|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 5/10 Tutresiel did not reply, but Serenity's words appeared to have spurred him into some sort of action. What that action was she could not say. The angel kept his own counsel. Well, she could at least keep an eye out while he did it. Struggling to her feet, the elf hefted up the massive rifle Ramona had left her. She'd seen such weapon before, and even fired a few of them. Ultimately though, she was not comfortable with the concept. Firearms...distanced the individual from what they did. If one was going to kill somebody, she was of the opinion that you should do it face to face. Which is really easy to say when you aren't at very real risk of being devoured by the living dead or turned into an elfsicle. So. She took to a knee, awkwardly, and balanced the rifle in her hands. She wished she could do something about all the blips and notations and incomprehensible stuff flashing across the helmet's visor, but Ramona would tan her hide if she accidentally broke something. She did her best to ignore it, and scanned the area for any threats. Defend Tutresiel: 2d6-1 5
|
#
?
Feb 12, 2016 01:14
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 18, 2024 07:03 |
|
|
 Padre Clavo Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 1/10 This sickbay was going from bad to worse, it appeared. He tended to the wounded as best he could, but he wondered if perhaps there just wasn't enough sunlight to go around, if he was running low on light himself with which to help the sailors. The sailors who, at the moment, were getting pretty uppity about the cooking they'd had to put up with on this journey. Clavo winced as Thrash clocked first mate, which set off another's keening and shrieking. It was going from bad to worse, and that was before the ghost ship's prow began to push through the wall, frost blooming around it as its herald. Fraa! Bend Light: 2d6+2 8 • You calm the light until it stays still - create a wall of light that blocks off one passageway. On a 7-9, it works, but the light is fickle and the effect will not last long - you'll need to hurry to take advantage of it. Without thinking, he began sweet-talking the light, praising it for its utility, its warmth and its kindness, old con-man instincts coming back. It gathered around him and he threw out his arms, knitting the light into a solid mystical barrier and throwing it onto the wall, blocking the ghost ships's prow, giving it something that it couldn't push through. Reveal the Way: 2d6+2 10 When you show a non-hostile NPC their best course of action, roll +CHA. On a 10+, they will take that course of action, although they will take it in the way that benefits them most. "You men!" he barked, sweating as he held the barrier of light that kept the ship at bay from the bay. "Gather the wounded, get them out of here! Orderly, you hear me? Not a man gets left behind!" "Mr. Thrash!" he shouted to the cook desperately, "this fraa phantom is still coming, even without a crew! It's hungry! It's hungry and you're a cook! What can you feed it?"
|
|
#
?
Feb 15, 2016 14:19
|
|
|
Thrash HP: 25/25 | Armor: 2 | XP: 2/10 Cook... for a ghost ship? Thrash was confused. Typically things bigger than him he tried to kill and eat, not serve. Besides, wasn't this thing attacking their ship? Thrash shrugged at the man with the ball of light following him around. The old coot was some kind of spiritual man, maybe he knew something about spirits that Thrash didn't. Although, his cleaver did a halfway decent job before, the orc acquiesced to the request and flung the remaining slurry in his pot at the approaching phantom wall of the ghost ship. As food splattered everywhere, making a grand mess. The orc thought about how the old man said the ship was hungry. What do ships even eat? Coal? Then again, this was a ghost and from what he could tell, they liked killing people. For his next attempt, Thrash lifted a wounded sailor from a stake of crates, looked at the Lantern, looked at the ghost ship, then back to the Lantern before extending his thumb and gesturing at the incoming ghost ship with a shrug. "Ye wan' me to feed it people?" People seemed to be the only thing creatures bigger than him ever tried to eat; it made sense.
|
|
#
?
Feb 16, 2016 05:43
|
|
|
01 HP: 18/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 5/10 | -1WIS I watch impassively as the Ramona blathers on, I'm recording her words for later examination, but for now it's simply background noise as I think. I do catch the word magnetize. Is that how these softskins are able to affect the anomalies? It bears testing. The Ramona points at the ship, gesturing overboard. I'm supposed to just jump into an ocean? Not likely, fleshie. Finally, she stomps off to throw words at someone else, but there's a plan now. I take several cycles to reroute power into my external plating until I can match the frequency I detected her weapon operates at. I give off small sparks as bits of airborne ice and snow impact my electrified surface. Then with judicious timing of the extensions and retractions of my foot anchors, I charge forward across the deck, on a path straight towards the area of the anomalous 'ship' that intersects ours. Within 2.3688 seconds I impact... Unstoppable Force 8 Force your way past an obstacle(ghost ship) in your path Cause great damage to an inanimate object or obstacle (ghost ship) that is in your way
|
|
#
?
Feb 17, 2016 06:39
|
|
|
SERENITY Ramona seals you in her powersuit and its embedded life-support systems quickly bring the ambient temperature up to something more comfortable. Now the shivers are really starting, great racking tremors like your muscles want to shake right off their bones. You’ll be warmer soon - but until then, you’re gonna have a hard time trying to aim that rifle with your hands shaking as hard as they are. The deck is very quiet. Ramona’s suit radio is picking up a lot of static. Odd laughing jags. Vague chatter like a bunch of frightened engineering types talking loudly at one another. You think you hear a tiny voice say ‘hello?’. Something huge and lonely cries out, completely hidden within the mist. Pity about the hands, really. You get the feeling you’ll be needing that gun very soon. You have -1 forward to Volley until you either Volley or make any two other moves. You can either keep your hold and go belowdecks with Jaime right away, or lose your hold and stay abovedecks, able to act according to what’s in Ramona’s post. Also the suit you’re wearing is 4-weight: update your load accordingly until you take it off. What do you do? RAMONA Jaime snaps you off a quick salute and dashes belowdecks, shouting orders in his weird new sun voice. You prowl the deck with spear in hand, but encounter nothing more threatening than snow piles and splintered bones. The wind is picking up a little. Easterly. Good. The burned-away patch in the fog around the stern is beginning to drift leisurely off to sea. Aside from the unnatural chill in the air and half that ghost ship stuck slam-bang through yours, it’s almost peaceful. Then you catch sight of something dim moving through the mist, just at the edge of sight. There it is again. Whatever-it-is lets out a dusty, croaking scream. A few moments pass. Then a tremendous rotting seabird carcass plummets from the mists above, beak and talons agape! It’s heavy and moving at a surprising clip - better do something quick or it’s going to land right on top of Tutresiel! Hey, at least it isn’t a kraken.  What do you do?TUTRESIEL code:Its presence weighs heavy on the angles between the planes, so much so that its malignancy has bled into the space it overshadows. Seek well to stoke those shining effervescent flames which are the lights of the republic of the living, lest their darkened hearths be taken up and lit with a colder fire. The Syllables of Dak’ratha have not passed through this place unnoticed or unheard. A faint resonance of recognition has returned to you: there is another aboard who knows their meaning. No mortal artifice could possibly hide that understanding from your gaze. When you look them in the eyes, you and they will recognize each other right away. Also, you might want to watch out for the giant dire zombie albatross about to eat your face. You can escape through the portal to the stern, but you’ll need to Defy Danger to do it. Your heavenly shard is still weakened: when you use it at full power anyway, you can use it with its normal tags for that move, but you might cause extra collateral damage or damage your heavenly shard further. What do you do? PADRE Utility and kindness indeed. You speak and the light comes at your call, swirling around your outstretched hands and flashing into a wall of solid brilliance. The smoky flames of the lanterns that were your only illumination stand up ramrod straight, and burn suddenly diamond-white and glaringly bright. The ship’s prow stops dead, having penetrated no more than a foot or two into your makeshift medbay. “YOU HEARD THE MAN!” Quartermaster Mills bellows over the pandemonium. “TWO MEN TO A CASUALTY! SHOULDERS AND FEET! ANYONE WHO CAN WALK CAN CARRY! GET ‘EM TO THE BUNKS! LET’S GO GO GO!” In a few moments the quartermaster’s managed to turn blind panic into a (more-or-less) organized evacuation. No wonder the captain pays him so well. No time to pay more attention, though, or to assist: all your energies are bent on holding off this fraa phantom. But even though your will is strong, and the light obedient and spoiling for a fight against this aberration, the ghost ship is very big, and simple (meta)physics is slowly starting to win out over your defense. Your arms tremble and drip sweat; the ship’s entropic pressure eats away at your shield of light, even as you sustain it with energy from your body’s own reserves. It looks like you can keep it going until the evacuation’s complete, but any longer than that and you might end up needing to sit down and pass out for a while. Check 01’s post for what ends up happening to your barrier. After that happens, what do you do? 01 You pay no attention at all to Captain Price’s insistence you be thrown overboard, or his shouted