songs instead flowed from the animate jade serpents writhing along its frame, and from the dancing pipes of fire that surged from its back. Light cast through and from its form in a psychedelic haze of magnificent colour. Twenty feet tall, made of carved glass, jade, and fitted with a thousand-thousand bright stones, it towered above men like a moving mountain. A work of art and death, it came to a halt a few steps from Seven and Praan, playing its elegant song. It was... A Gemstrider. "THE INCENSE IS BITTERED WITH THE TASTE OF ANATHEMA." A loud and low tone rumbled from within the Gemstrider, as it moved to assume a martial stance. "SING THE SONG OF THEIR DESTRUCTION." ~~~ (Join Battle, everyone!)
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| # ? Feb 7, 2013 17:50 |
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Praan Praan stares at the shining metal man. He's seen plenty of amazing things since leaving An-Teng, but nothing as inspiring and utterly confusing as the gaudy, musical giant. The astounding but utter pointlessness of its design...! "What?" he asks dumbly, words failing him. "What the hell?" he asks again, still not quite getting it. Stunned, it takes Praan several seconds to get his head together. When he does, he flips his sword over and drops into a fighting stance, empty arm held out in front of him like a shield. A dot with a circle blazes on his forehead, and white light bursts from his frame, causing him to glow in the darkness of the sunken bazaar. Small, golden moths dance in and out of existence at the edges of his aura. "So lady," he addresses Seven, "looks like we're in this together." ~ ~ ~ Committing 10m to Mind-Hand Manipulation. It's a Simple Charm so we're looking at a 6-tick wait after Praan's turn. Probably never going to un-commit those motes. Join Battle 3 5 8 1 4 7 5 6 6 3 = 2 successes Personal 1/14 Peripheral 16/31 Will 7/8 DV: 8 (7 after tick) Anima Banner at 10-mote level Secrets of Future Strife you have done me no favors. EDIT: forgot to include Essence and DV Ironslave fucked around with this message at Feb 7, 2013 around 19:58 |
| # ? Feb 7, 2013 19:30 |
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Bambang "Bambang, of clan Lafia," Bambang answers Hannam. Spying the look in the youth's eye, he sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder, pausing in their escape. "I'm sorry for being harsh. But the Sun told me precious little, so what he told me I keep dear: we're all people. You're people, I'm people. And to me, that means I have no more right to throw your life away than you have to throw mine." He glances ahead, feeling the tremors beneath, and resumes his hurry. "When we get out of this riot, you'll see something then, I promise you. For now just stick behind me. I want to have time to hear your story." His scaled brow furrowed as he heard the voice ahead. "This is what you've called," he murmurs, and out of the glove of his free hand, a filigreed blade of sun-gold emerges, gleaming white against the firelight. "Blessed khan," he marvels at the walking statue that confronts Grandmother Scales ahead. "The Despot has such things..." Join Battle! 9 0 5 6: three successes. Edit: DV 5. If I can, I'd like to take an Intelligence + Lore or Occult (same dice pool) miscellaneous action to scour my memory for relevant details that might shed light on the obsidian warriors. 0 3 6 0 7 7 4 0: eight successes. I Am Just a Box fucked around with this message at Feb 7, 2013 around 20:04 |
| # ? Feb 7, 2013 19:35 |
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7:24 Before she has a chance to speak to the beamklave wielding man, she hears the sound and is stunned as she watches the beast walk toward the pair. Immediately regretting her brash action, Sevens eyes dart between the gemstrider and her newfound ally. "It would seem that way" she says, still slightly dazed. Shrugging her cloak from her shoulders, and with her otherwise shining breastplate still bearing the ash mark from her previous encounter with the flamepiece, Seven readies Tomorrow and stares at the strider before her. "I've cut harder gems than that." ~~~ Join Battle http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3912084/ 1 success
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| # ? Feb 7, 2013 23:27 |
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quote != edit
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| # ? Feb 7, 2013 23:28 |
