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01 HP: 19/26 | Armor 3/3 | XP 0/11 ditching the hold, the best Defense is a good Offense  "Nori use the guns I gave you." I call out as I ramp up my body into overdrive. Blade in one hand, blaster in the other I step out, take two steps to build momentum leap and push off a crate to propel myself the dozens of feet back and upwards to the catwalk full of enemies. (Big Jumps are a thing I can do per Iron Dabbler move) I slide and twist between them, as I slash one, kick out and shatter the ribcage of another, stab the first, then the other, flinging both men over the railing. I move through them like the shadow of death. Hack & Slash 13 leaving myself open for +d6 damage 7 messy Error 404 fucked around with this message at 06:50 on Jun 15, 2016 |
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Jun 15, 2016 06:48
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Stathis Argyle HP 18/18 | Armor 1 | XP 4/10 | Load 6/6 "Talk quick and you walk. Stall for your friends down there, you'll be feeding the fishes within the hour." He gets the point. Talks so fast its like watching a cheetah chasing a gazelle. I can barely keep up, but I manage. Once he's done, I step back and let him down. Doesn't take him long to be running, but I'm already in motion. Same as robber robo. But where he's a whirling dervish of metal and blade, I am the owl, unseen even as it plucks its prey from the ground and takes off once more into skies, the only evidence of passing the absence of what was once there. My prey is turning, already adjusting to fire on the threat he sees, oblivious to my presence even as I snatch him away to the upper levels of Janette's Revenge. This time I'm not in a talking mood, however. I pull back my hand, make some rote gestures, and punch him in the neck. If the blow isn't enough to stagger him, the magic will. Magic like that is potent enough to get a dragon feeling tipsy, anything less is gonna have a tough time pulling together enough to be dangerous. Death From Above (+Dex): 2d6+2 10 Kidnap Them, Target Doesn't Notice, No One Else Notices as the three options. Gonna roll into something more with Black Magic (+Cha, Tags:Hand, Debilitating, Piercing 1): 2d6+2 13 Black Magic Debilitating Damage: 1d8/2 4 So, with debilitating that's "Hinder or slow down enemies, but deal half damage" so 4 damage, pierce 1 armor, and he's hindered or slowed.
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Jun 16, 2016 09:32
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01 The men’s eyes practically bulge from their sockets as you leap clear over the railing and land crashing amidst them. Desperate to disable or even just slow you down, they empty their weapons’ clips in your general direction - but you’re no weak softskin, to be unmade by a few bits of flying lead. In moments, the two gunmen lie smashed and bleeding on the deck below you. They twitch and groan and bubble for breath through shattered ribs. You took Belowdecks, you can hear a hell of a gunfight going on. Nori’s blunderbuss has gone silent - in its place you hear instead what can only be your shiny new machine gun going off: a rapid metallic crashing bang like a stainless-steel pterodactyl puncturing sheet metal with its beak, interspersed with the sounds of other guns. You can’t make out anything about the size or strength of whatever force is opposing Nori from up here, but you do hear her yell “JAIME! SOMEBODY! I NEED BACKUP!” Nori’s command roll: 2d6+1 = 7! Mark XP - I’m treating the earlier Command roll as having been rolled by you. What do you do? STATHIS “Rightyeahokaygoodgreat allfinebyme!” The observer stammers and trips over his own words in his haste to pour it all out. “WecameforRamona paidtotakeheroutinpublic realloudandnoisylike sendamessage leteverybodyknowwho’sthebossaroundhere!!” He shinnies down the comms tower as fast as you’ve ever seen a two-legs go and hares off into the night. Well, scratch one Castellan. Now you’ve just got the rest of ‘em to deal with. Once more, you descend from your perch, snatching up another gunman and hauling him up into the comms tower, well out of anybody’s casual line of sight. Your knuckles flare an ugly orange-red as your inhumanly fast rabbit-punch takes the guy in the back of the neck - he lets out a choked yell of pain and collapses in a heap, out cold. His head’s at a bit of a funny angle, but it doesn’t look like you’ve killed him. You’ve taken out two of their number, but the remaining Blackthornes are free to advance unhindered. The nearest Guild patrols, bereft of arms and thrown into confusion, don’t even have a chance. The hit squad opens fire, and a dozen good men go down in a hailstorm of bullets - even as one of the shooters disappears into an eye-sucking hole in space and pops out thirty feet above the deck, screaming as he plummets. The hit squad advances with chill efficiency, despite their losses - two lay down suppressive fire on the survivors of their assault, another unslings a bulky backpack and starts emplacing some sort of boxy mine on the approaches where the rest of the Guild patrols are still moving in, the rest move to engage the strange winged figure at the Expectant’s entrance. Over the sounds of gunfire and shouted orders, you think you can hear engines running... They haven’t seen you...yet. If you choose to keep up these kidnapping shenanigans, you must Defy Danger +DEX before you roll - you’ll be dropping into a firefight this time, and there’s a fair chance you might get shot or spotted without taking special care to pick your route and choose the most opportune moment to strike. What do you do? TUTRESIEL You reach out and space bends to your alien will - your hapless victim vanishes into the empty sky beneath his feet. He plummets screaming from the portal terminus, firing his weapon randomly as he heads for a fatal rendezvous with the deck below. This is something his comrades in arms just can’t ignore, especially when he lands right in their midst with an awful wet crunch. The remaining hitmen look up for a split-second, shocked and dismayed - then switch their suppressive fire over to you! The nearby medical personnel dive for cover too, one of them towing a stumbling Roberto by one arm. Poor guy looks like he’s on the verge of complete unconsciousness. It’s getting pretty crowded over here behind these crates. Jacketed rounds smash against the sheltering crates, and splinters fly -- AVTOTAR flinches in fear as one slices across his upper arm, leaving a shallow cut. Each gunshot is like a hammerblow to his hyper-sensitive hearing. “Adherent!” he cries. “What is happening, Adherent?! Where-- what’s--” --he crouches down and cowers as more bullets zip past over his head. Somewhere off in the distance, a pair of engines are roaring... You’re taking fire from two sides at once. AVTOTAR can’t see your curt gesture -- he’s blind!! What do you do? RAMONA AND SERENITY As the bullets begin to fly, you two hustle into the bowels of the Expectant at double-time, accompanied by Dr. Antanara and Mr. de Monte. The crewmen you passed tearing down their heavy weapons in relief at Ramona’s stand-down are now setting them back up again, even more feverishly, while a gunnery crew is pouring out of the doorway and making for the ship’s deck gun. “Runten’s breath, what the hell was that?!” Dr. Antanara stammers, still carrying Serenity’s sword-belt. He’s looking all around him like he expects the walls to erupt with gunfire at any moment. “What the hell happened to their guns?!” In response to his words, Ramona’s suit-radio crackles and howls with ghostly glee. ”THEY DIDN’T EVEN SEE US. WE DIDN’T LET THEM!!! DO YOU LIKE IT!?!?!” “I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I HAD TO DO IT--” *kzzzhzhskhzss*ching out for my Sarah please be c*zzzkzkvkzzzsshhhh* Hurried as you two are, you don’t get too great a look at the ship’s innards, but it’s obvious that you’ve come into a bustling hospital ship. White-coated orderlies are dashing to and fro even at this late hour. Another squad of armed patrolmen barrels past you and up the stairs - the squad leader has her radio clamped tight to one ear. In one of the wards, a medical alarm is beeping insistently. Mr. de Monte ushers you two quickly past a heavy steel door engraved with the Guild’s serpent-and-triangle sigil. “Cleanroom,” he explains. “Nothing to see there - come on, right this way.”  Like this but steampunkier and with lots of beds occupied. The doctor and guard usher you two into a clean white treatment room - white bulkheads, white decking, white bed with sterile white starched sheets, white counter and a stainless-steel basin. Glass tubes full of some curious glowing fluid provide steady white light. “I’ll just be a moment,” Dr. Antanara says, and excuses himself. Chief Orson is waiting for you both inside. He’s kinda little. Five feet, maybe five-two. Salt-and-pepper hair, a dark coat grimed with ink spots and anonymous stains. He’s hunched over a radio handset on the counter, working the frequency dial and speaking in low, urgent tones. There are deep bags under his eyes; his face is creased with stress lines and a scar across one temple. “Bessem Two and Three, secure the Excursus. Charon One, respond. I need eyes and force estimation. Charon Two, respond. Astra One, Two: advance, and engage. Secure and exfiltrate treatment team and patient. Be advised Charon Three and Bessem One are out of action. Charon One, respond. Respond, drat you!” He lets out a harsh breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. Hides his face in his hands for a moment or two, then turns to his new guests. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he somehow still manages to make time for formalities. “Miss Greymist. I apologize for this inconvenience; please accept, on behalf of Captain Azdruk, my offer of sanctuary and hospitality until this situation is resolved. Ms. de Sahagun, allow me to extend my personal thanks for your more salubrious choice of traveling companions. Rest assured, your reputation precedes you.” A hard, bitter light flares in his eyes. “My men are dying out there, Ramona,” he says tonelessly, “not five minutes after you appear at my door. I’ve lost three patrols and can't raise two others. The survivors tell me their guns jammed, or misfired. All at once. I suspect foul play, and you can be certain you and yours are not above suspicion. But right now, I don’t care about that. My men are dying, and I need your help.” He leans towards you and hisses, “Help me fight. Help me kill them.” What do you two do?
