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Antillen Mox "When the house doth flood, one rarely notices the bucket poured upon the bathtub." Antillen says in what sounded like a saying from...somewhere. But it was a pretty weird and obscure one at that. He did not stand up but he did pull his chair out and look around warily, ready to spring into action should he need to.
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Mar 2, 2015 01:10
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Abdul "Oi," the mangecko says. "Speaking of that, did anyone else year that? Sort of a thumping, like overripe fruit hitting a roof. Strange," he says musing. "It only just occurred to me to put it like that."
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Mar 2, 2015 05:06
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Antillen Mox Antillen shook his head, but remained silent in an attempt to see if he could also hear the noise.
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Mar 2, 2015 05:12
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Briarstaff Briarstaff nods at Abdul. "An excellent way to describe it, Abdul. I think my perennial analogies are rubbing off on you." He closes his eyes and listens. "I hear it. It does have an, uh, ripe noise. I could scout it out, if no one objects."
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Mar 2, 2015 06:27
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Khamag Duva "Good idea," the half-orc says, recalling that Briarstaff could be surprisingly stealthy for an ambulatory plant, "Be careful. Shout at the first sign of trouble."
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Mar 2, 2015 18:25
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Briarstaff Briarstaff nods curtly at the group and turns around. He draws his bow and deftly scales the stairs, looking for an empty tavern room that he can use to ascend to the rooftops. To figure out whether a door is empty, he puts his leafy ears against the door, steeling himself against whatever horrifying noise might be made. You hear a faint thump and a muffled curse from beyond the door. Peering around the side of the slightly ajar door, you see the master bedroom, somewhat sparsely appointed and with the drawers pulled out as if someone packed in a hurry. There's also four scruffy looking men standing inside, one of them leaning on another's shoulder for support as he favors a twisted ankle. A fifth man drops down from the ceiling as you watch, helped down by the others to land quietly. You recognize them by their distinctive armbands - these are Black Horse Bounty Hunters, who are well known for their poor sense of morality and use of overwhelming force whenever possible. The plopping sound is louder here, and getting louder, but you can't see the cause and it's too distant still to be something inside the tavern. Briarstaff indulges in some flowery language, quietly. He immediately turns and makes his way downstairs, returning to the group. "We have a problem. I don't know what that ominous noise is, but there is a gang of bounty hunters sneaking in through the attic. They're the sproutlings, don't care about right or wrong, and don't give any pollen about collateral damage. They're going to be down here any minute to push our fertilizer in. Get the civilians out and get ready!" He begins to turn over tables to provide cover for the party's ranged members, then counts his thorn arrows. [Scouting done via IRC] Mormon Star Wars fucked around with this message at 23:45 on Mar 2, 2015 |
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Mar 2, 2015 23:40
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Khamag Duva A devious grin crosses Khamag's face as he considers the situation. "What do you think, Briarstaff? Is it time to bring Spellcaster's Leftovers out of retirement?" Before anyone has a chance to respond, Khamag makes his way towards the kitchen, intent on finding the largest pot or cauldron of grease and/or fat he can.
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Mar 2, 2015 23:59
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Antillen Mox There was a slightly sour expression on Antillen's face as he stood up smoothly, at the same time drawing his broadsword and shield. The shield was simple and unadorned save for the emblem of Bahamut painted upon it, while the sword was an older (although restored) item and had a fancier hilt. "Time marches and I wonder, doth we posses it in abundance to spend upon these detestable opportunists? I do not gainsay the value in reducing the rabble seeking to profit quickly off of the innocent but we bear witness to larger matters which must consider." Ready for combat if it comes to rolling initiative.
