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  HP:3 Glory:18 Seeing Qwäg get dragged away with the other mutated ones was harsh: She didn't deserve that fate. So, he spoke up, "Warlord. Let them prove themselves. If they really can produce a cure, or show sufficient evidence of one, isn't that worth sparing them? Too many good Töans died, and too many more will soon die or worse. I saw her save the lives of our hordemates: For that, and for any chance of keeping the doomed from the worst of fates, I plead for clemency." Regardless, he needed his own time, given recent events, choosing to head off through the facility, looking for a Dapper suit to claim as armor amongst the lockers of the former staff. Loot a dapper suit as armor: 86 Suitably attired, he returned, just in time to cross paths with Pythag, obtainer of the Lying skillcore. "Are you going to eat that?" he enquired.
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Nov 15, 2017 16:35
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AJ_Impy posted:...just in time to cross paths with Pythag, obtainer of the Lying skillcore. "Are you going to eat that?" he enquired. Pythag looked guilty at the question. "Sorry, I hit a loot frenzy back there. It really would have a better chance of resonating with you." After a moment he tosses the skillcore toward Splut, "Yeah, sure, it's yours." Transfer Skillcore (Lying) to Splut.
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Nov 15, 2017 16:50
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 Bully Skills: Oratory (cooldown), Climbing HP:3 Glory: 16 Bully supports the call for sparing the researchers - those who saught to weaponise the wendigos are slain, and having control over the cure could be a vital diplomatic tool for gaining concessions from our nation's enemies or prospective allies. He then sets out to look for some armour. Presumably there is some heavy duty armour around for the Wendigo-herders, considering that he's spotted Ringo wandering around with his Wenidgoad. Looking for some appropiate armour: 1d100=92 Yvonmukluk fucked around with this message at 16:58 on Nov 15, 2017 |
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Nov 15, 2017 16:55
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   Name: Bamboo HP: 3/3 Glory: 17 + 1 (Story Glory) > 18 Skill: Basket Weaving [Ready] -[Nägel]- Bamboo crawled dejectedly to an out-of-the-way section of the vault and sat slumped over in an awkward heap. Once again, she had lost the scramble for a skillcore. Once again, she was to go without. “Must. Get. Stronger! Must. Save. Family!”, she muttered to herself. Stuck as she was in her own mind, Bamboo completely missed Pythag’s approach, and startled-jerked to one side when he began speaking to her. “Weaving. Only. Skill!”, she shook her head furiously, “Must. Keep. Strong!!” A commotion behind Pythag distracted her; The Warlord was about to execute more prisoners. “Please. Warlord. Stop! Let. Them. Work!! Enough. Killing. Today!!!” Bamboo got up on her knees, pleading, “What. Are. OLD GUYS!!” With that, she resumed her scrounging; Bamboo needed to find a Garrote. Action > Bamboo tries to scrounge for a Garrote: 1d100+17 65 [1d100=48]
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Nov 15, 2017 17:45
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HP:3 Glory:18 Lying Whistling carried unused. His poker face slipped as his expression brightened, as he held the Lying core, turning it this way and that to see it glisten in the light. Before consuming, it, he looked upon the mathematician and commented, "Thanks! I owe you one, I'll keep an eye out for something suitable to repay you." Truth told, he touched Lying to his chest, and subsumed the core within himself. There was one more task he needed to do: Qwäg had returned the Whistling core before... He didn't want to think about it. Fine. Qwäg is going to be fine, she'll pull through. Within his chest, the new skillcore began to throb at its first use. He looked around, seeking out the elusive Ringo. He proffered the Whistling Skillcore to him, saying, "Here, Qwäg reckoned you'd be able to get the best use out of this." AJ_Impy fucked around with this message at 18:28 on Nov 15, 2017 |
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Nov 15, 2017 18:07
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     Name: Hob HP: 3/3 Glory: 6≥7 Ritual Glory : 1 Skill: Bee keeping, Contortion, Ş̀̕̕͜i̷n̢g̸̵̨i̸̧͜ņ̢̨͝g̛ "Friendigo." The sad look Zapanda gave him when he said that shook him. Trying to recover his cheer, Hob asked "Don't suppose there's any Bleeding edge experimental branding is there? There was a queue anyway, branding was neither quick nor pleasant. Hob walked down the corridor while he waited, looking in through the glass at the unbound Wendigoes. They gibbered and wailed, moving their inTöan bodies unnaturally. Hob turned away. Was that his fate? "I'll be back. Need some air." Zapanda gave him a knowing look. "No I'm not gonna run of into the foothills", Hob glared. 10%. That was the chance. He knew it would be poor odds but 10%!? And if he was branded, he thought the brand would keep him him, but would it? Or would he be just a wailing beast like the other Wendigoes? Climbing up to the vault entrance, he walked back and forth, kicking shrapnel from the exploding door (was that some Bone shards? He picked a few bits up and pocketed them). If he wasn't himself, that was like dying, wasn't it? So what he had done was achieved some measure of power, but at the cost of almost certain death. Hob walked out the door, picking up speed until he was running. Away from this hell pit. Away from his friends. What had he done with his life? Whatever had he thrown it away for? He didn't stop until he reached the woods. A familiar buzzing. He leaned against a tree. What was he leaving behind? All he had made was a bow. He threw it to the ground. Then picked it up. Looked at it. If that was all he was leaving, it had better be good. Sitting against the tree, Hob wedged his sword in out at an angle, a cutting blade. He practiced on his bundle of sticks, debarking them. Sharpening. Tried waxing one. He was no carpenter, but he had seen what Noggins did with the splints. As he worked, he hummed a little working tune, his mentor taught him, meant to keep him moving steady, on time. The cheerful humming dropped, getting sadder as he continued. How did the words go? Hob didn't even realise he had been suppressing the Ş̀̕̕͜i̷n̢g̸̵̨i̸̧͜ņ̢̨͝g̛ until he began. It was like opening floodgates, all his sadness poured out in a howling lament, the simple working song transformed into a dervish of despair. All the sorrow, the worry, the bleak desperation was poured out. His body moved off its own accord, like a puppet to the unholy voice. Until it stopped. Hob felt much better. Sad music always makes you feel better when you're sad . And he had... His bow? Was he imagining it, or was it just blurry through his teary eye? Had he managed to strip and wax the unfinished wood? Was that the bone shards capping each end? Did the bowstring Ş̀̕̕͜i̷n̢g with energy as he plucked it? Had he somehow Bound a Ş̀̕̕͜on̢g into his bow: 1d100+52 +4 from glory overspend 109? It was difficult to tell, he was very teary and quite snotty. Upgrade attempt, Decent bow ≥ Returning to the vault to be branded, feeling better, Hob spied Grimper looking talkative. "Don't suppose we could find out more about Wendigoes?" WereGoat fucked around with this message at 20:28 on Nov 16, 2017 |
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Nov 15, 2017 20:38
