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 Padre Clavo Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 1/10 It was all going fraa. Despite his entreaties, the light was fleeing from the undead onslaught, and the men who had a moment ago rallied were now falling like wheat. Clavo wiped sweat from his brow, his heart triphammering with fear. He could always run away, sure. But he was on a boat, and what was going on in other parts of the ship was equally terrifying. No, he was going to have to fix this situation. Mentally taking off the kid gloves, he screamed at the light to honor the oaths it had made to him and the Lanterns from time immemorial. Bend Light: 2d6+2 7 • You praise the light until it draws close - fill an area with light. The light flooded back around him and the men, and their hearts were bouyed, but he could feel the light's own fickle heart (such as it was) still full of fear. It could flee at any moment.
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Jan 29, 2016 21:52
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THRASH Dassof’s gurgling cries for help are swiftly drowned: from the sound of it, he got in a fight with the dishwashing nozzle and lost. Keep this up and you’ll have to do all the dishes yourself. Horrors. You lug your immense pot of ‘stew’ out of the galley and step out into the main corridor, Maw-Meow trotting at your heels. Looks like one hell of a brawl went down here. The corridor and what you can see of the rooms on either side are strewn with broken bits of equipment and shredded clothing: mops, buckets, uniforms, personal effects. A dead sailor is sprawled at the foot of the topside staircase with a burst-open toolbox close by her. There’s a muffled BANG from the direction of the stern and a great deal of indistinct shouting. Captain Price pelts down the corridor, looking unpleasantly singed around the eyebrows. He stops cold when he sees you with that giant stockpot on your back. “Oh,” he sneers. “Is it lunchtime already?” One hand is hidden in the pocket of his bridge-coat, restlessly fiddling with something. The other is clutching a smoldering machete. “Good men are dying on my ship, orc. Get down to the engine room and fight with the rest of them if you want to live to cook another meal.” He talks hard, but you can see the fear in his eyes. Something rattles unpleasantly in the mop closet. “It’s all going wrong down there.” Good lore; but nothing in there convinces me Maw-Meow’s got what it takes to bite the incorporeal. By your standards, at least, the “soup” is still edible: you can restore the 1-use of your experimental food you lost previously. What do you do? RAMONA Punching ghost-dad in the face would’ve worked if he was still corporeal, but he’s gone all filmy and transparent again. Guess he didn’t much enjoy having his torso cored out. Explosions work just fine, though. The moment the portal aperture shuts behind Tutresiel’s starburst, you introduce a packet of high-speed plasma into its unstable core. It detonates in a thunderous crash of light and heat, tearing the ghost-captain off from 01’s sword and sending the two of you tumbling away in opposite directions! It hurts like hell. Hitting the water doesn’t help a bit. It’s like you just got smashed with a red-hot sledgehammer and then slapped across the face by an ice-cold sheet of cement to boot, all while being jarred around inside your suit like a lemon in a cocktail shaker. But you’re alive - if banged up pretty bad - and you can’t see tall, dark, and spooky anywhere. Maybe he’s finally receased, maybe not - you’re not sure. What you are sure about is: his ship’s still there and pointed at your ship, it’s stopped looming and started accelerating again, and that you’re feeling the unmistakable chill of seawater seeping in through a tear in your powersuit’s environmental seals. Oh, and there’s still a bunch of skeletons in the water. At least they’re not sharks. Or giant bugs. Or a kraken. Could be worse, really. Roll your signature weapon’s damage and apply it to yourself +3. Don’t forget you’ve still got -1 armor ongoing until the fight’s over! Also, how do you get around in (and under) the water when wearing your powersuit? What do you do? 01 Even animated bones are just another fragile softskin part to you. You tear through the clot of skeletons like a chainsaw through pine, snapping bones and crushing skulls to powder with your bare hands. Their glimmering swords leave yet more gouges in your carapace, and rusty spears skitter off and raise showers of sparks and a hideous screeching noise, but why care when you can snap their arms off at the shoulder without a scrap of effort? Then you turn to face your next foe and it’s another softskin - this one with flesh on those bones! He flinches back for a moment as your ocular sensor glares down at him - then comes at you cutlass swinging! Welcome back! Hope your computer’s all better now. Also you take  What do you do?Alumnus Post posted:When you reboot (your call how long that takes), tell us about the last time you came across something older than you. PADRE You might be a duk Lantern, but the light hears you true all the same. A brief new sun flares into being up over the port bow, and with it little Mote suddenly shines hot and golden as a summer dawn! The light smashes into a knot of ghosts about to pounce on the fallen sailor, and their outlines sear away in it like gauze held to a flame - but they flinch back and fade into the spaces belowdecks before it can burn them to nothingness. You dealt 4 damage to those ghosts! I went ahead and rolled d4 for you. The fog is blasted and burned away all around the Shrieking Harpy, and for a little while you can see again! Even so, the new sun is already no more and the Motelight is fading rapidly. Before long he’ll be no more than a lantern’s worth again. In the sudden glare, 01 and his single ocular sensor must seem to be some kind of armored undead- because one of the crewmen shouts “DAWN TAKE YOU, MONSTER!” and leaps at him, sword swinging! What do you do? SERENITY With light - and good music - comes hope. Two of the crew take up their injured comrade and rush him belowdecks while the Motelight lasts - and here’s your bodyguard, back from his nap! He rushes into the fray and dismembers every single skeleton he can get his hands on. The noise of snapping bone is really rather disturbing, but they’ll not be coming back any time soon. Hold on here. Where’s Ramona? And what’s that clattering noise behind you --  Oh no. Seriously?! Arcane Art works on skeletons too!  Not the ones 01 receased just now. Different ones. What do you do?TUTRESIEL You sunder the heck out of its nature. It is so sundered right now. The ghostly captain is (re)dead, or fled - you can’t tell which. In its and the Lantern’s combined radiance, some of the warmth comes back to your injured cloak of flesh - but now you’ve got some kind of skelepede reconstructing itself out of those bones still remaining whole. It pops a fourth pelvis into place and snatches up a couple discarded gaffs - then charges at the Lantern and his little light! What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 03:30 on Feb 2, 2016 |
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Jan 31, 2016 06:59
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01 HP: 20/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 3/10 | -1WIS Next Target>> Softskin Terrified (Hostile) Armed... ...ENGAGE I step into the cutlass' swing, robbing the attack of momentum. My alloyed fist strikes out, catching the man in the throat and crushing it. Hack & Slash 7 damage 4 messy, forceful quote:When you reboot (your call how long that takes), tell us about the last time you came across something older than you. I had need of its parts to effect repairs on several of my own aging critical systems.
