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Nov 17, 2017 21:19
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1000 Posts! I have nothing special for it because I'm having a crummy, busy day! But thank you all for your outrageous outpouring of support and creativity. Here's to another 1000 Posts!
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Nov 17, 2017 21:31
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Dog Kisser posted:. . . I'm having a crummy, busy day! Sorry to hear that, hopefully you'll have the weekend to rest and recover.
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Nov 17, 2017 23:43
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Yeah I hope your crummy day ends soon.
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Nov 18, 2017 00:32
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quote:OK woah. I hope you're feeling better soon Dog Kisser. Jvie fucked around with this message at 02:17 on Nov 18, 2017 |
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Nov 18, 2017 02:14
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Also, a big honkin' welcome to the newest member of the Unexpectable Horde!
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Nov 18, 2017 09:13
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Prince of Space posted:Also, a big honkin' welcome to the newest member of the Unexpectable Horde! Wow. Can you give her the jester hat?
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Nov 18, 2017 09:24
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Prince of Space posted:Also, a big honkin' welcome to the newest member of the Unexpectable Horde!  This is wonderful Slaan fucked around with this message at 15:39 on Nov 18, 2017 |
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Nov 18, 2017 13:18
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Update incoming - consider it a draft. There's a few sections missing, coming later tonight after Dance Movie Night. Don't ask.
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Nov 18, 2017 23:32
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 Zapanda dangled helplessly from Grimper's fist as the Horde argued around her. She kicked at the massive paw, but may as well have been an iron bulkhead. The pressure wasn't killing her - not yet - but neither could she escape. Her wild, defiant eyes cast around the room to find her compatriots frozen in terror, and she wilted them to run… but there was nowhere to run anyway. At long last, the vice opened and she dropped choking to the Olivite floor. “You live, for now. My Horde has taken mercy on you, the fools. Several are infected - more than your initial report, I don't mind rubbing in - and it has been deemed prudent to allow you to continue your research. Un-Nailed, though I will live to regret this. If I see a single sign of disobedience, from any of you, I will kill another. Play along, and you may yet be an asset to me. Until then, you are an irritation.” He wiped his hands off on his cape as though he'd sullied himself by the new contact, then went off to consult with Magda. The former Nägel staff went haltingly back to tending to the wounds of their patients, and Zapanda buried her vengeance deeper in her gut. “Alright. See what you can do about this guy and the other one, I'll take care of her.
Healing Failure!
Cornbread, Spanks, Otter, Rik, Neebs and Mason gain 1 Hp! 9 Mooks at 1 HP gain 1 HP! Humbug gains 1 additional HP! --- Splut the Bluffer was feeling heartsick, and he couldn’t bluff his way out of that. But that didn’t mean he had to show it, and that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep up a chipper appearance. He explored vaguely for a dapper suit, not expecting to really find one. And, really, why would anyone have one down here? They all wore uniforms or armor. The only person who would be wearing a suit would probably be the Warden, and he’d been kicked in haaaaaa-  Eh, good enough. --- Humbug the Sleuth managed to sidle over to Zapanda’s crew and eavesdrop a little. The former Administrator spotted him soon enough and clammed up… but he wasn’t about to give up that easily. He had a few questions to ask her, and grudgingly she spat answers between gritted teeth. He didn’t know whether he could trust them, but she was either a gifted liar or simply willing to share this information. quote:Where have the prisoners been sent to be Inhabited? quote:What is the Red and Blue Goop? quote:Why did Frö decide to start this research project in Nägel? quote:Related to the above, is the incidence of Monsterism really increasing? quote:What has come out of The Cure Research so far? (Has anything with, say, anti-mutagenic properties surfaced?) quote:How long has Frö been, hum... kidnapping Monsterized Töan citizens in order to help fill this prison? quote:Finally… What is the word among ranking Frömen officials on who killed Queen Reina of Tö? She performed a rude gesture until Humbug left, and even afterwards. --- The decision to be Branded wasn’t taken lightly, but what choice did they have? Better to keep one’s own mind and live as a beast - or, at least, to die under your own terms. Qwäg, Trinh, Hob, and Gawp solemnly followed in their Warlord’s shadow, ready for their ordeal., as he led them up and out of the vault into the abandoned prison above. Dack hung back, his mutation not yet so severe. His time would come, one way or another. Qwäg’s time, on the other hand, had come. Her blood felt hot, and her eyes were swimming and blurred. In a few short days, Zapanda had assured her, her change was coming. She was so scared she could scarcely generate an actuarial table, let alone perform risk assessment on her own chances. She swallowed as Grimper knelt in front of her, an unfamiliar expression on his face. “The Horde thanks you for your sacrifice. This will hurt more than you can imagine. Stay strong.” She shook, but met his gaze. He removed his gauntlet, then held a meaty finger before her face. His fingernails were trimmed and his skin was smooth, but there was something wrong with his hands. She- And then he touched her, and she went blind. Panting and hoarse from screaming, she rose back into herself like a woman surfacing from beneath an icy pool. She felt at her forehead, screamed, and passed out again. Grimper brushed his hands off on his tabard, then turned and faced the others. “Who’s next?” (Qwag, Trinh, Hob, and Gawp are now Branded, locking their HP at 1. However, when they turn, they’ll retain their sanity. It also increases your chances of not dying outright - which, yes, could leave you Branded but not a Wendigo, which would suck! Good luck!) --- Bully the Orator poked through the belongings of the dead. The Wendigo Herders had done an incredibly lovely job of it, if he did say so himself. He peeled bits of armor off those who’d been killed by their charges and fitted them to himself. Better on him than them.  Bamboo the Weaver had had a tough time of things too. Her family had taken a real beating recently, and she hated it. Hated it. Hated. It. She wanted to strangle the life out of any who wanted to harm them. She found a length of wire and two solid bits of metal, and she wove herself a weapon. She could kill with this. Yes. Good, good!  --- With Patsy the Baker otherwise occupied, Portha the Rummager took point in cooking. Well, sorting out food, at any rate. She mixed bits of leftovers with the few scraps of foods the skeleton crew of Nagel had left behind, hoping to make something good enough to preserve their food for another few days.
