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Name: CORNBREAD HP: 3 Glory: 9 Skills: Chucking poo poo (often literally), Yelling, Bonegineering on cooldown Cornbread stares after the slinkers for a moment before running at breakneck speed back to the main camp's refuse pile. Those critters would make FANTASTIC projectiles for disrupting enemy ranks, especially if set on fire first or properly coated in latrine juice. To catch them though, would require cunning of the sort that's so low it's practically subterranean. Cornbread rummages through the remains of his last failed crafting attempt and digs out the biggest, nastiest club-ish bone he can find. This accomplished, he positions himself on the opposite side of the last known position of the critters from the rest of the trappers, and proceeds to begin herding. Being himself however, Cornbread approaches this task by sprinting through the undergrowth flailing his bone club and ululating like the madman he is. Orokos is being an unresponsive turd, so 1d100+19 using Yelling to herd the beasties. Blasphemaster fucked around with this message at 05:18 on Oct 25, 2017 |
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Oct 25, 2017 05:15
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Bet you thought this was an update, nah, I'm just Rolling for Cornbread: 1d100+19 119 Aw wit
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Oct 25, 2017 12:51
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WereGoat posted:Bet you thought this was an update, nah, I'm just Can I outsource my rolls to you, too?
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Oct 25, 2017 13:38
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WereGoat posted:Bet you thought this was an update, nah, I'm just  Nice!
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Oct 25, 2017 13:40
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 -[Underground]- Gigs and his crew walked around the Old Guy Vault with due caution. They had literally no idea what to expect from the ‘Oh-Geez’ besides the nebulous warnings they’d all picked up from old stories. Without any experience of their own, they had no idea whether they were just stories or something relevant. One thing was certain, playing with the buttons or the hole beside the door was a really bad idea. Probably. Either that or not pressing the buttons would flood the room with acid mist, or the floor would fold up and crush them, or… best not to worry about it. Biggo the Fist and Tharbad the Violent opted to avoid the buttons, an obvious trap, and go for the one thing no one would suspect - prying open the doors themselves! The Old Guys were clever, but certainly even they couldn’t foresee the vast might of the Töan people! They slid their fingertips along the center groove of the door without drawing forth any ancient ire, and managed to find purchase between the two slabs of metal. They heaved!
 With unbelievable precision, the floor beneath them folded up and into a strange sort of armature, that folded and split again into a number of swinging arms that neatly took their legs off just below the knee. Before they hit the ground, before the blood could flow, a cold pressure touched their stumps and pain halted before it began. Instead, terror rolled over the group in waves, with the injured reeling backwards and the others torn between duty to their comrades, duty to their Warlord, and duty to the needs of their bodies. But after a moment of shrieking passed, Gigs the Unflappable lived up to his name and inspected the two afflicted. Their legs had been shorn clean off, the skin at the site flat and healthy, as though their limbs had been a solid piece of clay. The severed limbs, too, appeared perfectly healthy… just unattached, and unattacheable. At least one story of the Old Guys was true: they were unimaginably cruel, and capricious. But such machinery! Such grace and power was part of the message - if the Horde wanted to get in, they’d need to prove themselves worthy of it. (Biggo and Tharbad lose 1 HP and are Crippled, reducing their max HP to 2. In practice, you can fit simple prosthetics to the stumps, so you’re not out of play, and it doesn’t hurt... but it’s a little scary. Also, the legs can be used as a +1 Weapon (four of them), if you’re feeling particularly ghoulish) With the obvious danger passed, they grimly took notes (the first one: don’t touch the fuckin’ door) and tried to avoid other dangers. It would not do to have them all perish here, or worse. They dared not let themselves linger on the thought of what worse might look like, here.
Gado the Digger, flush with pride and ecstasy over his strange metamorphosis, happily dug his way underneath and around the structure. One thing was unusual - unlike the rock and soil outside, which was rough and heterogeneous, the matter surrounding this had been… blended? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but as he progressed he began to mentally sketch the shape of the thing. By all accounts, it was a large, spherical room, built with no regard for the shape of the natural structure surrounding it. It hadn’t been built in here, impossible. It looked for all the world like it had been put here, like a marble hidden in a cake. But why? The light from the thing penetrated eerily through the disturbed soil behind him, and at last he had to turn back. It was featureless on the outside, anyhow, apart from the gateway chamber. Sucy the Mushroom-Seeker felt around the outside of the sphere, looking vainly for the key to this thing. It had to be a keyhole, that pyramidal divot. What else could it be, right beside the door? She didn’t know much about the ‘Oh-Geez’, but she knew common sense. Her search wasn’t too time-consuming.. Not many places to look. There was nothing loose on the floor, nothing larger than the dust that caked everything. Hmm. She placed her palm against the surface and felt a low insistent rumble. She dropped a clod of earth from her boot onto the metal floor and watched as it slowly rolled away from the door, shuddering gently as though the vibrations were guiding its movement. It crumbled under the subtle pressure, then crumbled again into dust. What did that MEAN? Hob the Bee-Keeper was having even less luck than the others. It was a hard, alien place, and he couldn’t make sense of anything. He knelt to brush dust off a surface, paused, and instead lightly swept it with a rag in his pocket. No beams of energy tore him apart, no mechanical teeth swallowed him up. Instead, he found a series of pictures, repeating across the surface like a pattern. Not a message, maybe, but something.  He couldn’t make any sense of it, and eventually he and the others gathered the ‘wounded’ and ascended, making certain to clearly mark their path back down here. (Old Guys Vault located! Not much you can do with your limited party and resources, but you’re now aware of its location and can get back to it if you find a key or lots of bombs or something clever. You also learned a lot about the properties of the metal that composes it, and are fully aware that even a rough, loose chunk of it would make a fantastic weapon - if you ever managed to break a piece off, that is.) --- Holy poo poo! The underground delvers were taken aback by the ferocity of the attackers, not to mention the fact that there were attackers at all! They wielded picks ground sharp as spears, charging out of the darkness like wild boars! Well, screw those guys - the Unexpectables charged them right back!