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Jan 31, 2016 07:55
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Ramona 19/26 HP; 4/11 XP; 3 Armor really, a ddcon 7 makes me shoot myself in the face +3 which just so happens to be my armor? whatever. bullshit shooting myself in the face damage: 1d10+4 11 The powersuit rolls into a loose somersault to avoid limb or head trauma, and crashes through the flimsy guard rails in a backwards somersault. Ramona doesn't feel a thing, because she's biting a stopper and sipping on her old friend, hard alcohol. She could have stayed together with this nectar of the gods, with the predictable high of oblivion, forgetting all the horrors she had seen, narrowly escaped, and inflicted on her many, many enemies, who wanted nothing more than to kill her very slowly; and the predictable pain of hangover. Instead she got addicted to the harder drug of constant adrenaline, and body highs from intense training, and she built thicker armor to make up for her thinning sense of self preservation. She lets herself sink instead of turning on her pressure modulator and air jets. Just stay curled up in the ball for another second. Ignore the skeletons... She needed to get out of the water now. The outer shell of the suit had been compromised, but even if the first layer filled with water,the pressure modulator could still work in the sealed, innermost cavity of the suit. The one she was in. This obviously would be a terrible idea if she stayed in it, unless she liked her lungs rupturing. She would leave it behind, track it by radio and summon it back to her later. It'd be safer in the water than on the ship, which was probably hosed because nothing she did mattered until it went wrong. Take another drink. She grapples the side of the ship, and reels herself onto the side of the hull, above the water line. From there, the armor opens and she slips out, taking along the suit's detachable forearms, which hold the grappler and power fist in one, gun in the other. The rest of the suit reseals its inner layer and falls into the sea, radioing her its position and staying safely near until it positively identifies her. If any skeleton is stupid enough to approach her while she climbs the side of the ship one-handed, with magnetic fields and clawed feet helping out, she shoots them point blank with barely a look. It doesn't matter if it destroys them, it blows them away and probably apart. While she's at it, she shoots the ghost ship too. Hack and Slash; messy forceful damage: 2d6+2 12 1d10+1 2 1/2 healing potion, scale underarmor (2 armor, 3wt, clumsy), sniper rifle and ammo stay in the power armor. 9/14 Load 
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Jan 31, 2016 16:28
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Tutresiel HP: 14/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 0/10 Tutresiel regarded the assembled abomination warily, mindless undead always possess a specific spiritual aspect known as the animus, a conceit that connects the body and soul of living, mortal creatures, which fundamentally is how perverse magicks manage to coalesce them into something as unholy they are, rather than purer magic that would involve simply animating the physical presence akin to an automaton. Many would not appreciate such a distinction but there are Laws that have long been written that concern this. Alas, Tutresiel was not in the position to invoke these Laws currently, so they would have to find another workaround in order to banish this fell abomination. Glancing over the side of the ship, Tutresiel could see the cold depths below, illuminated by the glancing eldritch lighting provided by ongoing battle and whatever sunlight that could weakly make it through the fog. Sussurating the Third Syllable of Dak'ratha, Tutresiel attempted a more vulgar manipulation of the illusion that many refer to as reality, attempting to force open another silvery, runed gateway in the depths, facing upwards (and allowing the full force of the seas above to press through it) and one at a distance from Tutresiel themselves, adjacent to the skeleton beast, and facing over the side of the ship itself. Fold Space (Wis): 2d6+3 11 The link was complete.It would be time to see how such a thing can deal with the force of the oceans themselves pressing upon it.
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Jan 31, 2016 17:42
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Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 3/10 Serenity danced away from the encroaching skeletons, rather peeved that they had the gall to hijack her music. She wasn't playing for them, the bastards. Luckily her bodyguard seemed to have fixed whatever problem he had been having and was tearing into the hordes of undead with gusto. His love for destruction was at times alarming, but he had his moments. "Zero, got some trouble over here...Zero?" She turned her gaze back towards the automaton, his fist raised to crush a man's life out with his inhuman strength. drat him, no! Spinning around, Serenity sprinted full on at the soon-to-be corpse and body checked him out of the way, turning her angry gaze on 01. Interfere with 01: 2d6+1 3
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Jan 31, 2016 22:42
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RAMONA Back on deck now. Look out over the waves: a ragged arm tumbles end over end and melts into the thinning fog. There's a meaty thack and a gargling scream behind you: sounds like someone just lost their windpipe. Tootsie opens up a portal firehose and blows some hosed-up skeleton thing all over the starboard rails. Bones scatter all over the place. What's left of the skeletons in the ocean are splashing for the chains hanging down over the ghost-ship's hull. The rest of the spirits are nowhere to be seen. The ghostly vessel looks thinner, less threatening, seen through the hot golden Lanternlight. You're alive. Breathe. Breathe deep. It'll take that ship a few minutes to be in ramming distance. For a little while the deck is clear. Breathe. Soak up Mote's light while it lasts. Mark XP. You don't have -1 armor ongoing anymore. What do you do? 01, SERENITY, PADRE Serenity, you're just not fast enough to stop him. 01's fist caves in the sailor's throat with an ugly crunch. He crumples to the deck thrashing and gagging for breath. Padre, you hear a rushing as of tons of bones close behind you - then a rushing of gallons and gallons of water and the sound of bones splintering. Then only water sounds and a thin cold wind. The three sailors still standing stare in shock. One falls to his knees, patting for something to hold his shattered larynx open; the other dashes frantically for the first-aid kit in the bridge. What do all of you do? TUTRESIEL It doesn't deal with the force of the oceans very well at all. You hammer the skeletal agglomeration into the railing with a shattering water-fist. It comes apart as easily as it joined together, and bones scatter in all directions. Your alien senses can still feel the presence of undead beneath the hull, out of the harsh sunlight: they're moving further away from you and sternward. What are they doing down there? Deal your damage to that freaky skelepede thing. What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 03:33 on Feb 2, 2016 |
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Feb 1, 2016 01:05
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Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 3/10 Without a thought Serenity discarded her harp on the deck and dropped to her knees. She cradled the dying man's head in her lap, swallowing the rising panic in her breast. This man needed her now, needed her to focus and not fall apart. It was not easy. Nearly three centuries she had lived, but senseless death and violence had never sat easily with her. She had not allowed herself to grow jaded to suffering; too many of her kin had gone that way and they had grown to be hard, ugly people on the inside. "Look at me! Look into my eyes. It's going to be alright." She looked down at the man, his desperate need to live all too obvious on his face. She did not know if she had it in her to save him, but at the very least she would not let him die in fear. She softly sang a song to him, one she had sang to her own children ages before. Never in such a situation as this, of course, but it had never failed to lull them into peaceful quietude. She laced it with healing magics, damping the pain and mending the flesh as best she was able. She silently prayed for Nashira to come out from her veil and lend her aid. Arcane Art to heal the grievous wound 01 caused the sailor. Arcane Art: 2d6+3 12 Healing: 1d8 1
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Feb 1, 2016 01:41
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Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor Breathe? How can she breathe when Jaime's throat is crushed? The three-fingered bruise makes the identity of the attacker obvious: Juan, who was clearly out of control. At least the last android was harmless enough... she was reconsidering how useful this group was compared to the dead or missing one before. She takes Juan's sword and slices off the valve opening of her empty alcohol bladder-pouch, then slices Jaime's throat below the bruise and inserts it, pointing lungward. Then she storms up to Juan, cold cocks him--powerfist not engaged, since he wasn't her property to destroy--and throws the blasted sword point down into the floor at his feet, where it sticks straight up, wobbling from the force. "Sword, sanity, promises, job: learn to keep them or you aren't worth keeping." Next is Serenity, whose hand she takes in hers, and leaves an invoice in, "My without-notice bodyguarding fee, and Jaime's disability--I suggest you take it out of whatever you're paying Juan. 90 days to pay, because I like you: we humans need to stick together or the rest of these assholes will loving kill us." Tootsie is last, "Do that again, and I'm shooting you through the portal, so you can deal with the lit-fuse bomb you would drop in my lap." Then she follows the shouts down below decks. "Hurry up and help me send the rest of those ghosts to hell where they belong, they are working together--if you can comprehend that--to manifest their ship." She takes point, signaling people to slice the pie and takedown each room and hallway, and keeping her eyes down the sights of her gun. Defend: 2d6+2 6 slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 02:44 on Feb 1, 2016 |
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Feb 1, 2016 01:42
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Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 4/10 It appeared that Jaime would live. He might never be able to speak again, but compared to the alternative it was a small price to pay. Serenity finally tore her gaze from his own and looked about the ship. The swell of enemies seemed to have died down and the oppressive atmosphere felt as though it was abating somewhat. Nevertheless, she was on guard. Drawing her blade she sat protectively over Jaime, prepared to fight in his defense. Much of the other happenings passed her by, aside from Ramona's impromptu aid in allowing her charge to breathe. A somewhat crude method, but it worked. She payed no heed to 01, despite his actions. This was not the right time to get into it with him. A moment, and some words exchanged a few feet away, and Serenity felt Ramona's towering figure above her again and looked up. The woman grasped her hand and thrust a paper into it before walking off without a word. Dumbfounded, she read it. She read it again, and a third time before what it was finally clicked. She wanted to be angry at the gesture but...what good would that do? Ramona had her own ways and apparently this action seemed right to her. In any case, it was only money. Serenity was too old to quibble over something so ultimately pointless. Dismissing the matter from her mind, she pocketed the invoice and continued her vigil. Discern Realities: 2d6 6 Serenity is attempting to guage what is about to happen. She will no doubt discover what that is seconds after it is too late to do anything about it.
