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Task Manager
Sep 5, 2008

A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope.

Prince of Space posted:

The Goofball's Gambit:



'Witness me, Grimper.'

Give this Prince ALL the glory. All of it. How awesome!

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CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?

Prince of Space posted:

'Witness me, Grimper.'

Wow. We have to get the Horde to hold a blood orgy.

For the picture alone, we gotta.

Mithross
Apr 27, 2011

Intelligent and bright, they explored a world that was new and strange to them. They liked it, they thought - a whole world just for them! They were dimly aware that a God had created them, was watching them; they called out to him, thanking him in a chittering language, before running off.

CourValant posted:

Wow. We have to get the Horde to hold a blood orgy.

For the picture alone, we gotta.

That's it, you're in time out

Putting CourValant in time out: 1d100+8 = 10 What the gently caress orokos are you in on this!?

Sax Battler
Jul 31, 2007

Another bloody customs post,
Another fucking foreign coast,
Another set of scars to boast,
We Are The Road Crew.


This is great.


Name: Gloff
Skills:Lifting (used), Swimming
HP: 3
Glory: 4

Gloff feels a bit weird.
Burden safely delivered, everyone running around shouting. Sirens and hostility everywhere.
Could it be time?
Could this stirring in his blood be the sign he's been waiting for?
Spotting a miner on his way towards the camp, he decides that yes, this is it!
Running up to the miner, he brings down the soapbox over his head, smashing it to pieces.
The voice that hasn't spoken above a mumble for weeks rings out;
"RIOT!"

RIOT: 1d100+4=60

CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?

Mithross posted:

That's it, you're in time out

Putting CourValant in time out: 1d100+8 = 10 What the gently caress orokos are you in on this!?

Action: Is Orokos in on this?: 1d100+7 23

CourValant is not placed in time out. However, it would appear Orokos is ambivalent about this whole 'Blood Orgy' thing.

Blasphemaster
Jul 10, 2008

Honestly I'm skipping everyone elses posts (unless contradicted or corrected) in order to stay in character but this art is swank. More art gud art.

Yvonmukluk
Oct 10, 2012

Everything is Sinister


Sax Battler posted:

This is great.


Name: Gloff
Skills:Lifting (used), Swimming
HP: 3
Glory: 4

Gloff feels a bit weird.
Burden safely delivered, everyone running around shouting. Sirens and hostility everywhere.
Could it be time?
Could this stirring in his blood be the sign he's been waiting for?
Spotting a miner on his way towards the camp, he decides that yes, this is it!
Running up to the miner, he brings down the soapbox over his head, smashing it to pieces.
The voice that hasn't spoken above a mumble for weeks rings out;
"RIOT!"

RIOT: 1d100+4=60

:rip: That soapbox. Your service will not be forgotten. Good luck, Gloff!

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

But People have fears that beasts do not. Questions, too.

The Unexpectables were in a tough spot, probably the toughest they’d ever been in. Which, on the whole, was not really saying much - this was, after all, their first real foray into the violent discourse of war. The Horde was split and overwhelmed, but through cleverness or sheer brute force they were sure to work things out! And when that failed, Grimper would clean up whoever was left over… perhaps he’d test out that Inhabited technique the Frömen had pioneered on the remnants.

Mountainside [22 Soldiers]
  • Sort Out That Locked Door! - Difficulty 2
    4 Soldiers
  • Threaten The Town! - Difficulty 10 (req: Open Door)
    18 Soldiers
In Town [68 Soldiers + 10 Recruits]
  • Fight Back - Difficulty 50++ Threat 10
    21 Soldiers
  • Kill The Mayor - [Difficulty 10+ Threat 10 Danger 2]
    10 Soldiers
  • Redirect The Mob - Difficulty 40
    41 Soldiers
  • Search The Mine - [Difficulty 5+++ Threat 5]
    5 Soldiers
In Jail [3 Soldiers + 1 Recruit]
  • Break Out of Jail - Difficulty 2
    4 Soldiers
Stick Ogre Goofballs [5 Soldiers]
  • Ambush! - [Difficulty 5 Threat 5]
    5 Soldiers
High above Fostis, the mountain climbers peered down at the chaos on one side, and the tantalizing treasure behind a locked door. It was pretty obvious what needed to be done, and it did not require a lockpick. Hollerin’ Mason threw himself at the door, while hollering. It stood fast, and he fell over, groaning. But that was the right idea! The others picked him up, Hat the Milliner clapped a loose mining cap onto his head, then they encouraged him to try again. Manually!

The door smashed inwards - the wrong direction - and the Horde piled in. Crates of mining charges, scrupulously labelled and stacked. The walls were plastered with schedules and designs and other, more nebulous details that bore study… but, like, later, after they got to explore all this new stuff! Stepping over Mason’s stunned form on the floor, they started cracking boxes open.

---
Back in town, the attempts to bring order to the chaos were met with fierce resistance by the hidden Unexpectable forces. It was a simple matter to turn the mob’s rage towards the most obvious foes - the stick ogres outside of town! Gryph the Bandager spoke loudest, ascribing all manner of terrors to those fearsome figures. Sure, they were bundles of stick and twigs… for now, but when brave men and women refused to stand up to the them, what else might they become? Murmurs of assent rippled through the crowd (some of whom were Horde agents) and suspicious eyes began to turn towards the strangely rustling wooden golems outside of town.

But soon the suspicion turned inwards. Those things out there were just sticks! And it seemed a little strange that all of the superstitions regarding sudden appearances of ominous figures were being mentioned exclusively by newcomers! The suspicious characters were held for questioning - but they sent a few extra soldiers out JUST to make sure.