Cooking Success! 1 Ration Retained! 5 Rations Remain! Easy enough. Pot of brown mush was good enough to keep them all running. After all, people were running high on survival, and just having something warm and spicy was enough to distract them from their bodies’ cries for ‘nutrients’ and ‘fibre’ and all that nonsense. It was a little alcoholic too, because why not. The Horde was saved! --- Grimper was quiet, almost meditative, when a few members of the Horde approached, asking about the Old Guys. He sucked on air through his teeth and indicated the room around them. “That's all that's left of em’. Impossible mechanisms and dark magic, all of it designed to extract a toll in pain before it can be used, and sometimes even after. Now, some people think that it's misunderstanding, not maliciousness; that their mindset was simply incompatible and alien to our own… but I know better. They hate us. They never even knew us, but they hated whoever would come next. They want to hurt us from beyond the grave, parcelling out their wondrous trinkets in exchange for our anguish. As for what they look like: beats me! Lots of people think of them as big green Töans with long beards, but that's just dumb. No one has ever seen one - they've been gone for thousands of years, leaving behind only walls and structures and vaults. gently caress em’. We're here now, which means we win!” He laughed, then lapsed back into distracted silence. The listeners waited for him to continue, but it seemed like that's all he had to say. The Warlord may have sounded flip, but it was obvious his lack of knowledge on the subject rankled. It may even have frightened him. What a fearful thought! They let him be. (Grimper doesn't know a heck of a lot about the Oh-Gee, and he doesn't like it. There's a bunch of vaults left over, and while they're all super dangerous they all have good stuff in them. Well, valuable stuff. Whether they're 'good’ is a matter of opinion!) --- Pythag the Mathematician and Hat the Milliner worked on Mutamesh, with mixed success. Well, to be precise, no success. Oh, the theory was sound, but making a prototype was a fair bit harder than expected, and naturally testing it out was incredibly dangerous. They put a pin in it for the moment. Pythag salved his desire for defense by upgrading his armor yet again, creating a suit that would keep him safe.  Before he turned to go, Magda caught him by the arm. “This is the last time I’m indulging you in this cowardice. It’s unseemly for a man to hide under so much metal. Besides, I don’t have time to spend riveting together new slabs of plate for you. The rest of the Horde needs me, so either you fix your own crap or you make due.” Feeling both shame and annoyance, Pythag slunk off. (Magda will only boost your stuff (armor and weapons) up to +5 before getting cranky. You’ll either need to bribe her or find someone else to make further improvements.) --- Grimper came upon his soldiers whispering about the Inhabited, spreading rumours and half-truths. Ordinarily he would have been pleased to let them do so - uncertainty and misinformation would keep them bound to him - but given recent reports they'd encounter the things sooner rather than later. “Inhabited aren't monsters or demons - they're nothing. Foul Fröman science, a stripping away of individuality to make half-hearted footsoldiers. An Inhabited won't react to the loss of a limb or a deep cut any more than they will to inflicting the same on you. Monstrous, wretched creatures, they-” “You're wrong. The Inhabited program is a hell of a lot more moral than this Horde you have tromping through my research.” All sound died away as Zapanda spoke up, her face studiously neutral as she spoke blasphemy. “...I beg your pardon, woman; it sounded like you were talking back? Do I need to remind you that-” “You're going to force me to help you? Fine, here's some ‘reconnaissance’. The a Inhabited program is designed to reduce the pain and trauma of war, to leave a peacetime populace of sane, whole people. Once you put the mask on, you go to sleep. Your body fights, your muscles and nerves take the lives of living beings... then you take it off, and you're you again.” “And I suppose the prisoners you converted into your mindless fodder appreciate the distinction! Death is death, and dying blind to the world around you, dying without Glory? What a fool creation you've wrought!” “Yes, I DO think the prisoners care! They can live out their sentence in service to their country, better than wasting their time here! I know this because they VOLUNTEERED for the procedure!” “Liar!” “You have a terribly mixed up opinion of this place, Warlord! Nägel is a prison for some but a place of refuge for many - Monsterism is a heinous curse, and many in this secure vault turned themselves in for treatment! All we want to do is cure the drat thing, and your actions have already set us back fifty years!” “Oh yes, and I suppose the Wendigos also turned themselves in? I suppose that releasing them to attack intruders was just a misunderstanding!?” “...The Warden had VERY different ideas about what this place shou-” “And what of our newest recruits, some of which who have already spoken of abuses at the hands of your guards and researchers?” “We're TRYING, drat you! Monsterism is scary and dangerous, and you have no idea the pressure we're facing! Dealing with uncooperative patients is hard enough, let alone when a single scratch or bite could infect you. And you're getting off track - the point is that Inhabitance is a more moral way of making war!” “There are no morals in war. Only winners and losers. And you? You're a loser.” She sat and fumed, and Grimper stormed away into the prison above. The tension faded slowly out of the room, leaving behind a taut awkwardness that made it difficult to talk or work. Yikes. (Whatever your opinion of them, the Inhabited are mechanically an enemy with no fear or emotion that carry out orders to the best of their ability. They're also not creative or particularly reactive. Instead of rolling 1d100, they are automatically allocated 50, smack dab in the middle. On average, large Horde groups will skew higher due to Glory, but their lack of swinginess can make them unexpectedly dangerous. Also, due to their modification, their natural Skillcores are suppressed, preventing them from dropping any. The Inhabited suck.) --- Snödis the Poet proposed that the group of infected and Monsterists should have a formal division, and moreover a formal captain. She naturally suggested herself as the leader, Captain of the Neötype Squadron! Grimper looked her up and down and sneered. “Oh, you’re one of those. Someone that thinks your affliction is a boon and not a curse. We see too many of those up in the Capitol, bleeding hearts who think that Monsterism can be channeled for good. Guess how many of those are rotting away, Branded, or else died wild and hungry? You’re no better, you scum… but then, you did well enough keeping things calm in here. If you can sweet talk your way out of torture, maybe you can make some headway with the collosal morons who got themselves infected. So go, ‘Captain’, and impress me. Until then, you’re just a Monster like the rest of your kind.” (Grimper grants Snodis Captaincy of the Neotype Squadron! Select up to five individuals however you wish - they become your subordinates… if you can convince them of your authority. They will call you captain and you will call them what you wish, and they gain +10 to their rolls while following your orders in combat. However, if they screw up, expect the responsibility to fall on you!) --- Hob the Bee Keeper and Noggins the Carpenter worked at improving his bow. There was a sadness in them, a sense of loss both past and future, and Hob’s Ş̀̕̕͜i̷n̢g̸̵̨i̸̧͜ņ̢̨͝g̛ made the emotions solid. Noggins carved the wood, and the wood flowed around the blade as she worked. She got the uncanny sense that she wasn’t shaping it so much as suggesting a form that it wanted to take. Could it be Monsterism? Had Hob infected his bow? It seemed impossible… but Grimper had warned them that it could be so. Wood was alive once, and Monsterism was a preternaturally virulent disease. When they were done, both of them were weeping, and something strange and new had been created.  