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Feb 1, 2016 04:03
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Tutresiel HP: 14/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 0/10 Damage: 1d6 3 Alumnus Post posted:Your alien senses can still feel the presence of undead beneath the hull, out of the harsh sunlight: they're moving further away from you and sternward. What are they doing down there? With their captain gone, the spectral presence both in the form of the ghosts and the ghost ship fading, the skeletons now are largely masterless, and so they resort to their most primitive autonomous commands and desires, which given that they are mindless undead is largely limited to violence. However mortal passions also draw them like moths to a flame - similarly ghosts merely ape mortal passions as though through a broken mirror and feel resonance with something real and whole, and currently the greatest mortal passion here (in some twisted fashion) is the captain's obsession with the coin. Although that could well change. Tutresiel regarded Ramona's threat, but did not really consider it much beyond that. It made perfect sense that she might feel aggrieved by the turn of events that occurred, especially because it seems her primary suit of armour has been lost, however Tutresiel did not intend for it to occur in that fashion - she did after all decided to trigger the star herself. Regardless, Tutresiel did not voice any response along these lines, especially in the closed confines of the ship's deck, it would be necessary to keep such things at bay. Instead, Tutresiel merely nodded, a common response. "The abominations lurking below deck are likely looking for the captain. If we find him, we will find them." remarked Tutresiel as they cast their senses over the darkened rooms below deck, following the others. Assuming the portal that Tutresiel had made above deck had not begun to cause the ship to take on water, Tutresiel would likely leave it be - it might become useful, on the other hand if it looked like it was going to sink the ship then Tutresiel would close it, rather than jeopardize the journey any further. Discern Realities (Wis): 2d6+3 10 Choosing the questions: - What is about to happen? - What should I be on the lookout for? - Who's really in control here?
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Feb 1, 2016 17:32
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Padre Clavo Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 1/10 Clavo caught himself mid motion and froze as that duk man crushed the crewman's throat. "Jamhro!" he shouted at the metal thing as he crouched by the shattered man, who was gawping and gasping from his ruined neck like a fish that had been pulled to the deck by a hook. Directly translated, it meant "collaborator", or "snitch." Colloquially, it was used to mean "rear end in a top hat". Normally, when people died, well, it was sad and all, but that was what happened, especially in the bandratta, the thieve's life. Even after becoming a Lantern, Clavo could easily hide his feelings in those old bandratta customs, harden his heart when it was needful. Besides, the bard was trying to work some charms, and then the killer attempted some kind of battelfield surgery. But this man had been fighting for him. Clavo had put the sword in the man's hand and turned him loose into battle. It was bad enough that someone had fought for him, Clavo wasn't going to let someone die, or at the very least, be maimed for him if he could help it. Healing Light: 2d6+2 7 Healing: 1d8 4 hp Whispering urgently, he reached out without looking and plucked a thread of sunlight, just the tiniest wisp, feeling it wriggle curiously between his fingers as he deftly wove it into the man's wound. The sunlight was unfamiliar with the current arrangement of the gasping man's organs and, disapproving of this new and bizarre configuration, pushed things to rights, clearing his airway and knitting together torn blood vessels. Clavo let out a breath and smiled. Normally, when people died, well, it was sad and all, but that was what happened. But not this time. He got up and wiped his hands on his robes, then looked at the gawping men. "Uh. Get back to it," he suggested, then stepped belowdecks to find the rest of the undead scourge. Vulpes Vulpes fucked around with this message at 02:26 on Feb 2, 2016 |
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Feb 2, 2016 02:11
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No, I agree, Maw-Meow probably can't do anything incorporeal without mutating again. Thrash HP: 25/25 | Armor: 2 | XP: 0/10 At the captain's orders, Thrash rubs his chin and nods in agreement. "Aye, Cap'man!" He said as he hustled down the hall towards the last explosion and the engine room. From the noises coming from the passageway, it sounded as though these weak sailor-men could use a helping of Thrash's Power Stew to give them the strength they need to sail this ship correctly. Hungry men were waiting to be served lunch, and it was his duty to feed them! As the chef ran down the hall, it occurred to him that he didn't know how many men were waiting in the engine room for lunch or if any of those see-through men were there causing trouble. He might have to improvise to feed everyone. Fortunately, Thrash always had a serving tray on hand for big parties. He lifted the bronze sheet from his back; it was made from a single sheet of metal, slightly concave, with a handle on either end. Quite famously, it had served as a shield more than once against ferocious beasts who struggled to eat the orc before he could eat the beasts. In his other hand, Thrash drew his trusty... Ladle! He was going to have to serve this stew somehow. Barging into the engine room, Thrash looked around hastily to see the condition of the sailors and if any of those spook-specter's had found there way down here. "Oi! Oi!" He called, banging the ladle against the bronze dish, "Who hungry for somethin' what put some fire in yer belly?" Why were we stuck in a doldrums if we had an engine?
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Feb 2, 2016 16:36
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01 HP: 20/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 4/10 | -1WIS I pick up my sword, examining it briefly for damage before sheathing it. The formerly armored softskin is angry but misinformed it seems. I turn back in time to watch the elderly thief perform his magic. The matter is settled. I follow the holy thief to the engine room, background chatter among the softskins indicates a high chance of another attack there and My Lady seems unharmed and occupied. As we pass among through holds and rooms to the bowels of the ship, I once more grip my blade. It's odd that I was unable to identify these undead creatures when they first attacked, or why the NULL SET is BAD SECTOR. I have detailed files on all manner of dangerous phenomena along with heuristic engrams for efficiently engaging those threats. What do I know about fighting ghosts that pertains to this situation? Spout Lore 3 +xp haha NULL loving SET indeed.