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        Name: Stårn Additional skills: Butterfly Beastmaster HP: 3 Glory: 18 -> 19 Infectious disease, death and destruction around the camp. Just another of the many facets of a protracted Siege, oh, how it reminded him of the stories his granpap used to tell him about the vile Fröan Pox (also known as the Töan Pox by the misguided Frö) decimating the camps! Who would have thought he'd live to see such a thing himself, oh, it brought a tear to his eye! But such things needed to be dealt with. An army needed order, for no Siege could take place without order, and that necessitated respecting the chain of command. Those that didn't would perish, thus Stårn voted for death, whilst he spent his time scrounging the battlefield for bits and pieces and wendigo teeth to assemble specialized Sieging Munitions (one had to be prepared!) Siege Weapons to assemble specialized sieging munitions from Scrounged Bitz: 1d100+28=42
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Nov 15, 2017 20:53
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Dog Kisser posted:Gawp the Perciever, Vist the Jouster and a few others went exploring upstairs, in the hauntingly-quiet prison halls. The former examined the hastily excavated hatch and found it largely undamaged, even after the utter walloping it had taken from the Horde. The massive hatch itself was only lightly scratched, even as the concrete floor and the more mundane metal of the hinges was cracked and shattered. He scraped at the Olivite surface of the hatch and tunnel below, but it didn’t even strike sparks. He was about to give up when he found a tiny fragment, wrapped in baser metal. He smashed it with a stone block to break it free, and found himself looking at a small pin around the size of a pencil - part of the locking mechnism or a hinge pin, slipped free from its moorings? Whatever it was, it was apparently indestructible, and probably very valuable. He pocketed it.  , that's probably just what we need to unlock the OG vault in Fostis!
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Nov 15, 2017 21:03
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  Name: Patsy Skill: Baking Skillcores: Regeneration HP: 2 Glory: 1 So much had happened in such a short time, Patsy was still in shock. Several hordemates he thought would pull through are becoming monsters (in a few cases, it was entirely their own fault, but still!) A new nail, which he couldn't stop playing with. He kept flipping a coin he'd found and attempting to call it, and it seemed like he was just slightly more likely to get it right than he should be... but who knows. It took his mind off everything else going on around him. Studiously avoiding the eyes of the Nagel personnel... he decided he would trust Grimper's decision... Grimper had been right about the wendigo cores. Patsy was a little ashamed of not speaking up, but he would trust his warlord. Finally, he remembered the herb bread he'd left rising, and went to attempt to integrate his new knowledge of regeneration into the healing bread. Making more of that healing bread: 1d100+11 = 23 Well, I guess my streak of one good roll is over, and Patsy is back to being horrible and conflicted. Poor guy. Mithross fucked around with this message at 23:24 on Nov 24, 2017 |
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Nov 15, 2017 21:11
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 Name: Dack Skills: Athletics, Ą̀͠c̵̢͡͠͏r̴̸̛͝͡o͘͢͜͡b͜à̵̡̕t̷̢̀͜i̸̸͞c͘͟s̀͜͟ HP: 3 Glory: 8>9 Even through all the joy he felt from his new abilities, Dack knew this was wrong. He could feel that something was different, in his body. But for now, at least, he could finally be useful! What happens to him later doesn't matter so long as he can finally help out the horde, instead of needing to be rescued. Mutation roll: 5 rounds remaining After the ritual, Dack felt exhausted, but also amped up for some reason. Maybe because this was the first ritual he participated in where he actually felt like a member of the Unexpectables? Whatever introspection Dack might have been capable of is cut off short by Zapanda's refusal to accept the Nail. That's...that's just insane, who could look at Warlord Grimper and say "no" to him? Zapanda couldn't even say no to the Warden when he told her to torture Dack and Snödis! Did she really care that much about curing Monsterism, that she would sacrifice everything about her, even her life, to accomplish that goal? And then even Snödis speaks up for the mad scientist, and Snödis was clearly smarter than Dack. But even if Dack wanted to stop Grimper from killing Zapanda, what could he do? He can't even speak! He couldn't even communicate to Zapanda in that interrogation room using gestures, how would the Warlord even know what Dack is trying to tell him? ...Well, there was one way, but it was an extremely stupid idea. Then again, when has Dack ever had a smart idea? Which is how a trembling Dack found himself standing next to Zapanda, and by extension right in front of a pissed off Warlord Grimper. My vote is to spare Zapanda. Astus fucked around with this message at 02:40 on Nov 16, 2017 |
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Nov 15, 2017 22:11
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    Noggins Skillcores: Carpentry, Precision HP: 3 Glory: 19->20 Ritual Glory: 1 Noggins was taking a walk. She couldn't stand to stay near that place any longer. The unbranded Wendigoes down in the vault were getting hungry and restless, and the resulting shrieking was setting everyone on edge. And with all the lingering tension from the nail ritual, it was just unbearable. She'd always been more of a city-dweller--far more familiar with wood as planks than as trees--but it was still relaxing to be out in the forest. For a little while, at least, she could just... breathe. Just walk, and think, and listen to... the... singing? When she found the source of the music, tears welled up in Noggins' eyes. She wanted to turn away, to just leave him behind, but... no. She'd been down this road before. If she turned back now, she knew she was going to regret it for the rest of her life. So she stepped out into the clearing, choking back emotions, and quietly lifted the bow out of Hob's hands and went to work. He'd done remarkably well with it, all told, and as she pulled out a knife and started carving away at the excess, she started humming along with the music, uncannily calm hands carving tiny, intricate patterns into the wood, pictures of honeycomb and bees and musical notes. Finally, as the song reached its conclusion, on the still pristine grip, she carved, in simple script, "Hob's Lament" "There's still hope, you know. One in ten isn't the worst it could be. And... even if the worst does happen, there's a cure out there, right? Somewhere? There has to be. There has to be. I'll find it. I'll see you again. Like this. I promise. I promise, okay?" Improve/Engrave the Bow: 1d100+19+10 99 Voting to learn about Inhabited. We're probably going to learn the basics of Wendigoes firsthand, and I'd rather not be caught off guard by a new form of horribleness. The Lord of Hats fucked around with this message at 03:24 on Nov 16, 2017 |
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Nov 15, 2017 22:47