It moved and wriggled slightly, but when arrows launched, they sang. Or, perhaps, they Ş̀̕̕͜an̢g̸̵̨? --- Once everything was settled - as settled as it was going to get - Grimper called old and new members of the Horde together. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen. We have a problem. Well, not a problem, but an impasse. We have access to a vault key, thanks to the terminal upstairs and the Fröman’s foolish lack of security. We can take it and open the vault in Fostis, probably. Unless they’ve discovered our ruse. Which, let’s be honest, they may have: in my heroic and courageous attempts to save you all from your incompetance, I had to exert myself, releasing concentrated levels of Esprit to kill the Wendigos. It was an amazing battle, but that very greatness will blaze like a beacon to those who know what they’re looking for. And since Commander Sikatris is around, apparently, they have means of tracking us. I hate her, incidentally - if one of you takes her down, 100 Glory. Hell, I'll give you something better! Anyhow here's the dilemma: the longer we delay on going to claim the Vault, the more of a chance we're gonna get ambushed. They're not going to be sure to open it - not many of these keys hanging around, I'd wager - but they're going to know we're coming for it. Because I assume none of you ordered the township to forget everything they knew about it, right, you clods? But! I need to send a message to the Regency Council from Noostra’s broadcasting equipment, and just getting in there is just going to be a bitch and a half. One or two of you, sure, but they're going to know something is up if we show up with an army. My recon on the city is months old, if not older, so we’re going to need to pull up outside the place and scout it. If we go there second, it’s going to be locked up even tighter due to the… obvious nature of opening a vault. Just trust me on this. Regardless, the hassle is that I need to be in both places. Can’t get cute and split up on this one. So, how are we going to swing this? [HORDE VOTE]
Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at 22:13 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 18, 2017 23:33
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    Name: Neebs Skill(s): Sales (+10) (on cooldown), Drinking (+10) HP: 2/3 -> 3/3 Glory: 2 -> 3 Neebs never did find Sucy or Noggins to drink with. She did find Noggins, actually; when Noggins was returning with Hob from...was that the forest? But Hob immediately got swiped up with Qwäg, Trinh, and Gawp by Grimper. Yeah...drinking with Noggins probably wasn't going to be happening anytime soon, she just didn't look approachable. So, Neebs grabbed a drink by herself, digging into some of the brown mush that Portha had put together. No sense in letting all that alcohol go to waste. It was actually rather good. When Qwäg, Trinh, Hob and Gawp returned, they all seemed to be in a daze. Hob was just kind of singing a low melody to himself, so Neebs approached him and offered him a drink. She inquired after what that was all about, and Hob showed her his new Brand. Apparently the skillcore from the Wendigo had infected him and he might turn into a Wendigo himself! Neebs felt relieved that Grimper had stopped her, her earlier ruminations confirmed. She asked Hob if there was anything she could do to help him; and spent a part of downtime chilling with him, until he took off with 'better things to do'. When Grimper asked the horde about what they should do next, Neebs didn't see how they couldn't Head back to Fostis. If Old Guys tech is as dangerous as they say, then it might be the game-changer The Unexpectables need. No sense pushing father into Frö if Commander Sikatris is left to potentially push into Tö from Fostis. Can we spare a couple Unexpectables to scout Noostra from a distance? Only a couple though, no more. And with strict orders to stay away from the city. Edit: More fluff. Half-wit fucked around with this message at 13:26 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 01:21
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   Name: Hat Skills: Millinery, Backflips HP: 3/3 Equipment: Spear (+1), Leather Armour (+1), Sikatris Scarf Glory: 18 Het cleared her throat and stood up. "OK, let's try and reason this out. De-Nailing and killing all the Fostis peeps is unconscionable. Can't get on board with it, pretty much war crimes, which we know is a thing, sorry. Therefore, two options: Fostis, or Noostra. Fostis has the vault, which almost certainly has Oh-Gee goodies inside, but getting in might require sacrifice, even with the key. It also makes Noostra harder. Noostra, we don't know the situation, we know it's rich but that's about it. Also it will make getting back to the Fostis vault harder, they'll almost certainly try and turn it into a trap for us. But, crucially, I don't think the enemy will be able to crack the vault by themselves. It's a long shot, but the vault might even reduce the enemy's number by a few for us if we're real lucky. So I'm voting Noostra, for now." (Alternative crazy third option: Go into woods, find Sungazer, feed him Wendigo meat, wait, he becomes Wendigazer, have him 'chase' us to [town of choice], let him run amok.)
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Nov 19, 2017 01:36
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   Name: Bamboo HP: 3/3 Glory: 18 + 1 (Story Glory) > 19 Skill: Basket Weaving [Ready] -[Nägel]- Bamboo listened to the Warlord dispassionately. Actually, was she listening? Its always difficult to tell, with Her. Dog Kisser posted:[HORDE VOTE] Sitting in her low, slumped over position, apparently playing with her fingers, pretending to pull something taunt between her clenching hands, Bamboo offered in a low, guttural voice, "Pull. The. Nail. Keep. Vault. Safe." CourValant fucked around with this message at 09:00 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 02:08
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 Name: Harlee Skill: Clowning (Used this turn) HP: 3/3 Equipment: Really Puffy Yellow Collar (Armor +1) Glory: 1 Well, new boss, I've always had a good time at Noostra; they tip well. So I say we head there. And my stay here has really made me hate Wendigos, but those miner jerks in Fostis are jerks that never paid me after I performed for 3 whole days! How about you have one of these branded guys go infect the town? They could basically stop anyone from getting into this vault thingy you are talking about. But only if it looked like the town would actually be taken over again. Of course. HEHEHEHEHEHEHE Besides, wouldn't that be such a laugh, to have them literally explode in the Froman army's faces? It'd be like a pie fight! HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHA Slaan fucked around with this message at 02:40 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 02:29
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   Gado!!! Skill: Digging (+20), Mining (+10) HP: 3/3 Glory: 0->1 Gado keeps looking around the vault the horde had forced their way into in Nagel's depths, it waa impressive just as a space and that's with the contents presumably stripped away. Raising his hand Gado shouts out "I think heading back to Fostis is worth it. If these vaults are filled with such powerful stuff it's not smart to leave it laying around when we know there's potentially an enemy commander around. Siktaris can knit a mean scarf, but I'd rather she not turn the leg machine into a murder loom or something like that."