orders for more men to come and subdue you. You barge your way through a press of variously wounded softskins, heedless of the way your sparking carapace lashes out at them and drives them against the walls as you pass. The man Clavo and his strange animate light-creature are holding off the anomaly with what appears to be a solid wall of light. You barge through that too, and it shatters into a zillion little wavering reflections as you pass through it. The ghost-ship’s substance is no barrier at all to you, and your super-energized body carves through it like a hot bullet through butter! As you pass through its hull, your sensors are briefly overwhelmed with a wash of static - but it soon passes, and when you turn back to survey the devastation, you can see a great ragged hole torn in the anomaly’s hull plating. A smattering of noise continues to trouble your ocular and auditory sensors, but it’s nothing you can’t ignore. The ghost ship doesn’t seem to be sinking, but you’ve left a sizable entryway behind you. A knot of scared-looking softskins is gathering there, led by — hey wait a second here. Didn’t you kill that one? You definitely killed that one. Punched him right in the throat. What on earth is he doing still alive? I’m writing under the assumption that you’re going in the direction that it’d benefit everybody the most to cause great damage to the ship in - that being straight through the medbay and into the engine room. What do you do? THRASH You fling the remainder of your ‘stew’ at the ghost-ship. It sails right on through and splatters on the bulkhead. It must not have been hungry. Pity. The wounded sailor in your grip struggles weakly, cursing and spitting at you to let him go! You get the impression that he objects rather strenuously to the idea of becoming food. Mark off 1-use of whichever experimental food you used to (try and) feed the sailors with, unless you already did. Amidst the commotion of evacuation, you hear a familiar voice. Is that Jaime? It is Jaime! He looks grim and determined, in spite of his various bruises and wind-burns. There’s a couple of people behind him: two in heavy coveralls clutching toolboxes, and a third toting a blunderbuss with an improbably-sized muzzle. She doesn’t quite point it at you, but she does say “Put Ensign Coldwater down, Mr. Thrash,” in a weary tone. “Assuming you want to live long enough to feed him later.” Jaime motions you and the mechanics towards where Padre stands, holding off the oncoming ship with willpower alone. “We’re heading down there,” he says to all of you. “Got to get the engines moving, or none of us will live through the night. Cap’n Price has the wheelhouse. We need to get the port engine working now and set a course away from this thing however we can.” He looks nervous, but ready for a fight. “No time for anything else now.” Do you put Mr. Coldwater down? What else do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 21:29 on Feb 28, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 17, 2016 16:36
|
|
|
 Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor "Moments pass, haha that's a good one," thinks Ramona to herself, she'll always shoot first in a situation like this. She takes off at a sprint towards Serenity, then slides to a stop, barks out a "Trade," and gives the elf her spear--they liked those kind of foresty weapons, right?--and takes the sniper rifle in return, eyes fixed on the sky. For the instant they're both holding the same weapon, she notices her suit's hands are trembling. There's no way that's a hardware issue, so Ramona lets out a silent sigh and gives the gloved hands her approximation of a "comforting" squeeze, and mutters, "You can help in another way--stay still." She moves herself such that the suit of armor was between her and the anomaly, and rests the barrel of the long rifle on Serenity's shoulder and draws a bead on it. She exhales out, "Don't breathe..." does the same, and takes the shot. Volley w/ DR; damage: 2d6+2 14  1d10 4
|
|
#
?
Feb 18, 2016 02:19
|
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 7/9 | XP 5/10 "T-Tutresiel! R-regroup!" Serenity's teeth were still chattering as she saw the ominous shadow wheel overhead of the angel. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and Ramona was there before she could even turn her head. At her insistence of a trade, she nodded and handed over the rifle. Now was not the time to think or question, simply act. Or in this case, follow the lead of someone who knew precisely what they were doing. It was a bit shameful to be caught out of sorts like this, but despite her years Serenity was simply not the hardened warrior Ramona was. Gripping the spear, she glanced back towards Tutresiel, than downwards at her hands. Was Ramona trying to comfort her? That was...unexpected. Wholly appreciated, however. It seemed even the bounty killer had some humanity left in her. As the barrel of the rifle came down over a shoulder, Serenity adjusted her position slightly and tried to relax. No motions or muscle tremors to throw off her aim. Yet she could not help but feel her blood stir as Ramona prepared to end her foe. It was not precisely an old elvish greatbow, but the rifle would sling death at their enemies from afar just the same. Quietly, Serenity began to sing an old elvish song of slaying, not even really aware that she was doing it. As the dulcet tones weaved around the pair, the subtle magics lent deadly accuracy to the chambered round. More quietly than expected, the rifle fired death towards the colossal undead bird, and Serenity's body jerked only slightly from the recoil. Arcane Art: 2d6+1 7 +1d4 damage: 1d4 1 Ramona does +1 damage with her shot, but Serenity's shakes have permitted something to go awry. Serenity reached up over her shoulder and likewise gave the woman a pat on the hand. That was an amazing shot. "O-orders, Ramona? My life is in your hands if you can get us out of this safely." There was no sarcasm or hesitation in the elf's voice. Ramona had her unwavering trust. Serenity is using Charming and Open, asking what Ramona wants her to do. You may ask her a question from the list as well, Slydingdoor. Shardix fucked around with this message at 04:22 on Feb 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 18, 2016 04:02
|
|
|
Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor She recoils at the soft touch, the soft words. They raised the dead, took her home like a slave catcher in the guise of a childhood friend, unlocked the door that sealed her memories of that naive young girl, sharing her dream of finding treasure deep in the sea, paying her way to freedom, then paving the road for her family, friends, and people to follow her. She had nearly drowned to pull that accursed black pearl from the ocean floor, worth more than enough to be the first slave to personally buy her freedom. But when others caught wind of her treasure, she found an and all of them would rather trample her to death than let her be the first in line. That stupid girl died in one of those knife fights with the slave catchers, the alley men, the merchant's muscle, or the field-slaves after the announcement that whoever killed her would live easy, in the house. The bloodbath blurred together like the words of a diary soaked in scotch--but it didn't matter. Whenever it had actually happened, the stab that miraculously missed all her organs still stopped her heart. Made her who she is today. She knew whenever it beat for anyone else, it would only get stabbed again. That was her eternally recurring and ever prophetic nightmare... She breaks from her reverie and forms a fist. A life in her hands? There was only one thing her hands could do with a life. She looks into the opaque visor and whispers, "Don't ever say that again..." Good. That's the end of that. But then, while she's turning aside, she mutters without thought, "The only life I want is one time can't cut short, or fray it enough that someone else can. Whoever offers me that will live to pay up, to say the least--" Ramona stops herself again. drat bard, distracting her, like with the music before. They were lucky they weren't under attack. She shakes her head, and tries to refocus, but can't. Her mind races, imagining a long, comfortable life with the elf--elves, having outlived all her enemies and having no one left to fear. But these are not her thoughts, or dreams. Are they? She's back in Aqualantis--that apartment building, that stun gun knocked her out, having that horrible, lucid dream about lying on that operating table all over again. She tries to take control of this new dream, reaching for her gun or knife or flask of hard alcohol, but she grasps only air, or the petals of a flower, or a soft hand. Why? Had she been ensorcelled? Possessed? She chokes on her breath, She needs her medicine! But she left it in the suit. What do you wish I would do? Stop. How can I get you to [make me live as long as an elf]? Unlike your dearly departed. PS Ramona is some kind of medium or has crazy hallucinations knocked loose from being electrocuted or something. That part in the last game was weird, I'm bringing it back. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 22:58 on Feb 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 18, 2016 06:46
|
|
|
Padre Clavo Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 1/10 "What? No!" shouted Clavo to Thrash as he strained to keep the light together. Already he could see the light's interest wane, his barrier flexing under the pressure of the ghost ship's onslaught. It was at that moment that 01 that jamhro came rocketing past, shattering the barrier and bursting through the ship. "OH WELL THAT'S JUST GREAT!" he yelled, exasperated, exhausted. "JUST SUPER, THANKS JAMHRO DUK MAN!" Shaking his fists in the air with frustration, he followed the duk man into the ghost ship, perhaps unwisely, but he was too angry to care "YES LET'S ALL JUST GO ONTO THE GHOST SHIP! SURELY THAT WILL GO WELL!" he shouted, to no one in particular. No one was particularly certain if Lanterns threw tantrums, but if not, what this was the uncomfortable beginnings of was anyone's guess.
|
|
#
?