In jail, the four prisoners came up with a plan: they would bend the bars, and then escape. It was not a particularly good plan, but ultimately the only thing separating a good plan from a bad one whether it worked. Soon, the already distracted guards went outside to see just what the hell was going on, and they took their chance. Tharbad the Violent gripped the bars, the others gripped him, and they all hauled. together against the unyielding iron.

He pulled and snorted until sweat poured from his brow, but in the end neither his muscles nor the bars gave, but rather the wooden framework they'd been embedded into. They were free, and now they had some sweet iron bars, too. Now all they had to do was wait for an opportunity…


---
As though they could read the very thoughts of their allies below, the climbers began their assault. They lit the bombs as safely as they could (and as far away from the cache as they were able) and hucked them off the edge. The fuses were short enough that they wouldn’t land amongst their allies, but long enough that they would terrify the poo poo out of everyone down below. Speaking of poo poo, Cornbread the Shitchucker had his own special means of spreading terror. His allies could not possibly agree with his methods, but damnit, he got results. His horrible creation soured through the unsuspecting air, air which heretofore had only carried the far milder odour of sulfur and industrial waste.

It burst in a coruscating globe of teal and orange methane flames, scattering particles of something hideous. But worst of all was the smell.

All thoughts of control were gone, all plans to contain these subversive elements buried beneath the sheer animal terror of the thunder from above, the infernal flatulence that had fallen upon them like an avalanche. Luckily for the Horde, they were no stranger to Cornbread’s practices, and were thus slightly inured to its effects. Slightly… but it was an edge, and they planned to take it!

---
Thankfully upwind, Noggins the Carpenter hid among her forest of wooden beasts. She and the others had put some good drat effort into building these, and she didn’t mean to let them be destroyed without a fight. She’d seen the first wave coming, but now - unbelievably - more of them were flooding towards her. She heard snatches of rumours on the wind, and somehow knew this was the fault of her fellows in the Unexpectable Horde. Well, gently caress those guys! The first wave came in, swinging picks… now!

The tension of the ropes against the wooden framework unwound suddenly as she cut a key line, sending the stick ogres spinning like tops. The invaders fell over in superstitious terror, harming themselves of the weapons of those pressing in behind. At last the rotational force was too much, and golem after golem burst in a shower of splinters, further harming those too close to hide. Her group fell upon the victims, ending their miserable lives with wooden spears… just in time for the next group to come in.

When they drew close enough to witness the stick ogres suddenly explode into motion, they suddenly became unsure that those folks back in town had been lying. Their charge halted entirely, they walked into the killing fields like frightened children. Their neighbours or siblings lay there, impaled by the wooden limbs of these uncanny beasts. The latter didn’t even move as they approached, just stared accusingly at them with unblinking, painted eyes, as if to say ‘come in.’

Instead, they turned and ran, scattering in all directions uselessly. Noggins fell back panting, bracing herself against one of the few posts still upright. She could not believe that had worked! She also wondered just what the hell was going on in town right now!

---
Frömen and Töan citizens alike were vomiting on eachother, mewling weakly under the onslaught of the odour, but Bully the Orator was too busy for such nonsense. Despite the hellish pressure in his own gorge, he climbed to a higher vantage point - he had an important task.

Easily, he swept his spectacle eyes over the crowd and spotted him - the Mayor, the one who had first sounded the alarm, the one who had killed one of their own, the one whose pickaxe still dripped with his blood. He called out, his powerful voice carrying through the chaos, singling the man out.

Mayor Bello saw him up there, and was on the verge of sending someone out to take him down, when he saw them. Roughly a dozen pairs of angry eyes, filtering through the crowd towards him, flowing against the sea of heaving citizenry with a terrible purpose. Too late, he realized that this wasn’t an assassination or a criminal uprising, but an honest to goodness invasion. The Töan army, or a branch of it, in Fostis, a dagger plunging towards his people. He rushed to meet them, his pickaxe already bloodied and his limbs twisting in a berserk spasm. Let them come, and he’d take them down like he’d taken their ally!

Bamboo the Weaver took him from an unexpected angle - having woven her way through the crowd to take him from his blind spot - and blasted a powerful strike into his un-contortable skull. He saw double for a second, then saw nothing else. The Unexpectables fell upon him and stomped him into mush while laughing.

---
About this time, the leaderless and poisoned Fostisians realized what they were up against and made something resembling an organized push against the strangers - any strangers - to take back their town from what was obviously some manner of insidious and tactical invading force. They had the numbers, but the Unexpectables had something better.
  • TERROR BOMBING SUCCESS -10 DIFFICULTY
  • SCATTERED FORCES PARTIAL SUCCESS  -5 DIFFICULTY
  • JAILBREAK SUCCESS  -5 DIFFICULTY
  • TERROR OF THE STICKS SUCCESS  -10 DIFFICULTY
  • REMOVE MAYORAL MORALE SUCCESS  -10 DIFFICULTY

Sheer, dumb luck. A little bit of luck here and there could pierce holes in even the best defense plan, and Fostis was simply unprepared for the Horde’s unexpected successes. The defenders crumbled, dead or surrendered, not knowing until the very end who they were defending against or how many they faced. Only that whatever they had been expecting, they had not been expecting that!

---
Starn the Sieger and Snodis the Poet were an unlikely pair, but somehow they and a gaggle of others had managed to break into the mine for some looting. It was quiet down here, and away from most conflict, but they had a seperate problem: looting a mine was actually pretty boring. Oh, they'd found piles of ore and loose picks of varying quality, but it wasn't as though they could just take all of it. It was heavy, and not very useful, moreover - not immediately so, at least. While most of the fighting seemed to be happening in the horseshoe of the main square, they did NOT want to encounter terrified and berserk deserters in narrow tunnels. No, this was a smash and grab, and they wanted only the good stuff.