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Nov 19, 2017 02:58
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   Name: Gabber Skill: Mimicry, Listening {cooldown}, Night Vision HP: 2/3 Glory: 3 -> 4 In the end Grimper had decided to spare Zapanda. Gabber...was conflicted. An Un-Nailed Nägel staff would likely provide better results when it came to curing (or easing the pain) of those Horde who had been infected; they'd probably do better at preventing it from spreading in this condition too, he supposed. He'd also never pipe up to object to a decision the Warlord had made; even one he'd just second guessed himself on. So for now, he decided he would accept it. Still made him feel a bit...uneasy though. While in thought one of the Nägel staff had made his way towards him, motioning to unwrap his bandage from his head again so he could take a look. Sighing, Gabber began peeling back the gauze again, for what little good they'd done his headache so far. ... Bah! Shoving away the inept Frö, Gabber stomped away while re-wrapping his head. Useless! If anything, his head hurt even worse now from the poking and prodding. Damned red nuisances! The sooner he got out of this Oh-Gee vault and away from the terrors they'd wrought here, the better. As he made his way off to stew for a bit, he watched as Grimper led off most of those who'd been tainted by the Wendigos - Qwäg, Trinh, Hob, and Gawp. He'd had little chance to interact with most of them what with the Horde having been scattered these past few days, but he'd by chance been teamed up quite a bit so far with Hob the Bee Keeper during his time with the Horde. He thought back to their forced march and his having thrust a bit of honeycomb into Gabber's hand just when he thought he couldn't go on anymore. He'd been in the thick of it against the Loud One as well, firing off that bow of his. He'd heard a faint, haunting melody coming down from outside Nägel soon after the Warlord had shared the grim choices left to those that had the taint, and he'd heard who took that tainted Singing skillcore....he hoped that all the Horde took to the Brand and were able to continue on with their sanity intact, but he'd be hoping a bit harder that his one-eyed comrade in arms pulled through out of all of them none worse for the wear. ... When it came time to decide where to head to next Gabber couldn't help but be somewhat distracted in making a decision by Harlee, one of the Frö that'd decided to willingly join the Horde out of those at Nägel. Barely trying to hide his contempt, Gabber loudly huffed at her unrefined antics. A clown. During his years enrolled at the prestigious "Tö Royal Academy of Mimicry, Philosophy, and the Spatial-Arts" (T.R.A.M.P.S.), he had been taught that the body was an instrument. When performing, one's every movement should be painstakingly planned in advance to ensure every effort was taken to allow a seamless silent transmission of the intended message to one's audience. Any minor interruption of one's performance could result in a skewed message, the results of which could be ruinous! During his time there he and his fellow "étudiants en mimétisme" had all too often run afoul of those enrolled in that accursed clown college down the way and their constant interruptions; a three hour performance ruined by a stray pie in the face in the closing moments; Introduction to Silence 101's final being invaded by a gaggle of clowns bursting down the door honking their horns; constantly having to dodge stray banana peels just laying about everywhere when an ankle injury could ruin one's career. The fact that such a Frö now counted themselves amongst the Horde....well, it just had him seething. When it came time to have his vote heard Gabber's annoyance got the better of him, quickly placing his hands at the Nail in his shoulder and motioning as if he was yanking it out with all his might. He then drew his finger across his throat, indicating his support for destroying the Nail and heading to Noostra. In a calmer state he'd have likely never so callously voted to end so many's lives, but that drat laughing felt like it was boring into his brain! Task Manager fucked around with this message at 07:56 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 04:13
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 //      Name: Gawp HP: 1/1 Skills: Perception (cooling), Gazing Equipment: Fröman Cuirass (+1), Sikatris Scarf, Sharp Stick (+0), Iron Shield Items: Olivite Pin Glory: 1 -> 2 Ritual Chits: 8 -> 10 (artwork bonus) Nägel Corrections Facility (part 8): Gawp listened to the General Grimper with rapt attention. The Warlord was so big and smart and powerful, after all - it was easy to forget that he simply cannot know everything there is to know about everything, not all at once. For instance, Grimper didn't have much to say about the Old Guys and their vaults - none that he could share, at least. It was clear: Grimper not knowing everything about something was fine! All that meant was that Grimper needed to get some good ideas going from his Horde first before he made his big plans. Gawp understood, and Gawp wanted to help out. From what he gathered from the General: The Great General Grimper posted:
That settled that for Gawp! He and the others needed to kill Commander Sikatris... but how? She was better armed and better equipped with more men, if all the accounts were true. They we're going to need use tactics to defeat her. Gawp was already filled with wild ideas, but the Warlord had more to say on the matter: things about Noostra. From the General's sobering words, Gawp concluded: The Great General Grimper posted:
Easy! Gawp had a plan, and it involved misdirection. The horde doesn't need to be split. Not significantly, at least! Laid out in list form, Gawp's plan looked a little bit like this: Gawp the Perceiver posted:Gawp's plan to throw off Sikatris: By the time the leaders at Noostra find out about the Old Guys vault being opened, they'll lock up their gates with most of the Unexpectable Horde already inside. Opening the doors for Grimper from within will be a cinch! Furthermore, Sikatris would think that Grimper's army is at Fostis and she'll be marching in the wrong direction! Gawp's voice thrummed with the dissonant vibrations of his developing monsterism. He hoped that his voice would be heard through it all: "Let'͠s͘ ͟use th̷e ͟K̓ͮͮ̋e͋ͧ̾̚y̔̌̇̍͒̂͆ t̨o ́tḩro͞w͡ ̶the̵ ̹͚̤̱̰e͓̲̖ne̻͇̘m͚̭̠y͖̰̠̦ off̨ o̡u͘r t͢ra̛i͠ļ." (Deep down, even though the army might be aiming itself towards Noostra, Gawp still wants to go back to Fostis, for his own reasons.) Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 05:03 on Nov 20, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 04:58
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Added additional sections to last post!
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Nov 19, 2017 07:43
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Quick question about glory - I get that it's gained by taking actions, but does that a) mean only when rolling, b) include downtime actions (which I guess we're in now - all non-encounter time is downtime, right?) Basically, if I do an in character post saying how Börk decides we should go back to Fostis, but not rolling anything, would I give myself 1 glory?
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Nov 19, 2017 08:01
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Every major update made by Dogkisser (with the 'Break Down That Gate' header and everything) counts as the start of a new 'round,' and every round you can gain 1 Glory for posting as your character.simplefish posted:Basically, if I do an in character post saying how Börk decides we should go back to Fostis, but not rolling anything, would I give myself 1 glory? Yes, you would!
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Nov 19, 2017 08:06
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Brilliant, thanks!
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Nov 19, 2017 08:07
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  Name: Börk Skills: Kissing, Listening HP: 3 Glory: 0 -> 1 Börk had always been the quiet type, preferring to kanoodle rather than converse - and Grimper's imposing presence hadn't exactly tempted him to pipe up unnecessarily or talk back since joining the Horde - and especially not since filching that Listening Skillcore; but now he felt settled enough to voice his opinion. "I think we should return to Fostis," he began. Although he hadn't personally seen the OG Vault in the mines there, the other Unexpectables who saw it had chattered enough about it that he understood that there had been a keyhole, and that they maight just have found the key. "Between Wendingoes and Monsterism Torture Prisons..." He shot a deliberate look at Zapanda. "Sorry, 'Research-Facilities-Where-Grotesque-and-Definitely-Not-Unethical-Horrorrific-Unspeakable-Vivisection-Certainly-Never-Happened'. And now we have to contend with these lobotomised, robotised killing machines? Let's look to the vaults for advantage. That's my long-term view, anyway " That in itself would have been enough, but Börk had been listening closely to Grimper. "And as for the immediate, when the Boss saved our backsides back there, released that Esprit or whatever - in any case, if those red bastards know we're nearby, we need to fortify because they're surely coming for us. And what better place to dig in than a mine?"
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Nov 19, 2017 08:50
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Dog Kisser posted:Bamboo the Weaver had had a tough time of things too. Her family had taken a real beating recently, and she hated it. Hated it. Hated. It. She wanted to strangle the life out of any who wanted to harm them. She found a length of wire and two solid bits of metal, and she wove herself a weapon. She could kill with this. Yes. Good, good! This man. This man gets it. I'm sure its no surprise to those who have been following the saga of our broken, increasingly sociopathic Weaver, that there is of course a twist to 'Her Family'. When, How, and If this situation finally pops is left to the actions of you, my fellow Hordlings; everyone seems to be giving Bamboo a wide berth, and I don't blame you. She's starting to worry even me when I look in on her to write the updates.