Feb 18, 2016 14:39
|
|
|
Thrash HP: 25/25 | Armor: 2 | XP: 2/10 "I's just doin what I've been told. Feed the ship; drop the pink-skin; don't shove food down his throat..." That was then tin-can-man bashed his way through the room and ruptured the hull of the phantom ship coming through the wall. Thrash gave a great big grin and dropped 'Mr. Coldwater' on the steel floor. "I dun' know 'bout you lot, but this one got the right idea! Oi!" He called after Juan, "How's you get so tough without eating anythin'?" Thrash followed behind 01 and Clavo to the ghost ship, where he proceeded to draw his murder-infused cleaver and bash at the ships hull a bit. Pleased with the effects of his grim-dark blade actually chopping the ship instead of passing through it, the orc followed behind the others. "Ei'ver of you care fer a pick-me-up afore ye heads in there? I jus' cooked it fresh! Promise it'll make these ghosties look twice afore comin' at ye!" he offered, no longer certain which experimental dishes were the 'safe' ones anymore.
|
|
#
?
Feb 18, 2016 18:13
|
|
|
Tutresiel HP: 14/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 2/10 Perhaps the most grandiose of secret wisdom was the Tenebrous Truth. But the more subtle implications of such truth would have to wait for another time. Suffice it to say that descent can be both figurative, and literal. Tutresiel considered the many possibilities that stretched ahead, however the more pressing concerns would have to be taken care of immediately. Tutresiel thought fast, extremely briefly grasping an after-echo of a forgotten fragment of a star that never was (it being retroactively aborted by the Ascension of the Five-Fold Prism of Tana'esh, quite a messy affair) in their right hand, causing its virulent green radiance to spill forth, followed by the keening echoes of its suffering, and dropped it at their feet. Unstable as it was, it lacked the vigour or energy to be able to do anything but provide a distraction, but a distraction was all that Tutresiel needed, with the fell creature bearing down on them, the alien light and noise made by such a short non-lived fragment would draw its attention immeasurably, with what it possessed of a mind simple enough that it the sheer sensations of such a fragment would distract it - but even then it is still an undead creature - a fell abomination, the strange nature of such a presence would undoubtedly draw its attention. With the distraction in place, Tutresie wouldl make a brisk run for the portal to the stern, large enough for themselves but not nearly big enough for this creature. Defy Danger (Intelligence): 2d6+1 4 Or at least, that was the plan. Marking XP.
|
|
#
?
Feb 18, 2016 21:59
|
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 7/9 | XP 5/10 Serenity turned her head to look directly at the human. Did Ramona really just say what she thought she just said? If this had been her homeland, Ramona would be be beaten and imprisoned for even assuming such a thing was possible, let alone speaking of it. And once she was in prison? Well, it was best not to dwell on what happened next. A lobotomy at best. A slow and excruciating execution was far more likely. The nerve. The sheer loving audacity to presume to ask that of her. How could she possibly refuse? "O-okay. You have to s-smile for me, though. " The chill was starting to fade, but it still lingered. She slowly struggled to her feet, glancing about for the angel. "And k-keep Tutresiel alive. W-won't work wi-without him." She couldn't explain why she agreed to such an absurd idea. She barely knew the woman. She hadn't even done such a thing with her own husband, though she had offered; and forty years and three children was a hell of a lot more of a commitment than a couple months of professional courtesy on a leaky boat. Maximilian had been touched, deeply, but he refused to risk her life in agreeing to it. Probably it was Ramona's eyes. Not once had the bounty hunter let down her guard. Even in sleep, the woman was aware of her surroundings on some level. Likely had been that way since...whatever it was that happened in her past happened. Yet for a single moment those defenses dropped, and Serenity could not find it in her heart to say no. Getting soft in her young age, she supposed. "It will be horrible. P-pain you can't imagine." She glanced back over her shoulder. "...Or maybe you can. Most likely it would k-kill the both of us." She tightened her grip on the spear. "And you c-can't complain about my s-singing ever again."
|
|
#
?
Feb 19, 2016 03:29
|
|
|
Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor She shakes her head harder and finally Serenity isn't wearing the face of her childhood friend anymore. The one who used life-talk and handholding to get within knife range, then tried to steal her pearl. Exhale. No, the elf is just another boss, giving her the same old spiel--inevitable suffering, risk of death, having to ignore some flaw or another of theirs, and the final, cliche addendum: "oh, and smile for me lady." Nothing put her in the mood for that like the usual origin of those words: out of fat mouths with hairy, around the cheap cigar, past the rotting teeth, through the raspy, goitrous throat. Just because this time the words came from a pretty place this time didn't mean Ramona's refusal to play that game, to "pretty up." She narrows her eyes, stops inhaling through her nose, and flatly states, "I am smiling." All the lights in her vision bloom and this makes her eyes water: the spirit or mental illness is aggravated by her response. "--Fine, payment on delivery. I'll smile when I have something to smile about." It's an empty promise: even the greatest rewards hadn't provided any catharsis or euphoria. Not the massive payout she got from the last mission, nor all the things she bought with it. They were no different from the pearl from before, once she found out what a burden it really was. Nausea and a massive headache attack her--the old gut-to-temple combo--and Ramona figures that whatever curse or evil spirit was torturing her, she'd need to figure out how to authentically convey "joy" to turn the tables on it. Her first thought is that since these unbidden traumatic memories of her past were flowing so freely, perhaps she could pluck a good one out of the stream. Like the bear with the salmon. It doesn't work. Whenever she catches one, it's emotionally nourishing like the dry skeleton bones that litter the deck. She hadn't been feeding her fish, and why would she when they were in such toxic waters. Next, she tries to imagine alcohol, but it's just a painkiller and antiseptic. Nothing lives in those peaceful pools but oblivion, which she used to like, but no more. Now it was a vice she had been successfully shaking until today. That leaves only one more route--stealing a happy memory from whatever witch or spirit she was channeling this time. Or just hallucinate one, if she was just going insane from being electrocuted so many times. Point was, there could be treasure in unknown waters. Maybe that's what that bitch really wanted: to show her the kind of pain she had in store. Not the physical kind Ramona that powered through and turned back on whatever dished it out, the kind that came from within, and which she could only hope to contain and keep herself distracted from. Until now. DD wis (insanity navigation): 2d6+1 8 Gonna blow through dead husbando memories for something happy. And go insane.
|
|
#
?
Feb 20, 2016 04:58
|
|
|
PADRE, THRASH, 01 The chef and lantern follow 01’s trail of devastation through the ‘medical bay’ and into the engine room, closely trailed by Jaime and his little squad of mechanics. Ensign Coldwater gives Thrash a terrified look and bolts without another word. On the way through the breach, one of the mechanics - a slight, scrawny fellow who looks like his toolbox is a couple sizes too big for him - accidentally lets his shoulder pass through a jaggedy bit of ghostly hull plating. He hisses with pain and grabs the joint with his free hand. “Cold,” he mutters, teeth gritted. “gently caress that’s cold gently caress. Three months of orcish slop and now this…” The other guy - a burly toad-man with thick, dry, warty skin - comes up to Thrash and, reluctantly, points at his plus-size mouth. “Might die cold but I ain’t dyin’ hungry,” he croaks. “Fillerup. Somethin’ hot. Lotsa ketchup.” Nori and her blunderbuss remain stoic and silent. She watches Thrash like she’s not sure where the chef is going to swing that cleaver next.  The engine room is deserted, wintry-cold, and completely trashed. Like, professionally so. You couldn’t pay a team of coked-out goblin football players to trash a place half this thoroughly. Nori swears quietly, bitterly. Your breath plumes out white into the empty air - those of you who have breath, anyway. The starboard engine chugs away wearily, seemingly without maintenance or effort - the sailors give it a wide berth and many nervous glances. “Fan out,” Jaime says to the mechanics. “Garlov. Find us fuel. Check all the lines. Check everything.” “Yuh-huh,” the toad-man responds, and lumbers off into the mass of valves and pipes that service the engines. “Nori. Watch our backs. Zebley, you’re with me. Let’s get this piece of poo poo working again.” Zeb nods assent and the two bury themselves in the port engine. Time passes. The sailors labor in silence amid a pervasive and growing sense of fearfulness. Mote shines out bravely from his resting-place in Clavo’s gourd, his normally steady light flickering in the oppressive chill like a used-up fluorescent bulb. Bile-green light and a muffled keening howl flashes out from the door to the aft storeroom. Zebley looks up, shudders, and makes the sign of Kel-Asham at the doorway. A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. Somewhere in the general clutter, a faint drag-thump, drag-thump, clunk can be heard. Thrash, TUTRESIEL, RAMONA, SERENITY Sorry for the delay! I'm working on turning my legendary piece of poo poo apartment into something livable, and it's proving more difficult than I expected. Tutresiel's post is done, but I still need to come up with something good for Ramona and Serenity. Expect something up Soon™.
|
|
#
?