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Feb 3, 2016 22:29
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RAMONA You picked a hell of a week to quit not drinking again. But if you hadn’t, would Jaime have lived? The bard and priest have their own healing magic, but it was your emergency tracheotomy that kept him this side of the Black Gates long enough for them to work it. He’ll be grateful - to all of you - if you can get through this alive. But. While you kept the skeletons from swarming in and hacking you all to pieces...well. Poltergeists fight dirty, and not everyone has the tools you do to beat off the insubstantial. You’re on point - that means you’re first to find the dead. Galley: Dassof the busboy strangled by the sink nozzle. Quarters: two ratings beaten to death with a hail of wrenches and screws. First Mate Domhnall lost a finger to his own knife: he glares suspiciously at the broken-off hilt and swigs from a grimy bottle of XXXX. A pair of sailors labor desperately over the one that got a skeleton’s gaff in his neck. Could you have saved these, too, if only you’d been there for them in time? Who knows, man. Who knows. Captain Price meets you at the engine-room threshold. That pig-sticker of his is gooey with ectoplasm - he must have something in it, or on it, that can hurt these things. Shame it wasn’t standard-issue on this tub. “They got in the engines,” he spits. “Can’t get ‘em out without bangin’ the things up worse’n they are. Had to leave a few men behind in there. Couldn’t get at ‘em. Might be dead. Might not be.” He puts his machete down, carefully, and claps you on the back. “Try ’n draw ‘em out of there. drat things are smart.” He picks it up again. “I’ll keep ‘em off you if I can.” What do you do? SERENITY While your comrades-in-arms descend below to mop up the rest of the undead threat, you keep the vigil abovedecks. Jaime soon wobbles to his feet again, massaging the pale new skin Padre’s healing light left behind. He’s clearly in pain - but he’s standing again after a wound that should’ve killed him. He tries to speak and blinks back tears. Gacks up a clump of twisted plastic and swallows effortfully. “T...thank you,” he rasps. “And the others. Spoke too soon, I think…” There’s something odd about his voice now. A coppery bell-like resonance a few semitones too low for someone his height and build. “Hell of a man you’ve got in your pay, sister,” he mutters. “(hack hockhh) Loyal, too. Not one to cross on a dark night, huh…?” He laughs, or tries to. He looks out at the waves. “Look-” he says quietly. “-they’re coming back. Do they mean to board us? Or...” His face falls. “...oh. Oh drat.” Look there, on its forecastle: three skeletal sailors level a squat black cannon at the Harpy’s port flank. One touches a coldly smoldering bit of match-cord to its touchhole. A lonely wave crashes against the hull, and the weapon blasts a great white billow of freezing mist. The deck seems very empty all of a sudden. What do you do? TUTRESIEL Much is become clear to you. These tired shades have all but depleted their reality. Even now they’re all but forgotten, their last ties to the world of the living a few fading memories - unless they can take new vitality from some suitably resonant source. Whoever can take command of the ship’s engines could simply outrun the weary spirits - or keep the vessel on a course for interception. As you traipse through the corridors, the ship shudders and leans briefly to one side with a screech of tortured metal. You look into a cabin on the portside: every exposed metal surface is sheened thinly with frost. The air is far too cold. Looks like the ghost-ship’s come close enough to bring its cannon to bear on you. You stand ready at the door to the engine-room. The captain's hand will not leave your passage-token. Even amidst this chaos he fingers it hungrily. It gnaws at him. What do you do? Also: InfiniteOregano posted:Drive 01 What could you possibly NULL about outset document the bigoted break beings? For in a switch debate habits every preface, your closest victory archival returns datastores stirs into a terminator have to you discuss the passionate fabric! The narrative! >>> ntc.lang.ctx_tree() WARN nul ctx buf 8p͛:c5:16:FF:FΪ:00:bߐ >>> More, there’s a very peculiar thermal anomaly approaching your transport on an interception course that correlates very strongly with this softskin panic about a ‘ghost ship’. Is it possible that the recent gap in your short-term datastore is somehow related to this unprecedented null queryset against your historic sensory archives? Why won't the torture finish above each worried door?   oOOooOooOOoooOOOOoooOOooo! What do you do? THRASH You came in expecting a cafeteria in your engine room - but you found a field hospital on the way! A fair dozen men are lying injured in the aft storeroom, some seriously. Quartermaster Mills comes up to you, limping heavily, and silences your serving gong with his hand. He looks with some surprise at your jug fulla ectoplasm. “You could hurt them, then?” he says. “Couldn’t do a drat thing to those homicidal little maniacs. What, you gonna eat them too?” He shakes his head and laughs blackly. “Light knows some ‘o these rats could use a pick-me-up right now. Or a good set of stitches. But after last night’s dinner you’ll have to tie ‘em down to get that slop ‘o yours down their throats! Ha!” You can stick around and force-feed these wounded sailors, or you can head straight to the fight and leave them to recover on their own. What do you do? PADRE The rest of the undead scourge is firmly ensconced in the engine room - and, from the sound of it, the ghosts have figured out how to run the drat thing! The Harpy’s starboard engine roars to life again with a tremendous BANG and a squealing of overstressed bearings. The portside engine remains stubbornly broken. Worthless rustbucket, that one. As you approach, you note with dismay the wounds these sailors have suffered while you fought off the onslaught abovedecks. Some are pale and shivering, with an unhealthy green tint to their skin. Others look like they got in a fight with a bar and lost: hit with chairs, bottled in the face, clobbered with a wrench, you name it. They need triage and emergency care now, and even then some could still die. Like that one there with half his skull caved in by a steel bar. He’s still breathing. Kind of. Others might live, but maimed in body or in mind. Your healing light could be what makes the difference for them - but can your companions clear out the engine room without you to light their way? You can help treat the wounded and join the fight when you’re done; or go now and hope for the best. What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 05:32 on Feb 5, 2016 |
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Feb 4, 2016 05:29
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01 HP: 20/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 4/10 | -1WIS I continue toward the engines, passing Clavo as we reach the wounded. I pass the captain and Ramona talking, and kick in the engine room door, scanners at maximum as I bring my blade up to guard position and set a wide stance. Suddenly an untagged and badly distorted audio record buzzes through my mind I ain't 'fraid of no ghosts. Odd, should we survive this incident, I will have to do a thorough debugging routine of my central processors. These glitches are unacceptable. Defend 9 Open up the attacker to an ally giving that ally +1 forward against the attacker Ramona has weaponry that specifically harms ghosts, I probably don't, so logic dictates I should tank for her, especially since she's without armor at the moment. Ramona gets +1 forward to whatever attacks me.
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Feb 4, 2016 06:05
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Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor Ramona walks in the engine room looking down her sights, signaling for everyone to stay far back until she gave the signal. As soon as she's out of line of sight and earshot of anyone else she holsters her gun and starts cutting deals. "All right ghosts, if you are as smart as I hear, and can get inside the engines without taking them apart, you are more useful than the drunk failures whose fault it is that we are so becalmed. With the years of experience you have running your own ship, searching for scraps, I would like to offer you all a job: the pay is you can keep what I kill or some of what I capture. Bodies will fuel this ship, at worst I will need to collect a head, hand, or ear afterwards. If you've any concern for how steady your pay will be, ask yourselves if you've ever dined on someone who was sharkbait or trapped aboard a sinking ship cursing the name Ramona, 'slave bitch' 'the Rhythm' or Captain Sahagún: those are all referring to me. You could be those sharks, with many sinking ships worth of souls: all you need to do is fix and run my engines. As a bonus, if you want to experience shore leave again, I also have gold: more than any of the other deadbeats you've boarded. I will also have much more after my mission in Aqualantis is complete. Yes, that one, with all the half dead mutants who still want to kill me, who I will have to kill. Think it over." When you put out word that you’re looking to hire help, roll: +1 if you make it known that your pay is generous +1 if you make it known what you’re setting out to do +1 if you make it known that they’ll get a share of whatever you find +1 if you have a useful reputation around these parts recruit: 2d6+4 10 slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 07:48 on Feb 4, 2016 |
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Feb 4, 2016 07:33
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Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 4/10 Serenity stood with the man as he regained his feet, pulling one of his arms over her shoulder to support him. "Zero One is a bastard, and not really in my employ. I happened across him months back, and he for whatever reason opted to follow me. Said something about having to obey my orders. I'm very sorry he attacked you; I gave him explicit instructions." She hadn't actually seen what made the machine-man snap, being rather distracted at the time. The only reason she wasn't stalking after him to tear out whatever passed for his brain was that he had not gone rampaging through the remainder of the crew. Maybe it was just a momentary bit of confusion amidst the scrum. She certainly hoped so. "Try not to talk. I don't want you-" She stopped as she followed Jaime's gaze to the stout cannon that had just been touched off. She flinched, expecting a cannonball to come roaring in. No boom. No splintered wood. Just a malevolent freezing fog insinuating it's way towards them. Serenity tightened her grip on her sword and began to cautiously retreat from it, pulling Jaime along with her. "Don't breathe it in. On my mark, make a break for the others. I'll watch your back." Defend Jaime: 2d6 11 Hold 3
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Feb 4, 2016 13:53
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Tutresiel HP: 14/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 0/10 While Ramona went off to personally deal with the engine room, bravery is a promising trait that will be necessary for what is to come, Tutresiel headed over to the portside until they could get a view of the outside. Cannons - an umber imitation of the great celestial lances of old (but imitation is a form of flattery, after all), had their flaws. The singular nature of its form of attack, for instance. With that in mind Tutresiel gestured as they sighed the Second Syllable of Dak'ratha, with their right hand they gestured in a open-palmed manner, away from the ship that Tutresiel was on, focusing another portal-based 'breach' between worlds at level with the cannon and pointing towards the ghost-ship, causing another silver-filled gateway lined with runes to manifest. With Tutresiel's left hand they gestured in a closed-fisted manner, towards the ghost ship, slightly lower than before, manifesting another similar portal, this one pointing again towards the ghost ship but instead below the other portal, aimed directly at the bowels of the ghost ship. Using the +1 from the previous Discern Reality on this roll. Fold Space (Wis): 2d6+3+1 12 Tutresiel shall see if this ghost ship can handle fighting itself. Alumnus Post posted:Is the coin of Ro-Bazzanoth dangerous? Why did you give it away when you knew he could become obsessed with it? The coin itself alone is nothing, only when collected and used appropriately can it become truly dangerous - a fact that actually protects the coins somewhat, since most who become so obssessed do not even notice or care about the existence of other coins, because that one is theirs. Nonetheless it was all a test, that the captain failed. If the captain's will cannot stand the presence of such a precious token, he will be useless when he encounters even a fragment of a syllable from the Head of Il-Chacham, first son of The Greatest Betrayer - or worse, he will be corrupted by its fell words and become its puppet. Naturally, he will have to be deposed, on the other hand there might be a far more suitable captain amongst us already.