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Grandmother Scales The old woman with vicious, almost feral contempt. "Not likely." she crows boldly, hate practically dripping from her voice. She wasn't going back to the life of a slave - and neither were any of these people they'd broken out of bondage. If the Despot and his cronies wanted to take them, they would have to beat them, and Grandmother Scales wasn't going to make that even remotely easy for them to accomplish. "Remember this day well, boy, for this is the day an old beggar woman broke you." she hissed, and changed. In a flash, the old woman disappeared, and a monstrous, inhuman creature of reptilian rage and violence took her place, armored and screaming, the ground beneath her feet stained with dripping splatters of venom. JOOOOOOIN BATTLE!: 5d10x7 2 If possible, Speed 5 miscellaneous action to activate Deadly Beastman Transformation and assume the War Form - spending 5 motes from Personal Essence to do so. Activating the following Gift effects while assuming the War Form: Armor-Forming Technique: Committing 3 motes of Peripheral Essence. Limb-Shielding Growth: Committing 2 motes of Peripheral Essence. pre:Essence: 10/19 Personal 19/32 Peripheral
Anima: 5-mote level
Health: -0 []
-1 [][]
-2 [][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
-4 []
Incap. []
Dying [][][][][][][][]
Dodge DV: 3 / 7
Parry DV: 4 / 8
Soak: B: 7 / 21
L: 7 / 21
A: 5 / 18
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| # ? Feb 8, 2013 00:20 |
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(Okay, the JB roll for the enemies is WTF-level lucky; 5 successes on 6 dice for the Gemstrider, 6 successes on 5 dice for the hallway golem. Tick order is: 0 - War Golem (attack) 1 - Gemstrider (attack) 2 - 3 - Bambang 4 - Scales (transforming), Praan (charm) 5 - 7:24, War Golem (attack) 6 - Gemstrider (attack) 7 - 8 - 9 - Scales (acting), War Golem 10 - Praan (acting) 11- Gemstrider) ~~~ "She resists. Initiating old woman humbling protocols." The ornate golem responds, setting itself into an attack stance, when, a moment later, the immense gemstrider's voice belows through the tunnels and causes the fires burning within the strange war golem to change colour. Already surging forward, its joints make no sound as it runs, its body lowering to tackle the shifting Lunar. It collides with her gut, carrying the elderly woman growing into a mighty beast backwards. It does her no damage, at least not initially, but by the time the growing mass of the old woman slows it down, the two crash into one of the bazaar's stalls, within view of Praan and Seven. In the process, a tremendous racket is made, and the war golem manages to get in another good punch. Raising its fist for another, a short blade extends from it, but Scales' growing form is merely nicked by it, flesh expanding faster than it can be cut. ~~~ (Two attacks on Scales; first was a tackle, throwing her into the stalls. No damage. Second was punching with its sword, two damage dice post-soak but no levels. Bambang recognizes the war golem as a copy of something he's seen in a book somewhere, or perhaps one of the originals: Han-Juhmad's 500 Men of Glass, the rumored creations of one of the few Anathema who existed during the Shogunate. While the principles of essence control that they run on is arcane by any standard you care to name, the basics are that they're a borderline mythical form of magitech, powered by bound elementals. Whomever found these things must've sold them to the Despot for a lot of silver... Those are its actions for Ticks 0 and 4) ~~~ The music of the gemstrider becomes increasingly discordant, its gargantuan fists flexing as the pipes on its back flare fanned flames. The living jade snakes circle and dance around it, as the enormous beast of a machine raises a colossal fist and brings it straight down towards the nearest target: The man with the beamklaive. It moves with an impossible speed and fluidity, easily underestimated by anyone who had not seen such a behemoth in battle before. With force that could shatter the stone of the tunnel, it swings, and it swings hard. Already leaning over as it is, it sets its sights on Seven next, and moves its other fist to crush her with similar frightening quickness. Reaching already, however, its arm falls short, and Seven is able to easily parry the blow with her immense hammer. ~~~ (First attack on Praan, and I swear this dice roller is trying to kill you all. 9 successes on the attack, so if Praan wants to stunt to evade, he can. One die stunt's all that's necessary to parry it. If not, the attack hits hard enough to do a staggering two levels of lethal damage. Seven, meanwhile, parries. That's it done for Ticks 1 and 6.) Axelgear fucked around with this message at Feb 9, 2013 around 04:30 |
| # ? Feb 9, 2013 01:30 |
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Bambang "The five hundred men of glass," Bambang murmurs. "Flee," he says to Hannam, and deploys the blade from his other hand, strafing slowly around the edge of the battlefield. "Imbued with the power of bound elementals, no doubt fire," he says to himself. "Responsive to song... hells! If I had the time to sit down with this..." "Ah, well," he says, and barrels his way towards the back of the massive gemstrider. Hollering his battle cry, "This is a bad idea!" he leaps to attempt to spear the gemstrider with one khatar to use as a hand-hold. "Keep it busy!" he calls out to the other Solars engaged with the thing. Melee attack on the gemstrider as a setup for the next stunt. 7 9 3 8 4 8 1 2 5 3 Whoof. Four sux.