Feb 22, 2016 14:42
|
|
|
TUTRESIEL It turns out the sound of a stellar un-memory being forever tortured with the agonizing, eternal consciousness of its immutable nonexistence is not at all a distraction to the undead avian now plunging towards your very fragile head with a shattered breastbone, unable to halt nor alter its course in the slightest. The bird doesn’t so much savage you as it just plain crash-lands on top of you in a welter of flying feathers and corpse-stink. It thrashes around like crazy, whatever mindless desire it had in its rotting brain to treat you like fish gone in its reaction to Ramona turning its sternum into splinters. It can’t fly at all now - you’ve got a great front-row seat to watch it trying super hard to flap those wings - but its claws and beak and big ugly jutty-out bits of bone and decaying flesh are going all over the place. You’re bound to get cut up worse if you stay underfoot. You take RAMONA AND SERENITY I wish I could tell you there was an easy answer; some sure way to come again to joy and to peacefulness after the kind of traumas and betrayals you’ve each been through. But there’s not. There never is for these kinds of things, is there? Some things mark you, no matter how hard you try not to let them; and a life lived longer may not be the blessing you want it to be. More marks, more old hurts and dead-ends, more ghosts haunting you in your dreams. Are you sure this is what you want? It could work. If you can find the power and the tools for it...it could work. Somehow, you’re each utterly certain of the other’s sincerity. It would hurt. Hurt like hell. Maybe it’d even be worth it. But will the years you gain be ones worth living? Aqualantis. This city will pursue you. Always that old gilded hope of wealth and fame. More people to kill, fortunes to take, walls to build. If there’s any joy to be found in the lives you've chosen, here or downbelow, you’ll have to find it yourselves. Assuming, as ever, that you each make it through this brawl unscathed. Ramona's shot, perfectly-aimed as ever, cracked that bird’s sternum straight down the middle. Its own muscles tore its breastbone apart - but now it’s out of control! Tutresiel conjures up another of his weird starbursts, but the bird’s moving at terminal velocity without any way to slow down or steer - it crashes into him at full force just as the star detonates in an absolutely staggering blast of eye-searing green light and tortured screaming! Ramona is deafened and dazed by the rush of sensory input; the powersuit’s environmental seal conveniently cuts off the worst of the light and noise for lucky Serenity. So much for a quiet entry -- if that doesn’t call a kraken, you can be reasonably confident the sea’s clear of them for two hours’ hard sailing in any direction. The beast is thrashing around like a pithed frog, trying to find its feet - and when it does, you can bet it’ll know who to look for. Ramona, did you know Serenity is a widow? Also if your next move is one that relies on unclouded hearing or sight, take -1 forward. Serenity, if so, were you the one to tell her? You’re also all warmed up now: you don’t have -1 forward to Volley anymore. What do you two do? e: you convinced me after all so Serenity is 100% fine Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 04:55 on Feb 23, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 23, 2016 04:16
|
|
|
Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor The best "happy" memory she can find is when the spirit died, peacefully and without regrets, secure that he had made a difference and lived on in peoples' hearts and--what trash! Ramona interrupts the visions with a snort. Of course it was a white knight, a man's, death. Truth, Justice, Equality of all men under God, and the heaping helping of blissful ignorance necessary to choke down all the Faith necessary to sustain such delusions. She wasn't even jealous of the charmed life, it was just a joke to her. If she would have lived her life just making the most of what path was laid before her like him, she'd still be under the watchful eye and heavy hand of a whip-wielding taskmaster. What a waste of her time this trial was. A foolish attempt to dissuade her from climbing higher, demanding more than pittance was offered to one of her station. Yes, this specter had tipped his hand by switching the "growing old" vision from just with Serenity to with all the elves. Trying to convince Ramona her own life wasn't worth living, let alone extending, like a coward...no, what he really thought was that there was nothing worth risking the elf's life. What a hypocrite. If the elf he loved so much wanted to go through with it, that was that. And Ramona's life was as good a reason as any. They were both women, equals. Some white knight he turned out to be, more like a martyr-tyrant with no real experience with servitude towards a real person. Not just those airy ideals. This challenge to the possessing spirit begins to clear her head, and she senses an opening. "You have no power over me, or anyone. You're dead, you don't matter anymore!" she spits, blinking away the saltwater clouding her vision. This is what banishes it back to heaven or hell or, most likely, oblivion. Just in time for Tootsie to hose everyone again. It's not an armor-rending explosion that punts her off the deck, but this is a bad time. "Another blowhard from another dimension trying to blind me and spouting self-absorbed nonsense..." she hisses, storming over to the stinking gray blob that marked the location of the rotten albatross--and maybe the alien, who cares--making a fist so tight that the mechanical gauntlet quakes with potential energy. Using her free hand as her guide, she reaches for feathers. As soon as she feels them she shuffles in and throws an uppercut fit to send the vermin back into the sky whence it came. When it connects, she even lets herself let out a loud, exasperated "Yah!" Hack and Slash; messy forceful falcon punch: 2d6+2 13 1d10+1 7 forgot to add in the -1 fwd but it wouldn't have mattered slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 05:39 on Feb 23, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 23, 2016 05:33
|
|
|
Tutresiel HP: 12/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 2/10 Tutresiel's strange robes protected them from the brunt of the thrashing abomination, however it still damaged their form somewhat, incidental cuts for the moment - but these things could add up if they were allowed to continue. Even with the assistance of the brave and courageous Ramona, Tutresiel needed to get out from underneath this thing. Rather than trying to force it off fiercely, or making a nimbly quick turn that might slide from under it, Tutresiel instead attempted to weather the mindless thrashing by the toughness of their physical form and simultaneously push it away and roll off in an opposite direction, trying to take advantage of the attacks of Ramona in order to overbalance it and cause it to tumble over on its own, all of this down slowly and deliberately, being tenacious - rather than powerful. Defy Danger (Constitution): 2d6+1 9 Looks like a partial success unless someone wants to Aid poor Tutresiel!
|
|
#
?
Feb 23, 2016 21:04
|
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 7/9 | XP 6/10 She had said something wrong. She felt like she had said something wrong, but it was so hard to be sure with Ramona. The bounty hunter seemed to switch moods as often as she switched weapons, and Serenity was never certain what would prompt the shift. Rather than linger on the matter or say something to rouse Ramona's scorn, she opted for her trusted fallback. Serious the hell up and take care of immediate matters. ...Or she would if the suit didn't start spitting static in her ears. The elf careened to the side as the sudden noise threw her off balance. Vaguely, she could see the great dead avian crash into Tutresiel, thrashing and clawing as though something were strangling the unlife from it. The ship rocked slightly from the impact and Ramona was saying something about not mattering anymore and the angel was wrestling with his assailant and there was a voice in her ear that should not be there and feelings and memories from ages ago were bubbling up and this visor would not stop throwing confusing information into her face and GODDAMN IT NOT NOW. Rushing headlong after Ramona, Serenity slid on her knees to Tutresiel and grabbed his shoulders, hauling him out from under the creature. She scrabbled backwards clumsily as the armor fought against her movements. Aid Tutresiel: 2d6 5
|
|
#
?
