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Name: CORNBREAD HP: 3 Glory: 8 Skills: Chucking poo poo (often literally)CD, Yelling, Bonegineering Cornbread stares into space for a while before eventually wading neck deep into a river to let the current wash him for a bit. Thus having taken likely his first, and most HIGHLY NECESSARY bath since getting conscripted, he wanders around town for a bit. Eventually it dawns on him that a buncha dudes died recently so theres a lotta bones up for grabs. The Boss Man doesn't like him making all the locals vomit for some reason, so in order to appease his giant commander Cornbread drags the bodies to a secluded grove before he starts deboning all the corpses. After what is VERY likely and EXTREMELY upsetting scene for any onlookers, he dumps all the bones on a cart and brings them to a local tannery. Cornbread considers his pile of grim trophies for a few minutes before figuring out what he wants to do. Yep. These bits should do the job. Cornbread needs to be better at throwing things, so using a couple cracked open skulls, ribs, various connective ossifery and a few leather straps...yeah. That'll do. Craft badass Jai-Alai Gloves outta BONES: 1d100+18 84 ...poo poo I posted a bit late. So can we roll with that as Cornbread being a crazy bastard who doesn't pay attention or something? Blasphemaster fucked around with this message at 06:16 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 06:09
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  HP: 3 Glory:8->9 Biggo kinda poked at the nail on his shoulder for a while after having it placed there. He was somewhat disappointed he didn't have to punch it into place, but that would probably have been painful. As much as he enjoyed punching things, he was not much of a fan of pain that comes from non-fistfighting sources. He also felt distinctly annoyed at the newfound knowledge of places he shouldn't punch in order to not shatter future skillcores. He felt like he actually COULDN'T punch those places anymore, even if he wanted to? The thought of his punching being limited in any way was very concerning to Biggo. Biggo actually seemed to freeze in place momentarily upon hearing about a possible Old Guy Relic. Could he possibly know something about them? Or was he merely wondering whether it could be used for punching? Unclear. Regardless of his reasoning, Biggo volunteered to join the group seeking to locate the Relic, though he wasn't sure how much help he'd be. Maybe they'd need a bodyguard or something? Dog Kisser posted:[*]Priority Mission: Investigate Old Guys Relic - [Difficulty 8] Standing guard with Team Gigs, possibly punching assailants or rocks: 1d100+19= 46  Also, Take Most Rations, a hearty diet is key to a healthy body, and a healthy body is key to strong punches. Infinity Gaia fucked around with this message at 20:35 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 06:26
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Blasphemaster posted:...poo poo I posted a bit late. DogKisser still has a couple more things he wants to add to the latest update... I think you might be safe adding a Glory to your tally for trying to do something during downtime (even if nothing else comes of it other than flavor). Then you should certainly make a new action at 9 Glory based upon what's in DogKisser's latest update. e: I hope you liked your drawin' 
Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 06:31 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 06:27
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Name: Klörf Skill: Starting fires HP: 3 Glory: 9->10 Klörf's dead fish-eyes lit up the moment Grimper mentioned Nägel. Even if this was just a scouting mission, it would put him one step forward to his goal of freeing his abducted friend. He gathered his sharpened stick and wordlessly joined the rest of the Töans preparing for the mission. If they failed, it certainly couldn't be blamed on Klörf's dedication. 1d100+9=53 His competence, on the other hand, was certainly not beyond reproach.
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Oct 17, 2017 06:36
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 Name: Portha Skills: Rummaging, Cleaning HP: 3 Glory: 1 Portha couldn't believe it, her first nail, and holy burning skillcores did it hurt. Her parents both had several from the last war with the Frömen and each attributed a minor success to one. She always thought they were weird, like some sort of strange bug bite, but the thought of being surrounded by a better trained horde was far more appealing than dying unblemished by nails and she was glad its effect was benevolent. What Grimper did to Fostis and what he said had been done to him reminded her of the old schoolyard tales of the Hammermen, monsters who'd find kids that didn't finish their homework and sealed away their ability to have fun. Her brother Porth the third had been terrified of them and now she knew why her parents always had trouble reassuring him no one would take his happiness away, the monsters were real and she was working for one. Putting thoughts of the ritual from her mind, Portha resisted the urge to check out the relic. It was better to stick to her strengths after being glory drained by the ritual and resupply. No doubt the miners kept stashes of quality gems in the mine to smuggle out when they visited their families in Noostra, or maybe a rich vein they planned on keeping to themselves. Pretty simple really, just hollow out a section of the wall and cover it with a box or some easily removable boards, just like uncle Porthkins used to do when he thought he could hide his ale from the rest of the family. He never realized his stashed fifths had started being more like sixths after she'd discovered his trick with a little searching. Searching the mine 1d100+11=107 Horde Vote: Only take two rations super sweet best pal fucked around with this message at 08:58 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 07:37
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 Name: Hob HP: 3 Glory: 7≥8≥7 (oops, art) Ritual Glory : 1 Skill: Bee keeping, Contortion(used) "We should only take 2 rations. It's like bees" Hob said confidently "you want the hive to keep giving you honey? You take care of the hive." "And in this hive, the honey is ore". Hob wore a smug grin, as if he had said something profound and insightful, rather than some nonsense about bees. An old guy relic they say? Hob's eye widened. "Sign me up" Hob looks to Gigs and gives a precise salute. "Sir!". Hob knew that in squeezing through the narrow passages he could help pull others through, get to... whatever this is, quicker, with less danger from mining accidents. Squeeze through the passages to the old guy relic: 1d100+17 47-1 =46  In practice his new found Contortion abilities did let him slip through easily enough, but did little to get the rest through. It was some help being able to mine from both sides to widen the way forward, but not as much as Hob had originally hoped. WereGoat fucked around with this message at 22:53 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 08:19