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Jun 19, 2016 18:28
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 Ramona 18/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4 Armor "A would-be trained soldier's lack of trigger discipline is exposed. Another faction cuts ahead in line with extreme prejudice to take me on. Sometimes strange things just happen to people who threaten my life. It's bad luck, like shooting an albatross. "Her risk of infection is on you, it doesn't mean anything to me. If you want me to fix your problem up there, make me an offer. But I'll tell you for free that you should stop sending people in to die, and the ones already in could just withdraw or surrender. It's trying to fight back against a superior force that's getting them killed. I know how that looks." I know how that looks. And I feel like I know how he would look before I walked in here. From that electrocution dream being operated on, being sapped of some vital fluid. It was a bad memory, drove me to drink. Spout Lore (face): 2d6 2
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Jun 19, 2016 19:44
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Stathis Argyle HP 18/18 | Armor 1 | XP 4/10 | Load 6/6 Gunfire. The time for picking them off one by one has come to a close. The Expectant's forces are outmatched by these Blackthorne mercs even before considering whatever magic caused those misfires. One working at some sort of mine. A quick skim of my pocket-sized Standard Issue Survival Manual doesn't have it. Too new, looks like it was made sometime in the last decade at least. Nothing to do about that, so I raise a hand, gesturing a ball of flame into existence. There, some have grouped near the pipes. Closing formation to fight through towards Ramona, never saw a cleaner target before in my life. My other hand grabs the ball of flame, flattening it into a disk, holding until they reach the gangplank connecting the Plagioclase to the dock. The instant the first boot connects with the gangplank the disc flies out with the flick of a wrist, swiftly cutting through the air until it slams into the middle of the pack of mercs, the disk exploding out, flames covering the area in a horizontal burst on impact. Spout Lore with Book: 2d6 7 Finally books did a thing. Was shooting for info about that mine. Black Magic (+Cha, Tags:Near, Elemental Fire, Area): 2d6+2 12 1d8-2 -1 Well that's polarized. ArkInBlack fucked around with this message at 22:30 on Jun 19, 2016 |
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Jun 19, 2016 21:55
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Serenity HP 17/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 4/11 Serenity had heard stories of Ramona, of course. But they were vague affairs that mostly reiterated the idea that drawing down on her was a really bad idea. She hadn't pried into the details even after meeting the woman in person. Everyone ought to be given at least that much courtesy. However, this situation was getting rapidly out of hand. What had she done to provoke so much ire? That question would have to wait; this was not the time or the place. Crossing her arms, Serenity stood at Ramona's side in a silent show of solidarity. The ache in her chest was starting to progress into a periodic stabbing sensation from the exertion for their flight, and it was all she could do to keep her face neutral and composed. She gave Orson a polite nod before speaking. "Good day, sir. I Hope you'll forgive me for skipping right to the crux of the matter. This is some other group attacking us and your men? I was not entirely clear on what happened; only that someone was shooting at us. Any idea who these people are?" Reputation: 2d6+3 13 Orson has heard stories about Serenity Greymist. She can touch her own nose with her tongue, and she has a tattoo on her left shoulder that is so obscene, she is marked for death in two countries because of it.
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Jun 19, 2016 22:09
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01 HP: 18/26 | Armor 3/3 | XP 1/11 At Nori's call, I hop the catwalk's railing and land in the hatchway again. The exact details escape me, but from what I can tell, either the Ramona or Lady Serenity own this one, and so I should protect her. Besides, she has one of my new guns. With a fluid swiftness, I charge down the stairs to where Nori is, interposing myself between her and the enemy, without obscuring her aim. Defend 11 Redirect an attack from (Nori) to yourself Halve the attack’s effect or damage Open up the attacker to (Nori?) giving that ally +1 forward against the attacker
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Jun 20, 2016 05:52
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Tutresiel HP: 17/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 7/10 It is not unexpected that a show of puissance might attract negative attention, especially from hired killers - bloodied coins. In the moments since, Tutresiel had forgotten that AVTOTAR had forsaken the sense of sight as a part of his enlightenment. Instead Tutresiel made a hushing sound and spoke low, even amidst all this chaos AVTOTAR would be able to hear. "Lie prone, we are under assault. If I do not return, remember to bear the Thalassite Sigil in the deeper places." is all they said before taking stock of where the impacts on the cover were coming from, as they still hid in cover - even if it was being splintered and damaged by withering hails of fire. The high ground would be necessary for an advantage but the question is how high? Myriad tales tell of the day being won by a true believer who utilised an advantage provoked by a moment of insight into the true workings of the world. With that in mind, Tutresiel gazed about from where they could see (as well as what they saw earlier in their grandiose exaggeration of vigilance), and plotted a course to another place of cover, this time elevated upon one of the other ships, and with that in mind Tutresiel deigned to breach space once more with but simple, silent gestures, this time underneath their own feet so that they would drop through immediately, allowing them to immediately reposition themselves, although it might seem selfish to leave AVTOTAR, the intent was not to strand AVTOTAR behind, but that rapidly the soldiers' attention would be drawn to Tutresiel's new position regardless, and they likely had not even noticed the meagre form of AVTOTAR yet. Fold Space (Wis): 2d6+3 9 Assuming nothing became dramatically different in the moment-between-moments that Tutresiel utilised in this stepping across space, the angelic figure would strike a simple mudra as they affected an aggressive stance, disbelieving the more subtle (and less onerous) aspects of space, they would lash out at one of the mercenaries (whichever was in the most advantageous position compared to Tutresiel's newest location) with heavy fists and feet in an attempt to crush them into the very deck they stand upon. It is said that the Broken Domain is forever stained by the violence that occurred there, and the infinitely fractal reflections of that domain that assail the mortal world inspired many terrible deeds. One such deed would be carried out here and now. Hack and Slash (Int): 2d6+1 13 Damage (Close, Near): 1d6 1 Or at least something to that effect.
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Jun 20, 2016 18:09
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Serenity HP 17/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 4/11 --- Elves are, next to Men, the most common folk to produce bards. A pursuit involving the accumulation of obscure lore and innumerable stories meshes well with a species as long lived as they are. However, just about every culture produces folk of a similar bent. As part of honing her skills, a young Serenity took it upon herself to meet with these various peoples and learn what she could from them. So it was that a scant year after being recognized among that honored order, Serenity found herself engaged in a battle of wits and verbal sparring with a Gnollish Curse-speaker and was soundly whipped in front of his entire tribe. His style was impetuous, his defenses impregnable. His rhymes could not be defeated as he castigated the elf on every aspect of her skill and appearance. Of particular note was several lines insinuating that her only redeeming feature was having a talented tongue and how she could put it to good use. When Serenity finally managed to stop laughing, she conceded the duel and stole his sick rhymes for her own. Lacking much shame, she has never altered the lines except to make it work in first person. That particular song only comes out when she is incredibly drunk, but it rarely fails to stick in the minds of those that hear it. It has no official name, but is commonly referred to as the Ballad of Easy E (for elf). That such a bawdy it has managed to stick around in the public consciousness for over two centuries is another sticking point with the more dignity-obsessed members of elven society.  This should be played at high volume. Preferably in a residential area.
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Jun 20, 2016 22:36
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TUTRESIEL You split space and slip through the crack in the space of an eyeblink. The portal winks shut noiselessly behind you as you step out on a catwalk overlooking the Plagioclase’s foredeck, above and behind the main mass of the surviving Blackthornes. Farther along this path, but hidden by a rack of bulky pipework so that you’re out of his immediate line of fire, another bloodied coin lurks - your target.  Your first flurry of blows catches him completely by surprise - he reels and stumbles under your onslaught of lashing fist and buffeting wingtip from every possible angle. But he quickly recovers his equilibrium, and starts snapping out his own blocks and counter-blows in return - you’re keeping him busy enough with his hands and feet for him to be unable to raise his weapon against you, but neither can you quite seem to slip through his ferociously quick guard and strike this mortal a telling blow! In a hidden corner of the Pall of Shekina, the Thalassite Sigil (0 weight, benthic) will be found. When you cross off your bond with Padre Clavo and replace it with a bond for AVTOTAR, you will have delivered it into his keeping. 1 damage ain’t gonna cut it against these guys! What will you do? STATHIS Your disk of flame shears through the ropes holding up that gangplank in a hiss and flash of fresh white fog, but impacts harmlessly against the body armor of that knot of Blackthornes. The bridge sags dangerously, and you can hear the strained groaning of its supporting metal truss - but it holds, and the mercenaries quickly clear the drifts of hot steam your blast produced. Good thing for them that it’s been raining so hard - much of your spell’s energy went into evaporating the water in all that soaked rope. Worse, the mine they emplaced behind them doesn’t seem to have been affected at all! It’s casing is scorched, but nothing more. You at least recognize its general design, though - human manufacture from the military combines of Mont-Giseke. You’ve seen too much of their handiwork in action during your latter days in the Elvenwars not to recognize their particular brand of antipersonnel mine when you see it. You can’t see from here how it’s to be triggered, but its sharply curved carapace gives you a good idea of the lethal hurricane it’ll discharge if it goes off in the path of a Guild patrol. Or worse, you.  The Blackthornes clear the blast zone and trace the fireball’s trajectory right up to where you perch. “Twelve’o’clock high,” one barks, and they raise their submachine guns to fire -- you’d better move! Defy Danger +DEX unless you get behind something right now, and also do so every time you move into their line of fire while they’re aware of your position. What do you do? 01 It’s not a hatchway so much as it is a very steep ladder, but you don’t even care - you just plunge down it feetfirst without bothering to climb and land crashing on the bulkhead below, just as another pair of these new softskins are about to open fire on Nori! You interpose yourself in between their fire in the very nick of time - the bullets meant to snuff out her frail life slam into you instead! You jerk and flinch under the fierceness of their impact, but when the smoke clears all they’ve got to show for it is a whole bunch of new dents in your carapace. I guess the “bullet-riddled” look is in these days. You took Nori sprawls behind you on the ladder, her eyes wide as saucers - she’s bleeding freely from a scalp wound and clutching a bullet graze below her armpit. Your fancy new rifle lies strewn across the floor, the machine gun hangs slackly out of Nori’s hand. You’re standing at a T-juncture - behind you, an empty corridor, to either side of you, empty shell casings and bulkheads pockmarked with a bad case of bullet acne. The gunmen appear not to be in evidence, having withdrawn to cover after failing to perforate you. Nori opens and shuts her mouth a couple times but no words come out, just terrified panting. Belay that last use of hold for opening them up - you still have it, and write a new bond for Nori. You’ll have to actually attack these guys if you want to Command her to assault them again; otherwise, you can use your last hold from Defend for whatever you want. What do you do? RAMONA You might feel like it, but no. Someone short. But not him. At least you think this isn’t him. That was a bad dream, and no mistake - but was it one freighted with meaning or just another one of Savior’s putrid fantasies? You’re not really sure. But either way this isn’t him. Probably. “An armed escort to Aqualantis,” he tells you, “access to our machine shops beforehand, and an offer of contractual employment.” He turns to the radio and gives a few more orders, quietly. “We’ve been investigating you. Your associates. Lord Gobshire had some funny ideas about employing known criminals. One of our own was with you - a rogue. Long history of brushes with regulation.” He rises and hands a sheaf of tactical notes to Mr. De Monte, who pelts off down the hall. “I can’t stay here. We think he died. We think his work might not have. Find his crimes - unregistered chimerae, these and any others. Kill them. Eight coin a head for the little ones. Eight hundred for a hive-queen. Radio my man Lieutenant Bozlbuk - we have a field hospital. Very rough. Lot of emigrants still down there.” He hands his last sheet of paper to you - a naturalist’s sketch of an ugly little critter you remember all too well from your last sojourn to that drowned city.  At the threshold, he stops and looks back at you. “I’m sending out the fins. Take care you don’t spear them. Stay or fight, I won’t force you.” He turns and is gone. You have access to a forge, but I'm pretty sure you left that cannon on board the Shrieking Harpy. What do you do? SERENITY “Not a drat clue,” Orson says curtly. “Mercenaries, pirates, both. Law and order isn’t well-appreciated here, miss. Excuse me.” He confers with Ramona for a little while, then leaves - Dr. Antanara comes in right on his heels pushing a little tray of medical equipment. He swabs your cheek absentmindedly with some sort of stinging disinfectant, then rolls up your shoulder to do the same - for a split-second, you see him clamp his lips around a burst of shocked laughter. Yes, you actually do have to sit here and take your medicine.  You’ll be finished when you stay in this room for one post, but you can do whatever else you might like in that timeframe. What do you do?
Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 02:20 on Jun 21, 2016 |
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Jun 20, 2016 23:46
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 Ramona 18/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4 Armor I smile under my mask, now we were getting somewhere, "You have yourself a hunter." Leaving was good too. Hanging around someone about to owe you a lot of money was a double-waste when Savior was around. And besides, I have to make sure Serenity isn't being dosed or treated without informed consent as I ordered. Doctors forget just like all people, they have to be watched. I scoff. A swab and needle, I could have done this myself– ten seconds pass of complete tunnel vision, my guard is down with my jaw, and I still can't look away. Brown skin doesn't blush, and even if it did, visor. gently caress. This. Bard. She will distract me, one of us will get hurt, then the other will heal them. That is the cycle. I'm just waiting here transfixed like someone I'd hate, knowing part two is about to come and not doing anything about it. But it goes away beforehand. There is nothing I can do about this yet and I need both of us alive until the ritual. This is going to be a job alright. "They're at the door. I should go. Shoo them away." Filling the choke with gurneys and bodies would be easier than sticking my neck out to fight them in the open anyway. Juan's already on it though, making himself useful for a change. Fine by me. I tell the staff to do the same and obstruct the hallway. In case he fails. Sometimes I wish I were thinner, like an elf, so who could do the safer kind of subterfuge from inside the vents of a building like this. I have to stick to soft steps and long-distance-only disguises. Scrubs and a mask will do. The suit will keep watch for me in my right lens if something goes wrong. Or... I search the doctors' notes about this kind of vaccination in another elf. Find Antanara's, in fact. Made sense he needed the treatment as well. As I thought, I could do this myself. Faster, too, since Serenity already gave me carte blanche to protect her. I walk back into her room, in suit, and take over for him, "Stop me if I do anything wrong." He won't, because I won't. The only things that delay me are the grazed cheek, because if my guard weren't down it wouldn't be there, and taking an extra second to fumble covering that shoulder up–due only to the drugs I took–then say, "Now let's get out of here." I whisper the plan to her on the way out, sidestepping into the hospital locker room, while getting out of my suit and into some scrubs I take from a now carelessly open locker. "Juan has things under control outside, and I think there's something more to Orson and Antanara. We can get into scrubs and do some spying–you from the vents, me, just in disguise. Or you can wait here or go out there and almost get shot again." I pop open another locker and glance into it and back to her. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 01:23 on Jun 21, 2016 |
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Jun 21, 2016 01:11
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Serenity HP 17/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 4/11 Serenity did her best to pretend Ramona wasn't staring at her. The woman was intense by default, but this was getting a little much. Then again, by everything Serenity understood she was one of the few people in the world who was actually on course to get precisely what she desired most in life. Hard to blame her for being a bit mono-focused. Okay, a lot mono-focused. She was about to mention that she was as safe as she was ever going to be here, given that there was probably no doctor in the world she couldn't beat up - broken ribs or no - when Ramona beat her to the punch and excused herself. She turned her attention to Antanara, accepting his sticks and pokes and prods with aplomb. "So, Doctor. What exactly am I being treated for? This all seems a little...shall we say, sketchy. What with the multiple heavily armed squads and some guy running out half mad from illness. Who are you folk working for?" Using Charming and Open to learn who Antanara serves.
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Jun 21, 2016 03:44
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01 HP: 17/26 | Armor 3/3 | XP 1/11 "Catch your breath. Stay back and in cover. I will flush them out." I tell her, my voxer making the words terse and clipped. In the confines of the corridor, my combat processors determine bladework to be my best option, I holster the blaster and take a two handed grip as I stalk forward to root out these enemies. I turn down the most likely direction they'd have gone, until I reach whatever door or barricade they've chosen to hide behind. (Not sure if they're just around the corner of the T-junction, or what) Once more, I charge in close to negate their firearms, slicing off the gun arm of one, kicking out and collapsing the ribs of another, shoulder checking a third man's head into a bulkhead-crushing it. In general I am causing as much damage in as short a period as possible in the most efficient ways possible. I don't take prisoners. Hack & Slash 9 damage 6 messy Decided to move on from defense, so burning that hold on nothing. New Bond: I have saved Nori's life, I will expect compensation
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Jun 21, 2016 07:30
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Tutresiel HP: 17/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 7/10 While wandering in the gardens, something that time and again mortals have tried to create but pale reflections of their true majesty in the mortal world, Torivir asked The-God-Who-Would-Become-Silent a question, stopping to gaze into the prismatic effervescence of one of the many pools. "In battle, what is the solution to ineffectuality?" is what she inquired, to which The-God-Who-Would-Become-Silent replied "Escalate. Always escalate, escalate until all is eclipsed by your might and none can ignore your power. For to deny someone's power is to deny their existence. Existence is everything." - The Adventures of Saint Torivir the Even-Handed, lost excerpts. - - - - Keeping such sage wisdom in mind, Tutresiel escalated. Pausing a moment with the baffling fighting style practised by few (known to those that study such things as the 3rd Path of Disillusion), still taking cover amidst the bric-a-brac of the top of the many ships that lay around this place, Tutresiel reached into the depths of the Pall of Shekina, pulling forth a glowing fragment of the Broken Domain, thus escalating the style to the 4th Path of Disillusion (called by the more braggardly as the 4th Path of Dissolution), and more than likely breaking any stealth or subtlety. Shard in hand, its burning radiance hissing against the rain - turning some into steam (or even plasma) instantaneously, other droplets being deflected long before they would reach it - even the rain knows better than to challenge such an infinitely recursive fragment of forever - Tutresiel began another assault, focusing primarily on the delivering of the shard to the target, using it as a weapon - the other hand and other limbs being used primarily to reposition or alternatively restrain the target in order to prevent them avoiding their inevitable death. Hack and Slash (Int): 2d6+1 13 Damage (Hand, Near, Messy, Ignores Armor, Thrown): 1d6 1 Destiny was on Tutresiel's side - to an extent, even a 'minor' wound with such an artefact could not be ignored.
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Jun 21, 2016 20:02
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Serenity HP 17/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 4/11 Using Charming and Open to learn who Antanara serves. [22:12] <alumnus_phone> themselves [22:13] <alumnus_phone> totally legit political entity [22:13] <alumnus_phone> think a really lovely NEST team Serenity glanced over her shoulder as Ramona escorted her back out of the room. "I am sorry, Doctor. She's really rather insistent as you can see." She buckled her sword back on as she followed down the hall. "You really aren't one to concern yourself with propriety or personal space, are you?" Her tone was not really reproachful, just puzzled. Entering into the locker room, she cocked her head as Ramona evacuated the armor and started rummaging through someone's carelessly unlocked things. Her eyes narrowed as the plan was laid eyed, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "No. I said I'd follow orders, but I'm busted up enough as it is. I am not going to try and to haul myself through the duct-work to spy on these people and wind up a cripple. I'll stay here if you need me too, but I want to remind you. Our compatriots are under attack out there, and that seems far more immediately relevant than a ship full of overzealous doctors and security. I get the impression this city is a little light on law and order, so I can sort of understand Orson's attitude." Her stance relaxed and she dropped her arms. "Now sit down for a moment. You look like you've been running on empty for a while now." Clasping her hands, the elf became humming that familiar hymn of hers, though it carried a subtle reverberation to it that was not there before. It jarred at the mind a little, like feedback from a microphone. Arcane Art: 2d6+3 9 Healing Ramona: 1d8 2 Ramona also gains +1d4 forward to damage as the elf's magics reinvigorate her.