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  Sucy HP: 1 Glory: 15 Skill: Mushrooms With an audible sigh, Sucy stretched and her back made several cracking noises. While not everyone had received the maximum amount of care, she had spent enough time treating people, one of the reasons she had come here after all had been to find some better equipment. Before she could leave the nailing ritual to explore the innards of the prison however, Grimper decided to confront Zapanda about her future and as the horde started entreating their warlord to this or that course of action, Sucy added her voice to the group asking him to spare her, while they could not allow Frö access to the research that had been conducted here, they could nail the researchers and use them as the Horde's dedicated healers. Having said her piece, Sucy didn't see any point in sticking around much longer and started to head towards the laboratory wing of the prison. Once there, she began reading the name plates next to each lab, looking for Zapanda's personal lab, which she intended on pilfering, surely the administrator would have the most valuable bits of equipment in the prison. Loot Zapanda's laboratory: 1d100: 22 Though it seemed strangely empty. Annoyed by this failure Sucy grabbed a pen and scribbled a big EX in front of the title on Zapanda's name plate. Petty? Certainly, but it helped against the frustration. As she returned to the Horde's makeshift camp, Grimper had already gathered everyone for another story time. As she squeezed between everyone else, she called out: Let's hear more about the Old Guy vaults. sheep-dodger fucked around with this message at 23:07 on Nov 15, 2017 |
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Nov 15, 2017 23:03
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  HP: 3 Glory: 1 -> 2 Skill: Jousting, Guarding (on CD) As she strode from the vault, wendigo cries and Zapanda's blubbering echoing in her ears, Vist caught a glint of something out from under her furrowed, angry brow. It was an Old Guy panel, still intact after the beating her Horde had delivered to its hatch! She brought her two mooks to a halt and inspected the pyramid part warily. It seemed to match up with what Portha had described of the entrance to the vault under Fostis - and having seen how much of Biggo and Tharbad returned from that expedition, she wasn't about to touch it. Not that she was scared. Of course not! She was simply being wise. The Oh Gees were not to be trifled with, even in a vault that had already been looted. Assigning one of her mooks to stand guard over the find, she made a quick about-face and returned to Grimper, who was breaking some lab equipment. "My Warlord!" Vist yelled, eyes deadly serious as she thumped her fist against her shoulder in salute. "We've found whit looks like some sort a' Och Gee key near tha' entrance to tha' vault door! I left a guard t'keep an eye onnit until ye can attend." Giving a second salute, she turned away smartly and left the room, mook behind her struggling to keep up with her pace. Zapanda entered the room as she left, and she shot a dirty look at the Froman. Hopefully, Grimper would kill that redback baboon and save them the trouble of hearing her excuses for the horrors she had unleashed upon the Unexpectables. Vist had better things to do than listen to a blasphemous scientist. Her mapping expedition had been cut short, but she wasn't sure how much time she had in the prison and she wanted to be properly kitted out before the Horde left. Although she had come here full of disgust and shame, thinking her assignment to be punishment and dreading the slovenly carelessness of the dregs of Toan society that made up the Unexpectables, the Horde had lived up to its moniker and unexpectedly surprised her. Unwashed, undisciplined, and with a motley grab-bag of skills, the You Aitchers were nonetheless being forged into a war machine, with her fellow hordelings showing stalwart steel Virtues under the grime, scarves, and bad habits. Though a craven thief, Ringo had proven particularly Slick after his punishment and was key to the capture of the caravan. In the ambush at Stickogre Hill, her friend Noggins had displayed remarkable Hardness and wits by defeating an entire posse without a scratch on herself, Vist, or the other four Hordelings with them. Even that disgusting, utter mongoloid, Cornbread, had shown his true, inner Hugeness during the assault on the town itself, tossing down biological weapons that deafened and defeated the enemy. Vist only wished the smell hadn't lingered for so long. So in spite of her misgivings, she was proud to belong to this strange, unlikely army. She vowed to live up to the faith Grimper had in them, and be the rock upon which her hordemates could rely. The first Virtue of the Long shone in her head: The Virtues of the Long posted:1. BE HUGE. Though sometimes translated as "BE LOOMING" by modern Longist scholars, Vist held to the older ways along with her teacher, her dear grandmother. She aspired to Grimper's HUGENESS, but that would come with time (and lots of drinks, to pry the secret out of the Warlord). For now, her HUGENESS could be more mundane. Certainly there would be armor here in the prison, armor fitting of the first Virtue. Armor to make her HUGE! Find some HUGE armor!: 1d100 23 In her memory, the Long rose from the walled compound of her home and disappeared into the clouds. She would fulfill its promise, or die in the attempt. Edit: Whoops, forgot to vote for the infodump. Let's get some stories on Inhabitancy!! gowb fucked around with this message at 03:27 on Dec 15, 2017 |
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Nov 16, 2017 00:41
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   Name: Ringo! HP: 2/2 (Crippled) Glory: 9>10 Skill: Lockpicking, Ventriloquism, Whistling (using now) Ringo was fiddling with his new armor when Splut walked up. "Oh...I see. Yes, I'll take it. Qwäg...ah, what's there to say? She's tougher than a hell of a lot of us." He ingests the core right then and there, without hesitation. "I'll make sure I think of a good tune in honor of her." He bid Splut farewell, and went off to find out what else was going on in this hellhole. He found Grimper preparing to chokeslam the researchers; business as usual, then. He didn't find it odd, though, when a pang of guilt washed over him. He'd been Grimped before, and it wasn't pleasant. That, and his comrades and friends were afflicted with monsterism, and they needed help! A braindead nailhead wouldn't be able to do squat if it came to finding a cure. He started whistling the first thing that came to him, to steady his nerves. "Warlord Grimper, I uh, think it would be unwise to completely loving obliterate these Reds. They've got knowledge that we need. And if we're going to win, we need every advantage. I'll take responsibility for their conduct. Hear that, Reds? I'll be watching you." He hoped he looked tough when he said that. After his stunning display of bravery in the face of Grimper, Ringo beat feet to find something to cool his nerves. An as-of-yet unlooted storeroom would do nicely. Given the state of things, trying to find some extra healing supplies or rations for the horde was about the best thing he could do. He stared at the lock. Nägel had good security, as one would expect. He pulled out his hair-pick once more, and got to work, whistling all the while. It felt good to have something to take his mind off of the whole Wendigo Countdown situation, just for a little while. Bust into a storeroom, looking for healing supplies or food: 1d100+19 50 Edited because I forgot that Horde Votes don't need rolls. Kept my same base roll/skill. Green Intern fucked around with this message at 03:29 on Nov 16, 2017 |
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Nov 16, 2017 01:55
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Green Intern posted:Name: Ringo! You don't need to roll to have your Horde Vote be heard (Also, your new portrait and cloak+armor item are ready for you on the first page)!