Feb 24, 2016 02:30
|
|
|
01 HP: 18/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 5/10 | -1WIS quote:I’m writing under the assumption that you’re going in the direction that it’d benefit everybody the most to cause great damage to the ship in The presence of the harmed softskin puzzles me for exactly 0.0000000321 seconds, Serenity and the Lantern have both shown capability in healing, they must have done so to keep this one alive, it is not currently presenting a threat, if My Lady spent the effort to keep this one alive there's likely a reason, and therefore it doesn't rate further processing dedicated to its continued existence unless it becomes a threat again. There are bigger problems, namely these anomalies. Speaking of, apparently the nothing-stuff that constitutes these anomalies are in fact vulnerable to differential electromagnetic interference. This is useful information. I extend my charging cycles from my external plating down the length of my blade, as well as cycle the emitter matrices of my blaster through random cycles. Tangential frequency cascades should prove effective at disrupting the anomalous cohesion states... Almost as if summoned, my sensors detect a telltale drag-thump..., Theoretical became experimental when I trampled through the anomaly just now, let's make the experimental into the practical in more direct combat... In each hand my weapons flash as frost continues to sizzle and spark around me, I step forward and put myself in between these weak fleshed ones and the likeliest direction of that noise. Unbidden, a partial ROM file of an ancient conversation is accessed deep within my shard and routes through my voxponder. "...something wicked this way comes..." I fire my foot anchors to secure myself to the deck and stand ready. Immovable Object 10 You are not moved You throw, push, or drag the enemy who tried to move you, moving them just as far as they would have moved you, in any direction you like.
|
|
#
?
Feb 24, 2016 21:20
|
|
|
Padre Clavo Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 1/10 "You want to see what that is, chivo?" Clavo asked, looking into the calabash at his hip. The light inside blinked and flashed, and Clavo nodded sagely. "Yeah, me neither. Best we stick together. But you got to come out, we might got to burn some holes in whatever's coming around." Clavo stepped carefully over tools and whatnots until he could get a clear shot at whatever was in the storeroom, but while still keeping some space (and the duk man) between them. "Mote," he whispered, holding out one hand. "Blades." Arrows of Light: 2d6+2 13 Damage: 1d4 1 Hurling blades of light at whatever's in the storeroom, provided of course it's not just some jamoke crewman hiding or something.
|
|
#
?
Feb 26, 2016 01:12
|
|
|
ABOVEDECKS KRAK! Ramona slugs that feathery waste of space so hard that gobbets of rotting meat tear free and spatter all over the place! Oh God. Ugh. Ew. Better clamp those lips shut tight. It’s disgusting as hell -- but you can hear the sweet sound of bones cracking beneath a supercharged powerfist punch loud and clear. The beast goes staggering into the gunwales just as it finds its balance, and Tutresiel is there beneath it to provide that last crucial little bit of leverage. It topples overboard, and splashes into the misty sea with a dusty squawk of frustrated hunger! Serenity’s ill-timed rescue efforts are more hindrance than help, unfortunately. You just don’t have the experience (or physique) necessary to move around in all that steel the way Ramona does so effortlessly. You fall to your knees to help yank the angel out of that rotten meat-grinder, but it seems to want to stay in there! You quickly reverse course and crawl out on hands and knees, but not before the bird’s temper tantrum bangs you up most heinously. Fetid claw and jagged bone scrape across your armored shell, and a rotting wing clubs you in the back hard enough to numb, even through a couple layers of steel and armorplas. But fortunately for you, this sort of brawl is just precisely what that suit was built for. You’ve got some bruises, sure, but it’s nothing you can’t walk off. Serenity takes  Exactly why Tutresiel wished to remain beneath becomes clear as soon as Ramona comes charging into the fray, and socks the creature so hard you can feel the shock of displaced air against the suit’s shoulders and back. And there’s the angel, perfectly placed to roll with the punch’s momentum and add that one extra shove right at the bird’s center of mass. Overboard it goes! Good Lord, can that woman ever punch. It’s entirely possible she could bench-press a dire bear. Maybe you should ask...after you figure out how to get this endless loving static about engines and death and laughing and I still love you Sarah please be careful *krrzzrzrzzrkkkzrr* out of your ears. Tutresiel weathers the undead monstrosity’s flailing stoically, secure in the knowledge that its fleshly vessel is only a cloak thrown over the unbearable radiance within. Nonetheless, that body is yet a thing of matter, and so vulnerable to the same depredations the woman Serenity has suffered. Blow after mindless blow slide slickly off your armor, or strike only empty air, or land in such a way as to allow you to brace against the impact, and so avoid serious harm. But at the last - just as this aberration’s balance is lost, and its descent to the sea inevitable - a blow comes that you simply cannot avoid. A jagged spur of rib slashes out at you as you give the bird that one final shove -- and by some sick fluke of fate, its trajectory is squarely aimed at the Pall of Shekina, nestled on its fine chain against your chest... Tutresiel must choose: either take 1d6+1 damage anyway (roll for it yourself), or permit the Pall of Shekina to suffer damage! The giant dire zombie albatross splashes down into the misty salty sea, thrashing and squawking like the world’s biggest, ugliest baitfish. The ghost-ship’s fog has closed in again - but dimly through it, you can each spy Captain Price ensconced in the Shrieking Harpy’s wheelhouse, both hands grimly working the wheel. Something wild and terrified is gleaming in his eyes. The crippled bird, and its splashing and cries, are fading gradually into the mist. What do you three do? BELOWDECKS 01 It doesn’t take long for the source of the noise to show itself. Two softskins, stumbling and clumsy, dressed in torn mechanics’ overalls and sporting a wide range of injuries. Thermal sensors indicate a body temperature far too low to sustain metabolic activity, and some of those injuries appear serious enough to have killed these softskins outright! With your foot anchors engaged, there’s no quick way for you to step out of their path - but why would you want to? You may not care much about what goes on in the filthy meat-cave of a softskin’s mind, but it’s obvious that whatever’s keeping these two up and walking, it’s not the sort of thing that softskins normally do - and that means that probably no one’ll try to throw you overboard I’m probably not going to remember what all your orders are other than ‘don’t kill innocents’, so can you put the orders people you have bonds with give you in your character sheet? They’re too stupid to really try and move you, so I’m glossing your Immovable Object roll as a 7-9 on Defend, where your hold is immediately spent to “Redirect an attack from the thing you defend to yourself.” They’ll be in melee range in a moment or two - what do you do? PADRE There’s no more fooling around from your little Mote. He knows as well as you do that it’s do-or-die now: maybe not for you, but surely for the others aboard. No score of swords for you this time. A single razor-keen sun dagger drops into your waiting hand, perfectly balanced. And here comes the source now, dragging and shambling its way towards you and the crew -- oh, kjet. It’s the lead mechanic. Or at least what’s left after the poltergeists and the ship got to him. He stumbles towards you with one leg clearly broken, flesh white-blue with the pallor of death - and then staggers back a few steps as your expertly-hurled blade of light catches him just below the collarbone! A strangled gurking sound escapes his dead lips, and he wobbles unsteadily on his feet. Anyone living would be writhing on the deck with a punctured lung about now - but whatever's animating this poor body finds its balance again, and keeps on coming. “ohfuck,” Zebley whispers behind you. His hands are trembling like an old man’s. “ohfuckohfuckohfuck…” None of your Light Weaponry moves actually tell you what to roll, but you said you’re THRASH Hey look out there’s some zombies coming! You’re with Jaime and Zebley by the engine unless you say otherwise. 01’s fighting two of them; one more is coming at everybody by the engines; Garlov is nowhere to be seen. What do you do?? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 05:01 on Feb 28, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 28, 2016 03:41
|
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 7/9 | XP 6/10 As the bird flailed furiously at her, Serenity was thrown off balance and stumbled backwards. Even through the armor the blows had terrific force backing them up. As she struggled to reorient herself, a voice cut through the static, clear as day. No. That was not her mind playing tricks in her. And nothing living today knew that name. She had had many lovers in her life, but only her husband had ever called her Sarah. And that was too much after everything else going on. Too many emotions cropping up in rapid succession, and she needed air - fresh, unfiltered air to clear her head and get her away from long-gone voices. "Ramona...I am very very grateful but can you please get me out of this armor? I'm...I'm warmed up now, and I am really uncomfortable in here." Serenity sounded very small all of a sudden, the voice barely audible despite the suit's amplifiers.
|
|
#
?