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Jun 22, 2016 05:14
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 Ramona 20/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4 Armor She questions whether I had any respect for the rules of polite society and keeping at arms length. I bend my head down over her, looking her in the eyes from less than a foot away, "No." In the locker room, after I bust open a couple of them and start changing into scrubs, fumbling with the drat gloves, I, against my better judgment, sit. Then she stops talking and starts distracting me, "I'm fine. Shh. Don't sing. Quiet!" I keep her voice down, but still she sings. Every note is a lullaby at this point and I doze off, humming along in a dream. In the dream, my forehead hits that shoulder and I repeat something I haven't thought about since I found Savior. "I've been awake for twice my age in hours." 32 back then. 48 today. Then the ghosts strike while I'm vulnerable, the dream turns to the nightmare where I get stabbed in the heart by someone I'm leaning on same as before. Hypnic jerks wakes me up. I'm humming the same tune out of the dream too. drat. aid: 2d6+2 12 I clear my throat. "We'll do it your way. Again." I get back in the armor and get ready to clear a path. A spiked ball is attached to my chain whip, flexibility and articulation aren't called for here. Just whirling death and dismemberment. "Stand back, keep your head down. And you might want to avert your eyes." hns: 2d6+3 15 damage: 1d10+1d4+1 7 reroll d4: 1d4 3 1d6 additional: 1d6 2 11 messy forceful damage 
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Jun 22, 2016 08:12
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Serenity HP 17/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 4/11 Ramona kept asking her not to sing. Might as well ask the ocean to stop being wet. It was what she could do to aid her comrades now, having been made well aware that her swordsmanship simply didn't measure up. Moving cautiously behind the bounty hunter, she nodded at her cautionary words. "Understood. I'll support you the best I can." Hand on the hilt of her sword, she began to sing her song of battle, weaving its rhythm to work with Ramona's own style of combat. They had vast philosophical differences but they nevertheless were proving to work together quite well in combat. Surely Ramona knew it as well, in spite of her protests. Given her obvious dislike of relying on others, Serenity supposed it was only natural. Arcane Art: 2d6+3 9 Healing Ramona: 1d8 3 The next time someone successfully assists Ramona with aid, she gets +2 instead of +1. 
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Jun 23, 2016 02:10
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Stathis Argyle HP 18/18 | Armor 1 | XP 4/10 | Load 6/6 Assuming is the single most dangerous thing someone can do in a combat situation. Here, the mercs assumed the humanoid figure that rained fire did not possess inhuman speed and dexterity. Also felt bad for whoever had to fix whatever damage caused by their stray bursts, but hopefully they'd understand not wanting to get shot. Better get back to ending this quickly. Fire was a mistake with the rain only just letting up. Rookie mistake maybe, but hindsight's twenty twenty. Now I'm taking my time to take in the situation. The Expectant forces still can't offer resistance, the living ones ducking for cover. The stampede of boots as the mercs move in formation still. Well, time to teach them a lesson about counter-caster tactics. As I move I make an orb in my hands, the warm glow barely bright enough to be seen in the distance. As the edge of the upper deck come to an end I leap, and fling the orb towards the air above the center dock. They break as best they can, but the orb just slowly drifts. A moment of confusion, before I hit the ground and finish the spell with a snap of my fingers. Instantly the orbs replaces the rain with a spray of needles of pure light, as fast as the orb was slow. An ugly spell, for unpleasant people. Defy Danger (+Dex): 2d6+2 11 Black Magic (+Cha, Tags:Near, Piercing 2, Area): 2d6+2 10 1d8-2 4
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Jun 23, 2016 15:58
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01 You stalk the corridors like a blood-soaked avenging angel, certain in your ability to flush out these softskins before they can retreat. The first man you encounter turns to flee but you lop his gun arm off at the shoulder before he can even make it five paces, clean. His comrades-in-arms, knowing after that show of brutality that no quarter will be asked or given, choose instead to fight - and die - like cornered rats. Soft and weak they may be, but in times of crisis even a softskin might find it in their fleshy heart to fight like one of your cousins. Your second victim gets his gun in under your guard as a flying kick crushes his ribs like wet cardboard, and in his death throes, he pulls the trigger and sends a full-auto spread into your chest and knee servos at point-blank range. Your final foe puts up a disciplined last-ditch defense, forcing you to block shot after shot with the flat of your blade as you charge towards him at the end of a long corridor. Just before you paint the bulkhead with his splattered brains, he takes a split-second to aim - and fires his lk\":!f櫹yd!@�EC---- >>> !! ntc.phys.d.dcond SIGALRT: lateral occipital cranial plate BREACH, α-medial anterior patellar servojuncture BREACH, STRUCTURAL TRAUMA INTERRUPT CODE 0x40EE >>> --there’s a garbled spot in your memory where the last couple seconds should be, but the softskin who dared to inflict injury upon you lies motionless on the deck with his head mashed to pulp. There’s a matched pair of bullet holes - entry and exit, clean - on the side of your head, and your kicking leg is spitting sparks and leaking a fine spray of hydraulic fluid from a rent in the plating. It feels weak and shaky when you put your weight on it, but it’ll hold. You’re also just covered in gore. Uch. Messy. Very, very messy. Blood and bone chips and bits of brain stuck in every little crevice in your armor plate. Softskins. They never die clean. Nah, you can still use that defense hold, and I’m saying you spent it to deal damage equal to your level to them - but you must also choose one: either take Abovedecks, Nori is crouched over the fresh corpse of her late companion Jaime. Her shoulders hitch silently, and she doesn’t even seem to notice you walk back out on deck. There’s seemingly little fresh mayhem to be had here. Out on the refinery ship across from you, Tutresiel is busy exsanguinating someone, the Ramona is dispatching softskins with terrible ease on the deck of the Expectant - but what’s this? Over on the ship to your left, a leaping, massively arachnoid figure looses from his hands some pale gleam of light - a clutch of gunmen fall screaming as needles of radiant energy spear through them! A sorcerer! But who could this be? Friend or foe? When was the last time you met a softskin with arcane powers like this? STATHIS You slip aside from the burst of gunfire like smoke and deliver your own brand of unexpected surprise into their midst - the knot of soldiers goes down amid a chorus of screams, spears of light writhing in their guts. When you land, they’re dead to a man. Nice and clean. The others you saw have been cleaning up nicely too - the mechanical man is soaked with the gore of a few fresh corpses on that patrol ship across the water, and above you there’s a sudden, horrible shredding sound like someone putting a molecular chainsaw through raw beef. With these Blackthornes neutralized and their reinforcements seemingly nowhere in sight, it’s an easy matter to secure and make safe their mine.  TUTRESIEL This bloody coin’s tenure here was always preordained. His life, and death, nothing more than mere transaction: the first sacrifice upon the altar, the opener of the way. The irresistible angles of your celestial shard puncture his heart - each spraying geyser of hot lifesblood ensnarled in the artifact’s strange geometries and twisted into those fractalline sigils which are the heralds of the coming of the ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ғᴇᴀsᴛ. His bloodless husk lands, death-white and fragile as a fallen leaf. Aboard the Expectant, unbeknownst to her, the woman Serenity’s song has begun to touch upon another kind of note. Weird harmonies are echoing in the outer air, in the spaces between space. The stars are coming right. Al-Hakrabi is soon to be in the ascendant. Far below, an unholy leviathan stirs uneasily in its epochal slumber. Escalate, always escalate, until the heaving waters are as smooth and still as glass - and the hour of the ʙᴀɴǫᴜᴇᴛ will be at hand.  SERENITY Dr. Antanara chats sleepily with you as you receive your inoculation. “‘S mad, isn’t it? He’s a real holy warrior when he gets word someone might be working against regulations. But I don’t blame ‘im. We’ve all seen what can happen when the wrong chimera gets out of the test tubes.” A quick stab of discomfort - your blood runs cold for a moment or two. “It’s the Wormwood, you know. We tried to burn it out. Gave that up a couple years ago. Dozens dead.” Another injection, this one like hot wax in your veins - what’s in this stuff, anyway? “Say aah.” He looks into your eyes with a penlight; shines the same down your throat and ears. “They send less soldiers every year. Barely enough manpower to keep up quarantine as is. And now this.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re clean, thank Nashira - if nothing else we can keep the spores out. We’ll probably lose Roberto. I’ve tried everything on him - everything the backroom boys can brew up. This stuff, once you let it get a foothold, it’s… there’s so little we can do. Some kind of fungus. Has to be chimeric - fungi are saprophytes, corpse-feeders. They just don’t go after healthy people like this. It throws off our best work, feeds on it and keeps growing and…I’m scared.” He swabs your needle sticks with a sterile pad and dumps the whole kit into a biowaste box. “We’re all scared. Bozlbuk’s division’s got their hands full processing refugees, and now we’re seeing cases here topside, even...it’s bad. If you ask anyone in public they’ll tell you there’s nothing to worry about but I hear people talking, nights.” He shivers. “We’ll have to cremate him, after he...stops fighting it. After he gives in. The things they say with their last breaths, miss, you’d not want to hear it.” *** As you and Ramona head up to the deck, Dr. Antanara corralls you one last time and presses a flat metal case into your hands. “Here. It’s what I gave you: sal efindun and spirits of caspase in sealed autoinjectors, three doses apiece. Emergency prophylaxis. News from downbelow is spotty, but I gather it’s...much worse in the poorest districts. Might be you’ll need this, or someone else will.” Add an antitoxin kit (3/3 uses, 1 weight) to your inventory. RAMONA Is this really all they’ve got? Divers in gas masks? Please. The real threats popped off too soon, while you were still on guard, and your crew’s been diligently executing them while you kept Serenity safe. No need for subtlety, not a bit - just carnage. Your assassins never even stood a chance. Skulls smashed, shoulders shattered, arms or legs torn half off from the sheer force of your augmented mace strikes. Wetsuits, honestly. What on earth were they thinking? You’ve been dealing with worse threats to your life than a platoon of armed mercenaries for years - they’re going to have to try a little harder than that if they want to catch you napping. And there they go - running off with their tails between their legs. Three fleeing hovercraft have hove into view in the middle distance, off past the edge of the Raft - one small, two larger. The distant forms of more divers stroke frantically for the crafts’ lowered disembarkation ramps, and from the Expectant’s stern stream a cluster of fluid silver fins in hot pursuit. The rain has stopped. The clouds are breaking. Far in the east, the grey light of dawn has begun to touch the starry sky. Exhaustion strikes you like a woolly hammer - pulls at your limbs, swaddles your alertness in muffling cotton. You are so, so tired. EVERYBODY You’ve beaten them back - now it only remains to decide which route you’ll take to Aqualantis, far below. If you let them go, roll End of Session and get some well-deserved rest. Get done whatever else you’ve got a mind to do or buy on the Raft the next morning, and then the Guild will escort you below. If you choose to pursue them, their corpses on the altar of the Silent God will feed Tutresiel’s awful rites, and a prisoned sea-titan will become his to command. The Guild will furnish you with patrol boats - and then you’ll hunt them down and send them all to Davy Jones’ Locker.  