(Disaster! Spanks, Portha, Flitter, and Two Mooks take 1 Damage! Additionally, the Fostisian Free Alliance is emboldened, and may be trickier to fight next time!) --- Back in town, the Horde regrouped. Both sets of spelunking crews met up and exchanged notes, marveling at the injuries the others had sustained. The Old Guy Vault could wait, the Fostisian Free Alliance was a clear and present threat! Despite the success of their ambush, they were outnumbered, and had to be quashed NOW before they could draw more support, or somehow subvert the Nailed populace. Speaking of which… the FFA had been hidden from them, through lies and through omission. That disobedience would have to be dealt with, and before the Warlord returned. If a rebel group remained when he returned from Nägel, they suspected he would be somewhat unhappy. Time to crack down.
The bastards were bolder, now, but there was a lot of you. Flood the caves, flush them out, and take them down! They weren’t cooperating. Make them cooperate, by force. But without hurting them, too much. Grimper’s orders. Sneak into the caves and pretend to be an ally. Learn about them, then betray them to your allies! No sense getting your hands dirty directly. Just drop the mountain on them. Something Else? -[Crossroads]- The loading of the supplies was going off workout a hitch, so naturally the Unexpectables decided to push their luck. While they unloaded the suppliers, they prodded a little bit, angling for some interesting tidbits of information - without exposing themselves.
The Horde nodded with mock sadness, even as they worked. The crew, they noted with mild disgust, was roughly equally split between Frömen and Töan individuals. Naturally, the Unexpectables contained a handful of Frömen themselves, but only traitors or cowards, which was expected from their kind. This sort of cooperation was… extremely bizarre, to say the least. They kept prodding. “And Noostra always wants more because, well, it’s Noostra. You know how they are.” Splut the Bluffer nodded blandly, though in truth he knew not a lot about the town. The Horde would find out soon enough, anyhow. He shifted the conversation towards Commander Sikatris, subtly. “Oh, the Commander is doing just fine. She doesn’t come out and talk to us far-rangers all that often, but whenever she does she always has a kind word for our work. She was up by the warfront at the capital, but she says things are well in hand up there. Tö hasn’t got long to stand, to hear her tell it! Bless her, and bless the King!” Splut bit his tongue at the absolute nonsense the fellow was spitting, and went back to packing. Noggins the Carpenter split her time between talking and making tiny notes on their wagons. They were pretty beat up, but they’d been kept reasonably well repaired. No need to let them know that, however. She made a few repairs on their wagons, peeking up at Skup to see if he’d be grateful for her help
“Hey. Hey, I think we’re fine, citizen. We keep our wagons in decent enough shape, and - no offense - I don’t know you. Fostis is a lovely city, and all, probably, but we’re coming from the Capital, and we still have a long-rear end way to go. I’d much rather have the professionals keep our stuff going, thank you very much.” He didn’t look angry, he didn’t look suspicious, but he did shut her down. He was a busy man, and he’d done his duty here. Time to move on. He nodded at the others to confirm that everything was packed out, sealed up the wagons and looked the group over again. “Anything else?”
(You didn’t get caught! Huzzah! Also you got a shipment of military equipment designed to reinforce Fostis against a potential assault! Big whoops on their part, eh? More on this when you can actually crack them open during next Downtime, but from your cursory glances there’s enough weapons and armor in here to supply half the horde! Also there’s a bunch of really, really nice scarves? Regardless, you’re going to bring it home and crack it open next time you have some time to go through em’. From here, you can either go back to Fostis (and a large portion of the Mooks will, along with the supplies, so you don’t need to worry about those) or to Morrskag Forest, which is nearby. Nagel is a ways away, and not available as an option.) -[Morrskag Forest]- Hunting Slinkers was actually pretty fun! They knew there’d been a reason they put them on their banner, despite the Warlord's great annoyance. They were fast and scrappy, and despite themselves the Horde laughed as they chased them. They’d already gathered dozens of them, but they’d catch them ALL, just to show them who was boss!
(Uh oh, some of the clever buggers got away! You still have a bunch to bring home, though not as many as before. One Mook gets bitten, infecting him with Slinkekellomas - it remains dormant for now, but if his next roll is odd it’ll worsen!) Meanwhile, Gawp the Perceiver and a handful of others opted to let them run - they’d track their movements instead. The other Slinkers ran away from them, but the Monsterists were running towards something. He and the others would provoke their flight response, let them run, then follow after watching their trail. They knew something, he could feel it.
 Sungazer - High Monsterist Slinker Difficulty 30+++ Threat 20 - Infection If the others had been hammered by Monsterism, this one had been crushed by it. Multiple eyes glared off its back, its neck, its jaws; its limbs split and bifurcated and hooked with bony spurs. It wasn’t asleep, but it appeared to be in a trance. The little ones clambered up and over it, plainly attempting to alert it to the Horde’s presence. Slowly, the eyes tracing down its back swivelled to face them - in only moments it would sight the Horde, as well!