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Mar 3, 2015 01:07
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Briarstaff "Mox, the only people in here that are eligible for bounties are us." He jerks a green thumb at the various spellcasters, maybe-spellcasters, and one-day-going-to-cast-spells-spellcasters that make up their eclectic group of revolutionaries. "I suspect that we are the targets. If we're going to blow these guys off and go save Riverye, who is probably some type of gillman or Awakened crawfish or something, we're going to need a plan. Any ideas?" <Morphball> MormonStarWars: 14 = 1d20(10)+4 Mormon Star Wars fucked around with this message at 01:31 on Mar 3, 2015 |
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Mar 3, 2015 01:20
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Khamag: The kitchen is a mess, with pots and pans left next to empty firepits and half-opened cupboards. Most are empty, but there's a large pot filled with half-congealed pork fat and vegetable oil in a slick slurry on the far side of the room. It'd be heavy to lift for lesser men, but it strongly resembles one of the traditional Belgunoti tests of strength*. You can't quite pick it up with one hand, but you could easily raise it above your head or throw it. * Traditionally, young men were encouraged to perform daily strength training by lifting heavy metal pots and pans, and moving jugs of food and oil. The practical effect of this was that most of the Belgunoti teenagers would spend their days helping in the kitchens, a side effect that you hadn't quite put together until just now. RPZip fucked around with this message at 01:37 on Mar 3, 2015 |
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Mar 3, 2015 01:27
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Antillen Mox Antillen looked at the kitchen, saw what Khamag was doing and then went across the room to the pile of furniture. Quickly and with obvious great strength he lifted them and moved them over to the base of the stairs. Once he had made a pile of debris, making sure that some of the chairs and the table closest to the stairs had their legs facing towards it he began snapping the legs and chairs of the tables. The end effect would be some nasty spikes for whomever lost their footing on the soon to be greased stairs and would fall upon them. If they were going to kill the men he would be swift and just about it. There was no time for a trial and fair proceedings, so he would decide their fate in Bahamut's name.
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Mar 3, 2015 01:39
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 "Oh, I've got a little something for them all right. They'll listen to reason, like as not. Cold steel reason," he says. He looks at Briarstaff, contemplating the big gentle fuckers problems with metaphor. "I mean I am gonna stab them, Big B." "Also, I don't know if anyone wants to hear this, but there's some folks chattering outside the front door and trying to move something heavy. Maybe buddies of the folks upstairs?" Winson_Paine fucked around with this message at 03:46 on Mar 3, 2015 |
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Mar 3, 2015 03:26
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Briarstaff "Thanks for the clarification, Abdul! I can't wait to see your 'debate'!" Ho ho! "If they're blocking the door, there can only be one reason - they want to trap us in here. Keep an eye out for alternate exits."
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Mar 3, 2015 04:01
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"We can carve an exit through their bellies, maybe," he replies as the knives come out. [21:07] <+Morphball> WinsonPaine: 20 = 1d20(16)+4 pre:Fort +2 Ref +4 Will +6 HP: 10/10 Ki: 5/5 Init +4 AC: 19 (17) CMB -1 CMD 12 Stance: Outer Sphere Stance Maneuvers: Inner Sense, Swift Claws, Solar Sting, Leaping Dragon Kukri TWF (+3 to hit; 1d3-1+1d6 Damage (18-20/x2 +1d6 Critical)
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Mar 3, 2015 04:07
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Antillen Mox 2:12 PM <Morphball> HiKaizer: 0 = 1d20(1)-1 I am the best at initiative. Divide by zero error!