Jackpot. A fist sized piece of Orichalcum, glittering orange and green in the torchlight. Starn snagged it and turned to run, but when he swiveled too quickly it seemed to grow heavier. In the end, he had to make his way out at a brisk walking pace. Orichalcum was weird stuff.

---
Grimper cleared his throat, and everything stopped. The Horde stopped out of respect, but the miners and their families stopped out of terror. They knew what this meant, and they knew what was coming. The Warlord raised both hands and extended them towards the peak of the mountain, as though his shadow could encompass the whole town. “It is finished. Defenders, lay down your arms or I will remove them from your bodies. Do not flee or your people will die, forced into the deep mines as the mountain is collapsed upon them. You know it to be true.” They dropped their weapons, falling to their knees in supplication. Grimper ignored them and addressed his soldiers. “This is not a time for celebrating. We will discuss your conduct at a later time. For now, take what you will from these people and their property, but do not harm them, nor touch them. We require them, for the moment. Go now and seek out things and information of value, and should any raise their hands against you, cut them off. Go!”

(You did it! Feel free to loot, but you're not safe yet - travel in groups, especially if you're going someplace secure, or else they might try to pick you stragglers off.

Don't forget to pick up Skillcores! The available ones are Bonegineering, Neck Snapping, Contortion, Mining (x3), Amputation, Jumping, Listening and Holding Your Breath)

Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at 20:08 on Oct 11, 2017

CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?


Name: Bamboo
HP: 3
Glory: 7 + 1 (Action Glory) -> 8
Skill: Basket Weaving [Ready]

Bamboo looked down at her blood-stained hands and came back to herself. It had happened again, just like the night the Queen was assassinated.

The rage, the fury, the hurt, the panic. Because the Queen wasn't the only one who died that night.

Her Family.

Her family, was . . . FINE! Yes, of course they were, back in their rooms in the Artisan Quarters of the Palace.

Fine, and waiting for her to come home. So many baskets were ruined that night, Bamboo had to make it right. Had to find more baskets, for her family.

With that though firmly locked in her mind, Bamboo turned away from the Mayor's body and began rummaging through his office.

Action: Search. The. Office.: 1d100+7 40 [1d100=33]

Dog Kisser posted:

Bamboo the Weaver took him from an unexpected angle - having woven her way through the crowd to take him from his blind spot - and blasted a powerful strike into his un-contortable skull. He saw double for a second, then saw nothing else. The Unexpectables fell upon him and stomped him into mush while laughing.

OOC: Are you freaking kidding me at how close this roll was?!?

super sweet best pal
Nov 18, 2009



Name: Portha
Skills: Rummaging, Cleaning
HP: 3
Glory: 7

Well, that happened, Portha couldn't believe she'd actually survived her first real fight, though it was hardly a fair one since the mob had been distracted by the horde's antics. Still, she managed to carve a path through the more attentive guards and villagers with none of the Horde seemingly hurt. Now time to search for anything of value before someone ran off with it.

The mayor's office seemed like the place to look for any information on where the town's valuables were, maybe there would be a key lying behind a desk that opened the warehouses full of ore, a safe combination taped to the underside of a drawer or a strongbox full of rare gemeralds the mayor was hiding away. It looked like Bamboo was already going there, which was ok since she probably only had a vague sense of what to look for and it'd be a good idea to stick together in case one of the town guards was in there doing the same thing.

Search the Mayor's office 1d100+10=67

super sweet best pal fucked around with this message at 08:37 on Oct 11, 2017

AJ_Impy
Jun 17, 2007

SWORD OF SMATTAS. CAN YOU NOT HEAR A WORLD CRY OUT FOR JUSTICE? WHEN WILL YOU DELIVER IT?
Yam Slacker

HP:3
Glory:7

This was his bread and butter: Bilking unsuspecting people out of things. Beckoning a few Unexpectable mooks to join him, he sought some suitably gullible townsfolk who bore the marks of military service. Drawing near, he insinuated and inveigled,

"This was a set-up right from the start. The Fröan army hung us out to dry, they had to know the Töans would strike here, and yet they did nothing. Worse than nothing, we didn't even have a warning! Well, turnabout is fair play. If they aren't looking after us, we're not looking after them. Let's make sure the Töans know where to find them, it's our only hope now..."

Bluffing to Learn the Disposition of Fröan forces: 80!.

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0
Grimey Drawer

Extra Skillcore: Sitting Quietly
HP: 3
Glory: 7 -> 8

Smugly satisfied that her group had found the precious ore before outside shennanigans brought the whole mine down upon them, or flooded the caves with angry Fröman soldiers, or even before Grimpner came down himself and squeezed the metal out of them for being lazy, Snödis briefly pondered what else of value could be found here in the Abyssinian depths.

There was of course equipment. Pickaxes, helmets, discarded dud explosives, you name it. There was even a mile or more of rope, and more sharp sticks then you could shake a dull stick at. But Snödis had a mind for something more... dangerous.

She peered around herself conspiratorially, finding at last an old, dusty Fröman sign.

"Danger! Danger!
Don't go further!
Lest you wish to,
end up murdered!"

Nodding to herself, she knew she was on the right track, and headed further in.

Disapproving Poetry to find and loot the most Dangerous Thing: 1d100 4 + 10 (skill) = 14 + (7 = 21, if glory counts for this?)