Figure this out between yourselves - then WHAT DO YOU DO? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 22:32 on Jul 3, 2016 |
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Jul 2, 2016 21:25
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 Ramona 20/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4/1 Armor I'm fast on my way to madness and an early grave if I can't take my sleep meds and get to a secure location before these awake meds wear off. First things first though, I corner Juan, who looks like hot poo poo. "Hey. I'm giving you an order, as a representative of Serenity. She's pledged hers... soul to me so what I say, goes. With her. Kill every last one of them. Take their ship, sell it, or sink it. No one shoots at us. After that, guard Serenity. But do it right this time, no loving around trying to kill and destroy instead of–" I gesture in circles, unable to come up with an appropriate turn of phrase before settling on, "–keeping your eyes on the prize." I can't guard her all the time, after all. How would I? Lock her up while I'm asleep? I wish I didn't, but I have to trust this machine to succeed where I almost failed earlier. Then I head over to Serenity and Tutresiel with a list of stuff I paid for that they need to pick up, this morning or next, doesn't matter, I've been out and about enough in this drat town and I don't want to draw more attention to us. Then I corner the elf, "Hey, I don't know if I told you this already, but I've been up for almost 48 hours and I'm almost 24 years old. So I have to sleep. It's not easy for me, so I have to ask you for something. A promise that'd help me sleep, and help me protect you." I avert my eyes in my suit where no one can see. From that bullet graze, and from that drat tattoo, "If I die, can you come save me? From hell, the evil spirits, all that? Just try. I know that bard's tale about another bard who fails to do so, but..." I don't know. She'll be different? *** They come back when I'm about three-quarters through my medicine. I have to pace myself because I don't like to risk wasting any of it and drinking vomit is a thing of the past and I mean it to stay that way. The last quarter is the hardest to keep down, so I try to distract myself. "We're playing a drinking game now. Three–Two truths and a lie. I tell two truths and a lie, then pick two of you. If you guess the lie, I get you a drink. Or soda or whatever you drink. Motor oil. If you're wrong, you get one for me. Beverage of my choice. I'll start. "You three remind me of what I hate about myself." I point to Serenity, 01, and Tutresiel as I name the three things, "Past, Present, Future. I'm gonna become just as unrecognizable as a human being as you, because of all the adjustments I have to make to how I think to stay alive. Babbling about things I've named that no one else knows what I'm talking about. That no one other than a few other crazy people will comprehend. And you, you're who people think I am now. An unfeeling killing machine with no real loyalty to anything besides the thrill of battle. That'll pretend to be working for someone but really just looking for an fake excuse to kill. The money, orders, justice. Tactical necessity. And you. A decade ago I dreamed about being like you. I knew all the old songs and dances and stories that everyone else had forgotten. I wanted to bring them with me all across the world, to gather moss and to roll. Make the world my oyster. Everytime I look at you I have to stop thinking about that. So give me a break every once in a while." I point to Tootsie. They're wrong. I point to Juan. He's wrong too. I send them to get me drinks. It's just me and the elf. I lean in and confess a secret. "Heh. I cheated. They're all true. You should go next." I'll do the move later. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 03:17 on Jul 3, 2016 |
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Jul 3, 2016 03:14
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01 You've been given the order to kill - take +1d4 damage forward against the Blackthornes, if you ever see any of them again. For the record, you are not compelled to obey Ramona's orders the way you are Serenity's - contrary to what she might think, if you choose to go a-slaying again it's entirely of your own free will. You can also write your final bond for Ramona, or save it for someone else.
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Jul 3, 2016 05:04
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Serenity HP 17/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 4/11 What a poo poo day. Racist alchemists, a plague boat, hit squads, and Jaime dying. At times like this, Serenity had to reluctantly agree that her people were not entirely incorrect about humans. They were kind of a garbage species sometimes. Oh, sure. The vast majority of them were decent people just trying to get by. But the outliers skewed everything. Then again, the same could be said of elves. And among them she was one of the outliers. So anyway, here they sat, drinking. Or at least, watching Ramona drink. Serenity wasn't in the mood, and had been nursing a glass of wine for the better part of an hour. She only half listened to the conversation. Her mind was caught up with Nori, and Ramona's request earlier, and what sort of things they might encounter in Aqualantis. There wasn't much she could do for Nori. Words were just that; words. All the condolences and sympathy in the world wouldn't bring her lover back. All she could do was grieve and move on. Ramona...ye gods, Ramona. The constant fear she had of the fate that awaited her....they were not the thoughts of a cold hearted killer. More and more, she struck Serenity as a young girl forced to grow up too soon and made hateful by her circumstances. She had agreed. To the immortality, and to hunting her down in the afterlife if necessary. It's what her husband would have done, and its what she would do. She was not a crusader out to change the whole of the world. Helping one person, though? That seemed reasonable, even if the specifics were anything but. Her reverie was interrupted as Ramona leaned over and whispered in her ear, then invited her to go next. Serenity drummed her fingers on the table for a moment. "With respect, I'll pass. It's been a long day. You all go ahead, though." Rising to her feet, she gave 01 a nod. "Do me a favor. Keep an eye on her for me, would you? Make sure she doesn't get into any trouble." She gave the group a polite smile. "I'll see you all in the morning." --- After slipping from her room and a (thankfully) peaceful walk, the elf stood before the Gracious Gale. Serenity wondered to herself again what she thought she was doing here. Tying up loose ends, she supposed. Not that she was expecting to die in Aqualantis, but here was a chance to clear her head and go beneath the waves with no unfinished business to distract her. Besides - if those assassins were after them for whatever reason, they did not need to be a continual thorn in their side. This was a good opportunity to nip that nonsense in the bud. Calling out to the guards in Elvish, she introduced herself. "Hail, brothers. Serenity Greymist, requesting an audience with the Lady Lightbringer. May I be allowed aboard?" Parley: 2d6+3 13 Serenity is requesting that Anastasia keeps an eye on the Blackthornes and send her troops to make some calculated hits against them, to ensure Serenity and her comrades don't have a hitsquad riding their rear end constantly. In return for this, upon the successful completion of her mission in Aqualantis, Serenity will return and marry her. Shardix fucked around with this message at 18:41 on Jul 3, 2016 |
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Jul 3, 2016 18:23
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Stathis Argyle HP 17/18 | Armor 1 | XP 4/10 | Load 6/6 Merc's still out like a drunk. Maybe I hit him with too much magic. Well, at least there's a hospital close by. Prisoner in hand I leap down, landing in front of the one giving orders to the Expectant crew cleaning up the mess. "Stathis Argyle, private eye." He takes my hand, gives it a single shake with the tightest grip he can manage. The type that likes to be called sir and have others follow orders. I wave off his stern thankfulness, least I could do. The cocked eyebrow and glance at the mess of Blackthorne bodies shows he doubt that's anyone's 'least' but he's not pushing it. I hand off the merc, so they can maybe ask him a few pointed questions, with a few lines of inquiry provided by me. Someone ordered the hit on Ramona, to prove that they're the biggest fish in this pond and didn't care who got caught in the middle of the crossfire. Mentioned I might swing by for some questions of my own but first, had to clear the books with a certain someone. He asks if I'm with her, part of her crew. At this point I think I'm a dead elf if I'm not. He nods. Doesn't need to know the details. I enter the mess hall and am greeted by what sounded like the half drunk ramblings of someone aping Ramona. Some poor intern was about to have a bad day, better get in there and draw attention off him if Ramona's still in there. I turn the corner and, it's Ramona. Drinking like a fish in between staggering out something about truth and lies... That. Broke expectations. Celebratory? Or trying to drown the guilt? I saunter up and push the empty chair to the side. Wouldn't you know it, standing room only. "Well, can't say I expected you to get this deep in the cups this early. But I'm not here to judge. You good to talk?"