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  Name: Gawp HP: 3 Skill: Perception (active) Equipment: Sharp Stick (+0) Glory: 3 -> 4 Horde Vote: Take SOME Rations. Let's see what foodstuffs we can take from the intercepted shipments before we starve the people who mine our iron supplies. Warlord Grimper's Encampment, Fostis: Gawp heard the day's assignments and he was utterly flabbergasted; heartbroken all at once. Gigs the Unflappable gets to lead a team all on his own? Him? How? Gawp just couldn't see it happening, refused to believe it. After all, it was Gawp who made sure no one got exploded messily yesterday, it was Gawp who discovered the Makeshift Sacrifire Recipe using his eyes, tongue and nose, and it was Gawp who brought the great General Grimper the Mathematician Pythag's Big Boom Numbers! It was - quite obviously - Gawp who deserved to be in charge of the team of miners who were setting off to make dig-science history! How often do you find a buried relic of the Old Guys like this, anyway?! Seven hells laughing, everyone back in Grishög knows about the Old Guys! Gawp'd be the hero of his hometown for sure, if only he could claim the dig as his own, then he could... he would... It just wasn't fair. If Gawp was in charge of the dig then he could then call DIBS on whatever he wanted for once. He sighed and took stock of his meager belongings. Gawp had in his possession... a half-finished loaf of Töan Combat Bread, a pair of frayed footwraps, a pair of shorts held up by a cord, a kinda long sharp stick, a pocketful of rocks, his underwear and eleven... no, wait, that's only three(?!) glory tokens?!?! Ugh... Gawp shook a hazily-registered memory from his hungover state and found that his right hand had instinctively wandered up to the new Nail that was embedded in his left shoulder. Ah, that's right: the Ritual called Harvester's Grim Duty had been performed - and with great success, too! Gawp flexed the arm experimentally. All seemed good to go for Gawp! Metals are Magic, Gawp reasoned. All the same, Gawp felt a little disgusted by his newfound memories if he thought about them too long or too hard. First off, he was ashamed that he'd spent eight Glory tokens in a single night due to his drunken generosity, and then again he was further horrified by the vivid lessons in Töan vivisection he'd been given with the rest of the Horde through the magic of the Ritual. All Gawp could feel at the time was disgust. Disgust with himself. Disgust with others, with the nature of war. Disgust that he couldn't seem to please Grimper or Madga in the slightest. Gawp didn't want to disappoint his family by avoiding the mines altogether, but at the same time he was in a bit of a mood about being passed over for the mission's leadership. So Gawp did what he always did when he felt like being alone with his thoughts: he walked away from the sleepy mining town full of dullards and blowhards and traveled into the forested foothills to see what kind of Gawp set off for the forests, using his sharp stick as a walking aid. In one pocket he held his throwin' rocks, and in the other pocket he kept the rest of his Töan Combat Bread just in case he needed some bait. Gawp put his Perceptions on high alert, taking in the sights, sounds, sensations and smells of the forest, searching for fauna to admire and possibly kill for meat. If some other Töans wanted to join him on the scouting party, he wasn't going to stop them. More than anything Gawp just needed to get some fresh air. Scouting Around Fostis: Investigate the Wilderness: 1d100+13 63 Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 02:44 on Oct 18, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 08:56
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Alright, reread the last update, made a bunch of changes and additions! If you were missed, odds are you weren't 'missed', your adventures just happened in the background and didn't yield any notable fruit. Better luck next time!
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Oct 17, 2017 16:23
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  Name: Shiny HP: 3 Glory: 3 -> 4 Skill: Stealin' Stuff "Dif if gooh breah," Shiny makes sure to tell Patsy, though since she doesn't stop stuffing her face while she speaks, it is unknowable whether or not the poor Baker understands what she's actually saying. She seems happy, at least, even as she idly scratches at the spot on her shoulder where the Nail sits. She would have thought it would ache, but it just sort of itches a little every so often. So that's weird. Well, really, a lot about her life is weird these days. She's palling around with a professional digger and a detective who used to be her nemesis (or would have been her nemesis if she was ever successful enough at crime for long enough to deserve a nemesis, really he was just one of an endless parade of figures who caught Shiny stealing things and tried to make her stop in various ways). Also she's in the army. Well, the Horde, which is sort of like an army. Except without all the ranks and uniforms and proper hygiene. Okay, maybe it's not so much like an army, but it's where she is, dangit. Shiny mills about the camp, chowing on bread, humming thoughtfully. When she comes across several of her compatriots arguing about how much food to swipe from Fostis, she even chews and swallows before arguing for Taking Some Rations rather than taking most or all, because "if the miners all starve to death then they can't mine more iron and Magda can't use that iron to make more nails and then Magda might get angry." Good old self-preservation instincts, they work every time. She watches Gawp set off looking quite put out, but most of the excitement seems to be among the group setting out to search for the Old Guy Relic. Her new buddy Gado is even joining up, which is good, Shiny judges, as he'll be wanting some redemption after the earthquake plan didn't pan out, and she goes over to wish Gigs' Old Guys Thing-Finders luck... but she'll not be joining them. "I've been in prison," she explains, "and it stinks. And Fröan prisons must, like, extra stink. So I wanna help people not be in prison. Good luck, you guys!" Scouting Out Nägel: 1d100+3 46
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Oct 17, 2017 17:06
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Potrait:   Naim: Mason Skillz: Mason Hootin' an' Hollerin' HeeP: Mason Mason Mason Glury: Masonx3 -> 4 Mason looks over his helmet, boomstick and grapplin' hook with pride. Mason finally made it to the big leagues - and made something of himself! Even if he just looks like a glorified miner, but with no actual mining skills, or any skills for that matter. Mason realizes he finally proved all the people in his life wrong that he would never amount to anything more than just a doorstop. He's at least a battering ram, too! That being said, there were more choices in front of Mason now, but he was on a lucky streak up in the mountains, so why stop that now? It's time to Investigate the Mines!. Mason, being the idiot that he is, decides the best way to investigate them is by HOLLERIN' down one of the mine shafts to ask if there's anything strange going on in there. Surely, nothing can go wrong with this action, right? Mason Hollers down the mine!: 1d100+14 62 Horde vote: take 2 Rations
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Oct 17, 2017 17:29
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       Name: Stårn Additional skills: Butterfly Beastmaster HP: 3 Glory: 10 -> 11 Clearly they were to only take Some Rations! They needed the miners in top shape to to mine the best sieging materials! As for scouting? Well, they now had a perfect device for busting down prison gates! Stårn patted Klörf on the back, and nodded towards his battering ram, a knowing if somewhat madly gleeful grin on his face. No gate could stand before the might of his mighty ram, Stårn knew. But Stårn was clever as well, and knew that knowing was half the battle. You cannot break down a gate if you don't know where the gate is, this was basic sieging knowledge. 101 level stuff. Thus they would need to scout. And scouting was easier if the enemy patrols were distracted. A GIANT CLOUD of butterflies should do the trick nicely, certainly the simple minded Fröans couldn't peel their eyes from such a magnificent sight were he to set it up! Butterfly Beastmaster to distract enemy guards to better Scout Nägel: 1d100+20=108 Theantero fucked around with this message at 17:59 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 17:41
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   Spleen the Volatile Skill: 'Splosions HP: 3/3 Glory: 0 -> 1 Speedy speed speed post let's go! Some Rations because Spleen doesn't really care that much about eating when he could be making bombs And he will go to Nagel to help people out because that mine stuff looks full and probably doesn't need his 'special' kind of expertise yet. But this prison probably will. Scoutin' Nagel, 1d100 = 22 Aww not this again TheNabster fucked around with this message at 18:11 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 18:04
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Also make sure to grab your newly-Nailed portraits from the first post!