Lux Anima
Apr 17, 2016


Dinosaur Gum

Name: Gawp
HP: 3
Skill: Perception (Active)
Equipment: Sharp Stick (+0)
Glory: 9 -> 10

The Hills Above Fostis: As soon as Grimper stopped talking, some mook excitedly dropped an armload of whatever he was doing and sprinted past Gawp muttering something about how "all the drinks are on the house," but as far as Gawp could see, there wasn't a single roof with a cup or bottle sitting out...

Gawp was climbing back up the winding stepstone paths that lead to the explosive supply shed. One last time, Gawp promised himself. He paused in his ascent to lean against the wall for a moment.

Gawp lightly slapped two sweaty palms over his four-eyed forehead and rubbed at his many temples before pushing four sets of eyelids downward in a slow movement of exhausted resignation. After all his hard work keeping everything prim and proper among the ranks of the fire-keepers, the bomb-ferriers, and the bombadiers, Gawp realized that it had been that beast of a Töan "CORNBREAD" who had utterly stolen the show. Gawp would admit: the giant odoriferous Töman had an amazing throwing arm and a uniquely intimidating... presence. You could smell him and the results of his foul work everywhere - despite all the smoke, the bombpowder, the saltpeter and the sulfur... Gawp grimaced at the heavily tainted fragrance that seemed to permeate rock itself, not to mention his clothes, his nostrils, and all the way into his deepest thinking parts... On second thought, Fostis had turned out to be a lovely little mining town - not like home after all! Oh well-! Gawp continued on his way uphill, taking the climb step by step.

A victory was a victory! Fostis was a solid foothold in the foothills for Grimper's great cause, and that was all that mattered to the four-eyed Töan.

Gawp searched his pockets and drew out a small scrip of paper the Mathematician had given him with some big numbers scrawled on them: "Pythag's Big Boom Numbers," Gawp considered them. This little ticket would get him in good with the General Grimper, he was sure. If not, what he hoped to find at the top of this final hike certainly would!

After all, Gawp wasn't making the long ascent back up to the Explosive Supply Shed for no good reason. He'd seen something in there, earlier. Something that could be just as important to Grimper as Pythag's Big Boom Numbers are. Charts and plans and diagrams amid all the explosives crates, he'd seen. Maybe maps, maybe blueprints? Certainly there was bound to be something good for him still up there...

When Gawp reached the supply shed, he checked all the usual spots, and even a couple of unusual ones thanks to his advanced Perception:

Looting the Mountain Supply Shed: 1d100+10 93

On his way back down, Gawp finally got to enjoy the views over Fostis as the sun began setting. Gawp wondered if he'd still have time to join up with his hordemates in the town's drinking establishments later. After all, a pub or a tavern's practically the only place where you'll find anything clean to drink in a mining town like this, and Gawp had gotten mighty thirsty from all this hiking and hauling and hefting and hucking of explosives in this acrid mountain air. Besides, Gawp had heard that at times like these, it was best to get to the bars early before things got too rowdy and Grimper had to shut things down...

As Gawp broke into a downhill jog to rejoin his hordemates, he recalled how the great General Grimper had actually shared from his own personal booze supply with them the other night. He was warmed by the memory, and he picked up the pace. He hoped the General would appreciate this Töan's unerring commitment to duty.

Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 02:48 on Oct 18, 2017

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...We danced the Mamushka while Nero fiddled, we danced the Mamushka at Waterloo. We danced the Mamushka for Jack the Ripper, and now, Fester Addams, this Mamushka is for you....


Name: Stårn
Additional skills: Butterfly Beastmaster
HP: 3
Glory: 8 -> 9

Haha! Once more a rousing success for Team Catapult! Reinforced with Orichalcum, none could stand in the way of his hopes and dreams! But now what? Hmm.

Oh! There were explosive crates up top in the shed! Well, some might still be left after that little show that was made up there, at least. It would still be worth it to take a look, because explosives made for exceptional siege ammunition. And it was a known thing that none could beat Stårn's nose when it came to appropriating siege related materiel.

Looting the Mountain Supply Shed: 1d100+8=106

HiHo ChiRho
Oct 23, 2010

Potrait:


Naim: Mason
Skillz: Mason Hootin' an' Hollerin'
HeeP: Mason Mason Mason
Glury: Masonx7


Lootin the Mownten Suply Shed: 1d100+7 96

HiHo ChiRho fucked around with this message at 22:12 on Oct 11, 2017

Green Intern
Dec 29, 2008

Loon, Crazy and Laughable


Name: Ringo!
HP: 1/2 (Crippled)
Glory: 7 > 8
Skill: Lockpicking (Cooldown)

One minute the door was there, and then it wasn't. These knuckleheads worked fast. But hey at least the Horde was victorious! And Grimper just gave an all-clear on looting!?

Dollars to donuts, there was probably a super cool and durable set gear in this supply shack that'd work great for a thief on the go.

Loot the Mountain Supply Shed: 1d100+7 12

Yup, Ringo was definitely feeling lucky.

Half-wit
Aug 31, 2005

Half a wit more than baby Asahel, or half a wit less? You decide.

Name: Neebs
Skill(s): Sales
HP: 3
Glory: 6 -> 7

Neebs slowly stopped when Grimper's booming voice settled over the town. He'd discuss their behavior later? She had a sinking feeling she'd done something wrong again...but for the life of her, she didn't know how.

She proceeded to search for some armor: 1d100+6 28 that would fit.

fishception
Feb 20, 2011

~carrier has arrived~
Oven Wrangler


Tharbad the Violent

Skill: Violence

HP: 2/3

Glory: 3 => 4

Tharbad let them help. It made them feel better about themselves, even if he was entirely not lying about being able to break those bars. He picked up as many of the iron bars remained of the prison, and stood in front of them, looking decidedly unhinged as normal.