Feb 28, 2016 19:37
|
|
|
Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor Ramona wipes a viscera-covered glove off on her pants, takes another look and removes the glove entirely, then opens the armor back up and helps Serenity out. Bird guts wouldn't age well in the fancy alloy cask, and the only air freshener in there was her liquor, so she decides to get clean. She jokes, "Ugh, smells like wet elf in here..." then jumps into the sea to rinse off, and look at the ghost ship from another perspective. Clear her head from the rage at all the morons that surrounded her too. There lie the cryo cannons, unmanned and ripe for the taking. Before the ships start separating she grapples back on deck, kicks away any railing if it's still in the way, and shoots the grappler down to disarm the enemy ship. It bangs against the side of the Harpy, then she starts yanking it up to her, eyes shining with avarice, mind racing with all the possibilities that'd open from adapting the magic or technology into her weapons. The gun, specifically. Ice fist and ice whip probably wouldn't be worth the effort. The first thing she does with it is point it at the wheelhouse and whistle to Captain Overpriced. "What are you up to in there? You look pretty shaken up, like you could use some time alone in your quarters." Parley: 2d6+2 13 
slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 02:33 on Mar 1, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 28, 2016 21:10
|
|
|
Alumnus Post posted:Thrash, Thrash HP: 25/25 | Armor: 2 | XP: 2/10 "Oi, a right fellah! I've got just the mess fer a hungry lad." he said, fishing round for one of the officer's servings of tentacle'd lobster. "Was makin' these treats fer the ranking crewmen, but I thinks I put the first mate out cold. Hur-hur! Tells ye what, a frog-fellah like you deserves it more than that salty arsehole!" Thrash practically dumps the plate into the frog's gullet Experimental Food ( Alumnus Post posted:Hey look out there’s some zombies coming! You’re with Jaime and Zebley by the engine unless you say otherwise. 01’s fighting two of them; one more is coming at everybody by the engines; Garlov is nowhere to be seen. What do you do?? As Garlov lumbers off to do his work and 01 the never-hungry clamps his boots to the floor, Thrash looks expectantly at Jamie and Zebley. "At least there be one brave man in yer lot. I mean, rabbit-man, or wh'ever he is. Rest o' you lot got any guts?" He said, eager to feed the hungry, despite the situation they were in. As the shuffle-thumpting noise grew in volume, he followed everyone's eyes to the shambling zombie. It looked as though the tin-man had found more shuffling jerks as well. While the gunner's hands trembled like a lid on a boiling pot, Thrash continued to makes jabs at him, "Look! Even these soft-skins want a bite! Hur! Not the first time I've been said that me food can wake the dead!" he said, as though it were a compliment. It seemed that Thrash's mockery of the situation did nothing to improve spirits for the crew. "Hur..." He chuckled to himself. "Ain't hard t' kill 'em again, once they git back up," he continued, while drawing his cleaver from his heavy apron. "They's already falling to pieces. Is just like butcherin' any ol' monster, it jus' moves around while ye do it." It was bizarre the way the orc talked about the crew as if they were just walking meat, if not concerning what some of his past endeavors had lead him to cook. Though it was not actually cannibalism for an orc to eat a human, did it count if the orc was serving it to humans? The orc then gave a whistle and from somewhere back in the storeroom came Maw-meow, chewing on what seemed to be a bloody towel that had been used to treat the wounded. "Oi, droppit! I's already running out of dishboys, dun make me running out of dishtowels! Iff'n ye want some eats I'll pick some bones fer ye to chew." "Problem wiv the dead..." he continued without being prompted to, "Most the good meat already gone. I'll tells ye about this time I went digging in this crypt fer these tasty mushrooms. When I's open the coffins, the bones just jump out an trys to eat me right back. Hurhur! I'm do the same thing I did back then and chop up this bastard." He said, brandishing his cleaver menacingly at the former crew-man. "Least e's got some meat." He unnervingly added before charging at the walking-corpse, Maw-Meow on his heals. The orc went high and the dog-gator-goat-thing went low, a double-team of animal and demi-human. Thrash was busy hacking the former crewman limb from limb while the walking trash-can was just pulling his leg. hack and slash: 2d6+3 8 Damage: 1d6+2 3 Meat Cleaver (Hand, messy, 1 weight) That sure was lovely
|
|
#
?
Feb 28, 2016 21:11
|
|
|
Tutresiel HP: 8/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 2/10 Taking the damage, Damage (Tutresiel) (Armor 1): 1d6+1-1 4 Tutresiel shifted their balance to move the jagged bone away from the Pall, for who might know what would happen if that were to become ruptured? Receiving the wound with dignity, Tutresiel made little sound, however the wound could not be truly ignored, as some of Tutresiel's pale blood had begun to flow out. Still, time for dealing with the consequences of such problems would have to wait, and so Tutresiel rose up, the gore of the fell creature sliding off of Tutresiel's robes with a frightening speed, as though a great slipperiness was possessed of it, furthermore it seemingly left the robes clean, as though the material itself loathed filth and dirt. Still, this event was far from over. "The ghost ship should be handled sooner than later, it grows stronger on the souls of those it kills." reported Tutresiel as they glanced about, looking over to the captain once more and keenly watching the confrontation between Ramona and the crazed captain. But there was another here who possessed knowledge, it might be a worthwhile venture, especially given the circumstances to find them. With that Tutresiel concentrated briefly before setting a course of action, speaking to Serenity before they left. "There is someone of interest aboard, I will go find them." is what they said before leaving to go find this person, assuming the situation with Ramona and the captain did not immediately and dramatically deteriorate. Infinite Oregano fucked around with this message at 21:44 on Feb 28, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 28, 2016 21:18
|
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 6/10 Serenity took in great gulps of air as she was finally freed from the coffin. She wasn't claustrophobic, but things were getting a little too real in there. She nodded at Ramona, and carefully made her way around the deck, gathering her things to keep herself occupied. The ghost ship had entirely fled her mind. Hat, sword, harp. She leaned the spear up against the side of the wheelhouse and put everything back where it belonged. She dearly hoped the cold hadn't ruined the harp strings. She carefully unstrung the instrument and put them away in a side pocket of her pack. As she slowly calmed herself, Tutresiel stopped briefly to give a cryptic comment about someone being aboard. "Uh. Okay. Right. Just moment, please." Straightening up, she faced the angel and clasped her hands together, singing that ancient hymn again. Her husband had taught it to her, and it seemed he was not done looking out for her. It was...reassuring in a sense, but that had been such a long time ago. Having his memory resurface like this, here and now, was quite a shock. Did it have something to do with the bounty hunter? She thought yes, but the reason behind it she couldn't begin to guess. Nashira worked in strange ways. A goddess of the moon by definition could not be pinned down easily. Arcane Art: 2d6+3 10 Healing Tutresiel: 1d8 2 Tutresiel recovers 2 HP With a firm nod, she unclasped her hands and smiled at Tutresiel. "Call if you need me. And be careful." As the angel went off on his own task, Serenity caught sight of Ramona talking to the captain. "Ah, so. How are we doing?"
|
|
#
?
Feb 28, 2016 22:17
|
|
|
Ramona 19/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor Ramona wrings out her hair, "Well enough. Clean." Then she puts it back in its lazy rear end one-handed ponytail, while walking back and into her suit, "What's that song? Sounds familiar. Again? Or if there's more... you know I'll make the most of the healing." Actually, keeping a free hand while she deals with the only gold that she wishes she didn't have was an old and necessary habit. Might need to defend herself, trigger the ice cannon. You never know until you have very little time to act. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 22:59 on Feb 28, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 28, 2016 22:55
|
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 6/10 "It's an old prayer. A supplication for the goddess Nashira to grant mercy to the weak." She hesitated after she said that. She wasn't sure how Ramona might take the implication that she was weak, despite that that wasn't what she meant. She shook her head and glanced out towards the sea, humming the next few verses. Arcane Art: 2d6+3 10 Healing Ramona: 1d8 2 Ramona recovers 2 HP After a moment, Serenity glanced back. "I know you probably don't care, but you want me to take care of that for you?" She motioned towards the rather messy ponytail. "I've got experience making hair look nice while staying out of the way. Or I could shave it off for you. I guarantee this blade won't cut what I don't want it too."
|
|
#
?