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Nov 19, 2017 09:00
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   Name: Portha Skills: Rummaging, Cleaning (cooldown), Imagining HP: 2/3 Glory: 9 Unbelievable! People were thinking of killing off one of their few sources of materials out here because it was a safe move. Portha had bled to clear out the Fostian resistance, so there was no way she'd just allow it to become a ghost town. Also, now that they had a key, it was time to crack open that vault. Horde vote: Fostis! After declaring her vote she added another suggestion, "We've taken losses capturing Nägel and many of our soldiers are still recovering, we should brand the remaining caged wendigos and people about to turn, we'll take them with us and let them lead the charge when it's time to assault Noostra." After saying all she needed, Portha rounded up the safe monsterists while packing up for the return to Fostis, the ones Grimper had deemed too poorly mutated to fight. They could probably serve the Horde in non-combat roles back in Fostis, or maybe as test subjects for whatever was inside the Fostis vault.
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Nov 19, 2017 12:06
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  HP:3 Glory:19 Lying Hiding his emotions as was his wont, he spoke briefly, "Head back to Fostis. We can siege down a fortified Noostra. We can't gain anything from an Old Guy vault that has already been looted." He glanced over at Stårn, still toting the portapult. "Besides, imagine an Old Guy siege weapon. Whatever we find in there, what chance do they have to prepare for it?" Having chipped in on that matter, there was something else important he needed to do. He sought out the freshly-branded Qwäg, eyes flickering only for a moment to the mark before meeting hers. There wasn't much time left before... before matters came to a head, but that just meant it was even more vital that she didn't go through with it alone. "Hey. I, er, I thought you might want some company." It wasn't like him to be at a loss for words, but what could you say? 'Sorry that you're about to die or turn into a monster'? 'Bad luck on needing a crippling brand just to have a chance to stay yourself'? He looked down, glumly, and pondered, trying to stir his cores into action. So, he looked up, met her gaze, and with the best sincerity his skillcores could churn out, "Whatever happens, we're going to get through this, okay? Whatever the odds, whatever the outcome, we're going to get through this." AJ_Impy fucked around with this message at 22:48 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 13:18
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   Name: Hob HP: 1/1 Glory: 7>8 Ritual Glory : 3 Skill: Bee keeping, Contortion, Ş̀̕̕͜i̷n̢g̸̵̨i̸̧͜ņ̢̨͝g̛ D̵̻o̼̦̜̗͕o̧̭̻̭̤͕̺m ͓̖͚͎̟̮͠counter: 4>3 Hob hurt. He tried to find something to distract him. WereGoat posted:Hob wracked his brain. Stories of heroes. Monsters. Dashing rescues. Cunning thieves. Thieves? The tale of Gorbet the cunning had an impossible vault, and Gorbet broke in after figuring out the lock from a song. Hob looked at the buttons. Vague music played in his mind. Did it match? Hob was ready to press the keys. Was it fate? It was clear to Hob that Fostis's vault was the clear choice, and said as much. The folk song he had half remembered in the vault now threaded through his mind, clear, sharp, terrible. Half-wit posted:When Qwäg, Trinh, Hob and Gawp returned, they all seemed to be in a daze. Hob was just kind of singing a low melody to himself, so Neebs approached him and offered him a drink. She inquired after what that was all about, and Hob showed her his new Brand. Apparently the skillcore from the Wendigo had infected him and he might turn into a Wendigo himself! Neebs felt relieved that Grimper had stopped her, her earlier ruminations confirmed. She asked Hob if there was anything she could do to help him; and spent a part of downtime chilling with him, until he took off with 'better things to do'. Hob appreciated the company, but hasn't realised he had been singing the vault tune to himself. He used his Contortion on his vocal cords again, locking it down. Had to watch for that. Contorting his vocal cords was useful, but he was relying on it a bit too much. Yes, suppressing the singing was useful, and he seemed to be able to stop that voice but if he kept up like this the cores might Resonate, and then he would need a new way to keep in control of the overwhelming urge to Ş̀̕̕͜i̷n̢g. Yeah, it was nice to chill with Neebs, but he really needed to do see Qwäg before she turned. To ask her permission to be there to see what he would be dealing with very soon. WereGoat fucked around with this message at 22:46 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 13:59
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  Name: Doc HP: 3 Glory: 3 Skill: Surgery Lets go to Noostra.
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Nov 19, 2017 18:44
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        Name: Stårn Additional skills: Butterfly Beastmaster HP: 3 Glory: 19 -> 20 AJ_Impy posted:
Stårn nodded along as the ever stone-faced Splut shamelessly tried to manipulate his vote. "Hmm", he said, "It is indeed true that almost anything Old Guy would be great for Sieging, and it is also a tenet of Sieging to not unduly rush (unless you are in a rush-warranting situation for which special rules apply). Thus, to Fostis we shall go!" Good for him that Stårn was never particularly hard to convince when the possibility of ever better Sieging was hinted at.
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Nov 19, 2017 21:04