"TOGETHER WE TRIUMPH. Now we form together using the tools of our imprisonment as our tools of violence! RAISE YOUR BARS HIGH!"

He dramatically raises his bar up to the sky.

"WE ARE THE TÖAN BAR ASSOCIATION!"

Now it was time to determine the first action of the Töan Bar Association, and it involved violence, because nothing made Tharbad more hungry for violence than being stuck in a cage. It brought back memories of his childhood.

"OUR FIRST ACTION IS SMASHING WHOEVER ELSE DECIDES TO CAUSE TROUBLE!"

He marched outside, hopefully to cheers, as he began a rather thorough patrol route around the city, holding his iron bar high as if it was the symbol of some high office. And indeed it was, for he was now the founder of the Töan Bar Association.

Breaking into a full ravenous sprint, Tharbad patrolled with vigor and great, GREAT anger, smiting any would be ambushers that wanted to attack the looting parties. Even if there weren't many left, there would undoubtedly be a few who either didn't get the message or still wanted to hold out.

Per vim patiens, legis. : 1d100+14 = 94

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010


If you must blink, do it now.


Name: Gigs
Skill: Unflappability
HP: 3
Glory: 7

Hmph. Missed. Ah well, there's always the next time someone dies.

Gigs steps into the mayor's office along with the rest of his fellow would-be mayor murders to toss the ex-mayor's mayorly quarters for mayorly loot (1d100+7 = 105).

DivineCoffeeBinge
Mar 3, 2011

Spider-Man's Amazing Construction Company


Name: Shiny
HP: 3
Glory: 2 -> 3
Skill: Stealin' Stuff

"Noggins!" The danger having passed, Shiny rushes out of town towards the site of the Glorious Stick Golem Ambush, stepping gingerly over several dead bodies so she can check to make sure her fellow Unexpectables are none the worse for wear. Which, astoundingly, they aren't. They really ought to be! "Oh geez is everyone okay it was such a keen idea we were gonna send the mob out and while you ambushed 'em in the front we were gonna ambush 'em in the back and it would have been like *krrrck* like that noise it makes when you use those metal thingies to crack a walnut? Except the stupid mob wouldn't listen and we couldn't ambush 'em right and wow you guys got a whole bunch of 'em! An' I was worried that you wouldn't and then I'd feel really, really bad 'cause we weren't trying to get you in trouble, I knew you had an awesome ambush all set up, but still! You're okay, right? I'm really, really sorry!"

In all the breathless excitement of actually using a lot of words all at the same time, which Shiny is typically very bad at doing, she even forgets to loot bodies until after all the best stuff has already been picked through. Well, she didn't die, that's something, right? If she finds anything cool she'll probably give it to Noggins and the other Ambush Mooks by way of apology anyway.

Looting Shiny Stuff!: 1d100+12 17

Oh my god how can I be so bad at looting

Green Intern
Dec 29, 2008

Loon, Crazy and Laughable

You and me both.

TheNabster
Apr 26, 2014

"Today I will cause problems on purpose"

Spleen the Volatile
Skill: 'Splosions
HP: 2/3
Glory: 6

Spleen was still slightly unsure for the stupid plan for victory actually worked. He was aware he had a new shiney bar of which to hit people with, but he felt it needed something, like a grenade tied to it.

Yeah.

But this time he was free, and this time he actually knew where the contents of explosiosity were kept in this dump! Trust that he went the wrong way the first time, the bombs were over there all along!

He sprinted like a bloodhound agree the hare to get his fix of that sweet, sweet boom boom before everyone else for there first.

Getting in on that mountain shack looting, 1d100+16 = 20

Oh geez I'm actually getting worse

Task Manager
Sep 5, 2008

A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope.

Name: Gabber
Skill: Mimicry
HP: 3
Glory: 2 -> 3

What had happened with the caravan was flawless in comparison to the mess that had broken out in the Fostis town square. After their plot to send the angry mob towards the forces outside of town achieved only moderate success, the remaining crowd again began to encircle those dissidents who had snuck into town with the downfall of Fostis on their minds. Gabber knew he wasn't the best fighter - truth be told it'd be more accurate to call what he did flailing more than fighting, especially since he still only carried a rather large branch for a weapon - but if it came down to it he would go down swinging, and when he was down would crawl away at the soonest opportunity to wait out the rest of battle, feigning death.

From his vantage point behind the mob he didn't have that great of a view as to the events that transpired, but all of a sudden explosions began coming in from above, and a new foul odor joined the already pungent sulfuric smell that enveloped Fostis. As members of the mob began doubling over and losing their lunch on the ground, Gabber was once again thankfully that his parents had sewn his mouth shut so many years ago - if he did try to join those doubled over ralphing, it would have nowhere to go and he could continue unimpeded! His parents truly were wiser than he ever knew, to see just such an eventuality one day.

As some of his fellow plotters singled out the mayor, Gabber went among the retching mob whacking people over the head and driving his shield into those best unable to defend themselves. He was helping!

Soon enough the battle had ended, and Warlord Grimper was signaling the beginning of the orderly looting. While those who had thrown down their weapons did have a motley assortment of clubs and pick-axes, Gabber was hoping to find something with a bit more "oomph". Looking around, Gabber tried to locate the nearest guardhouse, to loot a suitable weapon of war for himself and any who wished to join in.

Find a guardhouse/loot a weapon: 1d100+2 89 :boom:

EDIT: See later post for action - decided to go for a Skillcore instead.