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Nov 16, 2017 02:36
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Prince of Space posted:You don't need to roll to have your Horde Vote be heard (Also, your new portrait and cloak+armor item are ready for you on the first page)! Yeah, you could find a lock and see if you can pick it using sonic vibrations from whistling. As long as it's not the lock to a wendigo cage.
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Nov 16, 2017 03:04
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Ah, woops. I'll keep my same base roll, for whatever action I do. Editing my post now. Edit: Also thanks for the heads-up on the new art. It looks great! Green Intern fucked around with this message at 03:19 on Nov 16, 2017 |
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Nov 16, 2017 03:06
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Just a heads up, Dog Kisser cyber bullied me into giving up some of my sweet sweet opening post snipe real estate, but I'll be keeping a running list of all the item cards in the second post of the thread. Should save some folks time instead of leafing through a bunch of pages if they know something was purchased previously and they want one too  .
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Nov 16, 2017 03:58
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Successful Businessmanga posted:Just a heads up, Dog Kisser cyber bullied me into giving up some of my sweet sweet opening post snipe real estate, but I'll be keeping a running list of all the item cards in the second post of the thread. Should save some folks time instead of leafing through a bunch of pages if they know something was purchased previously and they want one too I'll cyber bully your face. Also, let me know if there's anything missing, either in terms of items described elsewhere or just stuff you want as the game goes on!
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Nov 16, 2017 04:09
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 Skill: Sleuthing (used), Science (using) HP: 2/3 Glory: 2 ----> 3 Humbug nodded at Sucy and Trinh as he beat them to the scientist's corpse. He offered up a cheerful "Better luck next time!" before he dug out, cleaned off, and swallowed (gulp!) the precious thing. While it integrated, his thoughts quickly began to run through equations, theorems, hypotheses, scientific methods of data-gathering, and so much more. Humbug was impressed - what a broad, analytical approach the dead Frö scientist must've had to the world! No doubt this would be a very useful core for someone in his line of work. With a tip of his hat at the body, he leant down and closed its unblinking eyes and folded it up somewhat neatly, ready to be disposed off by the clean-up crew. As he was washing his hands the core finally finished integrating, and a stray equation got lodged in his thoughts - a piece of math so well-considered that either it must have worn a groove in the skillcore of the dead Frömen scientess, or perhaps be a really fresh hypothesis... something like the last echo of her final thoughts. Cascade hypothesis posted:ME = Wc² A chill ran down Humbug's spine as he considered the problem. He'd always known Monsterism was a serious disease... but this? 'Mass Extinction = Wendigo cascade²', was a troubling thought, indeed. It hypothesized that a bad enough Wendigo outbreak could - WOULD - be self-perpetuating and almost impossible to stop. Suddenly uncomfortable, he wondered how close the Capitol had come to such a crisis five years ago, when that nasty outbreak in Old Tö-town had been suppressed. Would it really just take a few Wendigos running rampant for long enough in a heavily populated area before the situation became completely unrecoverable? Humbug mulled it over, then shrugged off the fear - he didn't have enough data to make that assumption. The equation lead, for one, with the idea that the Wendigos could not be swiftly stopped - that no one was able to kill or quarantine the beasts soon enough, which he knew to be false from an objective standpoint - if the Capitol Watch could deal with Wendigos, then so could other towns' protectors. Further, it presumed enough people would survive the monsters' assaults to be afflicted themselves which was not, as had been experienced recently, a solid guarantee. Even with the overall increasing incidence of Monsterism (Wait what?! Since when?! By how much?!) things were more-or-less under control. There was also the Stabilitithe, for those afflicted, which- The Stabiltithe posted:-exposure leads to a Risk Estimated 90%~ certainty of mutation and Wendigo-strain Monsterism within the next few hours or days, but one in ten, a Stabilitithe, if you will, do not experience significant symptoms except for becoming afflicted (or additionally afflicted) by relatively stable Monsterizations and able to- - made sense to Humbug. He'd seen a few Watch folks turn up with extra eyes and ears, sullen and unwilling to speak of their experience, after the Outbreak in Old Tö-Town - but how Watch Captain Badbrass and his ilk had identified and quarantined them, he had no idea. Maybe Tö had its own methods, its own secret facility somewhere near the Capitol. Hum. As someone who could not abide a mystery, he'd have to try plying a Watch Captain with booze to get a straight answer someday... assuming he ever survived this war. In the distance he could hear Magda beginning to bang on and rattle a bucket full of nails - it sounded like another Ritual was ready, and so the sleuth broke out of his science-inspired reverie to go attend the ceremony. He felt both eager for the benefit it would afford and leery of the pain that was no doubt required to get it. --------------------------- His second Nailing went, in a manner of speaking, far better than his first. The pain was worse, mind you, what with his wounds, but he had been better steeled for the unnatural shock of it all this time around. Besides, whatever healing the Heartshock had done did make it less of an harrowing experience than it might have been, so he could count his blessings there. Ah, Heartshock... Humbug was still wishing he could have had some more... but no, he had to focus. Today would be a busy day... one further complicated by Grimper and Zapanda's public argument - and the sad fact that a number of his Horde-mates were inexorably going the way of the Wendigo. At least there was a Warlord around to Brand them, so not all was lost, even if it was a pretty bad deal regardless. The detective especially felt for Qwäg who'd showed promise as a deep thinker and tactician, but the grim choice of Brand or no Brand was not for her alone. It was demoralizing to know there was little to be done for the people afflicted... except possibly by way of a ruddy redder. Humph! While the Sleuth did not care overly for Zapanda, he had to admit being a little impressed by her willingness to stand up to Grimper (foolish though it was) and thanks to his new skillcore he did have a new-found appreciation for her scientific credentials. As much as he thought what she and her crew had been doing reeked of moral and capital Badness, he also knew she was also one of the few people who he knew sat on further Leads. Leads like where the Inhabited - and thus Töans like Bolbörf and To-Päin - had been sent. If he wanted to pick her brain on that issue - then having grumpy ol' Grimper turn it into jelly would make for an exercise in futility. So he argued for Zapanda's life to be spared, powering through his points as quickly and clinically as he could.