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   Skill 2: Amputation HP: 1/1 Glory 12 Qwäg huddled beneath the coarse prison blanket, the thin material doing little to dispel the cold that seemed to radiate from the depths of her very bones. She had broken down eventually, of course; she knew others had as well, others with far more time than she to come to terms with the inevitable. But there’d been so little time, and she’d just been too busy to fall apart. Until she did. One moment she was scribbling furiously in her risk book, and the next it fell from nerveless fingers, and she broke. She crawled into a dark corner of this benighted place, and she wept and howled until her ribs ached and her throat burned with bile and her hands were bruised from uselessly pounding the floor. And now she was done. She felt dry; hollowed out, and something huge and primal echoed in that space, making its lair. AJ_Impy posted:"Hey. I, er, I thought you might want some company." Splut found her there, sitting cross-legged beneath the blanket, riskbook in her lap, and just running her hands over the cover. Not opening it, not reading, just feeling the smooth, worn leather of the cover like she might not have the chance much longer. Even the scratchiness of the blanket was welcome sensation to skin that might soon…what? Run like wax? Harden into armor plates? She nodded in silent assent to Splut as he joined her, and she received his sympathy and his attractive lies with an icy placidity. “It’s not so ba͜d͞ ,” she muttered, voice dry and dull, like someone getting over a cold, but with something other bubbling up from time to time, quickly suppressed. “Now. Before the Brand, it was all w͠҉r̴͡o̵̴ng̴͞ inside, like a broken bone grinding, b̸u̷̶͞t͏ …somehow pleasant?” She shook her head vigorously, pulling a disgusted look. “The words are...No. Not pleasant. But d҉e͢͠͠si̡͠r͘҉àb̷̧l͡e. Like worrying an ulcer with your tongue, but...inside your chest? And the Brand, well…you heard it. They probably heard it in Fostis. But now? I’m just cold, mostly. Head feels like it’s stuffed with cloth. It҉c̨͡hy̸̛͠ on the inside, where I can’t get to it. And it feels like I’m going to ṕ̵a̡ss̷͏ ̵̛͠o̷̡͞ú̷̸t͠ if I breathe too deeply. But mostly cold.” AJ_Impy posted:"Whatever happens, we're going to get through this, okay? Whatever the odds, whatever the outcome, we're going to get through this." She nodded. “We will,” she agreed, though it was unclear whom, precisely, we comprised. “Truthfully, the numbers aren’t as b͢à͞҉d̛ as you might suspect. I hesitate to say, almost promising. Our e̶͜x̵pe̕r̴̨i̸̡͟eń̴͢c͢͟e here will likely be a crucible. We’ve been a collection of dregs who got lucky before, but n̴ó̵w̴̧ …after t͢h̴͠i̷̵s̵ ̕p̨͝͞l͘a͡cę? Ẁ̸̡̧̧è̶̸̷͟ ̴̢͠͏A͡͠ŕ̡e̶͜͜ ̨̨H̷̛͟o̴͡͞r̢͟͟͠͝d͟͠͝͠ę͟ .” She blinked, as if taken aback by the certainty in her voice, then looked up as Hob approached. WereGoat posted:Yeah, it was nice to chill with Neebs, but he really needed to do see Qwäg before she turned. To ask her permission to be there to see what he would be dealing with very soon. At the Beekeeper’s request, Qwäg sighed wearily, the sound like desiccated insects rustling in a bag, but gestured permissively to the ground nearby. “You found me,” she admitted cautiously, “so you may stay. I’m no͝҉t͏͟͠ …comfortable being a s͞p̛͟e̡c̸͢t̷͘ac̨̀l̸e̵ , but you mi̧͞͠g͘h̸͢t̨ …see something that helps the o͞t̨͝he̢͢r͘s.” At that, she looked to Splut, her face suddenly conflicted. “You dǫ͟͜ņ'́͟͜t …I won’t think any less of you if you don’t want to be here for this, Splut.” Idly, she rubbed her forehead, wincing and gritting her teeth. “I wouldn’t want to b̨e ̵̀h̶e̶r̸e͘͏ for t̨ḩ́i̴̧̕s̶̢̛̀ .” Qwäg closed her eyes, leaning her head back to rest on the wall. “Į̵t̵̕'͟s̵ …going to h̶̛́́͞a҉̡͜҉̶p̧͢͞͠͠p̡̀e̡͘n̢̛͡ soon. Whatever It is. I feel l̵̶i҉k̴͞e̴͏ …It’s as if…u̵̧̢͞g̵̢̢͘h̕͝. Snödis could explain it better. I̴̵͘͞ don’t have a poetic bone in my body. Not standard issue for actuaries Į̶̹̘̻͉̗̺̤͖̞̪̫̟͕̦̰͎̭͉̀͘͝ͅ'҉̩̗̥̝̹̟̀̕M҉̮͎̝̹̯̗͕ ̥̭̻̘̣̲̝̠̘̳͡͡͞Á̡̛͠҉̻̟̤̯̣̮ͅͅͅF̶̨̠̗̳̱̣̯̥̬͚̕ͅR̨̛̯͖͎̳͔̰̀A̧͔̥̻͚͜I̸̢̠̬̠̜̟͎̦͙̫̰̬̬̪͈͎͘ͅD͢҉̸̶̛̘͖̙̙͈͈̝̻̝͕̰ .” Bee Bonk fucked around with this message at 23:30 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 21:42
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Made one final set of changes to the last update. If there's stuff that hasn't been addressed, I haven't forgotten it - it's either been ignored or determined to not fit into the current narrative. My bad for writing this all piecemeal instead of all at once! I do read and consider all your posts, so if you miss out on stuff now, consider yourself bumped to the top of the pile next time! Next up I'll be updating portraits and posting missed items here for your perusal. Next update probably Tuesday!
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Nov 19, 2017 22:17
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Bit busy with thanksgiving travel, but Ringo votes for Fostis, but if that split plan does go through, he wants to be wherever the Branded are going. The Wendigoad needs to be good for something. Green Intern fucked around with this message at 22:40 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 22:35
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HP:3 Glory:19 Lying Qwäg posted:At that, she looked to Splut, her face suddenly conflicted. “You dǫ͟͜ņ'́͟͜t …I won’t think any less of you if you don’t want to be here for this, Splut.” Idly, she rubbed her forehead, wincing and gritting her teeth. “I wouldn’t want to b̨e ̵̀h̶e̶r̸e͘͏ for t̨ḩ́i̴̧̕s̶̢̛̀ .” Qwäg closed her eyes, leaning her head back to rest on the wall. The falsehood specialist stayed where he was, resolute, a kindness in his usually unfathomable eyes. "I'm not going to abandon you while you're going through this, Qwäg. You don't want to be here, but there's no choice in that. Still, you don't have to go through it all alone, not if I can choose otherwise. We're... Hordemates, and if we don't look out for each other, no-one else will." AJ_Impy fucked around with this message at 22:47 on Nov 19, 2017 |
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Nov 19, 2017 22:43
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Name: Hob Bee Bonk posted:Qwäg sighed wearily, the sound like desiccated insects rustling in a bag, but gestured permissively to the ground nearby. Hob looks uncomfortable. He hasn't even realised, but he had been treating Qwäg like a spectacle. She had been infected by accident, of course it was different for her. He had been just awful, blundering into her grief and treating her like an experiment. Like the Fröan guards had treated the prisoners here. "I'm sorry" Hob whispered. But the damage was done and could not be undone. For now, he would wait with her and the others around her. Maybe it would help Dack assess the risks in his options.