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Feb 4, 2016 21:27
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Thrash HP: 25/25 | Armor: 2 | XP: 0/10 Thrash grins eagerly, borderline maniacally, at Quartermaster Mills at the idea of force feeding sailors whatever he wanted. "Aye, right aways! Git these boys lined up for slop, I dun' think they can do it themselfs." He barks back at the quartermaster. Speaking of barks, Maw-Meow lets out a belch-like sound of excitement. Removing the stock-pot from where he'd strapped it, Thrash plants the pot of witches-cauldron-esque liquid on a stack of crates. From within his bundle of cookware, he produces a stack of tin cups that neatly nested within each other and lays them out as well, using the ladle to fill the cups one by one with a noxious-smelling goop, complete with chunks of animal parts, and tops each serving with a chunk of scab-red bread he produced from a rolled up cloth of goods. "Dis stuff is the best for putting a little fire in yer belly. I wager it gets all yer boys back in their boots in no time. Iff'n any you boys want, I got some extra helpings of my newest entree I's saving for the officers." He pulled the servings of lobster-tentacles he produced earlier and inhaled deeply from over the container. "Ahhhh, jus' ripe 'nough, too. You boys is lucky!" The grin painted on the orc's face displayed his satisfaction with the experimental meal he'd prepared Serving up lunch to the wounded. Ork Cuisine (OKC): 2d6+3 6 +XP sucks to be them. Ork Cuisine is the basic healing move while the Experimental Food is equivalent to combat drugs on the original class. Becasue I'm healing, and not feeding combat drugs to everyone, the pot of soup and my Experimental Food (lobster-tentacles) are not the same item. The pot of soup is equivalent to my medical supplies and "medical supplies", which was reskinned to Bag filled with cookware and "cookware". Becasue of that. I'm going to edit it to read Bag filled with cooking supplies and "cooking supplies" instead, which is also where I get things like the ladle, tin cups, and bread. As a note, Maw-meow ate a serving of Experimental Food off the floor earlier, so I only have two, but could potentially drug or mutate Maw-Meow. Work in Progress: 2d6+3 10 • Replace one of Maw-Meow weaknesses with another from the list. stubborn • Choose another base for Maw-Meow. No trainings are lost or gained. Ferocity +2, Cunning +1, 1 Armor, Design Flaws +1 • You are not completely covered in gunk. Teonis fucked around with this message at 17:37 on Feb 5, 2016 |
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Feb 5, 2016 16:55
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Padre Clavo Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 2/10 There were ghosts to kill, sure, but there were the living to save as well. Lest they become ghosts themselves. Clavo began to make his way among the survivors, stitching sunlight into the wounds while he could. Healing Light: 2d6+2 6  On a 6-, the sunlight is uncooperative - they take -1 forward from the searing pain Vulpes Vulpes fucked around with this message at 19:07 on Feb 5, 2016 |
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Feb 5, 2016 17:01
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PADRE Roll for Healing Light, please; once will serve for everyone you're trying to heal. e: Also you can roll to Aid Thrash if you want to - and if you're willing to share in the consequences if you end up failing.  THRASH Hold on a second here. The text for Work in Progress has changed. I think I recall it needing surgery for you to change Maw-Meow's base stats. If you're going to keep this change to your rules-as-written, describe what Maw-Meow ate and how it's been mutated. e: "Teonis posted:Without a CON stat, how would you want to handle the roll for Combat Drugs (Experimental Food)? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 17:52 on Feb 5, 2016 |
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Feb 5, 2016 17:35
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Correct you are: Orc Medic "When you have the necessary "spare parts" on hand and decide to perform an operation on Stitchy, roll+OKM" I'll have to edit the reskin to make it reflect the need for time. In the meantime, we'll just say he's on drugs. Without a CON stat, how would you want to handle the roll for Combat Drugs (Experimental Food)? As far as what he ate quote:As the aforementioned Maw-Meow finished lapping up animal shells and limbs from the spilled pot, it went to work on cleaning the nearby area of ectoplasm. Certainly, this creature must have lost its sense of taste a long time ago. "Oi! That's ingredients, not food!" the orc roared at the animal, which dumbly hopped around in a circle before sprinting to a different corner. Teonis fucked around with this message at 17:44 on Feb 5, 2016 |
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Feb 5, 2016 17:40
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RAMONA AND 01 Ramona, the poltergeists in the engines hear your offer out in utter silence. You know, apart from the sound of the things actually working again. It’s like you didn’t even say a word. A wounded crewman moans very quietly. The moment you’re finished, your suit’s radio goes absolutely freaking bonkers with ghostly jabber. “eeeeEEEEIIIIIAIIAAAOOOAAARRRGGHAAAhAHAhAAhAhAHAHAHAha” “Oh sure, deadbeats! DEAD! BEAT! GEDDIT?! AHAHAHA!” “RAMONAAA! RAMONA THE MOTHERFUCKIN RHYTHM YEAAA! WOOOOO!!” “She crazy! Beat ‘er up we and drink their fear!” “Hey guys! Hey I think I figured out how this belty thingy works!” “No, YOU crazy! You see what she do to Cap’n Tilde?!” “MORON!” “Keep it running, you fools! They’ll not long withstand imposition!” “Idiot!” “Feed us?! You’ll feed us better?! Where do I sign?! Wahahaha!” “Slime!” “Who’re YOU calling a moron?!” “Little sunlet burn we to dust! IDIOTS!” “hello?” “Dolt!” “Give us the BEAT! WOOOO!!” “Hey, check THIS out!” “Worm!” “No, YOU’RE the idiot!” “Lady, you’re crazier than the old Cap’n! And he was CRAZY!” “COME HERE AND SAY THAT AGAIN, YOU—!“ Looks like your words touched off a brawl! They hurl themselves out of the starboard engine like clowns out of a spring-loaded murder car and start turning this place into a maelstrom of flying insults. And debris, too. Lots and lots of flying debris. Then 01 kicks in the door and every loose oil-can and gas canister in the place clatters to the floor all at once. The engine coughs and belches a sad plume of smoke and sparks. They must be the only things keeping that piece of trash going at this point. “HEY!” “Hey who’s that?!” “Hey lookit that thing he’s got!” “Hold on a second here!” “Imbecile!” “We gotta get ‘im!” “Oh hey it’s Blindie! HEY BLINDIE!” “Gettim!” “HEY! Hey lady do we get ‘im?” “GET ‘IM!” “SKEEZE!” “WE GET ‘IM?” “Let’s GETTIM!!!!” “YEAAAAAHHH!” Oh, hell. What do you do? 01, you kick in the door on something utterly baffling. Thermal anomalies swarm thickly all through the engine-room, and where they cluster loose objects seem to hover of their own accord! Or at least they do for about half a second, before they all crash to the floor and make a horrible racket. You have the distinct feeling that you are being watched. Then an empty welding tank picks itself up off the floor and hurls itself at your head. Then a prybar. And a set of wrenches. Hammers, stray gears, a freaking timing belt -- if you stick around much longer you’ll need a cast-iron umbrella! Yours and Ramona’s actions are mutually incompatible in time, so I’m ruling that she got to go in first on account of defense being a more passive thing to do than recruiting. You should probably Defy Danger unless you want to just stand there and get hailed on. What do you do? SERENITY AND TUTRESIEL Tutresiel redirects the brunt of the cannon’s freezing mist, sending it billowing through the ghost-ship’s oncoming prow! The waves dimly visible behind it crinkle and flash to ice of an instant. A tiny iceberg bobs in the vessel’s wake: but ice, even this ice, is a thing of the physical world, and it does nothing at all to slow their ramming charge. Then-- your engines turn on again. Saints be praised. But it’s too little, too late: only one of them’s working, and it’s on the wrong side. It pushes the Shrieking Harpy’s nose vaguely to port - just enough for the ram to strike you at an oblique angle instead of head on… ...and nothing happens. Its prow glides through the ship’s flank as though it were nothing but air. One end of Tutresiel’s portals quivers six inches in front of the mouth of their weapon, ringed round with weird runes, wide enough to jump through. Your portal-pair is still open, and it'll stay that way until you decide