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Mar 3, 2015 04:13
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Khamag Duva Khamag grabs the cauldron at both ends, and with strainged grunt he pulls his arms up to his chest, and then lifts again, holding the heavy container over his head. Carefully he wobbles his way back towards the group, and nods to Briarstaff. "I'm ready." Morphball: evilsagan: 9 = 1d20(5)+4
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Mar 3, 2015 07:20
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Velaka Velaka stands and glides over to the side of the stairs, making a show of flicking her sleeves back to her elbows. As soon as the grease and the impromptu spike-trap are in place and everyone is well clear of the stairs, a perfect duplicate of Velaka appears with little fanfare at the top of the stairs in plain view of the bedroom where their attackers are. The real Velaka cries, "Help, they're in the bedroom!" and makes a few loud banging noises akin to heavy footsteps in time with the figure jumping toward the stairs, her voice sounding uncannily as though coming from the illusion itself. (Init) [20:50] <skybot> Reene: 12 (1d20+1=11) (Bluff) [20:52] <skybot> Reene: 25 (1d20+5=20)
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Mar 3, 2015 07:26
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Clambering up into the rafters again, the better to pounce on some fucker, Abdul eyeballs Khamag . "You are holding that the wrong way if you gotta piss, man." pre:Fort +2 Ref +4 Will +6 HP: 10/10 Ki: 5/5 Init +4 (20) AC: 19 (17) CMB -1 CMD 12 Stance: Outer Sphere Stance Maneuvers: Inner Sense, Swift Claws, Solar Sting, Leaping Dragon Kukri TWF (+3 to hit; 1d3-1+1d6 Damage (18-20/x2 +1d6 Critical)
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Mar 3, 2015 15:30
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Radaya Venadril Radaya loads a bolt into her crossbow and nods. "Let this be quick." [05:48:14] <Arivia> .roll 1d20+3 [05:48:15] <Morphball> Arivia: 8 = 1d20(5)+3
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Mar 5, 2015 11:48
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Velaka's illusion catches the attention of the bounty hunters upstairs. There's a startled curse and then the sounds of real footsteps as they tear out of the room after the image, the element of surprise lost. The first bounty hunter to reach the stairs slips on the first greased step and does a midair flip, landing on his back which makes an audible cracking noise. His fellow, right on his heels, can't manage to stop in time on the slick surface. He holds his balance for just long enough to trip over his fellow's body and tumble down the stairs into one of the splintered table legs. It takes him through the thigh and slides right through, leaving him pinned by his weight against the overturned table. Things start to happen very fast. From outside the pub there's a few hasty expletives from the direction of the front door. "Damnit, they went early. Front door, go!" a commanding voice calls out, followed by the sound of a heavy battering ram hitting the front door. It doesn't crack, but it bows inward significantly. A dog barks excitedly as they back up for another go. The plopping sound is very, very audible. The bounty hunter who fell on his back isn't breathing. His head is bent at an odd angle, and the light of life is already gone. His companion at the bottom of the stairs is white as a sheet as blood drips down his thigh, and he's making a terribly low keening sound. A rough female voice from upstairs yells out his name - as she starts to make her way down the stairs, holding both hands on the wall to try and avoid slipping on the grease. One of the pub's front windows caves in as a rock is thrown through it. The same commanding voice from before calls inside. "Drop your weapons and come quietly. We don't want to break your valuable little heads, or - " The female bounty hunter slips, landing on her dead companion and breaking her fall that way. She shakes her head, slightly dazed. The wounded bounty hunter is still making that low, keening sound. He tries to pull himself back from the table, but can't get the leverage to do more than push feebly. Something huge moves overhead, sending wind blowing fiercely through the windows for a moment. The front door splinters inwards, but the men outside have their heads craned backwards and the ram slips. Plop. Fwoooooooosh. BOOOOOOOM. The floorboards of the ceiling shatter and burst in a shower of flaming debris down onto the floor below, missing the rafter Abdul is clinging to by no more than an inch. The sound of the explosion is deafening, leaving a ringing in your ears as the second floor of the tavern goes up in a pillar of flames. You never even hear the bounty hunters still upstairs die. The grease-covered stairs ignite in a sheet of hungry flames, licking their way down towards the stunned scout. Her hair catches on fire and she thrashes wildly, trying to find safety from the flames. The bounty hunter who was impaled on the table leg frantically tries to lever himself off the splintered wood, his eyes wild as the flames lap at his feet. The rafter above the bar splinters and cracks as it drops down, burning merrily and crushing a few discarded bar seats. This is probably no longer a great place to be. I decided not to run this as a pure combat, so don't worry about initiative order. There's a map for reference - there's still two thugs visible outside, the two scouts having a very bad day on the stairs, and the red lines that look very good and professional are the burning debris which will spread over time.  Everyone needs to make a Reflex save (DC 10) to avoid taking 1 HP worth of damage from the splattering oil. What do you do?