Feb 29, 2016 00:54
|
|
|
Ramona 21/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor "Harsh." Ramona comments about being told she obviously doesn't care about her appearance or want anyone to help her with it. But it's true, the second part. She'd never let anyone touch her head, can't let your guard down like that. "You should act like hair you've taken care of, then." That was pretty harsh too. You don't do that to someone who can heal you in the future. Ramona tries to apply an humor ointment for the burn. "I need it long for my senses to stay sharp, haven't you heard the stories?" She lowers her voice and tells her a secret though, in case that wasn't enough to keep the bard off her back, "Actually it's my lizard tail. An extension." Yeah she does like looking good, to herself. As in a wig that comes off relatively easily.
|
|
#
?
Feb 29, 2016 01:35
|
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 6/10 Look good and stay out of the way, huh. "Ha! That's better. I hardly know how to be around you when you aren't giving me sass." As Ramona continued, Serenity nodded in understanding. Alright, extensions. Fair enough. "I'll let it be, then." She held her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "We both come from vastly different backgrounds. I can't really understand where you're coming from. So when I say things like that, please understand I'm just trying to relate to you in the way I know how. If that bothers you, or if I cross a line, I do want you to put your foot down about it. I'll admit, I sometimes have trouble with boundaries. Just try not to hate me for ignorance. That's all I ask." She lowered her hands, and coughed awkwardly. "I think we uh, ought to check on the captain." Serenity is using Charming and Open, the not-remotely-subtle-subtext of her words asking the question, "How can I get you to be my friend?". You get a question of your own, Slydingdoor.
|
|
#
?
Feb 29, 2016 02:32
|
|
|
 Ramona 21/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor "Don't bother--trying to learn how to play this instrument, read my notes, know my songs." says Ramona, referring to herself as the finely tuned instrument that she was. It's not that the wall comes back up, because it's never really down. She responds without turning her head before she takes her first step and reaches her first arm into the open suit. "Also I, ah, don't care what you want me to do--whether it's right, and I do it, or not. You want me to care, I have more invoices." Getting into the armor is like putting on a jacket and mounting a horse, literally and figuratively, so when Ramona finishes getting inside, she's turned back around, looking down at Serenity from even higher than normal. Then she's sealed away. The liquor is untouched, at least, but it still smells like wet elf. No good deed goes unpunished. drat bards, had a reputation for theft, taste, betrayal, and lechery. The scent of the last one didn't belong anywhere near her, let alone in her suit. Why couldn't she ever run into someone competent and confident, who knew the right thing to do, said they were gonna do it--didn't ask anyone--did it, and survived? Not by relying on someone else to save her, like a damsel in distress, either. Was that so hard that only she could manage it? Everyone else either hit their limit, or proved that they had only gotten lucky before--until they met her. That was reminds her: there was a story about shooting albatrosses, but she had just done it anyway. She not superstitious, and even if she were, it was already dead and she was already wreathed in them anyway. It was just, no one else could adjust to being cursed like she could, having had a lifetime to adjust to the weight of the bad luck and the either spiritual attunement or mental illness. Whoever else got too close got drawn in and crushed. It'd gotten to the point where Ramona almost smiled when it happened. Like a running gag. But right now, she's not smiling. "Fix my hair, bah." she mutters into the suit, unaware the mic was still on, because its 'on' light had gone out. "Like I want another Knife living up to her name." That was the one who broke her heart, figuratively and nearly literally, trying to steal her pearl. Knife could keep up with her back then, and maybe they would have found the pearl together if she'd made it to the beach that week. But instead she'd probably been dallying with the boys, or girls, settling for what scraps she might enjoy even living like a slave, instead of rolling the dice and either drowning or just maybe finding something that'd buy her freedom. Diagnostics look good. Still a little compromised from that explosion but it was enough to deal with whatever the crazy captain could throw at her if it came to that. tl;dr be like Ramona. The easier route, that she's not as aware of, is happen to be saved by her a lot. From anything, internal or external. Eventually she has to come up with a non-monetary, non "you're my crew for now" reason for it. Basically the Ben Franklin effect/cognitive dissonance. My question: what do you really desire? Ramona has something that you must want, because that's the only reason anyone tries to be her friend, or offers her eternal life. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 05:41 on Feb 29, 2016 |
|
#
?
Feb 29, 2016 03:46
|
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 6/10 "That's too bad. I'm pretty good at knowing where to put my fingers to hit the high notes." Serenity flicked one of her braids back over her shoulder. "As for what I want you to do? I don't want you to do anything, except maybe stop looking down your nose at me." She gave a soft sigh, and continued. "I'm not here, with all of you, for any other reason than chance conspired to bring me here. That, and the promise of absurd amounts of money. Likewise, I'm willing to throw my life into the wind on your behalf for no better reason than it amuses me to do so. Don't misunderstand me; I am taking what you want with utmost seriousness. But my own life? I'm free to do with it as I will, for as grand or ignoble a purpose as I see fit. In the end, I'm out to have an interesting time." She pretended not to hear the bit about the hair, or this person called Knife. The two of them were already metaphorically circling one another with knives out. No reason to press on the matter and make the situation any more complicated. "Anyway. How about we continue this heart to heart later? I don't know about you, but this ghost ship business really kind of kills the mood." At that, she followed Ramona's lead in investigating what the Captain was up too. Making her way up, she poked her head into the wheelhouse. "Captain. Captain Price? Hello?" Discern Realities: 2d6 12 What should I be on the lookout for? What here is not what it appears to be? Who's really in control here? Shardix fucked around with this message at 17:33 on Mar 1, 2016 |
|
#
?
Mar 1, 2016 01:25
|
|
|
THRASH Your comments don’t do poor Zeb’s nerves a wink of good. He flinches away from the grisly walking corpse and drops his wrench right into the guts of the engine. Swears viciously and backs up as far against the bulkhead as he can go. He looks like he’s trying to say something but he’s stammering too hard to get the words out. Noises like an angry gorilla beating up a side of beef come from out over by the fuel lines. Jaime goes for his knife and barks an order at Nori: she dashes off to go find Garlov. You and Maw-Meow clothesline your one-time chief mechanic, laying him out flat on the deck with a sound like a septuagenerian being beaten to death by a sack of frozen peas. He goes right for your chest with ice-cold fists and teeth, but can’t penetrate your heavy lead apron. You fend him off with a flurry of cleaver strikes and whack his hand clean off as punishment. His other hand gets all tangled up on your apron strings, though -- and he uses the leverage it gives to pull himself up on top of you and start clawing it off you! And oh great. His foot came off while you weren’t looking. No wonder he’s not on the ground where he should be. Maw-Meow is happily gnawing on its surprise gift of a brand-new bone. You take When you feed a friendly NPC your experimental food, you roll to Defy Danger +INT. The danger is that you might have misunderstood the diner’s physiology and palate, and therefore fed them something poisonous, noxious, or just plain unsuitable for their biology. This doesn’t apply to hostile NPCs, or to any friendly NPC that you’ve fed that particular dish to at least once before. (You already know what’s going to happen, I went ahead and rolled for you this time (8) - let me know if you’d rather do it yourself in the future or leave it up to me. What happened to Garlov (including your unexpected side-effect from feeding him something wacky) will become clear in time, but you can be certain it didn’t kill him. This is a beta test for handling situations where you feed Experimental Food to somebody who doesn’t have a CON stat. If you’ve got another idea, hop into IRC or the recruitment thread and post about it. Padre, all that stuff just happened! What do you two do? TUTRESIEL You stalk the corridors belowdecks, guided by a sense more subtle than sight or sound. Somewhere, there is one aboard who knows. Look them in the eyes. That one -- no. They shiver and turn away. Those three -- no, no, no. None can meet your eyes for more than a moment. Until you turn the corner and enter the crew quarters, and the one whose secret name is AVTOTAR gazes upon you unafraid. He makes the requisite greetings solemnly. “Hear me, Adherent.” he asks you. “The men. They’re dying.” A twisted smile. “Or dead already. The sun couldn’t touch them; you must have felt it. I could get them here, at least, but...well. There’s too few of us able to keep moving around.” He gestures to the room’s hammocks and cots -- far too many occupied by unmoving forms. “Come forth, Adherent. As Blessed Listener I, unveiled, petition you; by Law and Light, I adjure you: lend me your aid. Help me put these holy dead beyond their reach.” The men still conscious watch you, mutely. What do you do? 01 When you  , I get to ask you “What do you do?” again!  RAMONA AND SERENITY The wheelhouse door creaks open. “Come in, Greymist,” Oliver says flatly. His hands are clamped rigid onto the wheel. Ramona holds leveled at him the great half-real barrel of the ghost-ship’s cannon; he stares fixated straight down the weapon’s bore. He lets out a long, unsteady breath. “Please convey to Ms. de Sahagun that, with all due respect, that my ship needs a hand at the tiller if we all wish to live through the next hour.” “If she wishes to discuss an alteration” -- he practically snarls the word -- “to the chain of command I am. W. W-w.” His breath hitches for a moment. “Willing to discuss it. No weapons. No suit. In my cabin, like civilized men and women.” He laughs humorlessly. “Stars,” he says to you. “It’s just like home.” He stabs a finger at you. “You find Domhnall. Bring him up here. I don’t leave until he steps through that door. He takes the wheel until her negotiations are over. Go. Tell her.” Somewhere out in the mist, the albatross’ cries are swallowed by the sound of madly threshing water. It rises to a fever pitch and abruptly fades; and then the only sounds to be heard are the wind and the engines. Oliver laughs again, high-pitched, a couple doors down from panic. You should probably be on the lookout for whatever just made that noise. Captain Price will do what Ramona says, if you promise to obey his demands. Something is off here: both hands are out when he’s had one hand in his pocket every other time you’ve seen him. What do you do? Ramona, once Serenity comes out of the wheelhouse, what do you do too? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 06:06 on Mar 2, 2016 |
|
#
?