Gross! Kill It! Take it as a pet! Or warbeast! It actually seems pretty docile - maybe it'll come home with you! Hard pass on that. Take your spoils and head home. Infectious diseases would hurt you, but they could be turned against the enemy to devastating effect in the right hands - or the... crazy hands, whichever. Something Else? “I’m going to go on record and say this is an awful plan, but I’m not going to stop you.” Warlord Grimper opted to stay behind with the others to watch, allowing Starn the Sieger and his gang to conduct their ram-bushes on their own. “If - when - you guys get captured, we’ll use the distraction from your grisly tortured screams to bust in and kill everyone. Maybe I’ll let you morons rot in there a few days first.” He tossed the Terrible Ram at them underhand, almost bowling them all over, then gestured that they ought to go ahead. Starn, Qwäg, Ringo, Grumbus, Humbug, Snödis, and the others crept through the darkness surrounding the foul prison. The muck sucked at their feet, particularly under the weight of the ram, and the nature of the Orichalcum coating prevented them from moving very quickly, but as expected no guards came to halt them. They deftly located a few key points in the structure, took a few practice swings, and then - with Starn’s ecstatic direction - they slammed the Mason-headed log into the concrete wall of the prison.
 Lantern Guards Difficulty 20-- Threat 10 - Capture The door swung closed behind them, but not before giving Grimper a glimpse of a staircase leading downwards. “What the hell are they doing in there? Why is the place so drat clean inside? We need to get those gates open, and to stay open. Maybe one of those Guards has a key? We should take them out while they’re rattled from the ramming, ideally before they can report back indoors.” Another thunderous boom from the ram reached the larger, hidden mass of Unexpectables, and Grimper smiled thinly. “I can’t believe that worked. Huh. Afraid of things that go bump in the night, eh, you Frömen bastards? Afraid of the dark unknown outside while you tear at our captive citizens within your coward’s walls? We’re coming for you!” None of you have ever seen the Warlord this amped up - he fairly vibrated with excitement, the flame-that-was-not-flame at his crown puffing out in anxious bursts. Somehow it just made you more nervous.
“Excellent - you drew them out, now kill the bastards. Quietly, sure, but make sure you take them down completely. Don’t want any of them escaping.” “A small team of you could lure them away from the facility, weakening their already fragile resolve.” “Once the guards are down, strip one and try to get inside!” “Well, we’re here, and we’ve widened their defenses a tiny crack. We could lean on them until they break...” (Mutually exclusive with Tactical Retreat - the winning option will gain the rolls from the losing option) “...but on the other hand we’ve scouted the area and we’re outmanned. After our skirmish we could just back out of here.” (Mutually exclusive with Attack - the winning option will gain the rolls from the losing option) “What else have you got?” Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at 00:41 on Oct 30, 2017 |
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Oct 25, 2017 15:42
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Oof, complicated update! Art coming later. Also, editing in the Cooking Based reroll into the last update. I really need to remember that stuff!
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Oct 25, 2017 15:43
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 Name: Gigs Skill: Unflappability HP: 3 Glory: 11 Dog Kisser posted:With unbelievable precision, the floor beneath them folded up and into a strange sort of armature, that folded and split again into a number of swinging arms that neatly took their legs off just below the knee. Before they hit the ground, before the blood could flow, a cold pressure touched their stumps and pain halted before it began. Instead, terror rolled over the group in waves, with the injured reeling backwards and the others torn between duty to their comrades, duty to their Warlord, and duty to the needs of their bodies. Least they'll have a leg up on combat situations now.
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Oct 25, 2017 16:40
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Bad Seafood posted:Sheesh. Talk about undercutting the competition. 
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Oct 25, 2017 16:43
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  Gado!!! Skill: Digging (+20) (Available Next Turn) HP: 3 Glory: 7->8 Gado feels bad for Biggo and Tharbad for several reasons, forefront among them being that he's just glad Gigs saw the light and called everyone to the research angle. Digging was possible without legs, but you needed a strong set of gams to really get in there and part the earth. Back in town Gado shakes his head "Grimper won't be happy to come back to revolutionaries having sprung up in the few days he's been gone. We should stomp this out as soon as possible." The cave system gets a good long look and after sizing it up he shakes his head "Just dropping the caves on them is tempting, but if there's more Old Guy vaults down there I don't want to be reaponsible for sealing those off." The Bone Tö Pick his hefted across his shoulders and Gado finds himself pointed in the direction of the FFA's hideout "It's best we stomp these guys out the old fashioned way, and hey as a bonus we'll get some free skillcores out of it." Raid The Caves - Difficulty 20+ Threat 10 1d100+7+2= 65
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Oct 25, 2017 16:43
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Name: Gigs Skill: Unflappability HP: 3 Glory: 11 Gigs collects the group's notes and neatly shuffles them together. He'd hoped to learn more, but recent events suggested they wouldn't have a leg to stand on. Returning to the surface, he orders those in good health to double-up and help Biggo and Tharbad up through the catacombs. Strategy: Lean On The Townspeople Seems these folks need to be reminded of the cold indifference the powers that be maintain with regards to their petty, pastoral plight (1d100+21 = 86). Gigs makes a point of reminding them while patrolling the village, his stern gaze holding sway over the crowd. They couldn't have known he was thinking about lunch.