--------------------------- When Pythag came asking around for help, Humbug said he'd look into it if he could, but that it wouldn't necessarily be his top priority. The detective had come to Nägel, after all, hoping to solve other mysteries. First things first, however. After Grimper retired to drink some more, Humbug made sure to hang around and Ask About Inhabitancy. Once story-time was over, the Sleuth dropped by an office, grabbed hold of a pen and notebook from one of the researchers' desks, on which he scribbled down a few questions.
He closed the notebook and slipped it into his coat's inner pocket. It was time to do some research. Interview Zapanda/Rifle through research papers using Science to search for Clues: 1d100+12 47 ------------------------ Actions: Vote to keep Zapanda Alive. Asking about Inhabitancy. Roll to (hopefully) get a few questions answered, either by rifling through research or asking Zapanda directly.
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Nov 16, 2017 04:19
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Dog Kisser posted:I'll cyber bully your face.  Dog Kisser posted:Also, let me know if there's anything missing, either in terms of items described elsewhere or just stuff you want as the game goes on! A Garrote for Bamboo.
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Nov 16, 2017 04:48
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     Name: Gawp HP: 3 Skills: Perception (active), Gazing (cooling) Equipment: Fröman Cuirass (+1), Sikatris Scarf, Sharp Stick (+0) Items: Olivite Pin Glory: 8 -> 9 Ritual Chits: 3 -> 6 (artwork bonus) Swamps Outside Nägel Corrections Facility: Gawp had never been so depressed. After every lie that Gawp had told himself about the bite he'd received from the dying Wendigo, it took the Great General Grimper breaking the news to him for it all to finally make sense: Gawp was infected with the Wendigo's Ichor and there was nothing he could do about it. At some time within the next week, Gawp was going to experience a bout of unimaginable pain which would either kill him outright or transform him into a dreaded Wendigo. It was every Töan's worst nightmare, be they born a monsterist or otherwise. Gawp needed some time to think, so when he could he left the confines of the penitentiary in order to wander the dank and marshy forests that surrounding Nägel. Gawp cursed his rotten luck. He'd always thought that he'd been born under a bad sign. First it was the monsterism, then it was the slinker pox, then it was the rockfall and the rock crab invasion and the miner's lung. Throughout his childhood he'd always been a little under the weather or a little sickly and brittle, prone to injury, generally unlucky. People tended to avoid him for this reason, or to at least to shy away from his company, and that had always bugged Gawp. He had at times jokingly insisted to others that he'd never turn Wendigo, that he felt fine all over and inside too and besides he could never do such a thing like turn into a berserk behemoth and slaughter the entire village without warning. He hated that he'd have to disappoint his mother this way. If she ever found out that he'd gone and actually changed into a Wendigo, she'd count her lucky stars and resolve that it was the right idea to send Gawp off to war in the first place. Gawp was reminded of how it stung that first day, the way all the townspeople of Grishög had been glad to see the back of him: the day he was taken away to join the Unexpectables. He felt bad for Qwäg, he felt bad for himself, he felt bad for Dack the Athlete and Beekeeper Hob. Most of all, however, Gawp felt bad for Trinh the Taxidermist. Trinh was easily the prettiest Töwoman that Gawp had ever seen, much less been associated with. Several days ago, Gawp had thought himself to be so divinely lucky to be in the same group as Trinh when they had all gone out into the Morrskag forest together in search of the evasive slinkers. He had been having so much fun that day, leaping and bounding through the trees with her and the others, chasing the slinkers' bushy tails as they scurried through the underbrush - all before they ever ran into that wild Sungazer... Even though Gawp had never told anyone, that excursion had been one of the most exhilarating times in Gawp's life, and now both Gawp and the unattainable Tö girl of his dreams were expected to be violently ripped from their normal lives and transformed into Wendigos on the very same day. It was strange the way fate twisted two souls to be together like this. Gawp wondered if she'd still be beautiful, even after the changes had torn her features apart. Back in the quarantine area, Gawp realized that he might not have a chance to say something to Trinh, now or ever again, so Gawp had said to her, "We̯̪̝ͅ'̟̜̙̪̜l̝͎͚l̥͉̞͉̝ ̬̹̠ͅm͚̞̫͉͍͓a̗̜͕̥̳̫k̻e ̭͙͙̬ͅi̙̦̦̜̣̻̲t͉̺̫̞.̞̭͉ D̋͛̿o̅͌ͬͣ̄nͤͨ͛̃ͬ'̃͐t͗̎ͫ̑̓ͩ w͌oͥ͛ŕ͌̌̔ͤ͑̾rͩ̂̋̃̾̓y̓̏ͭ.͒̒̑͗̆ He'd regretted saying that to her ever since. There was no way he had the power to guarantee anything for anyone - not in his current position, that much was clear. Despite his fears, Gawp had faith in the doctors' intentions at Nägel, that they knew best on what to do in cases like these. If they could cure Monsterism over the next few days, then they could reverse the Wendigo Ichor that was coursing through his veins and getting ready to change him... Of course, that's why Gawp had sided with the Doctor Zapanda when Grimper had intended to kill her. Gawp looked around himself and realized he'd wandered all the way back to Nägel's entrance without thinking. So much for bailing on the army and living out the remainder of his blasted life as rogue Wendigo. When Gawp returned to the gates of Nägel he knew what it was he had to do. Gawp would go to the doctors and the researchers at Nägel and become their newest test subject. He'd focus on the myriad strange sensations he was having all at once and attempt to describe the experience in vivid detail to the scientists while under their study. Whoever else was in the room was allowed to listen in too - Gawp didn't mind who else knew how it felt to be turning into a Wendigo - not at this point. Volunteering as a Test Subject for Research Purposes: 1d100+18 50 While he may have been a willing participant, Gawp was not exactly a fan of all the needles they were using on him. As Gawp was laying there on the table, he thought of Grimper. Whenever it was that General Grimper wanted to speak to the Unexpectable Horde again, Gawp hoped that he would finally open up to them about the secrets of the Old Guys' Vaults. Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 10:22 on Nov 16, 2017 |