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Mar 6, 2015 23:23
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Khamag Duva Pulling his clothing up to avoid splattering hot oil, Khamag runs to the stairs. "Someone help me!" Khamag shouts, "I'm not going to be able to move this woman alone!" evilsagan: .roll 1d20+3 Morphball: evilsagan: 17 = 1d20(14)+3 e: first roll was my Reflex save. The following roll is a Climb check to help the woman. evilsagan: .roll 1d20+8 Morphball: evilsagan: 23 = 1d20(15)+8 100 degrees Calcium fucked around with this message at 03:08 on Mar 7, 2015 |
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Mar 7, 2015 03:02
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Briarstaff Briarstaff is prepared. He has a thorny arrow in hand. His arboreal eye is trained on the door, ready... and then the explosion takes him, and their assailants, by surprise. He flattens against the ground as the second floor bursts into flames. As soon as the moment has past, he shoves his arrow back in his quiver and leaps a table, running... back towards the stairs? He calls out to Abdul as he runs by. "Damnit, we're both being hit by a third party. Our orc friend is right. Going to grab one of these idiots - Front's up to you." He swiftly moves to help his barbarian friend try to pull the burning woman out of death's way, his face in full, alarming bloom. Reflex: <Morphball> MSW: 19 = 1d20(13)+6 Swole Rescue Heroing: <Morphball> MSW: 18 = 1d20(14)+4
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Mar 7, 2015 03:17
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Leaping aside to avoid the burning poo poo, Abdul decides the way out of this is through. Rolling onto the ground, he keeps going, spinning up the length of the dropped ram like a scaly bowling ball before the green guy springs up to stab one of the men at the door in the throat. He springs like a sprig of rosemary into a chicken, only instead of making the man before him smell great but taste sort of like wood he makes blood spray out of his throat. Abdul does not know what that tastes like. He does not care. Save: [16:29] <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 22 = 1d20(18)+4 Using LEAPING DRAGON Acrobatics Check: <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 23 = 1d20(15)+1+4+3 To Hit: <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 16 = 1d20(11)+5 Damage: <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 9 = 1d3(2)+2d6(4,4)-1 pre:Fort +2 Ref +4 Will +6 HP: 10/10 Ki: 5/5 Init +4 (20) AC: 19 (17) CMB -1 CMD 12 Stance: Outer Sphere Stance Maneuvers: Inner Sense, Swift Claws, Solar Sting, Leaping Dragon Kukri TWF (+3 to hit; 1d3-1+1d6 Damage (18-20/x2 +1d6 Critical)
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Mar 7, 2015 03:30
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Velaka Velaka releases a shrill, staccato laugh as the chaos unfolds around her, her face lighting up with genuine unbridled mirth. A splatter of hot burning oil on her arm disrupts her fit of vicious glee however, causing her to release a yelp of pain. Scowling, she surveys the burning room as though considering her options. Watching Briarstaff and Khamag move the woman -- hmph, she'll just have to deal with that later -- she steps primly around scattered fires and over to the corpse, gazing down at him with a cocked head before appearing to come to a decision. Grasping the corpse's hair firmly by the root, Velaka braces her foot against his shoulder and pulls. A series of loud, damp pops and cracks accompanied by the wet sound of tearing flesh herald the dead man's head being separated from his shoulders, the ragged stump of a neck dripping gore and splinters of bone. Cradling the head in front of her, Velaka gazes into the dead man's eyes. For a moment, nothing happens, but then her features becomes limned with a pale sapphire light as they ripple and contort, mimicking perfectly the dead man's features and build. Her clothing twitches and contracts as her spider skitters across her body at impossible speeds, changing the color and shape to match his uniform as well. With practiced gestures, she wraps the dripping head in a length of oilcloth from her bag and stashes it inside out of sight. Ref checks: [18:12] <Morphball> Reene: 7 = 1d20(6)+1 [18:13] <Morphball> Reene: 19 = 1d20(18)+1 Now at 5 HP. Disguise check: [18:39] <Morphball> Reene: 26 = 1d20(11)+15
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Mar 7, 2015 03:43
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Antillen Mox I have 1 Fire Resistance for my Favoured Class bonus! The fire splattered on Antillen's face and armour, but he just wiped it off momentarily as if it was just sauce despite its obvious heat and sizzling noises. Climb: 2:49 PM <Morphball> HiKaizer: 16 = 1d20(12)+4 Antillen moved over to Khamag, he had made the trap and so he was responsible for aiding the people. His face was grim and he muttered, "What malaise doth possess our new aggressors to bring the wrath of flames to bear in the shelter of settlement?"