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Oct 25, 2017 17:22
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Potrait:   Naim: Mason Skillz: Mason Hootin' an' Hollerin' HeeP: Mason Mason Mason Glury: Masonx5 -> 6 Raid The Caves - Difficulty 20+ Threat 10 Mason Hootin!: 1d100+16 21
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Oct 25, 2017 17:25
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  Extra Skillcore: Sitting Quietly HP: 3 Glory: 11 -> 12 Ritual Glory -> 1 When the echoes of the ram had finally stopped ringing through the night, Snödis was already out of sight. She had explained her plan to the rest of the Rambushers in, well, not so much detail as a half coherent ramble, but she had explained it all the same. Weather the team wanted the guards captured or killed or even ignored entirely, there would have to be some explanation for the noise lest Nägel lock down even harder. And what better way to explain it than a Monster on the loose? Snödis would play her part - sitting out in the open where they would be sure to see her, still and unthreatening as can be so they would not kill her on the spot, but eerily silent enough that they would know something was wrong with her. It would be a difficult balance to be sure, and the other Rambushers could use this confusion to flank the guards or slip away in the night. Whatever they did was fine with her, in either case she would be closer to her quarry. Sitting Quietly to distract the guards and or be captured: 1d100+11+10 = 26 ooc: edit:: forgot to add my skillcore bonus! Swedish Thaumocracy fucked around with this message at 18:19 on Oct 25, 2017 |
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Oct 25, 2017 17:37
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   Noggins Skill: Carpentry HP: 3 Glory: 13->14 Ritual Glory: 1 Noggins grumbled to herself as she escorted the shipment back to Fostis. Sure, Skup didn't know who she was, but couldn't he recognize good work when he saw it? Well, who would be the one laughing when the eyelets holding the axles on busted in the next hundred miles? Well, nobody, because she'd fixed that. drat. Well, even if Skup was an ungrateful bastard, at least things hadn't gone wrong. They'd gotten some information out of him, and they had the shipment. It would've been nice if Neebs had helped out a little more, but she had done a lot to make the plan work in the first place... Still, though... This was all forgotten as they actually arrived back at Fostis. Before they even had a chance to start unpacking, Gado came up and reported on what had gone down in the mines. The Old Guy team's encounter was horrifying, and Noggins silently counted herself lucky to not have gone along, but it took a backseat in immediate importance to the report of the Fostisian Free Alliance. They should have realized sooner that they might not have managed to get the entire town Nailed. Now everything was at risk--if the FFA managed to get word to Skitaris somehow, that would mean the full force of a real army would come down right on the Horde. Noggins couldn't let that happen. They might be a collection of misfits, oddballs, and sometimes the outright insane, but they were--some of them, at least--her friends. She had to protect them. That's what friends did. That's what Sir Occam would have done, right? She drew her sword and pointed it dramatically at the mines, another scrap of her cape flying off in the breeze. "If they have their way, they're going to get us all killed--and the rest of Fostis too, while they're at it. I say we don't give them the chance! Let's go down there and show them what Töans are really made of!" Taking the Fight to the Rebels!: 1d100+17 91 The Lord of Hats fucked around with this message at 01:52 on Oct 26, 2017 |
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Oct 25, 2017 17:51
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 Skill 2: Amputation HP: 3 Glory 9 Qwäg tried to calm the tattoo of her racing heart as the Nägel guards shuffled out into the night. Through the pounding of blood in her ears, she heard the the voice of her advanced instructor at the Grand Chancery. "Getting this far...Bearing witness to the shoddy underpinnings of our lives, changes a Tö irrevocably," she had said, peering down over immaculately polished ruby spectacles with haunted eyes. "Some become intractably risk-averse, paralyzed with fear, incapable of joy or love in such a fragile world. Others go the other way, but, well...I don't need to give you another lesson of those poor souls taken by the Riskergang, the Blood Calculus, the terrible cutting wind on fortune's edge that leaves none alive. To objectively assess Risk, you'll have to find the balance..." Mög know she'd tried. But now, shaken out of her ordered life by constant life and death struggle, thrown into decisions determining not only her own life, but of others, something had begun to unfold within her. A hideous, unwelcome comfort. The inevitability of their gruesome demise no longer a cold stranger, but a soothing companion. Performing a quick calculation, she found the risk of the grim task before them...acceptable. Watching the guards advance, lanterns bobbing in the darkness, Qwäg felt a cool smile creasing her lips as she saw the seams and faults of their anatomy revealing themselves to her. With only her pointed stick and blunt teeth, her ability to capitalize would be limited, but seeing how easily these Frömen could be taken apart bolstered her resolve. Glancing over to Stårn, she gave a single grim nod. Take Out The Guards!: 1d100+9 46
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Oct 25, 2017 18:45