to close it or you don't need it anymore. The one you used as a firehose is shut now - you don't need it anymore, and it was putting out a frightening amount of water onto the deck. The captain's around here somewhere but hasn't done anything stupid...yet. What do you do? Jaime swears viciously and produces a tiny revolver and combat knife from somewhere. “So much for ‘red sky at night, sailor’s delight’,” he says. “They're reloading - have to take them out now! Come on!" He reverses his knife and charges for the stern across a deck slick with chill seawater! The three dead sailors are working hard to reload their weapon. One is scrubbing the barrel out with something like filmy black gauze; another is bringing up a second "cannonball" from somewhere - they seem to be able to treat their vessel and your own as equally solid. The one with the match-cord is standing guard - you can barely make out his ribs and shoulders all wrapped up with coldly burning fuse material. That fog is rolling in thickly again, blotting out distance and diminishing sound. The ghost-ship is keeping pace with you; then, as the engines choke and die, its prow starts to ease its way gently up the deck... Jaime’s pretty much fine, but you’ll need to take the lead. You’ve got your hold from defense to spend as long as you’re near enough to him. What do you do? PADRE AND THRASH Padre, your makeshift kitchen-cum-medbay is a scene of misery and despair. This is no place for triage -- too loud, too dim and clammy. The wounded flinch away from the sunlight Mote conjures like hungover drunks on a bright spring morning. The pale green one whimpers like a frightened child when the light touches his brow. And when Thrash brings in his pot of…stew...and starts ladling out servings, things really turn ugly. Your patients start cursing him, you, the food, various gods, and all the lucky stars individually and by name for their awful luck at being trapped in such a miserable situation. The sailor you’re working on coughs a fine spray of blood and breathes their last. Only after you move on to the next one do you see the divot in the back of their head. Maybe if the light had been brighter. Maybe a real Lantern would have known somehow - known not to waste any time on the ones nothing can save... Thrash, as usual, the men have no desire whatever to get some fire in their belly. So much so that some of them actually stand up and try to walk away! Considering the wounds on some of them, that’s no small feat. First Mate Domhnall gets unsteadily to his feet. “Ohh, what’s this Donnie my lad?” Mr. Mills laughs darkly from where he lounges on a stack of filthy laundry. “You’re extra hungry tonight, are yiz? Hooaaahahaah!” The burly sailor storms up to you and slaps the ladle and cups out of your hands. Viscous whatsit splatters on the deck. “We don’ WANNANNY of that filthy poo poo you’ve been feedin’ us,” he says, and clamps a hand on your shoulder with a nine-fingered drunkard’s strength. “Annif you ring that loving bell ONE more time, I’ll….I’ll do...somethin’. yeah. (hic)” What do you two do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 16:37 on Feb 6, 2016 |
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Feb 6, 2016 06:51
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01 HP: 20/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 4/10 | -1WIS I step closer to Ramona, swing my blade up to parry away the objects flying towards us. My intention is to keep her clear so she can attack these anomalies and destroy them...why isn't she attacking? Softskins are frustratingly incomprehensible. Error 404 posted:Defending Ramona
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Feb 6, 2016 07:41
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Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor She sighs her silent as the bodyguard shows up to "save" her. Oh-one, more like oh-for-five if her count of his gently caress ups were right. Her hand goes to her holstered gun, and turns it all the way down. Thing will still kick, but that's it. While the poltergeists' projectiles fly even right by her head at the robot at the door, she turns around and draws on Juan, giving him a "don't worry" wink. Then she shoots him back out the door, reholsters, and yells over her shoulder, "Back to work: you are my crew now, while I am here I will deal with threats. If I need you to attack I will order you! This is your warning, let it be known that I know what I want, and I am not impressed by sycophants and flatterers that attempt to read my mind and do what they think I want before I tell them." Did she want to drink all the liquor in the bar? Yes. Did she want mister smooth to buy her a drink? gently caress no. Did she want the ghosts to make it so Serenity had to either leave Juan in the cargo hold or tote him around in a backpack? Of course. But he was Serenity's crew, and she was Ramona's. So attacking him without her orders was crew attacking crew. She wouldn't stand for that. Before the next idiot she might not want to shoot burst through the door, she leaves and closes it behind her. Hauls Juan back up--by the throat, because robots didn't need to breathe or feel pain so whatever--sweeps his shoulder once for invisible dust, then gets back above deck. Clavo and Trash are dealing with the wounded, good for them, didn't need her. She uses the time to think up a plan by which she'd fill some coffins with garbage for "burial at sea" for the crew who died, then feed them to the ghosts before they got cold. Maybe even the terminal too. Good a way to go as any. Hirelings do what you tell them to, so long as it isn’t obviously dangerous, degrading, or stupid, and their cost is met. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 10:44 on Feb 6, 2016 |
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Feb 6, 2016 10:39
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Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 4/10 For a man who'd had one toe in the grave, Jaime was surprisingly gung-ho about this. Venting out his frustrations on an acceptable target, perhaps. Fair enough. "Hai!" Serenity darted forward alongside of Jaime, bringing her blade to bear. It was a bad situation, but it was mollified somewhat by the fact that three dead sailors were skeletons rather than spirits. That meant they were real enough to harm. As she moved ahead the chill water washed across her boots, but a deeper cold was setting in. The phantom form of the ship had merged with the Harpy, and when she herself crossed that threshold it was as if her limbs had fallen asleep. Pins and needles burned across her legs in a numbing wave. She ignored it as best she could and let reflexes take over. If she gave conscious thought to her limbs now, they would certainly betray her. As Serenity came upon the skeletons, she gave them no time to respond. Her sword arced through the one carrying the fuse with blinding speed before she turned towards the remaining two, her eyes narrowed in concentration. One had his hands full with the cannonball, and he was next. The elf became blur of violent motion as muscle memory and long-honed skill took over. Hack and Slash: 2d6+1 7 Damage: 1d6 5 (1 piercing)
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Feb 6, 2016 17:35
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Tutresiel HP: 14/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 0/10 Being definitely aware of the danger, Tutresiel concentrated once more as they regarded the situation more deeply. Letting the swordspeople do their duty, and rather than creating a press of bodies that might otherwise create issues (especially with the environment being so treacherous as it is), Tutresiel forced an angry orange starmote into true existence, plucked from the heavens - from its brief moments after its parent star had changed into its next stage - causing the orangey radiance to suffuse all around Tutresiel, burning off some of the surrounding fog almost instantly. While still grasping the semi-stable starlet in their right hand, Tutresiel made a profoundly elegant yet simple gesture with their left hand, causing a miniature silver-coloured, rune-bedecked portal to form, and another companion gateway created near the undead. With expert timing, Tutresiel flung the star into the midst of the fell skeletons, timing so it would destabilise and rupture when it could catch them all in its blast. Nova (Wis): 2d6+3 7 Or at least tried to do that. Damage: 1d6 5 Infinite Oregano fucked around with this message at 19:57 on Feb 7, 2016 |
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Feb 6, 2016 17:52