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Jul 3, 2016 20:44
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Ramona 20/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4/1 Armor "Stathis Argyle you followed me here! If anyone followed you I'll have to kill you! So, I found what's-his-face on my own, you didn't do anything, so you still owe me. Well since I need to pass out, wake up, drink again, and pass out again, and can't be out and about, even if I had to be I'd be too tired and there's too much heat. They should still not know you're working for me." I focus back on why I started this ramble. "I have another job for you. This one I can't possibly do for you. "Keep an eye on them. The bot, the grey, and the woman. I don't want to send the normal contacts out for this one, they've done enough for me already. Even though you still owe me, I'm not made of stone. I'll give you an advance." I offer the bag of coin then pull it away coyly. "After we play a drinking game. Everyone else lost and bailed on me. Didn't even bring me my drinks I rightfully won. So. Tell me two truths and a lie, if I guess the lie you get me a drink. Otherwise I get you a drink. And the advance. No cheating. I'll know, I can read you like a book." It's not a lie per se. I'm too farsighted to read without my glasses or my suit's visor, neither of which I'm wearing at the moment. And I'm too buzzed to really care if he cheats, secretly I want him to leave. To get on the job, yes, but also to leave me alone since I'm nearing the end. I make sure no one's around then, because I won't remember what happens. I don't like surprises, and I don't like having to be my own detective. So that's out.
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Jul 3, 2016 21:16
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Stathis Argyle HP 17/18 | Armor 1 | XP 4/10 | Load 6/6 I can't suppress the sigh. Hires me to find a man, tracks him down herself and kills him. "No, I followed your mechanical friend here. Knocked over a gun shop on the way. Guess that's why you need someone to keep an eye on it." I readjust my stance, settle in a little bit more. "But sure, a quick game can't hurt." There's thirty million things I could say, the question is how much of myself do I reveal? ...No matter what it might be too much but... "I am the soldier. A patriot called to service in defense of the people. My cause is just, my weapon honed, my heart true and so I march against my enemy, each death securing the future of god and country, one dying so two will live. I am the monster. Mothers tell their children of me to frighten them into obedience. The threat unseen, but always watching, gaze never faltering, heart never feeling. The crimes that I have committed are as numerous as the stars at night, and like the stars during the day they remain unseen and uncounted. I am the redeemed. Conscience once silent, now as loud as a roaring flame. By its light I walk the path to right old wrongs and save those unable to save themselves to atone for past sins." I lean back, finished. I really could use a drink right about now.
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Jul 3, 2016 22:53
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 Ramona 20/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4/1 Armor I squint at him, trying to read his face through the blurriness. Of my poor eyesight, not any liquor goggles or anything of the sort. "You don't believe your cause was just anymore. Your heart isn't true now, maybe it never was. Your weapon's either too old or too new, ironically. Maybe both. I called you out as a green bounty hunter–didn't know your trade, your competition. Didn't know me. You were a soldier. Now you don't know what you are. I blink, tired of squinting, tired of talking, slipping into oblivion. I slide the advance across the bar, and pour him a goblet full of brandy. "Forget the game. You don't need to tell me whether I'm right or wrong. Take the drink and the advance. You're gonna need it, looking after my crew. Rolled a gunsmith you say?" I shake my head. "I don't want to know what the elf gets up to, just whether she gets into trouble. In which case, come wake me up. The alien's gonna get up to some weird poo poo, but give them the benefit of the doubt. Juan I gave a mission to take out those black ops' ship. You don't have to help, just watch his back. He belongs to the elf." The last thing I do is watch to see if he warms the brandy. See if this ex-elf has class.
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Jul 4, 2016 03:17
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RAMONA AND STATHIS When you play this drinking game to win, you each roll +CON and the highest result wins. On a 6-, you reveal a truth you would rather have kept hidden. On a 10+, enough liquor and camaraderie has struck through your opponent's guard - the other person reveals a truth you can relate to. When you just get smashed and pass out, you don't need to roll anything.
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Jul 4, 2016 17:08
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Personally, I'm done with the drinking game. e: End of Session. Resolved Bond: I had to tell Serenity how much Maximilian loved her. If he can be believed, she's a fundamentally good person. I am terrified that she will leave me to die or that I'll die myself trying to keep that from happening. Reason: Serenity promised to save me from hell. I'm more afraid of her dying because of me after that bullet grazed her. Fulfilled Alignment: Don't kill what I know from the beginning is an enemy until my life is in imminent danger. Reason: Spared Stathis after feeling my life was not in imminent danger anymore. Was even aiming at him for a little while. Did we learn something new and important about the world? Elvenwars, Elven biology, abyss worms. Did we overcome a notable monster or enemy? kraken Did we loot a memorable treasure? nope 8/12xp slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 22:06 on Jul 4, 2016 |
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Jul 4, 2016 17:44
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01 HP: 26/26 | Armor 3/3 | XP 6/11 Then I stare at the Ramona for what seems like a long moment, the occasional spark jumping from the holes in my head. I sheathe my weapons and turn to reclaim my weapons from Nori. After a few limping steps as my knee socket catches, I respond. "You do not command me, but your proposal is acceptable." FWIW I think we're all in End of Session mode here, and at this point self-preservation routines will kick in and 01's priority is repairing itself. So since I plan to fully repair myself as well as buy enough supply to repair myself in the field (whatever way we want to fluff it, I'm planning on buying the robot equivalent of healing potions and bandages) I'm not sure if either the damage or the bad joint are much of a weighty consequence. So what if we do it like this: you hold 2, and at any point you can spend a hold to take away my Movement Method (joint gives out, hydraulics act up) for the rest of the Fight/Scene until the hold is gone? Now I spend my time silently among the others, a toolkit sitting open on the table beside my head, as I guide my arms in the process of cutting away warped armor and rewelding new patches. the holes on the sides of my head stand out slightly, the new material shinier and less scuffed than the rest. Luckily I only had to purge a single corrupted sector of memory, the head wound could have been much worse. The body work is a bit trickier, thus requiring mirrors and the removal of my head to give my scanners the correct angle to address the problems. I rewire or and replace several components. The Ramona is once more consuming substandard fuel, her functions are obviously impaired. Maybe she'll do something entertaining, like soil herself. I've got 35 coin, and I'm pretty ok with just spending that to get the stuff I mentioned above and skipping the interaction part Repair Parts When you have a few minutes to repair yourself So I'll spend 15 coin to get 3 sets (9 uses) As for the heavy weapons, I think I'll let Nori keep the Machine gun, and whoever wants to anti-materiel rifle can have it. And I return Ramona's spear to her. END OF SESSION Bonds: Nothing resolved for now Alignment/Drive: Fulfilled, +xp Did we learn something new and important about the world? Yes, There's a sickness, Mercs are after us, etc. +xp Did we overcome a notable monster or enemy? Yes, Ghost ship and Kraken. +xp Did we loot a memorable treasure? A crew of ghosts, big rear end guns, whatever happened to Tutresiel. +xp Error 404 fucked around with this message at 22:09 on Jul 4, 2016 |
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Jul 4, 2016 21:57
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Tutresiel HP: 17/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 12/10 Now she had reached the statuary that many of The-God-Who-Would-Become-Silent's servants maintained, polishing each surface until it shined so bright it could not be looked upon directly (except by They-Who-Would-Be-Silenced), whistling in excitement at the multitude of myriad forms the statues took. She had known before that each of the statues represented one of the ancient leviathans that the god in her very presence had defeated long long ago, with this in mind she asked They-Whose-Silence-Would-Become-Deafening another question, for she was a curious one - and that was why she found such kindness in their presence. "What is the essence of hunger?" she asked, to which the reply came as: "It is want beyond all wants. A flaw, a break within the vessel that contains all that is. Thus it had to be bound away in sea, and sky, and earth, and star, and the others. Fractures cannot be allowed to spread, they are displeasing." - The Adventures of Saint Torivir the Even-Handed, lost excerpts. - - - - With their foe slain, splashed to the four winds, Tutresiel exulted. But upon surveying what remained of the battlefield, they found it was quiet, and still, only the sounds of the dying laying where they are or the sounds of cowards fleeing were to disturb this scene, that and the sounds of the exultations of the other still active fighters, but such is the nature of combat. With no-one else to face within a reasonable distance and no urge to finish the dark ritual that they had mapped out as a possibility, Tutresiel returned the fragment of the Broken Domain to the Pall of Shekina where it now-belongs, lest its seething hatred for such a base reality corrode more pertinent illusions. With that once more contained, Tutresiel spread their wings and dived down swiftly towards AVTOTAR, landing neatly by them. "Rise, oh servant. This conflict is over, but greater conflicts lie in the future." - - - - Later, Tutresiel would settle into meditation after such a faux show as Ramona making an attempt to drink herself into a stupor once more. Tutresiel could (and would, for it was necessary to maintain an existence upon a plane such as this) consume things but it was not pleasing and was very direct. The curse of hunger is unavoidable upon a plane stained by blood such as this, but the nature of Tutresiel's consuming of energy-dense substances and the hunger of living creatures came from different origins, but were somewhat related in a sense. End of Session: Bonds: Padre Clavo's is no longer applicable as he's no longer a player! Mark XP. Alignment/Drive: "Keep dangerous things away from those who would abuse them" this could be applicable in several instances, but the Kraken had a malign intelligence upon it, and if it had managed to lay claim to the myriad of wacky technology and magical artefacts that were aboard the ship at the time it was going to strike, it might have become an even greater threat to others. Similarly, but differently, Ramona is a dangerous thing - and death is the final abuse - ergo fighting those PMC dudes while she was helping Serenity out downstairs would probably also apply! Mark XP! Questions: • Did we learn something new and important about the world? Much! The nature of the Leviathans (to an extent), the abyss worms, the fact that there''s some strange fungoid plague about, and more. Mark XP • Did we overcome a notable monster or enemy? The kraken! Mark XP. • Did we loot a memorable treasure? I'd argue Tutresiel suiting up mid-session applies, plus 01 managed to loot an upsetting amount of guns, memorable if only due to sheer volume and variety. Mark XP? Will level up soonish.