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  Name: Gabber Skill: Mimicry, Listening {cooldown} HP: 3 Glory: 3 -> 4 The surprising part was at how clean it all was. Like routine surgery under an expert surgeon's blade. One moment Gabber was stalking around the room, trying to tune his ears towards any sounds that might prove useful into getting in the vault, as the group's muscle tried their luck at prying open the vault. In the blink of an eye, their legs were suddenly just gone. No blood, no prolonged agony, just - gone. He stopped cold in his tracks, not believing what he was seeing, but he had certainly heard it - the whirring of machinery, the slice of a blade, the hiss of some sort of gas, maybe? Then all that was left was their comrades, now considerably shorter. Death was a part of life - as long as it wasn't his own death, Gabber tended to be pretty nonchalant about any of his comrades' passing. He'd barely elicited any response at Flutter's death at the caravan - sure, he'd only known the soldier a short while, but while some held a funeral, he was sulking over not getting any prized reward from the haul. However, this - this was downright cruel, and if any of his comrades had life left in them, he'd do his best to keep it that way. Waiting a moment to make extra sure no more death traps were coming, Gabber unslung his shield from his back and made his way quickly over to Biggo and Tharbad, trying to use it as a makeshift stretcher for at least one of two men. Someone else would likely have to catch a piggyback ride from someone, but if someone else was willing to help they could carry the other back out of the mines to see what could be done. One thing was for sure - he didn't think he'd ever get that noise out of his head.... Back In Town Once Tharbad and Biggo had been handed over to the capable (most capable?) hands of their crew, Gabber took a moment for some silent reflection. Sure, it was largely ALL silent reflection given his condition, but this time was extra quiet. That could have just as easily been him when he was whacking his hand on the wall of the vault not a few moments earlier. He'd have to be a bit more careful going forward. Once they all met back up with the other Unexpectable Mine crew, he was suddenly clued into the fact that they had much more pressing concerns than the Oh-Geez. Things with the other group, somehow, had seemed to go even less smoothly than their own group's foray into the mines. Now with a Resistance movement that needed put down, Gabber listened as various members put forth their plans. Normally, Gabber was one to try and avoid a fight and work with whatever subterfuge he could. The idea of infiltrating the FFA was one he'd been considering, and it was bound to gain a successful Unexpectable heaps of goodwill from Grimper - but would they easily accept that just some random, Nailed guy they'd never seen before wanted to suddenly join them after having just repelled an earlier attack? However, while internally debating Noggins spoke up: The Lord of Hats posted:She drew her sword and pointed it dramatically at the mines, another scrap of her cape flying off in the breeze. "If they have their way, they're going to get us all killed--and the rest of Fostis too, while they're at it. I say we don't give them the chance! Let's go down there and show them what Töans are really made of!" Something in the pose Noggins took and the words she stated struck a cord within him. She did cut a pretty impressive figure what with her armor and sword, and she'd already been put through the ringer a few times already and came out not just unscathed, but better on the other side. While he was hesitant to go with the violent option unless pressed to, strong action seemed the right course here, to prove to Grimper they were no slouches. Stepping out of the group, Gabber walked up towards Noggins, nodding a few times pointing back towards the caves. It was subtle, but if someone looked they'd see that Gabber was trying to mirror her stance and also cut an imposing figure - maybe trying to instill in himself the same confidence Noggins seemed to have? If they did, they probably also noticed it was no where near as effective. Raid the Caves, Trying to imitate Noggins sense of confidence while doing so: 1d100+13 20  OOC: That drawing of the vault - maybe it spins into the correct position when something is inserted into the gap in the control panel? Task Manager fucked around with this message at 19:36 on Oct 25, 2017 |
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Oct 25, 2017 19:33
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  Skill: Sleuthing HP: 3 Glory: 6 ----> 7 Humbug hummed under his breath until he was practically vibrating - an eerie echo of Grimper's enthusiasm - and then he suddenly went quiet. He'd almost gambled his life on the idea before and now that the odds could be slightly skewed in his favor... he had to take this chance. Nägel was a capital-M Mystery. His sleuthin' sense was going hog wild. "Get them like you're grimpin', everyone. I'll Impersonate a Guard," he volunteered, deadpan and serious. "With some muck, some blood - those helmets - I can pretend to be the only survivor, feed 'em a line, try to snoop inside, open the gate if we stay, or get some early intel back if we leave." He paused, then looked around, looking oddly guilty as he took the flower from his hat, looked at it, and then pressed it into Shiny's hands. ----> COWARDCLAW GIVEN TO SHINY "Say, I can't keep this around while I'm Impersonating some Frömen - it'd be a dead giveaway. Sorry Shiny, I know this stinks, but would you mind holding on to it for me? I'll see you around, arright." If victory: Humbug's (Im)Personal Gambit:: 1d100+6+10 55
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Oct 25, 2017 20:00
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 HP:3 Glory:12 A successful operation! the Frömen had had no idea that Fostis had fallen, nor that they were being hoodwinked and bamboozled into giving vital supplies into the hands of their föes. Splut's high spirits lasted until they reached the town and were apprised of the situation below, casualties taken and their enemy emboldened. Qwäg's words echoed in his mind: She had thought of him as a force multiplier, had worried for him. She was still off scouting Nagel, which he found somewhat comforting: Recon work was probably a good deal safer than tunnel fighting, so she'd likely be back unharmed, or so he hoped.. Ah well, he'd have to do this without a proper risk assessment, more's the pity. She had been right, and at this moment in time, the one thing he could do to best help the rest of the Horde was to be their inside Töan The Bluffer put on his best poker face and went down into the tunnels, ready to put on the performance of his life to Infiltrate the FFA. Bluff my way into the FFA: 62!.