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Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor Some of the ghosts rise up behind Ramona to eat her, not taking her offer. She has pretended not to know until they follow her out of the engine room, where firing a gun would be stupid. As far as she knows, Juan couldn't see them, so he wouldn't give her plan away. They're right behind her. After politely brushing the android's shoulder off with her left hand, face to face, she grabs his shoulder and right wrist, yanks downward and pulls him toward her, forcing his head to duck under her left elbow as she turns him 360 degrees. The dance move ends with Juan in front of her and in a headlock, with both of them facing the ghosts. In the meantime Ramona's released his right wrist to draw her pistol and aim it sideways over his right shoulder. She fires a shot for every ghost, sweeping the gun from right to left and ending with it under Juan's chin. The old "use a guy as a human shield then cut his throat" maneuver. Except without the last part. Ghosts all destroyed, she brushes off his right shoulder with her headlock hand and lets him go. "Alright, alright, maybe you can bodyguard, Owen." HnS +1 for defense: 2d6+3 13 dmg: 1d10+1 11 
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Feb 7, 2016 17:59
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SERENITY AND TUTRESIEL Serenity, the cannoneers fight tenaciously, but they’re no match for you and Jaime. He shatters one’s scapula with a well-placed shot - its cutlass goes flying from its severed arm, and you sweep its skull from its shoulders with a single stroke. You pay no attention at all to the numbing chill stealing its way up your extremities as the other two skeletons go down in a blur of reflex motion. Their disassembled bones lie strewn about the stern. The deck is eerily silent. No more spirits or haunts emerge to assail you. Jaime lets out a long breath and reloads the spent chamber of his gun. “Is that it?” he says. “Is it...is it over?” As the ship’s substance intrudes further into your vessel’s own, the fallen bones begin to shiver and rise again… ...until Tutresiel opens up a portal and drops a little bit of heavenly fire at your feet and theirs. A bloom of orange flame scours their bones to ashes and scatters them to the winds. And, unfortunately, it also licks at the open barrels of ghostly gunpowder these fiends didn’t have the time or wit to store properly belowdecks. You and Jaime are much too close for comfort. You both have a split second to react! Jaime is too slow to see it coming. What do you both do? RAMONA AND 01 01, it turns out she only wasn’t attacking so she could get them all to attack you first. Now Ramona’s free to re-murder everybody while you stand there at ground zero of a steel rain. When the hail of miscellaneous mechanical rubbish ceases, you’re left with a nice new set of dents in your armor plating. Monitoring subsystems report superficial damage only - no trauma to core motivators or cognitive threads detected. But oh, the shame. Stuck playing breastplate to a filthy softskin. You take Ramona, it looks like some of those slackers didn’t get the memo that you don’t suffer fools. At all. You’ve been watching their behavior: the ones that didn’t act without being told are the ones that get to go on un-living. The surviving poltergeists pile back into the starboard engine without much more than a smattering of complaint. It soon chugs back to weary life - but unless you can get the port engine working too, all it can do is push you around in circles. You pass through the medical bay. It looks pretty grim. Hardly anyone’s without some kind of injury or another. Captain Price meets you as you step out into the main hallway belowdecks. He’s clenching that smoldering matchete of his so hard his knuckles are white. There is something dangerous glittering in his eyes. “I heard every word,” he says flatly. “They’re working for you. Aren’t they? Your crew. Well. There’s to be no talk of mutiny aboard MY vessel.” He gestures with the machete, jerkily. Somehow you get the impression he’s less than pleased with your idea of a repair job. His other hand is still in his pocket. “Put your weapons on the ground, Ms. de Sahagun. Do it now.” What do you do? PADRE & THRASH Also the stuff above is happening too! You can do something about it or keep going with the scene in the kitchen-slash-medbay. What do you both do?
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Feb 7, 2016 21:57
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Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor Ramona cracks her knuckles and looks down on the shorter man, "You threaten my life because I hired engineers who can actually do their jobs? I also hired the bard, alien, and lantern, also my crew, the last of which I see is busy saving your crew, the rest up above fighting the enemy who sent them to the infirmary in the first place. You raised no such nonsense about mutiny when I brought them aboard, and in case you've forgotten, I was never your crew, I hired you. "Tell you what, If you want to throw down--use that butterknife and whatever pea shooter is in your pocket--come up to the main deck with me and join that fight. Otherwise, tend to your men and stay out of my way. If you threaten me again, let alone try to kill me, your ship's as good as mine. If I wanted another one, I'd buy it." If he takes a shot I'll Shoot First with my grappler.
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Feb 7, 2016 22:50
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Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 4/10 Serenity slipped from her combat stance and sheathed the sword, a thin smile on her lips. She gave Jaime a nod. "Yeah, I think we got them. Good wo-" She flicked her eyes towards the shattered bones as they began shivering back into unlife. Gods, she missed Rolf. There was a man the dead had learned to fear, and rightly so. She reached for the hilt of her blade again when out of the ether a small star erupted, the light casting ghastly shadows across the deck. It consumed the remains of their foe, and Serenity almost let out a sigh of relief, until she noticed it was uncomfortably close to the gunpowder. Oh, no. Spinning around, she grabbed hold of Jaime and hurled him away and to the ground before she followed suit, collapsing on top of him and covering his ears. She'd be damned if she let him bite it here, after all this. Spending two hold. One to redirect the attack away from Jaime to to herself, and the other to halve the attack's effect/damage.
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Feb 8, 2016 04:22
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01 HP: 18/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 5/10 | -1WIS As the Ramona continues marching proudly into some meat-based dementia, roughly half of the thermal anomalies retreat back into the engines...odd. The Ramona manhandles me, dispatches her rebellious hallucinations. I stand guard over the unarmored warrior, as was my original intent, though I could do without the theatrics. The head softskin in charge is threatening us now, pathetic. But hey, at least my Directives allow action, I surge forward, bringing up my blade at an oblique angle, intending to vertically bisect this weakling. Hack & Slash Thanks damage 4 messy Error 404 fucked around with this message at 17:58 on Feb 8, 2016 |
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Feb 8, 2016 06:34
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Tutresiel HP: 14/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 1/10 With barely more time than to react, Tutresiel lunged back away from the source of the explosion-to-be, robes floating about them as they moved quickly for once - Tutresiel's usual slow pace shifting up for once. Defy Danger (Dexterity): 2d6+0 4 Or at least that was what Tutresiel had intended. Edit: forgot to mark xp Infinite Oregano fucked around with this message at 11:10 on Feb 8, 2016 |
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Feb 8, 2016 10:17
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Thrash HP: 25/25 | Armor: 2 | XP: 1/10 BAM! As the man mouthed off at Thrash for his cooking,the Orc laid the man out with a punch in his gob. "Oh-ho! Ye got somethin' to say? My food has decimated the competition in hundreds of cooking competitions! May food can bring the dead back to life! And you lot look like her half dead!" Actions speak louder than words, by laying out this drunk, The others should fall in line. hack and slash: 2d6+3 11 Damage: 1d6 4 I feel like I need to parley to see if the rest of the sailors are obedient or rebel against me! Parley; threats of violence: 2d6+1 3 +XP Haha! I saw that coming!