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Nov 16, 2017 07:54
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Potrait:    Naim: Mason Skillz: Mason Hootin' an' Hollerin' Mason Masonry HeeP: Mason Mason Glury: Masonx10 -> 11 Mason Hosts a Hootenanny!: 1d100+11 27
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Nov 16, 2017 11:34
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Nov 16, 2017 16:34
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Name: Gawp HP: 3 Skills: Perception (still active), Gazing (cooling) Equipment: Fröman Cuirass (+1), Sikatris Scarf, Sharp Stick (+0) Items: Olivite Pin Glory: 9 -> 5 Ritual Chits: 6 (artwork bonus) Nägel Corrections Facility (part 6): Overnight, in the quarantined section of the prison, Gawp tossed and turned in his mandated bunk. It was bad enough that he had to sleep inside in the gloomy cells of the Fröman penitentiary. What made it worse was the interminable wait. The stress of thinking about what the following days' events might bring for him and the other Wendigo Ichor-infected Töans was driving him insane with worry, with guilt, with anguish and gloom and despair. Gawp's thoughts were racing, and he could hear every sound the Horde made as their activites echoed through Nägel's empty concrete halls. Gawp had wanted to run, before. To run away, like he'd always done when things were getting too serious for him to handle all on his own. He'd run down into the foothills and out into the glades. Gawp imagined himself running all the way back to Fostis, just so he could return to the strange clearing back in Morrskag forest where the Sungazer was likely to still be waiting for him, ready to be tamed into a mighty steed of war. Gawp knew that this could actually be possible, and surprisingly soon, but only if he allowed himself to be turned into a Wendigo first. Gawp's mind seethed with excruciating flashbacks - visions of bloodshed and carnage - as he recalled just how easily the claws of the Wendigo had torn through the flesh and armor of his comrades. With a Wendigo's immense strength backing him up, Gawp knew he could have the potential to do many such fearsome things, all on his own. Just judging from the sheer number of injuries sustained by the others, so much was clear: even as a lesser Wendigo Gawp could prove to be incredibly powerful. So long as he didn't die in the transformation process, Gawp stood to improve his Horde's overall chances of survival. This potential for Glory scared him even more. In fitful bursts Gawp would review his options, and every time he kept coming back to the same resounding answer: take the Brand. All of his hard work for the Unexpectable Horde would mean utterly nothing if the Wendigo Brand couldn't save his mind and sense of self, and thankfully Grimper could give those things to him. Surely, choosing to receive the Brand was the only way that Gawp would be allowed to maintain his sanity, his self-control, and his cohesion within the Horde, not to mention his memory of a time before all this fighting and bloodshed started. Without the Brand, Gawp would quickly become nothing more than a mindless abomination in desperate need of slaying, and he couldn't allow that to happen. Losing his mind and becoming a rabid monster to those he once considered friend and ally was absolutely unthinkable. Thus, Gawp resolved to accept a Brand from Grimper, before he either lost his nerve or lost the opportunity to request it. Gawp didn't know the critical details, but he'd heard that the marking of the Brand left one in a permanently-vulnerable state, as a means of proper Wendigo control. While it didn't seem entirely unfair in practice, in reality it was dangerous and particularly risky for the Wendigo, two things that Gawp didn't like to hear at all. This being the case, Gawp made a mental note to buy a Shield from Magda, first thing in the morning. With the way this army works, who know what kind of dangers would be flung his way. Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 20:36 on Nov 16, 2017 |
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Nov 16, 2017 18:47
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Name: Hob HP: 3/3 Glory: 7 Ritual Glory : 1≥(comic covers) 3 Skill: Bee keeping(cool down), Contortion, Ş̀̕̕͜i̷n̢g̸̵̨i̸̧͜ņ̢̨͝g̛ (used) The Lord of Hats posted:"There's still hope, you know. One in ten isn't the worst it could be. And... even if the worst does happen, there's a cure out there, right? Somewhere? There has to be. There has to be. I'll find it. I'll see you again. Like this. I promise. I promise, okay?" He caught up with the departing Noggins. "Listen, it was just a shock, is all. Needed to get it off my chest, I didn't expect to see anyone out here. I'm ok with it. I'm actually really good!" She didn't believe him "It's not like I was infected in battle, sprayed by goo. I chose this. You don't need to worry about saving me, curing me, I took the risk. I ate the Wendigo core. I know I know, I knew it was dangerous and I went for it. Don't think this is your burden, I don't hold you to that promise, I made my own choice." She didn't understand eyepatch buddies Hob stopped. "Your eye. No I'm not asking you to tell me... Look I'm guessing you didn't ask to lose an eye. You didn't trade it for arcane knowledge, or lose it in a bet. I'm guessing it was out of your control. Sorry of this is too much...I can stop, just...no?" Hob scratched his own missing eye absentmindedly. "I'm Guessing that this was inflicted on you" Hobs eye narrowed at his own memory "by someone or something, and you were left afterwards to just deal with it. To live with the change." He shook his head, cleaning the thought. "That's why you are so heroic right? No don't give me that look, you are. No, you want to stop someone else from having to deal with the things you did. So you throw yourself into danger, climbing wendigoes, charging in before anyone else." "I chose this. When the time comes? To see if I'm one of the 10%? I'm the one rolling the dice. And if not" Hob shrugged. "I know how I'm going to die. Not Grimped by a homicidal warlord, or eaten by a nightmare monster. On my own terms. And I'm ok with that." "Now come on", Hob jogs past her, turns smiling , and keeps jogging backwards. "We need to get back to our friends. There's so much to do!" Swedish Thaumocracy posted:Picture! 