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Jul 5, 2016 00:29
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 * * * * * * * * *  EVERYBODY As a consequence of the failed roll to command The Black Gang have had their costs of souls, mischief, and broken machines met, and are satisfied with their working relationship. For now.  Your current expenses total 100 coin, or 80 coin if you outfit Nori with the dead hitmen's armor instead of getting her a custom set. Do you have enough? * * * * * * * * * RAMONA Bonds: Cool by me; write a new Bond with whoever you choose. Probably Serenity. Alignment: I disagree about Stathis: how could you have known from the instant you met him that he was your enemy? You spared his life, but only because you were reasonably certain he wasn't going to stab you in the back. But your life wasn't in imminent danger until you went back out on deck to get your whipping on, so you can get the XP anyway. EOS: Two out of three isn't too bad. Mark four XP. * * * * * * * * * 01 Bonds: Not this time, but we'll get some social interaction out of you yet.  Alignment: All those who dared raise a hand against you are dead. EOS: The ghost ship was last session, but the kraken and Black Gang certainly count. Three for three. Mark four XP. Inverse World posted:Repair Kit (6 uses, slow, 35 coin, 1 weight) You're not a vehicle, and don't mark Stress, but those uses for repair kits do apply to any vehicles you guys might ride in later on. For you, Repair Kits function exactly like bandages: +4 HP (and at least an hour of your time) per use. :iamafag: Three of them do, however, cost 105 coin for eighteen uses, not fifteen coin for nine - they're quite a bit pricier than bandages. You could buy the nine uses you wanted to buy for 50 coin, and I'm going with that unless you tell me otherwise. I'm calling it two repair kits: (6/6 uses, 3/6 uses, 1 weight each). I already had in mind one of Nori's conditions of continued employment being for her to get that HMG, so that's cool too. I like your idea about holding 2 to introduce a complication, so you get to hold 2 trauma - put it on your character blurb until it's gone. I can spend 1 trauma to take away your Movement Method (joint gives out, hydraulics act up) for the rest of the scene or fight. * * * * * * * * * TUTRESIEL Bonds: Cool by me, but you'll get the XP only when you will have written a new bond with someone else. Maybe AVTOTAR. Update your character sheet with it. Alignment: Convoluted logic is better than none at all. Remind yourself that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer, but you can have the XP. EOS: Maybe you should take the sniper rifle, then. Three for three.  Mark five XP. Also answer this question: what energy-dense substance do you consume to maintain your existence on this plane? * * * * * * * * * STATHIS Bonds: Sounds like a no, but you can write new bonds with the rest of the party whenever you think it's appropriate. Alignment: We haven't quite driven you to (beat everybody else at) drink, but don't worry - we'll get there.  EOS: Sounds like one for three. Womp womp. Mark one XP, and welcome aboard! * * * * * * * * * SERENITY Bonds: Enjoy the new set of bonds I guess?? If you have any more blanks, mark 'em on your character sheet. Alignment: Definitely. Plans never survive the first contact with Ramona, let alone the enemy. EOS: At least somebody's worried about the price on her head. Two for three. Mark three XP. You're fully healed of your debility, and your ribs aren't troubling you anymore. We'll revisit the question of what happens 
Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 04:24 on Jul 6, 2016 |
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Jul 5, 2016 05:17
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Groovy, I was taking bandages from the DW book, I'll amend it. As for armor, can't we just give Nori a set from the dead mercs?
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Jul 5, 2016 05:52
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01 The Blackthornes' armor is all much too big for her - she's a very small woman with a very big gun. You (or someone else) could help tailor the mercs' stuff for her, though! This will be a bit cheaper at 30 coin, since you've got the raw materials right at hand. On the other hand, she'll get -1 Loyalty forward if you do this, because it's kind of morbid to go around wearing the former possessions of people who killed your boyfriend. Your call: do you fund the refitting, or shell out for a fully-custom suit? Also answer this question: what compensation are you expecting for having saved Nori's life? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 06:07 on Jul 5, 2016 |
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Jul 5, 2016 05:59
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Alumnus Post posted:01 Fair point about the armor. As for compensation, I hadn't thought much of it. I don't really care about money, if I require something I'll take it if I don't have the coin (see: gun store). Maybe she wants to learn the ways of the murderbot and become my sidekick? I'm not really picky here, the main point is that 01 feels like its owed something for not just mercy killing a softskin when it would have been more convenient to do so, and also that Nori's "owner" was being negligent in not providing for their wellbeing. So however you want to roll with it is cool.
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Jul 5, 2016 06:08
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Stathis Argyle HP 17/18 | Armor 1 | XP 4/10 | Load 6/6 I take the glass. Swirl it around a bit, let it warm. "Well, even if you don't want the answer at this point you're getting it. Our cause is just, but so is theirs. I haven't lost my edge, as those Blackthorne mercs can attest. And my heart remains true to itself, that's why I left. But all of this can't change the road to redemption is long and harrowed, and I'll walk it until the day I die. Maybe then I'll be redeemed." I take a sip of the stuff. Smokey. Prefer a good whiskey, the occasional wine, if only to remember the good times. Or absinthe from the homeland, for when I need to forget for awhile. "But more important than me right now, is who hired me to find you. I typically turn away any John or Jane Doe but this time, the price was high and rent due. What I can tell you was obvious orcish decent. Might even be full orc that cleans up real nice. But the point is, I think I was supposed to die tracking you. The only person who might want me dead that'd have an orc working for 'em is Karthas Murgo. You got any connections with him?" ~~~~~ End of session: Alignment/Drive: Best another in a non-combat contest of skill or strength. Nope. Bonds: Ramona's still on Stathis' watch list for "might need to murder" so there's that. Looking forward to putting more bonds in here soon. Questions: • Did we learn something new about the world? Ayup, there some power plays going down at the Raft. Also a weird fungus is among us. • Did we overcome a notable enemy? I mean the party did blow up a kraken with Ramona's • Did we loot a memorable treasure? Not in the slightest.
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Jul 5, 2016 06:32
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Serenity HP 17/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 4/11 "Greymist. You have a lot of nerve, coming here." Anastasia sat in a highbacked chair, as regal and composed as she ever was. More so now, really. She fit her place in the world very well. "Are we no longer on a first name basis, Dame Lightbringer?" Serenity quietly closed the door behind her and cast the woman a sharp look. "You are, officially, a Disturber of the Peace in the homeland. Your crimes include sedition, twelve instances of willful miscegenation, one instance of mooning an ambassador, and at last tally, seventy-three counts of aggravated impertinence. By law I am obligated to arrest you. Tell me, are we on a first name basis?" "I can always simply leave, you know." "And I can have my men stop you." "You'll have told them not to harm me. I'm under no such restraints." "Ha! That threat might hold water if I didn't know you as well as I do. You gave me a black eye once when we were little. I pulled on your pigtails and you spun around and socked me a good one. I was so proud of you, until you started bawling your eyes out and apologizing." Anastasia shifted in her seat, the memory eliciting a faint smile. "You might draw steel when it's necessary, but you're not a killer. Not that I want you to be. But let's face it - you're a soft touch." She motioned to a chair across from the large oak desk she was seated at. "Sit down. You look paler than usual. Are you well?" "It's...been a strange few months. I got in a fight with a kraken. Won myself a few shattered ribs for my trouble." She sat down gingerly, minding those selfsame ribs. "Tell me about it. Please. It's been a while, and despite what you may think, even I don't have the patience to hold a grudge for thirty years." So she did. It was what she was best at, after all. Weaving a tale for others, bringing them into another person's story. Even her recent venture she detailed, leaving out only the promise she had made to Ramona. Anastasia wouldn't understand. Her honor would demand the bounty hunter's death, and Serenity was not willing to see the two of them gut each other. "So. Make that thirteen counts. What's this one's name?" Serenity smirked. "Anastasia." A frown in return. "Don't think that wins you any points with me." Her eyes, however, told Serenity that it did in fact win some points. "Alright. Enough with the stories or we'll be here until the High King himself keels over from old age. Why are you here?" Anastasia leaned forward, chin resting on her clasped hands. "A mercenary band, the Blackthornes. They attacked us. Killed a friend of mine. I don't know if they'll try again, and miles below the ocean is not a place I need to have more enemies. I want you to send them a sternly worded message. One backed with steel and blood. To safeguard my companions and I, yes, but mostly because his lover deserves her vengeance." Serenity paused for a moment. "Make it something worthy of a song when I return." "This will cost you. I can do this, yes, but there will be losses. The lives of our people will be taken before all is said and done, and I cannot agree to that lightly." "I know. I'll pay your price, willingly." Serenity winced as a stab of pain went through her. She had been putting weight on one side of her chest without thinking. "Why? You made your opinion very clear on the matter. Why the change of heart now?" Serenity sighed and closed her eyes. "I have not had a home in two hundred years. And despite everything, I still miss our home. I may not agree with our high lords and ladies. I may not agree with the wars they've fought or the things done in those wars, but it is still home. Besides. I think I'm getting a little to old for this adventuring nonsense. It's not like it used to be, when good was good and evil was evil and you could lop some lich's head off with a clear conscience. The world went and got itself into a big, complicated hurry." Anastasia stared at her for several moments, considering. "Fine. But only if this is what you want to do. I'll not have you out of some sense of obligation. The Blackthornes are my dowry gift, not a trade." "I only said no the last time because you insulted my children. Keep your peace on that matter and don't expect a demure decoration without a thought in her head, and I will honor your house." "That depends on if you can manage not to offend any more ambassadors." Anastasia's eyes softened as she stood from her chair. "Come. It's a full moon. We'll make our vows and I can start going grey worrying about this madness you've decided to throw yourself into." --- Serenity will find a pawn shop and sell off her fancy clothes and jewelry to cover Nori's armor and as much of the remaining expenses as she can. None of it is magical, nor is it especially notable aside from being well made. The jewelry at least is antique, and in excellent condition. It's all she has that she could bear to part with - in the end, they are just things, and they were not a gift from anyone. She's free to do with them as she pleases. She owes Nori that much. If that won't cover the costs, she'll reluctantly put her blade up as well. It too is antique and well maintained, and you cannot just buy a sword like that anymore. End of session: Alignment - Spur others to significant and unplanned decisive action. Ramona's mad quest to hire healers for Serenity, and later her dropping the plan to spy around on the Expectant and back up her comrades. Bonds No bonds were resolved this session Other We learned about elves, abyss wyrms, and how bad Jaime is at not dying. drat it, Jaime. We killed a Kraken and fought off a notorious mercenary company. We looted absolutely nothing of note. Unless 01 asking after a phased plasma rifle in the 40 watt range counts. New bonds: I swore an oath to Anastasia beneath Nashira's light, and sealed it with my wedding ring. Only death may compel me to forsake it. Stathis! You son of a bitch. I owe him one, from way back. 01 needs to work on his people skills, and I'm just the person to teach him.