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Mar 7, 2015 04:56
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One of the bounty hunters by the front door goes down, clutching at his throat as he falls. The other turns around in bewilderment, staring at his fallen colleague, before backing off towards the side alley. The rest of the party hustles out through the now-open door and past Abdul. Khamag and Briarstaff are carrying the burned woman between them, supporting her and laying her out on the snow, and Antillen has the injured man over his shoulder. Torrent helps take the bounty hunter down off Antillen's shoulder and down to the snow, checking his injury with practiced motions. A morose-looking young man riding a horse comes out of the side alley the bounty hunter was heading towards. He looks from the group of adventurers to the burning building, then to his own troops who are variously mortally wounded, terrified, apparently disarmed and definitely not a horrifying shapeshifter with the face of one of his companions clutched in her pouch, or dead. He lets out a long, deep sigh, his face drooping. "Why does this always happen?" he asks, rhetorically. The terrified bounty hunter, who doesn't know how to spell the word rhetorically, tries to stammer a reply but the morose man cuts him off and dismounts his horse. He speaks in a low, gravelly monotone. "You have bested my forces. Honor demands that I, Kathor Danava, late of the Black Horse Bounty Hunting Brigade, surrender to you, the victors of our brave conflict." He sighs. "You have proven yourself worthy in combat. May we recover our wounded and withdraw as the rules of valor dictate." The speech comes out pat, and almost completely devoid of emotion - so much so that it takes a moment to realize that the last sentence was intended as a question. The tavern crackles merrily beside you, occasionally shooting out showers of sparks. In the distance, you can see other fires, momentarily occluded by dark shapes moving through the sky. Warning bells slowly begin to ring from the high towers, but the city seems momentarily stunned, or perhaps frozen. 
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Mar 11, 2015 07:52
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Khamag Duva Khamag gives a deadpan look to the recent arrival as he processes the request. Finally, he bares his fangs with a growl. "You're kidding right?" the half-orc snarls, taking his axe in hand. "Why don't you tell us who sent you and what you thought you hoped to achieve here and maybe we'll think about allowing you to withdraw." evilsagan: .roll 1d20+8 intimidate Morphball: evilsagan: intimidate: 27 = 1d20(19)+8
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Mar 11, 2015 09:01
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Antillen Mox "Pray thee consider, companion, that naught is gained by denying this man what he doth humbly beg of us. There are many reasons one might indulge in mercy this evening, such as gaining an ear to why a scion of the house of Danava hath taken part in this endeavour. General Danava has long been known for his gentle disposition to this town, and one might expect a member of a family known for its proficiency in the arts of war might opine in unison." Antillen said gravely with more emotion but a similar amount of reservation as Kathor.
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Mar 11, 2015 10:34
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Abdul twitches a little. "I know you," he says a little reluctantly. He really wanted to stab somebody. "You showed up looking for HONORABLE WORK, what's honorable about trying to burn us to death, you bushwacking sack of poo poo? If we'd been all 'OH HO YOU GOT US SIR, I GUESS WE GIVE UP AND CAN STOP BURNING TO DEATH NOW' your honor wouldn't be worth the piss it would take to put our charred corpses out." He considers this, and appends, "To be fair that would be a lot of piss." Another pause. "I really have to piss. That godbeer goes right through you."
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Mar 12, 2015 04:46
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Antillen Mox "Flames leap and dance which could be extinguished." Antillen says sombrely.