WereGoat fucked around with this message at 00:22 on Nov 18, 2017 |
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Nov 16, 2017 20:03
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    Spleen the Volatile Skills: 'Splosions, Blasting HP: 3/3 Glory: 3 -> 4 Whilst all this other stuff was happening, Spleen hit the books. Specficially the papers kept within the research lab in Nagel. Stuff about Monsterism is one thing, what he was really after were books on Chemistry. The conversation about Resonance was kept in mind. Bombs were needed, and so, bombs would be made. And it would be easier if he knew how to actually do this. Let's raid the chemistry lab for books on Explosive Chemistry! 1d100+13 = 70
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Nov 16, 2017 20:25
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Added art to the Grimper fight, pop on over if you want to see Grimper get his ORAORAORAORAORA on. Update scheduled for tomorrow.
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Nov 16, 2017 20:51
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   Skill 2: Amputation HP: 3 Glory 15(-4) Qwäg sat fully ensconced in her riskbook, actuarial tables draped around her wounded psyche like a warm blanket. So many entries to edit before... She scribbled with the speed of the damned, updating the dead, dying, and merely delayed-in-dying, and making margin notes for her successor, just in case she found herself unable to continue her work as a wendigo (or ravaged corpse). Hordelings came and went, but she had no eyes for their pitying looks, nor ears for their comforting platitudes. They meant well, but deadlines had no respect for the mourning of others, and she had work to do! Finally, after a long jag of writing, she laid aside her pencil for a moment, massaging her cramping hand...still a hand, for now. She looked up from her calculations, took a long, shuddering breath, and suddenly noticed Gawp passing by with his new shield. "That's...not a bad idea, actually" she admitted, reaching into her pouch and removing a handful of chits. "I suppose I'll go talk to Magda about getting myself one. Worst case, they can send me home on it." Spending 4 Glory on a Shield.
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Nov 16, 2017 21:26
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  Name: Trinh Skills: taxidermy, jumping HP: 3/3 Glory: 1 -> 2 Status: Skinkekelomas, Mutation Time left before mutation: 3 quote:“Listen - you’re going to die. I don’t mean in the abstract, I mean soon. You were bitten or scratched or touched, and now you’re on a countdown until you either become a Wendigo yourself or just loving die in agony. This is what I’ve got for you - I can Brand you, which will hurt a lot, but let you be of use to the Horde after it happens. Or you can go out into the wild, as far as you can into their territory, and hope that you turn and gently caress up their poo poo before they take you down. It sucks, but there’s nothing that can be done. I’m not letting you put the Horde at risk.” "Y-yes warlord! I Accept the brand!" Trinh blurted out her answer before really even thinking. Not that it was much of a choice was it? She'd do anything to not be thrown into the wilderness alone. --- Branding was the best choice wasn't it? Maybe not. As the hours passed Trinh came up with great number of better options, most of them involving waking up in her bed. Her bed, in her hometown. When she closed her eyes she could still see the flowers on the window sill, the slippers her mother had left her, smell the tannery on the other side of the river. Funny how one could come to miss even something like that. As she wrapped a new bandage on the sores on her arm she thought back on her work. Her last job had been left unfinished, lady Ästra never received her stuffed bird. Not that she needed more. The old widow just couldn't let go of a pet and always brought them to Trinh as the tiny things reached the end of their lifespan. Some said Trinh was heartless for taking advantage of the old lady's grief. That goading her to cling on to the dead was not good for her. Now that Trinh thought about it she did feel bad for the miners with their throats slit open by the stick golems. "..." "We̯̪̝ͅ'̟̜̙̪̜l̝͎͚l̥͉̞͉̝ ̬̹̠ͅm͚̞̫͉͍͓a̗̜͕̥̳̫k̻e ̭͙͙̬ͅi̙̦̦̜̣̻̲t͉̺̫̞.̞̭͉ D̋͛̿o̅͌ͬͣ̄nͤͨ͛̃ͬ'̃͐t͗̎ͫ̑̓ͩ w͌oͥ͛ŕ͌̌̔ͤ͑̾rͩ̂̋̃̾̓y̓̏ͭ.͒̒̑͗̆ "...Yeah." Gawp was right wasn't he? Of all the places this could have happened, it was here. "The people here know about wendigos. Let's not worry."  "Zapanda will fix everything and then we can go home." --- As the researchers got to work on Gawp Trinh was not far behind. She'd have them cure monsterism no matter what. "helping" the reserachers & Gawp: 1d100 + 1 38 --- Trinh is very much in favour of sparing Zapanda. As Grimper started to get in a talkative mood Trinh made sure to ask him about Inhabitancy. Jvie fucked around with this message at 02:37 on Nov 17, 2017 |
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Nov 17, 2017 01:29
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   Name: Hat Skills: Millinery, Backflips HP: 3/3 Equipment: Spear (+1), Leather Armour (+1), Sikatris Scarf Glory: 17 Hat felt great! Better than she'd felt in quite a while! The medics had done a wonderful job and must have slipped a little something extra in with the anesthetic. She'd survived! Everything was great, and surely everyone in the prison was her friend. (Maybe not the folks in the cells, though. Do they need feeding?) She struck up a conversation with all the patients in her ward, asking basic questions, trying to get to know them. What's your name? Been Hordeing long? How long do you give the Fröans before our inevitable triumph? The medics finally got tired of her almost constant talking, verging on interrogating the poor unfortunates who were still convalescing, and gently shooed her out of the medical area. Hat walked around in a bit of a daze, the drugs keeping her smiling at all the fellow soldiers. She listened to the lecture on Resonation, quietly wondering if her comination of Millinery and Backflips was too wide a gap to ever trigger the phenomenon. Once the story time had ended Hat continued her wanderings, stumbling upon Pythag in his spiffy armour, looking at strips of fabric and frowning. She listened carefully as he explained his idea for a Mutamesh. An interesting concept, but she wasn't sure if he could thread a needle. She grabbed her hat-making kit and sat down, following his instructions and trying to make his dream a reality. Assisting Pythag with his Mutamesh: 1d100+10+17 59 The drugs were just starting to wear off when the Horde was summoned to their second Nail Ritual. They took the edge off most of the pain of the nail insertion. Will she have to face the next ceremony sober? A worrying thought. Then Grimper threated Zapanda, one of the nice people who'd healed her earlier. Hat voted to spare the Ex-Administrator. When it came time to ask Grimper for another nugget of information, Hat spoke up. "The word going around the Horde is that Noostra's looking like our next stop. What can you tell us about it? What should we expect?"