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Oct 17, 2017 18:08
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   Noggins Skill: Carpentry HP: 3 Glory: 10->11 The nailing actually hadn't been as bad as Noggins had feared. Oh, it hurt like hell on the way in, make no mistake--but then it was just kind of... there. If she closed her good eye and focused, she could barely make out the faint pink glow of their bonds, crisscrossing with the hundreds of other pink lines leading to Grimper. She would have rather that the bonds be to the rest of the Horde instead of directly to the Warlord, but that just wasn't how rituals worked. Probably. Snacking on combat bread, she chimed in on the ration discussion--"We should only take Some Rations. We conquered Fostis, it's our responsibility now. It would be wrong to just doom the town. Besides, we can make what we've got last for quite a while." She took another bite of bread--it really was quite good--and continued "Besides, there's that supply wagon coming. If we head out now, we should be able to get to the crossroads with enough time to set up an ambush, and then we'll have all the supplies we'll need! Who's with me?" Not hearing quite as much enthusiasm as she had really been hoping for, she walked over to Tharbad "You know, given how valuable this is, it's probably going to be well-guarded. This would be a good chance for the Bar Association to show off what it can do." With a turn that sent her moth-eaten cape in a dramatic sweep (with some not-insignificant bits of it flying off in the process), she headed out on the road. It was going to take a while to get there, and hesitation would only mean less time to prepare. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There wasn't as much to work with out at the crossroads as she had hoped. Sure, there were trees around, but they were pretty much all pines, barren of branches until way too far up. Even if you climbed it and somehow hid in its branches, you would just be stuck up there, unless you really wanted to start out an ambush by jumping down and breaking both your legs. And while you were busy writhing in pain, the wagon would just get away from you, and the other delegations would show up to beat you into the dirt. Unless... Noggins pulled out her tools and started sawing the trees along the road. If the other towns paths were blocked, and you dropped a tree behind the supply wagon... it'd just be you and the caravan, and they would have nowhere to go but Fostis, and the ambush would go off without a hitch. Foolproof. Ambush the Supply Wagon: 1d100+24 29 Unfortunately, there was a lot of tree to cut through, and a single carpentry saw wasn't exactly the right tool for the job.
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Oct 17, 2017 18:21
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  Name: Doc HP: 3 Glory: 7 Skill: Surgery Other than some decent amputations on a stick ogre in training (which is hardly impressive), things were going pretty mediocre for Doc the entire time she'd been in the horde. Maybe she was just out of practice. There wasn't really anyone left to kill in town (at least, not without maybe getting in trouble), but maybe she could find some fluffy animals out in the wilderness. Oh, and whatever other useful stuff might be out there. Skinning and cutting the meat out of helpless animals was basically surgery, right? How hard could it be? She admired her shiny new knife and joined up with whoever else was headed out. To the Wilderness: 1d100+7 = 59 (HOLY poo poo Orokos why? My last 4 rolls have now been: 57, 56, 58, and now 59. Goddamn. At least I'm consistently Average???)