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Oct 25, 2017 20:21
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  Name: Gawp HP: 3 Skill: Perception Equipment: Sharp Stick (+0) Glory: 6 -> 7 Ritual Chits: 11 -> 12 (artwork bonus) Morrskag Forest, Fostis (part 4): Gawp was finally able to catch his breath as the slinkers he was chasing began slowing down. They must be getting closer to their nest or burrow or hutch after all - with any luck, this is where Gawp's plan would finally pay off! Once they had the goofy little buggers trapped, Gawp and his comrades were going to smoke the slinkers out of their little hidey-holes and into the horde's waiting sacks. Gawp had a keen eye for these things, he- Gawp rounded a dense patch of trees and scrub and found the very end of their wild monsterist chase. Gawp and the other Töans emerged as a pack into a strange circular clearing ringed with concentric rows of fallen trees. At the center, as if resting on the central dais of a gigantic sundial, lay the biggest, most magnificently monstrous creature Gawp had ever seen: the Sungazer. It was majestic, the way it stared, numb and uncaring, directly into the blazing sun, absolutely insensate to the world. Gawp could only wish to be so beautifully deformed and uniformly twisted. He immediately felt a kinship with this bizarrely beatific monsterist specimen, and he stepped forward very cautiously, retrieving a piece of Töan Combat Bread from his back pocket.  He took a deep breath and held it in, hardly wanting to disturb the creature with any sudden movements, like by exhaling, blinking, or thinking too hard. He really didn't want to mess this one up. Befriend the Sungazer by Approaching Slowly & Offering Food, Ready to Run At the First Sign of Danger: 1d100+16 22 "Uh, guys?" Gawp squawked over his shoulder. "Guys. Don't run. Let's just -slowly- back away. If anything, we can try to lead it back to camp and get others to help us fight or tame it. Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 17:29 on Oct 26, 2017 |
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Oct 25, 2017 21:12
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  Name: Portha Skills: Rummaging, Cleaning HP: 2/3 Glory: 3 Somehow she'd survived. Portha was livid. Quite literally thanks to the beatdown she'd received. Being forced out of the mines, kept away from all the loot that was rightfully hers. The prudent course of action was to wait back at the entrance of the mine for the others to get back. Only one thing mattered now, REVENGE! 1d100+3=67 ...Though the descriptions the vault crew mentioned about the Old Guys' stuff sounded really interesting, especially that symbol they recorded. It looked like the illustrations from Old biology texts on display in museums. Old Guy diagrams were famous for their simplicity, this one was probably some kind of power syphon. It might be a good idea to capture a couple FFA alive to test the vault's machines on. super sweet best pal fucked around with this message at 21:57 on Oct 25, 2017 |
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Oct 25, 2017 21:16
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Haha, I was just about to draft up Ringo taking the riskiest option. Best of luck to you.
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Oct 25, 2017 21:30
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Green Intern posted:Haha, I was just about to draft up Ringo taking the riskiest option. Best of luck to you. It's gonna go swimmingly! (As in Humbug is gonna wish he'd actually picked up that skillcore when he ends up in the shark tank of this evil lair.)
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Oct 25, 2017 21:40
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 Name: Hob HP: 3 Glory: 8 Ritual Glory : 2 Skill: Bee keeping, Contortion Hob walked slowly down the path back to the town, his footsteps heavy. It wasn't just Tharbad slung over his shoulders, growling (was he angry? upset? deeply tramatised? difficult to say) waving both his wire-wrapped iron bar and Hob's own spear menacingly. Nor was it the thought that he almost joined Tharbad and Biggo in losing his legs. A second away. If Gado hadn't suggested... no. It wasn't that. It was the old guys. The vault. The buttons, the weird hole. That image. It spun in his head, the ten guys around the central one swirling around, spining around his head. They seemed to speak to him, echoing his own thoughts back. "You took the easy way out. The buttons were there. You could have taken a risk, been a hero. But you took the easy way out. You took notes. You kept your distance." The keypad floated in his mind. Hob reached out, keying in the code. The doors to the vault glowed with red light, and creaked open. Hob reached out, keying in the code. Pressing the last button, the keypad pulled inward, dragging his hand in. Metal jaws closed with a snip. Hob shook his head violently, pissing Tharbad off to no end. "Sorry, was thinking". Best not to tell Tharbad what. Noggins was rallying the troops. From the conversatons around them, the mines were attacked by rebels. Just what was needed to get out of his head. Tharbad climbed down, sitting nearby. Hob looked down at him. He was a violent maniac. Maybe even deranged, dangerous to be around. But he had stepped up to that door. Done something Hob did not - could not - was too afraid to do. And maybe that was worth respecting. "Tharbad, I'm not sure how your feeling. About... you know. Your legs. If you want to get used to... Well thats to say... Look if you want to hobble about that's OK. The medics'll be back soon I'm sure, get you some pegs, and you'll be up and about like nobody's buisness. But theres a fight now. I can get a sling together. Like a backpack carrier. Carry you into the fight. In the mines. Now." Hob looked awkwardly at his feet, waiting to see what he said. WereGoat fucked around with this message at 23:07 on Oct 26, 2017 |
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Oct 25, 2017 23:14
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 Name: Neebs Skill(s): Sales HP: 3 Glory: 3 -> 4 Ritual Glory: 0->1 (brown banner that literally no one voted for) Neebs frowned at the Töans pushing their luck asking more questions of the caravan leader...but it ultimately turned out ok. The caravan moved off appearing to be none the wiser and most of the Töan delegation brought the goods back to Fostis without further event. Apparently things hadn't gone as well down in the mines, a number of that group was wounded and a couple even appeared to be missing their lower legs! Neebs wasn't sure of the details, but it seemed that a group was forming to clear the mines of dangers, and that seemed like a good use of time. That is...Grimper would probably scold her if she didn't help, anyhow. Additionally, Noggins had given her a few dirty looks on the way back to Fostis...maybe helping Noggins in the raid would settle whatever those looks were about. Raid the Caves: 1d100+3 73
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Oct 26, 2017 00:08
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Famous Old Guy diagram found in old medical texts, exact meaning unknown without proper context. e: Apparently imgur removes clear pixels when copying directly from inside the editor. super sweet best pal fucked around with this message at 10:11 on Oct 26, 2017 |
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Oct 26, 2017 01:57
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super sweet best pal posted:Famous Old Guy diagram found in old medical texts, exact meaning unknown without proper context. 
Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at 02:51 on Oct 26, 2017 |
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Oct 26, 2017 02:49
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 Flipit Skill: Tinker, Neck Snapping HP: 3 Glory: 6 As the guards exited the gates, Flipit slipped quietly through the horde's ranks towards the front of the mass. Something had been...off...with him. Since prizing the skill core from its former host and taking it for his own, Flipit had been feeling urges that were so utterly beyond his norm that he had retreated from horde society entirely. Besides moving where he was ordered to move, doing what he was ordered to do, and walking with the rest of the massed troops, Flipit did nothing, preferring to delve deep within himself. The problem was no longer his lack, but his plenty. There were opportunities all around him. Brittle spines, which can twist and crack and fray...they caught his eye at every glance. His fingers itched, yearned, to slip gently behind an enemy. To take up anchor points at neck and jaw. To push with tremendous force. All the force he could muster. It was all that he could think of. He saw the injured, and he thought, let me end your pain. He saw the hungry, and he thought, you won't need your next meal. He saw his horde mates, and he thought, how would it sound? He would go mad, he feared, if he did not find some outlet. Some way to feed this need. The enemies who strode out of the prison offered him a perfect opportunity. He hardly heard Grimper's urging. Hardly noticed Qwäg moving forward with the same blind, violent purpose as himself. His eyes were only for the necks of the troops. His thoughts - for how quickly he could snap them. Take out the Guards!: 1d100+10+6 30
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Oct 26, 2017 04:42
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super sweet best pal posted:Famous Old Guy diagram found in old medical texts, exact meaning unknown without proper context. 
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Oct 26, 2017 09:28
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i'm at a loss here
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Oct 26, 2017 12:12
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 Name: Ringo! HP: 2/2 (Crippled) Glory: 11 > 12 Skill: Lockpicking Ringo smirked as the doors disgorged the guards. Finally, some progress! While the others prepared to ambush the patrol, Ringo crept off into the grass and brush as best he could. Snödis may be trying to distract them with her Monsterism and unnerving calmness, but what she really needed to complete the picture was some Phenomena. Weird stuff. Sounds and movement around her. Anything to make her seem all the stranger! So while Snödis sat, Ringo tried to make things strange and scary. He remembered how his buddies always said he had the best impressions in the whole gang, and they wouldn't lie, would they? Distract the Guards with Spooky Sounds: 1d100+11 13 OOC: Aww yeah
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Oct 26, 2017 14:17
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HiHo ChiRho posted:i'm at a loss here It's that CAD comic everyone makes fun of. Edit: Oh I see what you did
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Oct 26, 2017 14:19
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man these are some good rolls, my Horde not for you, though good for the baddies because you're gonna die 
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Oct 26, 2017 14:39
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 Pythag HP: (3) of (3) Skill: Math (Cooldown) Equipment: Shield Glory: 11 "Boss, um..." Pythag looks between the bread and the monster. "Boss I don't think that's a good ide... er..." Pythag quickly weighed the odds. Fourteen or so of us, no thought that reinforcements were on the way... This was not good. Gawp was right, if there was a chance of catching this thing we'd need the horde's help. But leading it back to them ... was 'Grimped' a verb? "Nopenopenopenopenope" Action: Grab Gawp and Cheese It (Leave): 1d100+11 = 61
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Oct 26, 2017 15:00
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       Name: Stårn Additional skills: Butterfly Beastmaster HP: 3 Glory: 12 -> 13 His hordemates were not doing so great. Most töans would have been disheartened by this. Not Stårn though. Why, you might ask? Well, because in Stårn's mind, this whole debacle just proved why Sieges were great. Because they were about patience, and odds, and slow attrition. Sieges were the dance of armies, not the individual Töans and Fröans. They were a fundamentally holistic enterprise. And that's why Stårn was happy: there was far more of them than there were those of the enemy, they would (well, should) have no issue with gathering such a crushing advantage in numbers that the enemy would be crushed regardless of individual blundering. For Stårn knew: the enemy had lost the moment they broke off a small piece of their forces. The guards were but lambs for the slaughter. A set of fairly nuanced thoughts, but ones not very easily gleaned from Stårn's demeanor, taken that he was currently busy setting loose a horde of poisonous (probably?) butterflies on the enemy whilst giggling madly about the beauty of sieging. I set loose the deadliest of butterflies to kill the guards: 1d100+22=33
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Oct 26, 2017 16:21
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  Name: Doc HP: 3 Glory: 3 Skill: Surgery Doc was 100% on board with plan: Big Monster Friend. She was fully committed to being an entirely neutral presence to this creature. A Big Friend: 1d100+3 = 51 (oh my god. its still happening. a 57. Lets continue that tally of rolls, in order, one after the next: 57, 56, 58, 59, 59, 57. 6 turns so far without rolling more than 4 apart!) Edit: no wait, forgot to actually deduct my glory spent on the weapon, and found a mystery bonus glory in there. 57, 56, 58, 59, 55, 51. Still haven't broken the 50s, and theyre all right next to eachother with the rolls I put in. Kyyp fucked around with this message at 18:42 on Oct 26, 2017 |
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Oct 26, 2017 18:35
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Oct 26, 2017 18:56