Mar 2, 2016 05:19
|
|
|
Tutresiel HP: 10/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 2/10 Tutresiel's face was still unseen behind their mask, however their posture had shifted - giving a glimpse of their inner thoughts through their body language. Their wounds were not as bad as before, thanks to Serenity's lesser (yet perfectly adequate) magicks, something that Tutresiel would have to thank Serenity for later. "It is only just that such a deed be performed. The presence that taxes this vessel most sourly now is gaining momentum." is what Tutresiel said, as they spread their arms akimbo. Tutresiel cleared a space and used a strange stick of what someone might call chalk (if they were having a surreal nightmare - it was black and had an oily sheen to it) to draw an intricate circular pattern upon the ground. From their sleeves they drew forth seven off-white candles - each possessing distinct intricate red patterns upon their surfaces - and placed them at equidistant points along the edge of the circle. "Let us begin." announced Tutresiel, the candles still yet unlit, for now. Infinite Oregano fucked around with this message at 20:03 on Mar 2, 2016 |
|
#
?
Mar 2, 2016 19:57
|
|
|
Padre Clavo Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 6/10 "Fraa!" The dead man was going to eat the chef. An amusing inversion, to be sure. And it wasn't as if the loss of the...ingenious...orc would make any negative impact on the food served on the ship, but he was brave, and that was reason enough for him to live. "Cutter, chivo," he called, and Mote formed a sunblade of greater puissance than the ones that Clavo had been tossing about. This blade wasn't a beam of sunlight to be cast at an enemy. This was the sun itself gripped in his fist, burning and roaring with the barely withheld force of his and Mote's wills, bound together like the hydrogen and helium of the solar reaction he arrogantly used like a sword. Activating the Twilight Blade He cast one hand out imperiously, this time commanding the light, lacking the time to flatter it as he should, instead browbeating it with the urgency of the situation and his station a Lantern. You swore allegiance to my people, he reminded it. Stand between us and the dead. Bend Light: 2d6+2 6 It wasn't the right tack to take. The light rebelled, and in its fury Mote dissolved back into a his normal form, whizzing about and flashing with surprise. Clavo found himself with an empty hand and some light angry with him. "Fraa, fraa, fraa!" Defy Danger +DEX: 2d6 9 edit: You're totally right, I've edited my post to reflect that. Also looked over my roll history to check how many XP I should have and man, Clavo is not good at talking to the light. Vulpes Vulpes fucked around with this message at 23:56 on Mar 2, 2016 |
|
#
?
Mar 2, 2016 20:18
|
|
|
PADREquote:When you roll a 6- while your little light is in one of these forms, it reverts back to its harmless form and refuses to change back for a short while. I'm reading this as that you don't have access to your Twilight Blade at the time you're trying to remove this man's head, since you rolled a 6- on Bend Light before you actually tried to swing the sword. The danger for your DD+DEX will instead relate to the consequences of your 6-. Also, have you been marking XP on failures?
|
|
#
?
Mar 2, 2016 22:53
|
|
|
01 HP: 18/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 5/10 | -1WIS These new flesh-things launch themselves at me, armed with nothing more dangerous than tools, these things pose no threat to me, however they can harm the softskin crew everyone is always complaining about. My directive is clear. I carve them to pieces leisurely, my blade forming graceful arcs of viscera where it intersects undead flesh. I disenge my anchors to gain some mobility as I work. Hack & Slash 10 damage 7 That done, I turn to see another of these husks atop the Ork. With a flourish I flick rotting goo off of my blade and stalk towards the prone chef. "Hold still." I kick out a foot, attempting to dislodge the thing so that I can dismember it without killing Thrash as well. Doing a Defend of Thrash for my second 'what do you do?' Defend 8 Redirect an attack from the thing you defend to yourself
|
|
#
?
Mar 2, 2016 23:38
|
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 6/10 "Yes sir." Serenity nodded, and ducked back outside. That poor man. He'd just been trying to make some honest coin and this madness had to fall upon him and his. "The captain says he needs to be at the wheel if we're going to survive. I am inclined to agree. If you wish to discuss someone else taking over, he is willing to listen. No weapons, no armor, in his quarters. Meanwhile, I need to find Domhnall. Keep an eye out while I'm gone. This isn't over yet, not by half." She glanced out over the waves warily, than returned her gaze to Ramona. A beat, and she continued. "What's the situation below deck, anyway? Anything I should know about?"
|
|
#
?
Mar 3, 2016 02:21
|
|
|
Ramona 21/26 HP; 5/11 XP; 3 Armor "Domhnall and the rest of the crew are unconscious, dying or dead down there, former thanks to the drat orc," she murmurs, eyes fixed on the captain. As soon as Price looks away from her she raises her gun and shoots him in the head. It was the only play to make: the man had proven himself more and more psychologically unfit to command since the attack, and there was no way he really just wanted to talk. Also, the "you won't last an hour without me" bullshit was a threat, which she had warned him about. There were a thousand ways he could have put that better, but he put it the way that tipped his hand. The elf looks upset about it though, as if Ramona should have waited until the last loving second before defending herself. But who the gently caress cared what she--dammit, she was the healer. And she might not have been kidding about that eternal life thing, right..? No way, she must have been loving with her, like everyone always was when they made big promises like that, and when they said poo poo like "oh let me touch your head, and by the way my fingers can hit all the high notes, hair flip." All just attempts to get under her skin, unbalance her. Obviously. "Man was unfit to command, and definitely going to try to kill me. And you, if we came together." She starts walking to the side of the boat where she heard the zombie albatross get sucked under the water. "Listen, he's been loving with something in his pocket since this bullshit started, and threatened me and Juan while his hand was in there. Now whatever was in there, it's gone. Zoomed in and checked now that I'm back in the suit . Now, since it's gone missing he gets crazier eyes and wants to disarm me and denude me and lure me into his quarters. Right where he could have a weapon of his own? Trap. "Boat's easy to steer without them anyway. Trash could do it. Now help me over here, I have another bad feeling." She touches her polarized visor, which turns on a spotlight, and crouches, scanning the area. Discern Realities: 2d6+1 12 What is about to happen? What should I be on the lookout for? What here is not what it appears to be? ps: two links.
|
|
#
?
Mar 3, 2016 04:40
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 18, 2024 07:03 |
|
|
Serenity HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 6/10 Serenity stood, shocked at what had just happened. The Captain had made an entirely reasonable request and been murdered for it. Ramona herself seemed entirely untroubled by it, continuing on as if nothing had even happened. After a moment, Serenity began to reclaim her senses, and began muttering quietly. Her words grew faster and louder, now intelligible as Elvish, and an incredibly foul form of it. Obscenities spewed from her until she was yelling, her eyes burning in anger. As Ramona went into a crouch, the elf yanked the sword sheath from her belt and hurled it to the ground before springing forward onto the warrior and hammering her fist into the armored visor. "What the gently caress is wrong with you? You heartless murderer! He did nothing to you!" Her furious shouts devolved into a cacophony of elven expletives that would be an arrestable offense in most civilized places.
|
|
#
?
Mar 3, 2016 05:09
|
|