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Oct 17, 2017 18:29
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  Skill: Sleuthing HP: 3 Glory: 3+1 (story) ----> 5 Humbug accepted the glory back from Bamboo and counted the whole encounter as a bit of a wash. At least she wasn't hurting herself anymore, and at least she hadn't hurt him! So what if one of his potential witnesses was - it seemed - about as pent-up crazy as she looked. Perhaps he'd have to find the right angle... a bit of comfort and acknowledgement certainly didn't seem to be it. Or at least not given in the way he'd gone about it! He hummed deeply and went off to sleep on it. -------------- Humbug received his Nail with outward stoic grace (well, inner stoic grace). He'd contributed glory to the cause, after all, and knew that the Nails might make the difference between life and death for him and the rest of the unfortunates stuck in the Unexpectables. The pain, well, he (thought, shoulder stinging like never before, screaming as pain and knowledge flooded him) could handle a little bit of pain! (ow) It certainly felt strange to become connected to Old Warlord Grimper, of all Töans. Nothing new for Grimper, but quite new to Humbug, who'd never served under anyone more exalted than his old Watch Captain and never, to his knowledge, been Nailed. It was both an honour and a curse - for now there truly was no escape from service, except for in death or the Horde's success. If anyone chose to run away now, well... Grimper would have that connection. To distract himself from the effects of the ritual (knees trembling, hands shaking, twitching with moves that involved literal surgical precision), Humbug wondered about the utility of the Ritual itself. Creating Nails must truly be a costly, or rare, affair, given that he'd never seen its use while working under Watch Captain Badbrass, who, for all his eccentricities, had some influence in the capital. Humbug had not seen it used to track down criminals, nor to 'cure' their recidivism, nor to empower the Watch to be better at their duties. Likely, common watchmen and even commoner prisoners just weren't important enough to warrant it, especially not if Nailsmiths were as rare as Grimper intimated. The sleuth fell to his knees like a puppet with its strings cut, ritual finished. The detached part of him that had been thinking all of these things slowly attached back to the less detached part of him that was groaning into the mud. Getting Nailed had been... something, alright. The oddest thing about it all, however, was how the knowledge he now possessed was just... there. How to extract skillcores, how to avoid damaging them, everything, everything, just swept across his mind, like a stone, impossibly skipping across the surface of a pond, never sinking, making little waves of intrinsic knowledge that came to the fore whenever he needed it or thought of it. Blinking away the tears, Humbug hoped it'd been worth the pain and the glory sacrificed come the end of the Horde's next conflict. If not for him, then at least for some of Good Ones, like Shiny. -------------- When there was talk of stripping the town of food, the sleuth suggested the Töans take Some Rations to leave the town productive, but emphasized that if they did, they should at least send a sizable team to deal with the Supply Wagon. A growing Horde had to be fed, after all! Especially if they were to free some of Nägel's prisoners later. Though he thought it a concern, for Humbug there was no contest between practicality and curiosity. He had to go scout out Nägel! He still had the chicken-scratch scribblings of the fallen captain referencing 'Ritual experiments' and 'intel', as well as Klörf's testimony and his own suspicions on that darkly rumoured place being Magda's intended destination... making the place rich in mysteries that needed solving! Besides, as a former Watch-Tö turned private sleuth, someone who'd been on the Right side of prison bars, Humbug might be able to help the other Töans figure out where and what to look at, and how to best avoid Nägel's guards. Ex-Guard Sleuthing: 1d100+14 53 Scribbleykins fucked around with this message at 20:52 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 18:54
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  Extra Skillcore: Sitting Quietly HP: 3 Glory: 9 -> 10 -- Snödis trudged out of the mine just as Magdas preparations for the Nail ritual had ended, so instead of a good nights rest in the clean outside air, she was instead treated to a chunk of metal being driven right through her shoulder blade. Inconvenient, as she had rather hoped to get some armour fitted before they headed out, but now couldn't on account of the nigh unbearable pain. Through gritted teeth, she muttered "take it all" when some poor accounting-tö showed up, polling the soldiery on how to treat their new Fröian subjects and more specifically their larders. Snödis was not feeling especially merciful at the moment, and either way they had beaten those low-lives fair and square, anything they had was ours by right, or so she reasoned to herself. When at last the time came to once again move out, Snödis was quick to join the expedition heading towards Nägel. She had heard rumors that her Nemesis (and sometimes Romantic Interest) a Töian Battle-Rapper named Tö-Päin, had been captured after an ill conceived skirmish with a squadron of knights from the Fröian Nobility. In all honesty, she did not much care weather they held him in the deepest vault or the tallest tower, weather he was guarded by wild beasts, or terrible wendingoes; in her mind, nobody was allowed to hold or hurt him but her. As they marched towards the prison, she spouted verse as was her wont, hoping to spur her colleagues into greatness with mere words alone.  "Nägel, more like Mögel, on account of all the stench. To breach it will be childsplay, inept wardens life-force we shall quench." Disapproving Poetry: 1d100+9 27 Of course, words did little against walls of metal and stone, but that is why she made sure to join the squad the Siege Expert was on, after all.
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Oct 17, 2017 19:14
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  Name: Gabber Skill: Mimicry, Listening [cooldown] HP: 3 Glory: 1-> 2 His own Nail! What a monumental day. Of course it had been painful and excruciating, but it was also unlike anything he had ever experienced before. His life up until this point had been painted in bland black and white, but the Ritual of the Nail had opened his eyes (and ears) to new experiences in full color. Once he was aware they had reached their glory total he had made his way to Magda to see if she could use any help - he just had to know everything he could know about the Nails - however, the sound of her profane workings from her wagon had led him to steer clear. One day, maybe, he'd learn more, and might even be able to help in some small way? As the clatter and excitement wore down after the completed Ritual, Gabber took his assigned ration for the day (how Gabber actually ate loaves of bread given his condition, none were quite too sure of and/or actually wanted to know). When the topic came up as to if they would bolster their own ration count with that of Fostis' supplies, Gabber put on a show of loading invisible loaves up in his arms, taking a handful of them and setting them aside, then walking off with the rest (Take Most Loaves). It was the way of things - they'd need the added rations for their war effort. When it came time to plot their next step, Gabber made his way over to Gigs the soonest chance he got, firing off a quick salute and attempting to get across his willingness to join the mission (Old man shuffle, straightened back, frantic gesturing at himself). Maybe if he proved his worth on a priority mission, he could learn some new wonderous thing, or maybe even get another Nail soon? Investigate the Old Guys Relic: 1d100+2 79 Task Manager fucked around with this message at 20:10 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 20:07
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 Sucy HP: 3 Glory: 7 Skill: Mushrooms Sucy agreed with those advocating for only taking some rations. Sidling up to Gigs, Sucy offered her help in investigating the Old Guy Relic, as it sounded magical, and magic was inherently interesting to her. If he didn't take her along, she would just help explore the mines further. 1d100+7: 77
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Oct 17, 2017 20:27
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  Name: Hat Skill: Millinery HP: 3/3 Equipment: Leather Armour (+1) Glory: 9 Hat woke up. This was a mistake, and she immediately regretted it. Her brain was trying to escape out of any hole it could find, her stomach was complaining loudly about something, the Horde seemed twice as loud as they usually were, and somebody had stuck a nail in her left shoulder, right through one of the straps of her armour. Her memories of the previous night were very hazy; she was in the pub, talking to a local who seemed very excited about telling her... something, then blackness, then chanting, then being sick somewhere, then being dragged to the circle for the Nail Ritual. Must have been too drunk to even move the shoulder-strap aside. Ugh. Hat pulled the rim of her hat down low, to block out the horrible bright light, and set off in search of water and some of Patsy's wonderful cooking. As she slowly picked at the bread - "No, nothing's wrong, tastes great! Just, you know, savouring it is all!" - she heard the cooks discuss the Vote going around the camp, about how much food to take from the newly-captured town. She decided to vote to only take the smallest amount available, hoping that a benevolent approach would ease the fears and soothe the parts of the population's minds that weren't under Grimper's control. She had almost shaken her hangover off as she listened to Grimper explain the various work parties that were about to form. Two items in the list seemed to jog her drunken memory; the barfly had said something about a lake in the forest near town, where he'd often fish (in fact, it was the lures in his fishing hat that she had opened up the conversation asking about); but that it'd have to wait for a while, since the supply caravan was coming to the crossroads a few hours' South of Fostis, due to collect crates of ore and to deliver all sorts of things the town used. Hat was willing to intercept the shipments coming to Fostis, but Noggins's talk of ambushing the caravan entirely gave her pause. What was better for the Horde, to let Fröan society continue to believe all was well in Fostis, or to deny the enemy the additional supplies the caravan was surely carrying? Either way, once again some manner of disguise was called for; maybe Hat could convert the hats used to infiltrate Magda's caravan with the Fostis crest, or at least convince some of the new Frö recruits to join the party - they'd be expecting red bodies, after all. I'm assuming my 104 on gathering info at the bar will help with this coming challenge in some way as well. Don't want that roll going to waste! Making hats to look like the shipment's intended receivers: 1d100+10+9 78
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Oct 17, 2017 20:59
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Hooray, clothes for Ringo! Style is important.