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  HP: 2/2 Glory:10->11 Biggo was not having a good day, to say the least. While people tend to value only arm strength when it comes to punching, a good set of legs for proper motion is essential, and Biggo had those. Well, he now still had them, only they weren't where they were supposed to be. He was carrying them in one hand while being half-dragged up the tunnels. He was in absolute shock, he was so sure his strength would be sufficient to deal with any challenges in his way, and then... He couldn't even dodge. It was so fast, and the worst part was how clean it all was. Like the Old Guys were just playing with him like he was a clay doll. Once they got to the surface, Biggo was almost entirely catatonic, laying in a corner while the others discussed plans of attack against some sort of rebel group. Normally that'd have been right up his alley, but now...? He looked at the stumps where his legs used to be with disgust. He'd just be holding them back now. Like he always had. He had trained so hard and yet... No. No, he wasn't going to quit here. He still had his arms. He still had his fists. He'd keep fighting even if he had to drag himself to the enemy. That was about all he was good for and he wasn't about to stop doing it. Looking around, he saw some old gauntlets that had fallen off the stolen gear cart. Not really good enough to be used as a weapon or even armor, but they'd serve his purposes. He grabbed some assorted other materials from nearby and fashioned himself some makeshift peg legs, using the gauntlets to serve as feet. It wasn't very stable, he'd have to ask some of the more technically minded members of the Horde to make him some proper ones for later, but there was no time right now. He pushed himself to his fake feet unsteadily, and volunteered to join the fight against the FFA. And he wouldn't take no for an answer. Punching the FFA with the force of newfound pathos: 1d100+21 = 70
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Oct 26, 2017 19:43
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 Bully Skills: Oratory, Climbing HP:3 Glory: 11 Bully decides to defer to Gawp's judgements in this regard, and attempts to follow his lead. Should it be possible to tame the beast... Placating Sungazer: 1d100+11=68
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Oct 26, 2017 20:00
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 Name: Bamboo HP: 3 Glory: 12 + 1 (Action Glory) > 13 Skill: Basket Weaving [Ready] Dog Kisser posted:[*]Lean On The Townspeople - Difficulty 10 -[In-Town]- Bamboo watched Gigs watch the townsfolk with an intense . . . scowl? She couldn't tell if he was about to start knocking heads or order lunch. For her part, Bamboo didn't want to raise her fist again in anger; she didn't want to do it in the first place. Yet, here she was, part of this Horde, part of Grimper's army. When she saw her Teammate's legs get cut off in the ‘Oh-Geez’ Vault, there was an urge to grab one of the limbs and use it as a club. Thankfully, that urge past and she exited the underground without another word, going back to the surface with no further comment. Bamboo wasn't sure what Grimper wanted them to do, exactly. 'Lean On The Townspeople', whatever that meant. Her Family wouldn't want her to turn into one of those who killer her Queen, would they? "Does it really matter what your family wants?" "Family. Home. Waiting!" "They're not, actually." "Family. Need. Baskets!" "They really don't." "Bamboo. Fix. This!" "How long are you going to keep doing this?" Bamboo shook her head furiously from side to side, trying to silence the other voice. What did he know? He wasn't helpful at all. What mattered was her Family, and her Family needed her now, more than ever. Her Family needed her to 'Lean On' someone. Action: > Looks around to find someone to 'Lean On': 1d100+12 33 [1d100=21] Inspite of her need, Bamboo still couldn't quite bring herself to do it.
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Oct 26, 2017 21:51
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Name: Hob HP: 3 Glory: 8>9 Ritual Glory : 2>3 Skill: Bee keeping, Contortion Tharbad wasn't responding with anything intelligible, just ravings. Hob turned away, looking at the departing Noggins and her army. "Well I guess... When we get back..." He took one step away from Tharbad. Probably for the best that he stays safe here, in the town. He began walking. No. Tharbad loved violence. This quiet town was no place for him. Wordlessly, Hob stepped back. Reaching one hand down to Tharbad, he met his gaze. Well, those two irises in his eye kept spinning, he tried to meet his gaze. Gripping Tharbad's outstretched forearm, Hob slung him round onto his back in one fluid movement. Tucking his spear underarm next to Tharbad's leg, he set of at a run toward what would surely be a hard fought battle of ducking and dodging, twisting and turning. Sneaking and snurking. Then spearing and splatting. "Yeah! Come on! Wait for us!" Raid the mines!: 1d100+18 70  WereGoat fucked around with this message at 16:26 on Oct 27, 2017 |
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Oct 26, 2017 22:42
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| # ? Apr 20, 2024 05:23 |
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  Name: Hat Skill: Millinery HP: 3/3 Equipment: Leather Armour (+1) Glory: 11 Ritual Glory: 1 The journey back to the camp was uneventful. Hat was glad Splut had managed to ask a follow-up question about Sikatris, even if the information they'd got wasn't the enemy commander's location, which is what she was hoping for. Still, they had the weapons and armour (and scarves!), so surely Grimper would be pleased, and any information about the enemy was gravy. As the Crossroads force crested a hill and saw the welcoming wagons of the Unexpectables' current campsite, and seeing the appointed mustering time was still a couple of hours away, some of them split off and started running to the forest, hoping to link up with Gawp's team and forage some extra food for tonight's meal. This meant that they weren't around to hear Gigs's tale of woe in the vault and Portha's retelling of the encounter with the Fostisian Free Alliance. The news of unNailed Fröan rebels injuring members of the Horde drove the recently returned members wild with anger. Noggins posted:She drew her sword and pointed it dramatically at the mines, another scrap of her cape flying off in the breeze. "If they have their way, they're going to get us all killed--and the rest of Fostis too, while they're at it. I say we don't give them the chance! Let's go down there and show them what Töans are really made of!" Seeing some of the Vault team brandishing their own recently amputated legs as weapons, Hat thought that last comment was rather more on-the-nose than Noggins expected. While Gigs, Bamboo, and some others started knocking on doors and compelling Nailed citizens to answer their direct questions, Hat again followed Noggins, this time into the mine. Töan blood had been spilt; that was enough cause to crush this rebellion right now. Like it or not, this was war. She was a soldier. Time to kill, again. Hat hefted her pointed stick, and followed the Horde towards the rebels. Raiding the caves: 1d100+11 54
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Oct 26, 2017 23:27
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