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Nov 19, 2017 23:03
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   Extra Skillcore: Sitting Quietly HP: 3 Glory: 14->15 Ritual Glory: 4 Saluting despite the insults, Snödis felt a pride swelling in her chest - finally a position of real power, from where her legacy could truly begin. Of course, it would not be easy. Especially if she didn't look the part. Head full of visions of glory, Snödis wandered off, beginning her new sure to be illustrious career with some much needed social networking. --- Her first stop was Hat, the Hordes very own Millner. Snödis gave her an akward salute as she approached.  "Comräde Hat! You are aware of my new position, yes? Good, excellent. I have a requisition for you. I need a Hat of Office, and only the finest quality will do. Something snazzy, a captains cap with the Neötype Logo. Sturdy enough to protect from injury, fancy enough to be a show of authority and most importantly out of the way enough to not impede my vision. I'm sure you can manage it. As for the matter of your payment, I'm sure something can be arranged. After all, I am a Captain. Be it glory or raw materials, or perhaps a little favor down the line... well. I'm sure you get the idea. I expect it to be finished before our first official engagement." -- Personal business concluded, she wandered off again, this time in search of Qwäg and the other Branded Neötypes, in order to assess them for the purposes of forming her new squadron. Finding Qwäg huddled in a corner, together with Hob and Splut, she heard only the last few words of her conversation with the others. "Why yes, I am amazing, thank you Qwäg. No no, no need to salute. Save your strength Comräde, you have an exciting few hours ahead of you, eh? Ah, to feel the rush of unbridled evolution, to see creation shake before you as all that you are becomes more, becomes better! Already you are feeling it, I take it? The raw power within you, screaming at you to let it take control? Good, good. And if you do survive despite that accursed mark of mind-slavery upon you, I see no reason why you should be left out of My New Illustrious Neötype Squadron. "And you, Hob is it? So good to see my new Squad taking care of one another already, like trüe Comrädes in Arms. Yours will be an excellent addition to the team, I am sure. What was it that you did? Beekeeping? Marvelous. Do you think you could control mutant bees? If so we could rival even the butterflycists. An idle thought. We shall turn to it later. Do you have any questions regarding your new role?" -- After her conversation with Qwäg and Hob, Snödis next sought out Dack, the fellow Neötype that had entered Nägel with her in her perfect executed infiltration. "Dack! I know your enhancements came at the cost of speech, so I will not bother you with questions. Know that the captain of the Neötype Squadron is well-aware of your achievements and expects them to continue in no short order as a fresh-faced private of that self-same squadron. Welcome aboard, Comräde!" -- Next up, she approached Gawp and Trinh in some remote corner, interrupting their niceties with her commanding presence. "Gawp. Trinh. Dual Surveillance and Taxidermy - Thats almost like a surgeon, yes?. I could not ask for a better cöuple of slave-marked Neötypes for my Squadron. Truly I could not. You are beautiful, and let no one tell you otherwise. And soon? Soon you will bloom. Now, This will be an emotional time for you, as it will for everybody. I understand that, and the rush when you Wendingöfy or Mutate to your new True Selves will be overwhelming. But for your own twö sakes, you should consider keeping some distance from each-other when during the Ascendancy. We wouldn't want a lövers quarrel turning into a massacre, now would we?" -- Now it was Noggins turn to be suddenly and violently saluted at by Snödis, already on a roll through the list of horde-members. "Noggins. I am sure you see the writing on the wall, whether you want to or not. The ranks are swelling, and Old Grimpner can't be everywhere at once. The Horde needs people such as us, to take care of things where he can not. You already have the passion of the horde, from what I have seen, but you have yet to truly own the mantle that clings forgötten to your back. Make yourself seen, Noggins. Stake your claim, and I am sure I shall soon see you around the Captains Mess." -- Finally, after what felt like hours of running around, Snödis arrived at last at the Ram were Stårn was inevitably stationed. "Stårn. I will not mix words with you; your passion bears results. Whilst you have no place in the Neötype Squadron (at least not until we fully weaponize the slave-marked Friendingöes, or you ascend most pleasingly), I see no reason why you should not form one of your own. An army needs its Siegeworks, as you well know. Should it come to it, I will vouch for you." -- When at last her escapades were over, she handed in her Very Formal Council to a most likely drunk and annoyed Grimpner, urging him to take the horde back to Fostis.
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Nov 20, 2017 00:07
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    Noggins Skillcores: Carpentry, Precision HP: 3 Glory: 20->21 Ritual Glory: 1 Previously... WereGoat posted:"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!" Despite herself, Noggins smiled. That had been awfully maudlin of her, hadn't it? Still, better to let it all out now than to try and hold it in. Vist had explained the basic principles of the Long to her, and while Noggins didn't think she was going to full-on convert any time soon, some of it had stuck with her. Be Slick. Don't let attachments hold you. Your goal is in front of you--you'll never reach it if you keep looking back. That didn't mean--to Noggins, at least--not to form attachments. That would be terrible and pointless. But if she wanted to move forward, to succeed next time, she had to be able to take strength from those bonds, and not let tragedy tear her apart. Breathe. In. Out. This isn't the end. It's far from the end. It's not good, far from it, but it's not the end. "Yeah. Yeah! You're right! We need to get things done. Let's go!" Later... "I think we should go to Noostra for now. As valuable as the Vault is, the main army needs to know about the Inhabited, and the sooner the better, and I'm really not as excited as Stårn is about sieging Noostra after it's had a chance to really bunker down. That's just going to have us stuck outside of Noostra's gates with Sikatris arrives, and there's no way that goes well. Yes, Sikatris is probably going to pass through Fostis to reach Nägel, but that doesn't mean they're going to be able to tell her about the vault. In fact, if we play this right, we can use that to throw Sikatris off of our trail. Just send... well, probably Splut back to Fostis, let them know that under no circumstances are they allowed to mention that we've headed to..." Noggins paused, trying to remember the layout of the area "...Öxnyard. They raise warbeasts there, don't they? It'd make sense for us to have gone there, it's a high-value target. That way when Sikatris comes through, they'll try and pass the fake info off to her, she goes to the wrong place, and the vault's clear for us to open after we've finished in Noostra. It wouldn't take too long for him to make that detour and catch back up with us." Her case made, Noggins watched Gabber vote to kill all of Fostis. Did... did he really want that? Sure, that wasn't too much of a surprise coming from Bamboo, but Gabber? She'd have to ask about that later. Later still... Swedish Thaumocracy posted:Now it was Noggins turn to be suddenly and violently saluted at by Snödis, already on a roll through the list of horde-members. Noggins thought over this for a while. Captaincy... it was a big responsibility, but... isn't that what she had been after all along? It would be wrong to shy away from responsiblity now, after all she had already done. Nodding, she gave Snödis a smile and a salute, and went on her way. She didn't think she'd impressed Grimper enough just yet, but... soon. Definitely soon. The Lord of Hats fucked around with this message at 00:26 on Nov 20, 2017 |