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Nov 17, 2017 02:13
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Face: H12 Name: Harlee Skill: Clowning (Used this turn) HP: 3/3 Equipment: Really Puffy Yellow Collar (Armor +1) Glory: 0 Bio: Harlee was a Froman army camp follower, using her clowning skills to entertain off duty troops and civilians for coin. One night, she was kidnapped by the Nagle scientists when her troupe was passing near the prison. She has been used as bait for the Wendigos when they escape, like a rodeo clown, and comic relief for the soldiers and prisoners ever since. ------------------------------------------ "No, Mr. Warlord, Sir! I don't agree with this crazy scientist at all. Don't kill me, I'll join!" Clown yelled when Grimper made his pronouncement. She ran from the group of Nagle scientists towards the bucket of nails. "They brought me here just to distract the Wendigos and prisoners. It's not funny at all! I'll have you all laughing in no time." To prove her point, she deliberately slipped on a balled piece of paper on the floor and face planted. Please don't kill, me. I'm super funny hahahahahahahahaahah 1d100+10: 41 Slaan fucked around with this message at 03:16 on Nov 17, 2017 |
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Nov 17, 2017 02:41
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   Gado!!! Skill: Digging (+20), Mining (+10), HP: 3/3 Glory: 1->0 As the ridiculous clown of a Fro bursts from the crowd pleading for mercy, Gado shakes his head, these people had committed too many crimes for real mercy. "Heh." It takes a moment for Gado's brain to catch up with what his eyes have seen, but Harlee's pratfal has put a little grin on his face, maybe this one wasn't too bad. Hauling himself over to the Fro Harlee, he offers out a hand to help her up, his goodwill tempered with advice "We could always use some entertainers over with the healers, but keep working on it and you should fit in with some time." There's a little ting in the air as Glory uses his thumb to flick something up toward Harlee, a Glory token flipping through the air "You should really really work on the pratfalls though." Joke rolled an art critic= 42. Was gonna hand over a glory in a "WOW SO FUNNY" way if I'd rolled lower, but given that we're one apart I think I can still do it . Exchanging the glory would totally reverse our positions though so good enough haha! Giving 1 Glory to Harlee
Successful Businessmanga fucked around with this message at 03:16 on Nov 17, 2017 |
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Nov 17, 2017 03:08
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Name: Harlee Skill: Clowning (Used this turn) HP: 3/3 Equipment: Really Puffy Yellow Collar (Armor +1) Glory: 0 > 1 Harlee took Gado's hand and got up from the ground. She smiled at him with a clownish grin and shot out her hand again for a handshake as thanks. *^*^BZZZZZZZZT^*^* Ah, the old handshake buzzer gets them everytime. "Was that time better?"
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Nov 17, 2017 03:25
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Gado!!! Skill: Digging (+20), Mining (+10), HP: 3/3 Glory: 0 Gado shakes his hand violently as he pulls back, the shock having numbed his fingers "Much. The classics are always appreciated!" Having welcomed the new member of the horde, Gado immediately begins plotting his revenge. There was nothing quite like waking up at the bottom of a 20 foot pit that was stealthily dug under you while you slept.
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Nov 17, 2017 03:53
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Nov 17, 2017 09:31
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  Name: Gawp HP: 3 Skills: Perception (active), Gazing (cooling) Equipment: Fröman Cuirass (+1), Sikatris Scarf, Sharp Stick (+0), Iron Shield Items: Olivite Pin Glory: 5 -> 1 Ritual Chits: 6 -> 8 (artwork bonus) Nägel Corrections Facility (part 7): Gawp paced around the quarantine. Gawp was still filled with boundless nervous energy, waiting on the results from the researchers. He felt cooped up in here, and his Glory tokens were weighing heavily in his pocket besides. He felt the need to spend them on something - anything - and soon, before it was too late for him to do anything else normal ever again. He felt pent up in this penitentiary, of all places. Gawp had heard the good news, though: Trinh was going to be getting the Brand from Grimper too! Not only were they both slated to explode into painful transformations on the very same day, they were also going to get matching Brands beforehand! This alone was a cause for celebration! Gawp made a special trip down to Magda's in order to pick up a cask of some of her finest beer: the Fostisian Mountain Ale. It was Gawp's favorite, after all, so Trinh and the other Branded would be sure to like it! It tasted like the beers brewed from home, like hops and silt with the tang of copper and just the faintest hint of sulfur. Gawp smacked his lips at the thought. He really wanted an excuse to wet his whistle again! When he actually got down there, though, he started having second thoughts about what he should actually be spending his remaining Glory on. Gawp had noticed something peculiar about all the others who had agreed to take on the Brand: they all had shields to protect them - all of them except for Trinh. She'd be exposed and vulnerable with the Brand and no shield... Gawp pays Magda 4 Glory for another Iron Shield. Gawp bounded up the steps of the vast the prison complex, headed back into the ordained quarantine area.  Gawp gives Trinh an Iron Shield. "H͏e҉r̨e, ͞T͝r͝ình͘. ̕Un͠til t͠ḩe͢ t̛ìm͘e͠ c͞omes, t̛hi̷s̵ ͜shoul̡d́ ҉kee̕p͝ ͞y͏o͞u ҉sa͢fe."
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Nov 17, 2017 10:37
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Holy poo poo. More comic book covers, please.
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Nov 17, 2017 14:08
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You know what this reminds me of? Those YA mystery solving novels I churned through as a kid.
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Nov 17, 2017 16:42
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Green Intern posted:Holy poo poo. More comic book covers, please. OK 
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Nov 17, 2017 20:20
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