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Jul 5, 2016 13:35
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Ramona 26/26 HP; 8/12 XP; 4/1/0 Armor I wake up from my first night's worth of sleep at sundown, and lie there thinking. Having talked to an actual battle hardened soldier last night makes it clear to me that she's got to go. I start writing the slip in Elvish, which none of my ghosts can read. The perks of only mortal idiots ever trying to kill me. quote:S. Greymist quote:Enclosed is a machine from my suit. At first, it'd track my location and heartbeat so the suit would automatically come to me if I got in trouble. Now its range is longer and tracks only the heartbeat. It'll start ticking when the other stops, so you'll know when to come to hell for me if you still wish to do so. I get those letters sent through Josephine's company's concierge, do as quick and intense a workout as I can, then finish just in time to hear the haunting spirits beating at my the ethanol walls. So get back in bed and start rebuilding them before they're breached. An hour or so to reinforce, then another eight to sleep, then the real journey begins.
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Jul 6, 2016 18:18
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Tutresiel HP: 17/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 2/11 Tutresiel once more found themselves alone, or largely alone. They were accompanied by AVTOTAR of course, but he was blind to such insignificances. First Tutresiel took out a ration, and did what they always did - grasped it in a ritual manner, forming a link with each hand - covering the ration in its entirety - and focusing their will throughout and across it, but more particularly into, through, and out of it, like the current of a river, and with a soft hiss a dim light suffused it until the ritual was complete, and then the ration turned to ashes in a single moment - all its energy, all of its potential drained of it and it becoming no use to anything or anyone. This process worked with any food item, though the more energy-dense the better - so travelling rations like adventurers and soldiers would have were an easy choice - hypothetically it could work with any energy rich substance, whether it is gunpowder or more advanced explosives/accelerants, or fuels, however physically compact solids were preferable as they made the process more logistically sound. Using a use of dungeon rations. After this (and after AVTOTAR also ate his rations), Tutresiel began to meditate in place, concentrating on further refining the calibration between their soul and this mortal plane, further steadying their connection but also further allowing a greater expression of the potential that the soul that is Tutresiel within this fallen world. With this Tutresiel managed to reach up and pull another thread of the Broken Domain to them, further securing the link while allowing their soul to gain greater resistance against the corrosive mundaneness of the fallen world. Namely in this instance, dispelling the illusion that is singularity, for a vessel is merely that - a great soul can inhabit multiple vessels after all, and a vessel can and will be created around a powerful soul, even more than that was in fact the case, for the raiments of such a vessel follow suit and will mimic their master - for they know that is their purpose - an admirable quality, if only mortals could show such obeisance this world would not be as it is, and neither would the Broken Domain be so. Level Up: +1 Int Taking: Two Places as advanced move. Bond(s): Stathis has seen symbols identical to some that Tutresiel has etched upon their armour and that they cast upon the world with their magics - in the ritual that made him as he is. With their mind now fixed upon the inevitable future, Tutresiel considered their options and headed out into the more common areas of this vessel in order to get a greater idea of the itinerary for this expedition, with AVTOTAR in tow. Infinite Oregano fucked around with this message at 01:26 on Jul 8, 2016 |
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Jul 8, 2016 01:20
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The next morning... While you're all variously slumbering, meditating, getting engaged, welding your head back together, or drinking yourself to sleep, the men and women of the Alchemists' Guild are laboring stoically to deal with their dead and piece the wounded back together. But for the healing cut across Stathis' belly and the shiny new places on 01's armor plating, you've all miraculously come through the attempt on Ramona's life more or less unharmed. Lucky, lucky - because with a dozen of their number dead, the Guild just don't have spare hands with which to treat you, let alone feed you or clear a hospital bed. They more or less plunk you down in the ship's refectory and hope you won't do anything stupid like call up a wrathful deity in the head while nobody's looking. Captain Azdruk himself comes down to the refectory to meet with his guests the next day, after you've all had a chance to feed and rest - although, sadly, not for Ramona to recover completely from the sort of hangover that might kill a lesser man. Evidently not even a little thing like "a platoon of heavily armed men, elves, and who-knows-what-else in the medical bay" can escape the captain's attention. He casts a long, assessing gaze at the assembled party - whatever he sees there, it makes his lined face crease briefly in a wistful grin.  "So." He sits, sweeping aside a few of Ramona's empties and the little pile of dry dust on the table - all that remains of one of Stathis' field rations. And I do mean all of it, including the wrapper, tray, and heating pack. "You must be the hunting party Lucius dredged up. Mmf. Seeking glory, no doubt; fortune and praise." For an orc, he speaks the common tongue extraordinarily well - hardly a sign of the difficulties most orcs have in speaking the tongues of other races. "And he's promised you escort." He cracks a gleaming wide-tusked grin. "I'd keelhaul the scoundrel for it, if I hadn't seen the mine he dropped on my desk this morning - and all of you right after 'im if I didn't have such a soft spot in my cold an' blackened heart for what's so clearly a band of adventurers out to cut their teeth on the wreck of jolly auld gods-be-damned Aqualantis."  The captain spreads out a sheet of heavy paper onto the refectory table - a bathymetric chart of the regions surrounding Aqualantis' location on the seafloor, heavily scribbled over with all sorts of speculations, callouts, emendations, and abstruse bits of alchemical notation. A great fractured city grid, enclosed in several separate thick circles, has carefully been inked into the centre of the map. "My lieutenant Bozlbuk is set up here, in what's left of the medical centre in this dome. He 'andles refugee processing and immunizations for anyone wot might come to his doorstep. Pleione Terrace is wot they called that neighborhood, before the Sink. Closest thing left to real, safe civilization down there anymore, after bloody Warwick (or somebody wot says 'e's the Big Man) locked down 'is industrial works and gentech facilities. Nobody in or out in months from those domes, not as far as I'm aware - but if you're feelin' adventurous it's still a big city. Might be ye could find a way to slip in real careful-like." He points out a different part of the city-grid, its enclosing circle shattered and broken. "The slums are still there. Sorta. I'd be amazed if anyone's still alive in there. Terr'ble things happened down there, just terr'ble." He fixes Ramona with a flashing gaze. "You. Ramona. You did a good thing then, to help bring all those people back ashore. And at such cost. Thank you. And your mates wot didn't make it out." He heaves a heavy sigh. "Pity it couldn't have been more." You notice that the symbol for a submerged wreck is close nearby, just outside the shattered slum dome. "As though Warwick ever cared about wot happens to the little people." "Then there's the dark districts." He points to a cluster of smaller domes northeast of Pleione Terrace - the city-grid inked into them is sparse at best, more a suggestion of a street plan than anything. "They got domed well enough during the Sink, but...all we can tell is th' lights have been going out. Real slow, real gradual. Maybe it's th' electric on the fritz, maybe it's th' citizens all moving out, or moving up, or dyin', but those domes are going dark and we can't get a straight answer out of anybody as to why." "Oh, an' if that weren't enough there's some sort of geomantic upwellin' goin' on down there, too." A half-mile out from the ruins of the Aqualantean slums, a lurid orange network of branching lines is marked on the map, densely annotated with alchemical incunabula. "Real bolt from the blue, that. No major ley-line terminus in these waters for a hundred miles in any direction - so wot's this one doing sprouting up right after the Big Sink?" He peers at the annotations carefully. "'S a telluric upwelling, the geomancers are sayin'. Earth power. I've got a couple recent reports saying that Warwick's sent out a crew an' built some sort of listening post nearby, but nothin' else. I wonder wot he's interested in?" The captain sketches you all a vague approximation of a salute and gathers up a double armful of empty bottles. "Pore it over," he says gruffly. "Take yer time. Gods know I've enough to occupy me in the meantime." He dumps the empties roughly into a trash bin and leaves you to contemplate your next move. Now that you have some idea of what might await you below, where do you tell Captain Azdruk to take you?  Once I have a good idea of where everyone wants to go, I'll get the plot train rolling again. In the meantime, you guys are free to roleplay, buy stuff, talk to people you've met, go meet different people, or do whatever else you'd like to do here on the Raft. Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 14:23 on Jul 8, 2016 |
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Jul 8, 2016 06:05
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01 HP: 26/26 | Armor 3/3 | XP 6/11 I stand silently over the table, recording both the map and the captain's explanations for later reference. Seems simple enough. I recall that The Slums are where the Ramona's last group died. But something about the Geomantic Upwelling pings a file in my datastores...a very old file. Spout Lore 10 the GM will tell you something interesting and useful about the subject relevant to your situation. I process the contents of this memory file, and leave the arguing to the meat. I already know I'm more or less going where Serenity is, so I see no need to voice a preference. Instead I return to my own table, and set about fully examining and cleaning my weapons, and securing my various odds and ends and repair kit in the several storage compartments I possess.
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Jul 8, 2016 06:26
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