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Mar 12, 2015 05:04
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Briarstaff Briarstaff flowery face erupts in a scowl as he helps carry the woman to the rest of her conspirators. He puffs himself up, hoping the reputation of Abdul and himself precedes them. "Kathor. I remember you. One of the new faces that floated into the city, looking for an honorable duty? I had high hopes for you. Didn't think you'd make such a foolish choice. Ragesia isn't an honorable employer and nabbin' people up by the root just because they've got weirdin' ways isn't an honorable bounty. If you need further proof of that..." he gestures a green and shiny arm at the burning tavern. "...Someone blew the top floor where your backup team was, and it wasn't you and it wasn't us. You took a job with bad people and they double-crossed you because they aren't interested in justice, they are interested in death and power. I hope that, when we return to the city, you will have developed more discernment... if you are staying." Once he hands over the burned woman, he walks over and claps Abdul on the back. "Excellent way-clearing, Abdul. Nothing between us and the exit at all. Next time, we'll get you devilbeer."
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Mar 12, 2015 05:24
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Kathor takes half a step back, putting his hand protectively on his horse's saddle. His face droops even further. "Oh. Of course. As per custom to a defeated enemy, I can provide you with an exact copy of my orders." He rummages around in the saddlebag for a moment before pulling out a rolled-up parchment. He unfurls it with a flourish, and starts to read from it in a gravelly drone. "Inquisitors offering one hundred gold pieces STOP look for isolated magic users STOP will meet you outside of city STOP use that passport to get." Kathor pauses, takes a breath, and turns a page. "In and out STOP make sure that they are captured alive repeat alive STOP no bounties paid for dead magicians STOP already tried and got." In the distance, a huge winged shape occludes the moon for a few moments, executing a graceful bank on powerful wings. Kathor fumbles with the paper and a spark drops down into his hair. He brushes it away and continues reading. "Such a dirty look from that uptight son of a bitch STOP now Kathor I expect results not excuses STOP don't make me regret this STOP END MESSAGE." He folds the papers up and packs them back away, face still drooping. "I had no reason to try and burn you out. The plan would have worked if not for your horrible fire trap that-" Kathor pauses, distracted by his soldier tugging on his sleeve. He leans in for a short whispered conversation. You can see pillars of flame erupting in the distance, one by one in a line. Kathor turns around as the whispered conversation turns into a whispered shouting match, watching the line of flames advancing with interest. "Well. This is typical." Torrent surreptitiously slides a wand up her sleeve, standing up from her position in the ankle-deep slush. "These two will live. We should etgay otay endezvousray ithway ethay, er, ontactcay. Uicklyqay." She watches the explosions as the city sluggishly comes to life. Alarm bells start ringing in earnest, and a flaming ball of... something shoots straight into the air from near the wall, pulsating with a strange light as it slowly climbs. "Really, really uicklyqay." RPZip fucked around with this message at 06:55 on Mar 12, 2015 |
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Mar 12, 2015 06:51
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Khamag Duva Khamag raises an eyebrow at Kathor, and straps his axe to his back as he eyes the rising flames. "Well I'll be a zombie's rotten dick... Somehow I expected more subtlety. It's time to go, friends!"
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Mar 12, 2015 06:58
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Antillen Mox "So they have been unleashed. Hath this madness reached so far as well?" Antillen asks his voice going husky with a quiet and subtle anger. He strode over to Kathor, removing a gauntlet on his left hand as he did so. When spoke he showed his palm to the man. "Doth the General not see this madness in divesting Ragesia of those who wield arcana and power divine? One doth not cast out the gods without a reckoning, and its enemies hover at its borders like ravens watching a floundering beast." His palm shone with a blood red sigil in the shape of the torch that Coaltongue owed his empire to. Once Kathor had looked at it he would begin to re-don his gauntlet again.