Task Manager fucked around with this message at 18:07 on Oct 10, 2017

Barbed Tongues
Mar 16, 2012






Pythag
HP: (3) of (3)
Skill: Math (active)
Equipment: Shield
Glory: 8

"Fellow victors! Who wants to accompany me to the Miner's Guild Hall for looting opportunities? Full disclosure, I am only asking this because I don't want to be picked off and killed going by myself, even though if I did go by myself and wasn't picked off and killed, I could probably loot more. Tools, Nogginlights, Safety Vests - lots of potential loot - Though full disclosure I don't know if any loot is actually there. But In any case, it's this way.."

Sax Battler
Jul 31, 2007

Another bloody customs post,
Another fucking foreign coast,
Another set of scars to boast,
We Are The Road Crew.

Barbed Tongues posted:


Pythag
HP: (3) of (3)
Skill: Math (active)
Equipment: Shield
Glory: 8

"Fellow victors! Who wants to accompany me to the Miner's Guild Hall for looting opportunities? Full disclosure, I am only asking this because I don't want to be picked off and killed going by myself, even though if I did go by myself and wasn't picked off and killed, I could probably loot more. Tools, Nogginlights, Safety Vests - lots of potential loot - Though full disclosure I don't know if any loot is actually there. But In any case, it's this way.."


Name: Gloff
Skills:Lifting (using), Swimming
HP: 3
Glory: 5

Gloff claps Pythag too hard on the back, still riled up from the fighting.
Mumbling something encouraging, finger pointing triumphantly, he starts off towards where he thinks the Miner's Guild Hall is.
The Soapbox(RIP) having proven not up to the task, Gloff needs something else to hit people over the head with.
Something heavy.

Finding something heavy: 1d100+15=23

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

But People have fears that beasts do not. Questions, too.
Forgot to add available Skillcores! To wit: Bonegineering, Neck Snapping, Contortion, Mining (x3), Amputation, Jumping, Listening and Holding Your Breath! Go git em'!

Yvonmukluk
Oct 10, 2012

Everything is Sinister



Bully
Skills: Oratory (on cooldown), Climbing (on cooldown)
HP:3
Glory: 7

Bully climbs back down (once the worst of the gas dissipates) and rejoins his new friend Gloff and his cohort as they head towards the Guildhall, since there is plenty of items that might prove useful to the cause there, even if all he can find is a big stick...

To the victors, the spoils: 1d100=41

Scribbleykins
Apr 29, 2010

Any scientist with the right background can brew his own booze.

...

What do you mean electrolytes aren't used for brewing booze? That's silly!

...

Well when all you have are chunks of TNE and an overly large water ration, all the world looks like a still!
Grimey Drawer

Skill: Sleuthing
HP: 3
Glory: 3 ---> 4

Eyes watering involuntarily, Humbug removed his hat and waved the odious Cowardclaw bud stuck on it in front of his nose to get a moment's relief from Cornbread's bilious bombardment. How anyone could create scents as vile as Cornbread's was one of the rare few mysteries that the sleuth hoped he'd never have to poke his figurative and literal nose into. The detective hummed and hawed and wondered what to do next, letting the others take the initiative while he wandered the town, before he spotted a fallen figure that, though beaten to a pulp-like state, still stood out - Mayor Bello himself.

Entering investigative mode, the Sleuth knelt down by the dead Fröman civic official.

CSI Humbug posted:

VictimTarget:
Mayor Bello of Fostis.
Cause of death:
Evidence - The unmistakable imprint of Bamboo's fist along the jawline. Signs of assorted blunt trauma here and there. And there. And there.
Speculation - Mayor's body is so floppy the assassination team must have broken most of the bones in his body.
Revised Speculation: Bamboo's hook to the head KO'd the Mayor, making the use of his Contortion Skillcore moot.
Conclusion - Death by savage beating.
Addendum - For the love of Tö, stay on Bamboo's good side.
Skillcores:
Evidence - Contortion skillcore. No signs of extraction attempts.
Speculation - While older civil servants are likely to have two or three cores, the Horde lacks the Ritual finesse to not accidentally crush them.
Conclusion - Only one core = the rest were probably mushed in the fight. Fitting that a contortion core survives.
Patdown:
Evidence - Pickaxe, still wet with the red blood of a Töan. Torn and blue-bloodstained shirt and pants. A grey beard. An awful lot of blood.
Speculation - The Mayor fought off and killed Graxos using his Contortion skillcore and rushed out of his office to sound the alarm, bringing with him only what he had on hand.
Conclusion - The Mayor has nothing of interest.

Humbug shook his head, disappointed. Bello did not carry secret insignia rings, have any weird tattoos or show secret signs of Monsterism. He also singularly failed to spasm back to life in order to whisper one final cryptic message. It was almost disappointing how normal he seemed to be in death. Just a Mayor, doing Mayor things, defending his town in a Mayorly way and getting stomped on by a raging mob. What a pedestrian death - Risk Assessors had determined that three out of ten Mayors died that way (at least the bad ones - and Bello had been a Fröman Mayor so ipso facto was he a bad Mayor according to Töan statisticians).

With a sigh, the sleuth stood back up. The traumatized townsfolk would no doubt get around to disposing of the bodies eventually, so he folded up the Mayor's floppy remains and left them where he'd found them... although as he began to make his way back to camp, it did strike the Sleuth that it might be a bit of a waste to leave the skillcore behind, even if he himself did not see a use for it.

"Hey! Contortion skillcore over there, should anyone want it!" he shouted, hailing the rest of the Unexpectables and pointing them in the right direction.