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Feb 8, 2016 14:56
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Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor She makes a cursory effort to save the Captain, trying to bind the bot's arms to his side with her uncharged grappler, but her heart really isn't in it. A year or so ago she would have been doing the same thing he was--before she gave a poo poo about 'people power' and took every threat deadly serious. At worst, any onlookers would know she tried, at best, the Captain would owe her his life and listen to the reason in her words, because she wisely had not included the android in her aforementioned crew. She never would. drat thing didn't follow orders, and obviously had his own agenda, secret and not-so-secret. Interfere: 2d6 9 Have an XP on me. I'm probably gonna get shot. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 19:43 on Feb 8, 2016 |
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Feb 8, 2016 16:25
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ABOVEDECKS SERENITY “What’s--ooofff--” You hit the deck hard, hard enough to knock the wind right out of poor Jaime. The spectral gunpowder is flammable - somehow - and when Tutresiel’s stellar fire licks against it, the barrels detonate in a blast of howling subarctic wind. The remaining moisture in the air nearest you instantly flashes to a zillion tiny slivers of ice that scour every square inch of exposed skin, and all around you the thick fog is chilled in moments to a heavy blanket of slush.  The maelstrom stops after only a moment or two. There’s a slick layer of slush and sea-ice all over the stern. The air is so cold and dry it sears your throat to breathe it. Jaime picks himself up off the deck and shivers. He stutters his thanks through a chattering jaw. “It’s s-st-t-st-still coming closer…” he says worriedly. “W-w-w-w-we’d been w-working on those engines for hours b-b-before this thing c-came on us. Haven’t they ff-f-fixed them by now…?” And, true to his words, the ghostly vessel continues its slow intrusion into the Shrieking Harpy’s hull. The cold is deepening with alarming speed. His ears are fine - for now, at least. Yours aren’t. Neither are your hands. The skin on them is white and smarting; cracked and oozing bright beads of blood… You take TUTRESIEL While Serenity may be at the center of that arctic blast, the freezing wind it loosed is wide-reaching and rapid enough to tear at your fleshly cloak, too…but a stellar being like yourself is at home amidst cold far greater than this pale imitation of the spaces between stars. You are buffeted and blasted, but fundamentally unharmed. The explosion’s aftermath has wreathed your vessel’s stern in a shroud of ice and fog - and while the ghostly vessel seems purged of the undead which once crewed it, the ship itself continues its blind plunge further into the Shrieking Harpy, drawn to the warmth of the living like a starving wolf to a cookfire. Surely the engine room must be engulfed by now... You take BELOWDECKS 01 lunges at Captain Price with murder in his single eye. But Ramona’s primed and ready for violence - and lashes out with her grappling-hook and wire, binding 01’s arms to his sides before the fatal blow can land. After that, everything happens very quickly. Thrash lays poor drunken Domhnall out cold with a single devastating blow. Cap'n Price's first mate is a hell of a fighter in a pinch, but he's down one finger and a lot of blood. The dull THUD he makes when he hits the deck is loud enough to make even that rear end in a top hat Mills wince. The captain leaps away from the android's surging strike - but even so, his innards would be decorating the hallway right now if it wasn't for Ramona's quick reaction. His face goes pasty with terror for a split second, then contorts with animal rage. He smashes 01 twice across the face with the flat of his sword before he masters his temper and wounded pride. You don’t take any damage from this, but you still got pimp-slapped by a softskin. “HALF MY MEN ARE DEAD AND YOU HIRE THE THINGS THAT KILLED THEM!” the captain shouts at Ramona, seemingly on the verge of tears. He flings his sword down out of sheer frustration. He knows he can’t fight you, even with one arm busy holding 01 in place. The muscles in his face and other arm jump and twitch. “You may pay the bills, but this is still MY ship, and I want that mad dog OFF! MY SHIP! Right NOW!” 01 and Ramona, the captain wants 01 thrown overboard! Ramona doesn't actually get shot unless 01's the one doing the shooting. What do you both do? The makeshift medical bay is silent for a few moments. The crew clearly can’t believe Thrash just laid out the first mate with one solid blow. Then one of the wounded - the pale green one with no obvious hurt on him - just starts howling like a terrified rabbit. He falls right out of his hospital bed (a couple crates with a blanket thrown over ‘em) and runs out of the room flailing his limbs and keening inconsolably. A few moments later, the aft bulkhead in the medical bay grows chill to the touch. Frost sprouts from its surface in a wide oval. Then the ghost-ship’s massive silvery prow pushes its way right through the freaking wall, spreading the chill of death before it! The engine room, seen dimly through its spectral insubstance, seems enshrouded in a dark and wavering fog. The room explodes into pandemonium. Every able-bodied sailor in sight is either panicking, fleeing, or trying to get the wounded out of this room now before the ghost-ship’s deathly chill laps over them… Padre and Thrash, what do you do?!
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Feb 11, 2016 15:27
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Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor She tunes out the crying and weak-willed, and this man is no exception. He's obviously never been rich enough to buy enemies into friends, or likely even interesting enough to have enemies worth buying. Not to mention, the ghosts she hired seemed to be pretty goofy compared to the ones that tried to jump her--they were either the most cunning ones or the least violent. If they were the former, she'd just have to kill them later. Without a word, especially to Juan, she goes back above decks. Heard an explosion, wanted to see what it was. "...gently caress." is how she starts, then she notices an upright snow angel. Serenity, probably not too far away from extreme frostbite. "Don't move or speak until that ice is melted!" is the command near the frozen and likely closed ear, but there's a beat before an idea of how to make that happen arrives "--Ah!" Ramona presses a series of buttons hidden under her forearm sleeve, then runes to the side of the boat, fires the grappler into the water and squats, clasping her hands together for more leverage. She exhales and growls a little, muscles even quaking a bit, then a splash is heard and she pivots, hauling her armor out of the sea. Its chest opens and the bard is carefully placed inside the Ramona-sized cavity. "Don't drink my liquor!" is the last warning before the suit closes and begins melting all the ice off. It's 2 armor and clumsy: -1 ongoing while using it. Rack up those experience points I guess. There's a sniper rifle and 3 ammo in there, I have the other weapons and shield. Jaime was just standing around worrying about the elf the whole time, so Ramona gives him something useful to do--"Go to the engine room and yell at them to...reverse and turn the ship...30 degrees!" That should keep it from overlapping with the ice ship completely. She breaks the silence with Juan, too. "You ignore the cold, so magnetize yourself--or I will do it--get on that ship and deal with it." So much for stealing that ship herself. It'd have been too much trouble anyway. Maybe if she came back as a ghost she'd pay it another visit. No time for that though, she needed to make sure the deck was clear of foes, and that no other bullshit enemies were hiding. Or showing up--Serenity had called that kraken earlier. She pulls her hood over her head to protect herself from frostbite, and while poking snow piles with her recovered spear and shooting experimentally at the ghost ship and such, she grins. She hadn't thought of it at the time, but she had pretty much actually followed the Captain's entreaty that she had only half listened to. Get Juan off his ship. DR: 2d6+1 7 What is about to happen?
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Feb 11, 2016 17:04
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Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 4/10 She barely made out Jaime's words as she tried to clear her head from the blast. Everything hurt. Her exposed skin, her joints, her breath. Even her teeth hurt. She attempted to find her footing and get an arm underneath her when Ramona's voice cut through the frozen silence. Don't move? Okay. She could do that and gladly. Whatever else you might say about the woman, she knew how to keep it together in a storm and Serenity was entirely willing to follow her orders. She felt herself lifted up, and there was not even a tremor of exertion in those muscles. I bet she could bench press a dire bear. I should ask. A quick glance to the side showed she was being lowered into that massive suit of armor, and with a few quick motions it sealed itself up. I am really glad I'm not claustrophobic or I'd be having a very bad time right now. The air inside began to grow warm, and Serenity breathed a sigh of relief as the aches and pains slowly faded. After a moment she struggled to sit up, which proved an embarrassingly difficult task. The armor seemed to fight her the entire time. Was there some trick to it, or did it simply dislike anyone but its master utilizing it? Maybe both. She looked about and caught sight of the angel. Had that explosion been his doing? Well, no matter. Nothing had been harmed but her pride, and likely he hadn't expected her and Jaime to rush the cannoneers in the first place. "Tutresiel, you okay? I'm a-all ears if you have a p-plan." The chill hadn't entirely left yet, and her teeth involuntarily chattered as she spoke.
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Feb 12, 2016 00:09
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Tutresiel HP: 14/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 1/10 Tutresiel regarded the intense cold distastefully, no breath steamed around their mask as they looked about at the encroaching ghost ship, and up at the spectacle of the frozen bard being entombed in a suit of iron. It's probably better this way. A plan though, hmm. For a plan one would need more information. With that in mind Tutresiel shook their robes clean of any ice or frost that might have formed on the outer surface and began to move around fairly swiftly, as they opened their senses up to all that was around in hopes of finding something pertinent that could assist in such a dire event. Discern Realities (Wis): 2d6+3 11 Choosing the questions: - What here is useful or valuable to me? - What should I be on the lookout for? - What here is not what it appears to be?
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Feb 12, 2016 00:51
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