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Mar 12, 2015 07:16
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Velaka Velaka spends a long moment staring in confusion at the runes on her armband before shaking her head slightly. With a bland expression, she listens to Kathor read off the send-a-gram, her expression flickering at the mention of a passport. Projecting an air of purpose, she sidles up to the saddlebags and begins poking through them for the passport with the most convincing expression of indifferent purpose she can muster. Bluff: [03:05] <Morphball> Reene: 13 = 1d20(8)+5
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Mar 13, 2015 14:03
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Kathor looks momentarily impressed with Antillen's display, and then his face droops back to its natural depression. "It is mad," he says simply. He raises a gloved hand and a flickering flame sparks there for a moment before going out. "It's why father had me come here, away from the army. But even here, it entangles me." Kathor sighs deeply. "And I suppose I'll see him again, soon enough." Even with Mox providing a fairly good distraction, a 13 isn't enough for Kathor to be distracted long enough to find and lift the passport. Kathor gives Velaka an odd look, putting his hand on the horse's reigns... It is enough for him not to realize what she was doing, though. ...and climbing back into the saddle. People are pouring into the streets now, staring up into the sky and watching the pillars of flame approach. Kathor nods dourfully at Velaka and his other still-conscious soldier. "Care for the wounded. I'll see you at the-" Something screeches in the sky above, and a gout of flame erupts. Kathor's horse spooks, rearing up and taking off with him clinging to the saddle. The crowd screams and ducks as a building on the opposite side of the street bursts into flame. Torrent shoulders her way forward, opening her mouth- The sickly fireball to the west erupts, shooting green lightning in every direction. It lights up the sky for a moment, illuminating the scene with a surreal light. Dozens - hundreds - of batwinged shapes are flying over the city. The lightning seeks them out, wrapping around them almost lovingly as they convulse and start to fall- Distant specks on the west wall press into each other. Flames gutter and spark, and steel clashes onto steel. A bomb lands on the ramparts, and flaming figures run in every direction, leaping from the burning wall- The lightning wraps around something enormous, something concealed from its light, a jet black shape against the night sky. One of the tendrils wrapped around the shape blazes purple, speeding in reverse towards the lightning's origin. It meets there for a split second, purple warring with green, before detonating with a tremendous sound- The crowd breaks, running away from the battle on the west. Torrent covers one ear, wincing at the explosion's retort, and points after them. She tries to speak but the sound of the crowd is too great, so she mouths "WE. NEED. TO. GO." The crowd presses in around you as you head towards the gate leading to the next district. Soldiers from the eastern districts are trying to push against the flow of the crowd to reach the battle at the main gate, while the townsfolk are trying to flee in the opposite direction. The narrow gates, designed to hold back invaders, are far too small to let everyone through. Townsfolk jostle you and the party is pushed back and forth in the crush. People trying to back up, away from the soldiers, can't get away despite their calls to let them through. And then something overhead roars. The impact of the sound is palpable, an angry bellow that reverberates through your chest and makes your ribs shiver. Your heart beats quickly, and around you the crowd screams as one and starts to panic, trying to flee. Torrent spins, panicked, trying to push her way against the terrified crowd, going down on one knee as someone stumbles into her from behind. A soldier plummets from the battlement above and falls into the crowd, swallowed up in a moment by the stampede. Everyone but Mox needs to roll a Will check; DC 21 to not panic. Everyone who fails the check needs to roll a Reflex check to avoid taking damage from the panicking crowds. I'd also like 5 Perception checks so I can use them for this and future things.