Sleuthing Mayor Bello's body: 1d100+10 47

Glory does not apply to looting rolls, as far as I recall.

Fuzz
Jun 2, 2003

Avatar brought to you by the TG Sanity fund

Additional Skills: LEAPING
Glory: 7 -> 8

RIK decided to hang out up on the mountain rather than brave the stench that was CORNBREAD'S LEGACY as others rushed to loot stuff. Breathing weird stenches, he decided, was probably bad for his singing voice.

When the smells had cleared out, he took a walk through town and spotted a HOLDING YOUR BREATH skillcore. Prefect! That could come in handy, for avoiding smells, sure, but also when lifting heavy objects, assuming he could find cores for Locking His Knees, Bearing Down, and Lifting with his Back.

Snagging a Skillcore - Holding your breath: 1d100 76

Kyyp
Jan 14, 2007


Name: Doc
HP: 3
Glory: 4
Skill: Surgery

One should always take the opportunity to improve their skillset.

Bonegineering Skillcore for Doc?: 1d100+4 = 56

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010


Gado!!!
Skill: Digging [avaliable next turn]
HP: 3
Glory: 2->3

"All things considered that could have gone worse!" Having not triggered some bizarre explosive chain reaction through bashing down the storage shed door and in light of the successful bombardment, Gado takes his time meandering the streets in search of something worth taking.

It doesn't take long for a treasure to show up that Gado is supremely interested in, the trio of mining skill cores just laying there to be taken are too tempting.

Looting a Mining Skillcore 38

Bee Bonk
Feb 19, 2011


HP: 3
Glory 5

Qwäg carefully climbed down from her battlemook, meticulously avoiding sticky blue puddles as she took a step away from the increasingly abstract mass that was once the Mayor of Fortis. "That went uncharacteristically well," she mused, as much to herself as to Humbug. "Poor, Mog-blighted reddie," she said, nodding sagely. "Mayoring is number eleven on our list of professional widowmakers. Mining is number nine, so our boy here had about one foot and three toes in the grave. Actually, Humbug, thank you for reminding me; I should submit a report to the Risker's Union so they can update their data."

Even as she spoke, however, Qwäg's eyes slowly swiveled to track a blood-smeared skillcore lazily rolling across the plaza. With a brief, inarticulate cry, she dove for the orb of crystallized elan, hitting the cobbles with a jolt that knocked the wind out of her. She flailed an arm toward the core, only to see it bumped by passing Tö-toes, skittering deeper into the crowd.
"That core will increase my survival chances by 23%, you blots," Qwäg wailed, body-checking nearby hordelings and giving voice to an extremely undignified expletive as she scrambled after the core.

Snagging Amputation Skillcore: 1d100 23

WereGoat
Apr 28, 2017



Name: Hob
HP: 3
Glory: 7≥8
Skill: bee keeping

After gleefully skipping down into town, the generals tone slowed Hob. Mood dipping slightly he joined the others.

Walking into town, Hob catches Humbug's shout.

Scampering over, he looks Humbug in the eye. "May I?"

After a dismissive nod, Hob tries to gently Extract the Contortion skillcore: 1d100 39.

Looking up from the corpse at Humbug.

"Sorry! So rude of me, let me help you out there".

if not allowed two things, ignore below action as the help is offered to late and need to rush back to Grimper or summat

Help Humbug search the body: 1d100 92

WereGoat fucked around with this message at 18:24 on Oct 10, 2017

Task Manager
Sep 5, 2008

A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope.
Since no one seems keen on searching a guardhouse with Gabber, and I'd rather not go solo....


Name: Gabber
Skill: Mimicry
HP: 3
Glory: 2 -> 3

Gabber's search for the nearest guardhouse hadn't even really begun before he heard Humbug pipe up from nearby:

Scribbleykins posted:

With a sigh, the sleuth stood back up. The traumatized townsfolk would no doubt get around to disposing of the bodies eventually, so he folded up the Mayor's floppy remains and left them where he'd found them... although as he began to make his way back to camp, it did strike the Sleuth that it might be a bit of a waste to leave the skillcore behind, even if he himself did not see a use for it.

"Hey! Contortion skillcore over there, should anyone want it!" he shouted, hailing the rest of the Unexpectables and pointing them in the right direction.

Of course! Skillcores! How could he have forgotten. Seeing a few Unexpectables already beelining for the Mayor's corpse, Gabber began searching the other bodies nearby, noticing a fallen foe with extremely large ears. Maybe he had something worth taking?

Find a guardhouse/loot a weaponGrab the Listening Skillcore: 1d100+2 89 :boom:

I just reused my roll for the Weapon search I made earlier - Dog, if you'd prefer I reroll just let me know, or roll for me.

Task Manager fucked around with this message at 18:07 on Oct 10, 2017

The Lord of Hats
Aug 22, 2010

Hello, yes! Is being very good day for posting, no?

Noggins
Skill: Carpentry
HP: 3
Glory: 8->9

It worked. It worked. IT WORKED! Noggins cheered as the adrenaline left her, turning to face her grisly work. It was an ugly sight--strained splinters of wood driven into the ground from sheer rotational velocity, shattered stick golems, and of course, brutally impaled bodies, blue (and sometimes red) blood oozing out onto the ground. Her stomach churned a bit at the sight, but she took a few deep breaths and steadied herself. She'd hoped that the stick ogres would have let her settle this without violence, just scaring Fostis into submission, but as it had turned out... well, in the end, it had been her or them, and she had a job to do. No, a duty.