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Oct 17, 2017 21:57
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Noggins Skill: Carpentry HP: 3 Glory: 11->12 (downtime bonus glory) Noggins was busy sizing up trees when Hat chimed in to express her doubts about the ambush plan. Noggins paused. That was a better idea, wasn't it? An ambush, even if it managed to get everyone from the caravan, was still going to be a massive tip-off that something had gone horribly wrong. Why had she immediately jumped to the most violent solution possible? Sure, this was a war, but it wasn't like this was some kind of glorious front for both sides to fight and die on. "Hat... your idea is way better than mine. Let's start with your plan. I still think we should block the other roads, though--the other towns will know we're strangers, and if they don't show up, maybe the caravan will let us take all the stuff to "distribute"." Switching to Plan Hat. That probably means my equipment bonus isn't applicable, so my total is 25, but it's not like the result wasn't poo poo anyways! The Lord of Hats fucked around with this message at 22:42 on Oct 17, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 22:02
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Name: Gawp HP: 3 Skill: Perception (active) Equipment: Sharp Stick (+0) Glory: 4 -> 5 (downtime teamwork bonus) Ritual Chits: 7 (artwork bonus) Morrskag Forest, Fostis: Gawp hadn't wandered very far into the wilderness by himself before a cadre of other Unexpectables had caught up with him and made party. Gawp noted that they all shared a similar lean and hungry look to their eyes: hunters and carnivores, all. Good, that meant that they might get to enjoy some fresh meat tonight! Gawp relaxed a little bit. The stark beauty of the forest and the unexpected addition of companionship had soothed his frazzled nerves some. There was just one thing about Gawp's new group that set off distant warning bells in the Töan's mind: In particular, Gawp was put off by the sight of an eerily familiar face, Doc the Surgeon. He froze when he saw her, caught between a salute and a bow. He then shook her hand vigorously during the rounds of introductions. "I just had a dream with you in it..." Gawp muttered, before he thought twice about how he must sound. "Only I was you but then there was Cornbread, see, and he was yelling and screaming and I just wasn't fast enough..." From the way the Töwoman looked at him Gawp could tell Doc must surely think he was going mad. "I'm sorry," Gawp explained, "I didn't get much sleep last night." Echoes of the dreamworld. Surely, a portentous omen - one best left un-shared. Gawp steeled his nerves for something bad and gripped his sharpened staff even tighter. He didn't want to let the others know he was afraid. Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 16:12 on Oct 18, 2017 |
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Oct 17, 2017 22:21
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 Name: Neebs Skill(s): Sales (used this turn) HP: 3 Glory: 1 -> 2 Well...this just wouldn't do. Neebs had held out hope that she might be able to blend into the population of Fostis and drop out of the horde, but this nail pulling her inexorably towards the monstrous Grimper wouldn't allow that. She could feel the pull. This was what her bloodthirsty horde-mates had brought about...not only was she now chained to the horde forever; she now knew in gruesome detail the anatomy surrounding skillcores. There wasn't going to be any avoiding notice, and with knowledge like this, she felt the horde were almost doomed to fall into further battles just to make use of the knowledge. She did feel that the most the horde should do is Take Some Rations from the town. These people needed to provide the horde iron; and it seemed cruel to ask too much of the town when they were under mandatory compulsion. Neebs followed Noggins and Hat on the expedition to intercept the Fröan shipments. She quickly agreed with Hat that a more peaceful approach should be utilized with the Fröan caravans; always better to take from your enemies without having to fight them. She actually did a decent job of helping the interception party Sell the image of the interception party as a Fostis Town Delegation: 1d100+10+1 97 to the Fröan caravan. She helped Hat with a few small details that Hat seemed to be missing from her hat designs. It was like Hat hadn't even seen the styles that were in fashion in Fostis! You needed to pay attention to these details when trying to gain new clients, of course. Sales clients always noticed when small things were off, at least unconsciously; and that had a nasty habit of ruining sales.
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Oct 17, 2017 23:26
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 Name: Ringo! HP: 2/2 (Crippled) Glory: 9 > 10 Skill: Lockpicking (cooldown) Ringo twirls around, feeling the fresh cloth move in the breeze. Finally! They say the clothes make the Töan, and he felt amazing! And, now that his personal project was taken care of, he could get back to other, more horde-related business. He listens intently as Grimper details all the options. If the horde was in need of bodies, then the prison was the obvious correct next step. His skills would be invaluable in breaking in (or out!) of the place. Ringo steps up next to Klörf. The lug was clearly pensive about things as they set out to scout the surroundings. Ringo gives his cloak a bit of a flip and smiles. "Don't worry, buddy. We'll crack that lockup like an egg!" Scout Nagel: 1d100+9 91
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Oct 18, 2017 00:14
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Current counts: Uncover Old Guys Relic: 6 Soldiers (+ Gigs) = 7; 1 slot left! Scout Nägel: 7 Soldiers Scout Noostra: 0 Soldiers Investigate Mines: 2 Soldiers Investigate Wilds: 2 Soldiers Intercept Shipment: 3 Soldiers Reminder: Unless otherwise noted by DK  Skills recharge both before and after Downtime!