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Nov 20, 2017 00:22
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Name: Gabber Skill: Mimicry, Listening {cooldown}, Night Vision HP: 2/3 Glory: 4 The second he'd dragged his finger across his throat (signaling his vote for the doom of Fostis) he instantly regretted it. Expecting to find a sense of reassurance wash over him, all he felt was emptiness; his annoyance at Harlee's antics having washed away, all that was left in it's place was nothing. Had he really just been that quick to doom so many, even if they were the enemy? Sure, the Frö had killed poor Queen Reina - but did any at Fostis truly play a part? They were put back in line by the glory of the Nail - what good would killing them do now, besides making things easier for himself? As Grimper began moving on to the next member of the Horde to get their vote, Gabber went to raise his hand. Maybe he could take it back; no even better, he could claim it was a misunderstanding! Perfect. He'd explain it away as an accident, a misinterpretation of his motions, and none would be the wiser. As his hand went halfway up, he suddenly locked eye He suddenly felt ill. He needed some air. He wasn't brave. He was a coward - always had been, though he did a good job faking, it seemed sometimes. Always taking the option that ended up with less hassle for himself if he could get away with it; no matter the damage it may cause to others. Hah! He'd actually thought he'd changed - he'd had no easy out when it came to the Horde or here with the Loud Wendigo. That's all. It'd been fear of Grimper's wrath that forced his hand. Nothing but fear. Making his way down the hall towards the hatch leading outside, Gabber passed what appeared to be the belongings of one of Zapanda's crew stuffed into a locker, unattended. A pair of dark guard boots peeked out of the half opened door. Quickly looking and seeing no one around, he checked the tag - MADE IN FRÖ - 10 1/4. Close enough. Swiftly grabbing the boots, he made his way towards the surface, alone with his thoughts. Task Manager fucked around with this message at 03:13 on Nov 20, 2017 |
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Nov 20, 2017 03:03
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 Name: Trinh Skills: taxidermy, jumping HP: 1+1/1 Glory: 2 -> 3 Ritual Glory: 1 Status: Skinkekelomas, Mutation Time left before mutation: Before branding: Trinh had never really given monsterism a second thought before joining the horde. Sure some people she used to know had uneven number of fingers but nobody ever made a number out of it. But it was a disease wasn't it? Then why didn't it ever heal? Can't even the best doctors do anything about it? Was there no way out? She was drowning in questions and knew well that the only people around who could answer them quite deservedly hated her guts. Getting answers would be awkward. Thankfully Humbug was already ahead of her. quote:“Yes, if I had access to some blood and tissue samples of your affected soldiers, I could return them to normal. Oh, pardon - to phenotypical average." --- quote:"H͏e҉r̨e, ͞T͝r͝ình͘. ̕Un͠til t͠ḩe͢ t̛ìm͘e͠ c͞omes, t̛hi̷s̵ ͜shoul̡d́ ҉kee̕p͝ ͞y͏o͞u ҉sa͢fe." --- quote:"Gawp. Trinh. Dual Surveillance and Taxidermy - Thats almost like a surgeon, yes?. I could not ask for a better cöuple of slave-marked Neötypes for my Squadron.Truly I could not. You are beautiful, and let no one tell you otherwise. --- Voting for returning to Fostis. We'll run into Sikatris sooner or later and whatever's in that vault could give us an edge over her. Jvie fucked around with this message at 03:07 on Nov 20, 2017 |
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Nov 20, 2017 03:05
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Name: Gawp HP: 1/1 Skills: Perception (cooling), Gazing Equipment: Fröman Cuirass (+1), Sikatris Scarf, Sharp Stick (+0), Iron Shield Items: Olivite Pin Glory: 2 Ritual Chits: 10 (artwork bonus) Nägel Corrections Facility (part 9): Gawp found himself back on his bunk in the quarantine area, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, exploring his fresh Brand with his hands and mulling over his conversations from the recent past. When Gawp had given Trinh her shield, what was it that she had said? Trinh posted:"Oh thank you, er... Gawd, was it? It's wonderful. Magda can't have been pleased..." "It's G̎ͬ͛̉̆͆̚a͑̒̐w̍̉ͨ̉̽̎͐p̈͐͊ͩ, a͠ćtuall̶y." He had blushed then, unable to hide how uncomfortable he felt in correcting her. "And no, Mͯ̿a͛ͧ̏͒͗̇ͮgͪd̅͆ͤ́̐̒̈́a̽ͭ w̶as͟n't͞ ̨p̧lea͘sèd̶ a̠̝̻̺t̯̼̝̘ ͈̞͉̲a͓̩̻̰͚̠l̹l̰͈̥̥̭ͅ to see me buying a s̓̒̍ẻ͐c̎͆̃̓ͪ̇ͣoͯ̈́̽ͧn̉̂ͫ̍͊̑̃d ̾s̄ḧ́iͫ̈e̓̐̈́ͪ͒̑́l̿ͬ̂͆d̑ so soon..." The conversation fell flat for just a scant moment, but thankfully Trinh was ready: Trinh posted:"...What are you going to do once the war is over? I'm going to move in with my cousin until I get my business off the ground again." Gawp was utterly flabbergasted by the premise alone. Once... the war was - over? Gawp didn't really know how to react. As far back as he could recall, there had always been some kind of conflict between Tö and Frö. Besides, Gawp had been nothing more than a sickly monsterist miner's son who had been plucked from his life in a sleepy mountain town and whisked off to war. Since that dire moment, he'd never thought beyond getting past the day itself. Now, here he stood, with the Brand of the Wendigo scored across his face - a monsterist in the extreme. He couldn't come home like this, not at all. Whatever plans he might've had originally in life, they didn't matter now. He didn't have the heart to tell her: They were tools of war now. "Tͮ̈ͬ̑̌rͫͣ͋̃͋ͨî͐͌̔n͑͊h̾̇̊̚, I, uh- W͉̩̩̻̦ͅe̗̫̯̝l̙̙̻̭̟ḷ̬͔͓ͅ, I've n̴e͢v͟er ţhough͜t̷ th̸a̵t far̸ ahead!" Before Trinh could ask further, Snödis appeared in the doorway her smart leather uniform, her arms wrapped in the chains that once bound her. Gawp heard her haltingly salute in greeting, her chains jangling. Gawp spun and flipped his hand out and up to his Branded forehead in an awkward motion that proved quite painful. He didn't know what he was saluting for, but it seemed polite. Snödis posted:"Gawp. Trinh. Dual Surveillance and Taxidermy - Thats almost like a surgeon, yes?. I could not ask for a better cöuple of slave-marked Neötypes for my Squadron. Truly I could not. You are beautiful, and let no one tell you otherwise." "No ́o͜ne͞ ͢ha҉s-" Gawp started, but Snödis spoke over him: Snödis posted:"And soon? Soon you will bloom. Now, This will be an emotional time for you, as it will for everybody. I understand that, and the rush when you Wendingöfy or Mutate to your new True Selves will be overwhelming. Lovers' quarrel? If Gawp had been blushing before, his face was veritably burning now from the sudden onrush of blood to his cheeks. "W͢e͟'r͏ȩ ̀jus͝t̵ f̝̫̘r̘i̳͎e̻̬̣̭n̫d̞̹̠̦̜̞̻s̹̹̭̜̣." Gawp croaked. "But I͟'ll j̛o̢iǹ ̶y͝o͡ur S̿ͭ̃ͮ̇̓̃quͥ͐ad̏͑̐̉r͊̈̂͌ó̔̋ͬ̑ͦn̆͒̆ͤ if Trͤ̀ì̀̍n̋ͦ͒̒h͛̓̽͊ wants to." Trinh posted:Trinh snaps to attention. "Do we get free stuff?" Gawp had considered the Captain's offer, but he wanted to see whether he and Trinh would make it through the transformation process first. Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 06:40 on Nov 20, 2017 |
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Nov 20, 2017 06:36
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Jvie posted:Trinh snaps to attention. "Do we get free stuff?" "Of course Trinh, I have already established a contract with the local Millner. It wouldn't do to have a Squadron without any sort of identifier to distance you from the common rabble, now would it? Just present Hat with your measurements, allowing for some Post-Ascendancy leeway naturally, and you shall have your official Neötype Squadron Baret within the allocated requisitionary period."
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Nov 20, 2017 07:22
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| # ? Apr 24, 2024 04:46 |
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Potrait:   Naim: Mason Skillz: Mason Hootin' an' Hollerin' Mason Masonry HeeP: Mason Mason Mason Glury: Masonx11 -> 12 Mason chooses to Head to Noostra… but destroy the linked Nail
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Nov 20, 2017 15:18
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