"Get the bodies hauled out of there and get them set out respectfully" she instructed her comrades. "They're already surrendering, no reason to make this any worse for Fostis than it has to be. If there's survivors, let's try to get them patched up." Rolling her shoulders to stretch them a bit, she got to work, humming to herself as she picked her way through the carnage.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Again! Again! Tell me the one about Sir Occam and the Great Dragon Brarrg!"

"No, Noggins, it's time for you to *sleep*. And besides, if I tell you too many stories you're going to start getting ideas."

"But Dovetaaaaaail, I wanna be a knight when I grow up! Just like Sir Occam! I'll travel the land and help people and fight monsters and I'll be a hero!"

"No, Noggins, you're going to grow up to be a carpenter, and you are going to thank me for it. That's a *proper* skillcore. A respectable trade! Do you know how many people there are out there with things like "Whistling" as their skillcore? What are you supposed to do with that? I'll tell you what you do, you starve in the streets. Now go to sleep, we've got a table to build in the morning."

"Fiiiiiiiiiiiine."

As the light was blown out, and the door closed, Noggins curled up under the blankets and waited in silence. After some time had passed, she started to quietly sing to herself.

"Brave and bold Sir Noggins
Rode out to face the foe,
She was not afraid to fight,
No, brave Sir Noggins!
She was not afraid to fight,
To protect the land of Tö
Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Noggins...


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some time later, her work at Stick Ogre Hill completed, Noggins finally walked, tired, into town, heading towards the craftsman's district. Predictably, the district was dominated by forges and foundries, devoted to turning Fostis' raw materials into usable product. And in a time like this, the implements of war would surely be in demand by royal decree, and that wouldn't just be junk for the foot soldiers. No, there would be a call for higher-quality stuff for the officers, and you would produce that... there. A smithy whose attached home was clearly of a higher quality than the others, with a showroom to go with it. This would be the real stuff was kept. Finding the door unlocked, Noggins headed in and began to search for something that would fit her. Something nice and sturdy. Something that would gleam heroically in the light.


Finding Some *Good* Armor: 1d100 96

Infinity Gaia
Feb 27, 2011

a storm is coming...


HP: 3
Glory:6->7

Biggo took a while to realize the fighting was over. He had been dragged along to the craftsman district in order to armwrestle some bigshot to the amusement of the miners. Once he realized the battle was over and his side had won, Biggo shook hands with his competitors before immediately turning around and ransacking their belongings. Not like any of them were likely to dare fight him, not after his incredible display of arm strength only minutes prior. Or so he expected, anyways.

Looting the Craftsman District for Whatever: 1d100 = 72

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.
Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 7->8

A nasty waft of acrid air violated Klörf's nostrils, who could do nothing but fall to his knees and violent decorate the town's square with streaks of a half-digested breakfast. It bothered him a little -- this was a waste of perfectly edit smoked meats! A good thing then that this mining town had a general store he could loot from.

Loot general store. 1d100=73

Cloud Potato
Jan 9, 2011

"I'm... happy!"

Name: Hat
Skill: Millinery
HP: 3/3
Equipment: Leather Armour (+1)
Glory: 7

After having spent the past few hours carefully carrying explosives out of the storeroom and to the mountain squad's improvised artillery forces (with a spare strip of fabric covring her nose and mouth, portecting her from the worst of the odours), Hat breathed a sigh of relief as the army re-assembled in front of Grimper. Again, minimal injuries for most of the squad, and only the one fatality, which had lead the enemy leader to fall into our other decapitation strike team. And in the other column, one mining town now under Töan control, a dozen or so new recruits, and a few hours of recommended looting.

Hat decided to tag along with the hero of the hour, Noggins, and Biggo as they and a few other soldiers headed toward the craftsman's district. Ideally, they'd find a disaffected Töan smith willing to throw their lot in with the Unexpectables and join the army; in the worst case scenario, there were bound to be a few hat shops that would let her replenish her hat-making materials.

Looting the craftsman's district: 1d100 27 :shrug:

Lux Anima
Apr 17, 2016


Dinosaur Gum

Name: Gawp
HP: 3
Skill: Perception (cooling)
Equipment: Sharp Stick (+0)
Glory: 10

The Hills Above Fostis (part 2):
On his way down the mountain path, Gawp prepared himself for the possibility that he wasn't going to find anything useful in the town of Fostis for himself. What a pity! He'd hoped that a stiff drink would sate his thirst and ease his strained leg muscles. Fostis was still a bit further down the trail from him, and dusk was already settling in.

To pass the time, Gawp had been keeping one eye on the trail while the rest scanned the streets of the town below. He was trying to see where other members of the Unexpectables had gotten off to.

By his incomplete tally, Gawp made a mental list of all the Töans he could still recognize in the dimming light:
  • Mountain Supply Shed: 5 soldiers were just up there (including himself)
  • Mayor's Offices: 4+ soldiers were still gathered around the dead mayor's offices in a crowd of skillcore seekers.
  • Miners' Guildhall: 3+ soldiers were last seen heading off towards the miners' guildhall together.
  • Craftsmans' District: 5+ soldiers are currently trying to ransack the general store and village armorer.
  • The Mines: As far as Gawp could tell, only 1 soldier he'd seen wander off into the mines...
  • Patrol: Gawp could see that there was a Töan patrol in the streets, but at this point in the darkening light he could only make out 1 familiar face...
Gawp licked at his chapped lips in the crisp mountain air and wondered when he'd get to wet his whistle.

Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 02:48 on Oct 18, 2017

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Barbed Tongues
Mar 16, 2012






Pythag
HP: (3) of (3)
Skill: Math (active)
Equipment: Shield
Glory: 8

Action: Loot Miner's Guild Hall: 1d100 = 70

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