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| # ? Feb 9, 2013 16:27 |
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[b]Praan[b] Praan scowls as the first descends on him, and concentrates. Irises of white light blossom across his blade and, as he reaches down and out with his senses, green lightning crackles along its length. At the last moment he rolls away from the punch and, tensing the blade against his shoulder like a bat, knocks the Gemstrider's fist away with a crackle of electricity. Shaking off an oncoming headache, Praan gives Bambang an incredulous look. He glances over his shoulder at Seven. "Does he think he'll just punch it in the head and it'll fall down? Does he think we're suicidal?" Praan reaches out with his free hand, waving his palm towards the masses of strewn debris and damaged merchandise. "Lady, you said you've cut better?" he asks. A cloud of small items rise from the mess. Metal pegs, broken weapons, and other things ending in points amass into a cloud. "Think a chisel'd help?" The Eclipse clenches his fist and waves his arm at the shiny monstrosity. The floating items rocket towards the giant. "Besides, I'll need some handholds." ~ ~ ~ Telekinetic Blow with MHM to drive a couple metal spikes and rods into the thing. Useful for stunting. 8 4 5 9 10 6 8 8 3 6 10 9 6 6 2 1 = 9 successes Edit Stunt: 4 2 = 0 successes 4 motes back from attack stunt, 2 back from parry stunt Personal 7/14 Peripheral 16/31 Will 7/8 DV: 8 - 1 Anima Banner at 10-mote level Ironslave fucked around with this message at Feb 9, 2013 around 17:27 |
| # ? Feb 9, 2013 17:19 |
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Grandmother Scales The old Lunar hissed at the golem, barely noticing the near-nicks on her withered, armored flesh. "You want to play rough, machine? Granny can play rough!" she roared, razor claws snapping into position as the crone kicked off the bazaar stall, leaping through the market at the golem, striking with expertly hateful force. One set of blades comes downward, slicing a path down the golem's front, and the second comes across, cut patterns overlapping themselves as Grandmother Scales flies into a wild fury. Making a non-magical, two-action flurry at the War Golem, as it had the audacity to strike at Granny Scales and mutter nonsense about 'old woman humbling protocols'. Attack 1: Attackin' da golem 1: 10d10x7 5 Raw Damage: 11 Attack 2: Attackin' da golem 2: 9d10x7 2 Raw Damage: 8
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| # ? Feb 9, 2013 23:09 |
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| # ? May 18, 2013 10:13 |
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7:24 Staring momentarily with absolute disbelief at Bambang leaping onto the gemstrider, Seven quickly rights her mind and closes the distance, swinging Tomorrow upward and connecting with a satisfying thud. She quickly hops back from the gemstrider, just in time to knock away the giant fist. "It seems you are right on both accounts" she says to Praan with only the slightest smirk on her face. ~~~~ Stop: Hammertime http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3918023/ 7 successes 18 raw damage (overwhelming 4)
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| # ? Feb 10, 2013 17:25 |
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