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Oct 18, 2017 00:30
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Dog Kisser posted:Stårn literally vibrated with excitement when it was finished. He hauled the enormous thing away on his back, laughing hard enough to fleck his chest with spittle as he imagined bearing down on an unsuspecting door with the weight of a mountain. Crash! Bang! Aaaaaaah! Such lovely dreams would become reality the very first instant he thought he could get away with it.  Stårn  Terrible Ram
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Oct 18, 2017 07:30
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Prince of Space posted:
Well. Done.
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Oct 18, 2017 07:35
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Prince of Space posted:
Now the likeness of Stårn's gleeful cackling at siege related fantasies is enshrined for all ages. Beautiful.
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Oct 18, 2017 12:10
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 HP:3 Glory:10 Splut looked at the nail now embedded in his shoulder, poker-faced and unreadable. Knowledge was power, and the Glory of the Horde had certainly come through this time. He nibbled upon Patsy's latest creation thoughtfully, pausing to enjoy the taste: That baker really knew her stuff! Bolstering their supplies with at least Some Rations from the town stores seemed the optimal move. He considered Grimper's words carefully, allowing himself a conspiratorial smile. He looked to round up a few likely Töans and set about making his case: "The Frömans with the Shipments we're going to intercept will be treating this as a routine drop: They have no reason to expect it will be otherwise. So, we're going to give them what they expect to see! I've spoken to the locals, I've heard how this usually goes, so we can let their expectations fill in the blanks for them. Just let me do the talking, and we'll have them handing everything over with a cheerful wave as they go on their way." Bluffing our way into that intercepted shipment: 87!.
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Oct 18, 2017 12:11
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Prince of Space posted:
Well drawn, sir. Very Tölike. Very Stårn. 
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Oct 18, 2017 13:00
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 Name: Stårn Additional skills: Butterfly Beastmaster HP: 3 Glory: 10 -> 11 ~~~~A FLASHBACK to a conversation last round that was forgotten because Sperglord Firecock posted:During this entire rant, Tharbad was flailing his arms about randomly (as he does), whacking the wire-wrapped bar against a variety of things nearby in his excitement and/or anger, pick one. He then points the bar at Stårn, "Will YOU PICK UP THE BAR?!" Stårn looked up from his work at the strange yelling töan. Wait, that was Tharbad the Violencemancer! And he was offering Stårn a place in the Bar Association? Why, of course he would join! Siege Weapons did the BIGGEST and the BEST of violence, after all, so he was a natural fit! The Bar could even be used as a lever or other such thing in siege construction as well. Stårn picked up the bar with a thumbs up and a mad grin. ~~~~Flashback over~~~~
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Oct 18, 2017 13:12
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  Tharbad the Violent Skill: Violence HP: 3/3 Glory: 4 => 5 This post brought to you by Tharbad himself. RAAAAAGH SMASH RAAAAAAAAAAAGH I AM THE BEST AT SMASH, I WILL EAT SPLEENS HUNT DOWN RUINS, KILL EVERYTHING INSIDE AAAAAAAA BORN TO DIE WORLD IS A BAR ääüü KILL EM ALL 204 I AM FIGHT MAN 482017503 DEAD FRÖMEN (probably not the best song to put on at work) And now for a return to sanity. Violently protecting the Old Guy Relic Gang. 1d100+14 = 78 (80 if bar counts for violently protecting from threats.) fishception fucked around with this message at 13:36 on Oct 18, 2017 |
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Oct 18, 2017 13:31
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Aiming to update today and then break till' next week, so if you can get any posts in now, bonus, but ultimately it doesn't really matter at this juncture - I'm just trying to split you guys up. I am, however removing Noostra from the list because we have no takers yet, so I'll funnel you into the other sections. The only closed challenge is Gigs' group, and they're full up anyhow. Worst case I'll split you guys appropriately to the difficulty of a given challenge and roll for you, and later on those who haven't locked in can just sort themselves however they want!
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Oct 18, 2017 15:04
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 Skill 2: Amputation HP: 3 Glory 7 Qwäg looked from her notebook to Splut gravely, lips drawn in a thin line. "I see you've got...bread," she muttered stiffly to the Bluffist. "Nutrition is...good for reducing risk factors. Should talk to Patsy about incorporating more whole grains..." She stopped, briefly grinding the heel of her hand into one twitching eye. "Look," she began, glancing again between hordling and notebook, "I'm...amending your entry. If you can recruit some helpers to pad your chances, do it, because my ledger doesn't like you on this one. You're...ah...you're good at the thing you do, but Risk...Risk is a gnarled hag squatting on the chest of the sleeping world." She looked vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, reaching out a tentative hand to awkwardly pat Splut on the shoulder. "Just..." Pat. Pat. "Think about it, hm? You're a force multiplier, and we'd hate to uh...lose you." Turning away quickly, she rushed off toward the staging area for the Nägel scouts, ledger clutched to her chest. "Beautiful doomed bästard," she mumbled to herself, shaking her head at her display of sentiment. Scout out Nägel: 1d100+7 85
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Oct 18, 2017 15:15
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 Name: Gigs Skill: Unflappability HP: 3 Glory: 9 Gigs had never seen Grimper smile before. He hoped to never do so again. Also he was in charge now, or something. "Hmm..." Gigs considered the group of suicidal volunteers who'd gathered under his command. Gado's penchant for digging holes and Hob's skill at squeezing through them were certainly assets to the mission, as was the promise of security provided by Biggo's fists and Tharbad's...Tharbad-ness. Of course, as a woman of mad science, Sucy's value couldn't be understated either, nor Bamboo's succinct clarity of thought, vision, and speech. As for Gabber, well, how could Gigs not appreciate another who'd forgone the gift of gab for nobler, more expository pursuits? The G-Team was ready. Gigs prepared himself, assuming the stiff upper lip that would doubtless be expected of him in a leadership position, and lead his Toans down in the underground (1d100+19 = 106). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwVqOs3Aess
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Oct 18, 2017 15:57
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 Pythag HP: (3) of (3) Skill: Math Equipment: Shield Glory: 9 Action: Scout the Wilderness: 1d100+9 = 46 Pythag is a little slow to wake after the nail ritual, quickly sauntering off in the direction of his self-proclaimed squad leader, Gawp. Horde Vote = Some Rations
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Oct 18, 2017 17:02
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 Bully Skills: Oratory, Climbing HP:3 Glory: 9 Bully decides to join his erstwhile comrades for a walk in the woods. He enjoys a good hike as much as the next Toän. Unfortunately he gets distracted slightly by looking at the natural beauty... A walk in the woods: 1d100+9=33 Horde vote: Just take some rations.