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Mar 16, 2015 02:35
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Khamag Duva Khamag covers his ears and reels with the sound of the explosions. What is going on? This is madness? He looks around and sees the panicking crowd; sees Torrent go down in the throng. To hell with this! Khamag runs out, looking for an exit, any exit. "Out of the way!" he roars, unheeded, "Get the hell out of the way!" I automatically fail the Will save so this is the Reflex save evilsagan: .roll 1d20+3 Morphball: evilsagan: 15 = 1d20(12)+3 e: forgot the perception rolls evilsagan: .roll 1d20 Morphball: evilsagan: 15 = 1d20(15) evilsagan: .roll 1d20 Morphball: evilsagan: 17 = 1d20(17) evilsagan: .roll 1d20 Morphball: evilsagan: 3 = 1d20(3) evilsagan: .roll 1d20 Morphball: evilsagan: 14 = 1d20(14) evilsagan: .roll 1d20 Morphball: evilsagan: 2 = 1d20(2) 100 degrees Calcium fucked around with this message at 07:38 on Mar 16, 2015 |
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Mar 16, 2015 02:47
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BRIARSTAFF Briarstaff panics. He never enjoyed fire, being a creature that was eminently flamable. Others of his kind took after more flame-resistant flowers, but Briarstaff always thought that worrying about fire was a bit paranoid. "It's not like anyone will ever be able to invent a way to deliver pillars of fire from the sky," he would say. "You are being absolutely ridiculous. Now mite resistant, that's what we should aim for. Everything has mites." Well, today everyone had mites, and there was something dropping pillars of flame from the sky. In his rush to get to safety, he allows people to trample his green, leafy legs. The party can hear the crunch of fresh leaves being split as he pushes forward. "To somewhere fire-proof!" To avoid panicking: <Morphball> Mormonstarwars: 12 = 1d20(10)+2 To avoid taking damage: <Morphball> Mormonstarwars: 11 = 1d20(5)+6 Five perception rolls for the hopper: <Morphball> Mormonstarwars: 20 = 1d20(14)+6 <Morphball> Mormonstarwars: 19 = 1d20(13)+6 <Morphball> Mormonstarwars: 14 = 1d20(8)+6 <Morphball> Mormonstarwars: 12 = 1d20(6)+6 <Morphball> Mormonstarwars: 10 = 1d20(4)+6
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Mar 16, 2015 03:01
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Antillen Mox Antillen couldn't get a clear view of what was going on in the skies amongst the chaos, but he assumed it was the wyvern corp. He knew Ragesia was on the march towards Gate Pass and they had not possessed a force of actual dragons. Even had Coaltongue's mount had a chance to breed it could not have produced enough clutches and have had them mature sufficiently to provide this. This was no dragon, dragons were intelligent and even though wyverns were dangerous and cunning, they were ultimately still a beast. That the wyvern core had attacked and Kathor's response had not filled him with much hope about the political situation in Ragesia. Had the High Inquisitor truly seized that much power? And if so, how? It troubled Antillen a great deal, but he had trouble enough around him to deal with in the now. The roar of indignation and fury passed through him like a wave, but he was used to such things. As he shook, he took a deep breath and centred himself. His feet wanted to run and his knees buckle, but he stood fast, and then began to act. Antillen turned to Briarstaff for a second before noticing Torrent go down. In a crowd like this she could get trampled if she didn't get help. He tried to move over to her as swiftly as possible and pull her back up. Should he make it in time, he would shout at her. "Calm, my lady. Wyverns are fearsome, but they are still beasts. Do not let your fears best you." Perception rolls 1:38 PM <Morphball> HiKaizer: 13 = 1d20(11)+2 1:38 PM <Morphball> HiKaizer: 3 = 1d20(1)+2 1:38 PM <Morphball> HiKaizer: 20 = 1d20(18)+2 1:39 PM <Morphball> HiKaizer: 7 = 1d20(5)+2 1:39 PM <Morphball> HiKaizer: 19 = 1d20(17)+2 HiKaizer fucked around with this message at 05:38 on Mar 16, 2015 |
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Mar 16, 2015 03:39
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Abdul Abdul was a cool character. He was a badass, born and bred. Also, and this was really key, he was not sure what was going on and therefore had a hard time being afraid of it. "So, these aren't fireworks for the new year? Because these seem a little close." WIll Save: [07:00] <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 26 = 1d20(20)+6 [07:00] <WinsonPaine> SUCK IT Per Rolls, w/ Ki Bonus: [07:01] <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 19 = 1d20(7)+12 [07:01] <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 13 = 1d20(1)+12 [07:01] <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 31 = 1d20(19)+12 [07:01] <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 16 = 1d20(4)+12 [07:01] <Morphball> WinsonPaine: 25 = 1d20(13)+12
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Mar 18, 2015 00:17
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