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Oct 18, 2017 17:22
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 Skills: Spreading Disease HP: 3/3 Glory: 2 Grumbus picked at the nail embedded in his shoulder. No signs of infection, what a shame. He decided to join the team infiltrating the prison. He'd never seen a prison that wasn't a cesspool, so he'd fit in nicely. Infiltrate the prison: 1d100 = 44! Horde Vote: Some rations
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Oct 18, 2017 20:27
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 After a few hours of deliberation, the Unexpectable Horde decided to split their forces. They were not a huge force, but not all tasks required the full bulk of their manpower. Some would stay in Fostis, a small team investigating the potential Relic below and many others prowling the mines and Fostisian coffers for useful materials. Others would explore nearby Morrskag Forest and provide an inventory of the area’s wildlife and flora for the Horde’s future use. The last and largest contingent near the mining town would, by hook or by crook, gather shipments coming into Fostis. Finally, a group of absolute madmen would scout out Nägel, the notorious Monsterist prison facility - the Warlord would go with these, leaving the others to fend for themselves. Magda and her equipment would stay here, as well as some Rations stolen from Fostisian pantries. Grimper did not understand why his men would bother to offer such comfort to their fallen foe, but he conceded that he wasn’t a cook and also that he literally could not care less. (The Unexpectables pilfer 2 Rations from Fostis, bringing their total Rations to 7!) --- Shortly after Grimper and the others left for the Crossroads, Portha the Rummager and her group descended into the mines. Despite herself she was impressed by the orderliness of the Frömen mining techniques - each tunnel, no matter how small or insignificant, was expertly shored up and well lit by lantern-light. The cuts were neat and orderly, the excavation proceeding according to a precise system of coordinates. Naturally, this meant it was much easier for them to loot it.
So it wasn't altogether a surprise when they found a cache of them hidden behind a false wall. It was a surprise, however, that there were angry Frömen guarding it.  Free Fostisian Alliance Difficulty 15-- Threat 5 Vicious, un-Nailed and (by the looks of it), starving, they still outnumbered the small contingent of Unexpectables! Seeing this, they rushed them, calling out the name of their defeated town like a warcry! (You secured a solid stock of iron and other useful, mundane minerals, decreasing the cost of Weapons and Armor to 4 Glory. Due to the magnitude of your success, you also give a cache of rebels! Defeat them for bonus loot! For the record, there’s 13 Horde down there!) --- The trip to Morrskag Forest was uneventful, but pretty. Without Grimper around to hassle them it was almost relaxing. Sure, they were in enemy territory, technically, but they were also in the middle of nowhere and even an enemy patrol would just assume they were coming out of Fostis… which they had, really. It was like a vacation, really: they laughed and chatted openly, picking strange fruit off the trees and all around making a big mess. The Warlord’s eyes were good, but they werent that good. The breeze was fresh and clean, and for a long time they forgot why exactly they were here. Until they saw it.  This was a Slinker? They didn’t seem like much, but Grimper swore up and down that they needed to catch as many as they could. Experimentally, Gawp the Perceiver reached towards one - it bolted! All at once the trees and scrub grass around them was alive with activity, and it was all they could do to start running after them!
But the Horde was a little better than a handful of angry weasels! Though they gnawed and hissed and chittered furiously, the Unexpectables managed to gather dozens of them and stuff them in sacks, where they fought eachother just as angrily. But there was something else out there among them, something stranger.  Monsterist Slinkers Difficulty 10 Threat 1-Infection Twisted, tiny Slinkers ran against the grain, strangely silent compared to their brethren. Multiple pairs of eyes blinked cannily back up at their hunters, multiple rows of teeth glistened in mishappen jaws. Monsterism can affect anything, and it had hit these little beasts like a hammer! Grimper had warned them that they might see two or three, but there were a dozen or more - and they looked like they were planning a counter attack.
Ah, get them all! --- Neebs the Salestöan, Hat the Milliner and Splut the Bluffer worked tirelessly to perfect their disguises prior to heading out. Securing that shipment without a fight would be extremely useful to the cause, as well as being terribly embarassing to the enemy. With Hat’s prompting, the Fostisians gave them their wagons, happily handed over their clothing, taught the infiltrators the words their contacts expected to hear… and that’s it. They helped with whatever they were asked, but never at any point offered anything of use on their own. The Nails in their flesh compelled them, but it only compelled them so far. Whatever, it would have to work. Expertly garbed as their captives, armed with the best actors and salesmen in the Horde, they went out with their wagons… and they waited. And waited. The crossroads outside Fostis followed the arc of the foothills, rippling with fields of tall, wild grass. The group - many of whom were Fröman recruits to keep up appearances - were about to give up hope when they saw their contacts. They travelled fast, and they looked like they meant business. They looked rough and tired, and they looked over the Horde doubtfully. “Huh. Where’s Bello? He said he would come out and see us this time. He had something for me.” 
Ration activates, turning a Mook's 1 to 85! dang nice Without skipping a beat, Neebs pulled out a palm-sized token, the same one that Graxon had snatched from the Mayor prior to his ‘assassination’. She flipped it through her fingers then handed it over. The Fröman frowned, examining it, then shrugged. “Whatever, we’ve got your stuff. Keep an eye out, someone knocked over a caravan a few days back. Slaughtered the lot of them, took all their poo poo. Commander Sikatris has been passing caution down the lines. She alotted you some extra gear, too. And, uh, a few scarves. You know how she is.” They watched as the Horde loaded their carts, unhelpfully. Whatever was in the crates, it was extremely heavy and it clanked, which was exciting, but they daren’t open it here. Skup - the gruff contact fellow - dozed off watching them, but snapped back to attention when they finished. “Hrm! Alright, anything else? Most of this is destined for Noostra or Skelivanch, but I’m sure I could be… persuaded.”
It’ll be pricey, but you can see he’s got some good poo poo! Split the cost however you want! While they are the enemy, maybe a little elbow grease will make them feel a little more generous? These guys are on guard, but they mostly trust you. Distract them and steal something - with the obvious issue that if they catch the thief they will immediately go hostile. Well, they seem friendly enough! What do you want to know? Just sucker punch the jerks! You got what you wanted, so skeedaddle before poo poo goes south! --- Gigs the Unflappable and his crew made their way towards the coordinates jotted down on the Mayor's note. In the interest of expediency, they recruited a Fostisian guide who knew the mine's layout like the back of her hand. She was stubborn, too, resisting the inclination of her body to lead them down the correct paths and darting angry, fearful glances at her captors as she led. After nearly two days of delving, she stopped entirely, eyes fixed on a solid wall of stone. She refused to budge any further, and when pressed kept repeating “We're here.” Useless. They released her (a mere matter of saying “return home” rather than any actual unshackling) and turned to consider the wall. It looked like any other wall - if you ignored the painted warnings and death-signs and hastily repaired wall. This was evidently the place, but they hesitated before striking the wall. The Old Guys were notoriously protective of their stuff - a bit of a rude move since they were extinct - and they had no idea what to expect in the chamber beyond. On the other hand, they knew exactly what to expect if they didn't have a full report of the site. Gigs met their eyes one by one and nodded. Time to get to work.
 The tunnel behind them was blasted with a lurid green light that faded as their eyes adjusted to a deep teal. Gado was down for the moment, but still alive, and they had other things to worry about at the moment. Grimper’s instincts had been correct - they’d discovered a bonafide Old Guy Vault beneath Fostis. It was still buried in the stone around it, with only a small exterior chamber revealed by their excavations. What they could see was a wide expanse of grey-green metal sweeping up into a curved wall of the same material. A door (or what appeared to be a door) stood in the center of the curve, forming the tip of a dome that fell away on all sides into the stone. The explorers had the strong impression of a spherical structure buried in the stone, of which this was clearly the entrance. It also looked impossibly, terribly old. It wasn’t that it was dusty - though it was - but the way that it seemed to meld into the surrounding rock, the stalagmites curving down over the top of the wall over countless years. This was the real deal. The metal itself gave off the glow they saw, scattering translucently through the material. It did not ring when struck, seeming to dampen all impacts they felt brave enough to test it with. A recessed panel stood off to the side of the door with several dust-caked buttons, along with a hole allowing for the input of a long, pyramidal… something. The room was strangely quiet, with the distant sounds of the miners swallowed up as the approached the door. The door, wall, and platform bore no markings whatsoever. Gado woke with a start, his chest still aching, but with a strange clarity in his mind. Something had happened to him, but he felt okay. He kinda felt great, actually. Certainly ready to go digging again! With everyone now on their feet, alert and ready for trouble, they considered what to do.
There’s some buttons there. Push em’ and see what happens! Push the buttons with some sort of pattern. Like what? That hole beside the buttons looks like it’ll accept something. Try fiddling with it! Just force the door open by pushing it or wedging something in the gap with some help! Use some explosives to make the entrance a little wider! Alright you saw it bye! Spend some time analysing the thing without actually touching it! --- “Nägel is a lovely place, my Horde.” Grimper was uncharacteristically sombre, if still somewhat vulgar. “A prison for freaks and Monsterists, and the Dead Queen only knows what they’re doing to them in there… If we crack our way in there, we’ll have many soldiers to swell our ranks. Real monsters, violent criminals, maybe Branded Wendigoes! Even if they’ve broken them entirely, we can steal their drugs and research! Hear hear!” He cheered, and his soldiers cheered with them. Then he smacked Gopher the Climber and shushed him. They were here.  A hush fell over the group as they spotted the enormous edifice. A vast, crystalline concrete structure, with one gate, no windows, and no visible guards. “Alright. Get as close as you can - WITHOUT attracting attention! - and let me know if you find anything. Go.” Stårn the Sieger had been forced to leave the Ram with Grimper. He felt naked without it, but Grimper had insisted that it was too cumbersome for someone so small, particularly on a scouting mission. He was just jealous! It was so obvious! At any rate, here he was, tromping through the muck surrounding the prison, in the middle of the night. Nägel had been built on (in?) a swamp, and Stårn could vividly imagine prisoners escaping only to be lost to the sucking bog. In fact, he half imagined his foot had struck a buried skull. He grimaced and kept closing in on the cold, smooth walls. He drew out a pouch and shook its contents into one hand, revealing several dozen tiny, sleepy butterflies. He'd been practicing this for a while now - he tossed them lightly into the air, sending them winging up and over the wall.
“No back doors, no windows, no air vents. Well, I guess it is a prison, after all! I guess we’re going to have to knock! Unless you have some better idea, which I certainly hope you do because that’s a terrible one!”
“Yeah that’s a great idea that won’t have dire consequences… but I suppose a success would be a hell of a thing.” “Uh, good luck?” “Hmm, you want to slam this ram into the walls to try to cause some commotion in there? Give it a shot, I guess.” “They've got to open up at some point - we'll act then.” “Just about any idea would be better!” Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at 16:29 on Oct 25, 2017 |
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Oct 19, 2017 05:48
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