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 Face: I3 Name: Verika HP: 3/3 Skill: Accuracy Extra Notes: Slinker Pox Immune Backstory: Verika was born in a village of hunters, furriers, and traders, far to the north of the Tö-Frö border. She was raised to hunt, raised to kill, raised to trap and skin and prepare fur hides. Most of all, she was raised to shoot. Whether it be with a bow, a sling, a knife or spear, Verika's aim was second to none. When the army came to Verika's village, the recruiters had offered her parents enough money for the two of them to open up a proper shop in middle of town. Verika couldn't deny her parents their dreams of mercantilism, and Verika wouldn't deny herself her own dreams of soldiery. She had joined the army knowing full well that she was harder than others: colder, darker, more distant than most. Verika wasn't afraid to take life from the living - in fact, there was part of her looked forward to it. The killing was the climax of the hunt, after all: it was what released the prey from its lifelong struggle. Verika claims a Fröman Cuirass (+1) from the Quartermaster. - - - - -  //    Name: Verika HP: 3/3 Skills: Accuracy (active) Equipment: Fröman Cuirass (+1), Sharp Stick (+0) Glory: 0 -> 1 Ritual Chits: 13 -> 14 (artwork bonus) Morrskag Forest: Verika hovered over the failed monsterist's body, alert, waiting for its extremities to stop twitching so she could start looting a corpse instead of an ally. An ignominious death, to die in mid-transformation like that. Even as an abomination, that hapless four-eyed bastard had been an entirely unsuccessful specimen of the Töan people. No great loss, Verika thought. All this meant was one less Wendigo for her to have to worry about killing. As it stood, Monsterism was a blight upon the land. All that meat just goes to waste, too - it's not even suited for animal feed. Verika spat. She would have to wash her hands after this. Verika searched the body of Gawp, rifling through his pockets and sifting through the dead Töan's overstuffed satchel for anything of use. "Week's old gobsdamn bread?" she growled at the corpse, absentmindedly. "That's it? C'mon, wheres the Olivite thingee, where's the scarf and the brand new hat, you stupid slab of Wendigo meat?" She dumped all the bread out onto the forest floor, as if trying to make a point. Nothing but bread came out of the sack, nothing aside from fourteen paper Ritual Chits which fluttered to the ground. Verika cursed as she gathered them all back up, uttering several words she'd only ever heard in the company of sailors. "Fine, you gobsmacking shite-stacker. There's still that spear and that shield of yours..." as she reached for them both she snapped a death-defying glare at any of the others that lingered nearby. Claiming the fallen's Shield: 1d100 77 "Go on without me," she called to her teammates. "I'll catch up, I swear." If they wanted to stick around and contest her claims, there was going to be trouble. "I'm serious, don't fight me on this one. I'm gonna harvest this failure of a Tö's skillcores and I'm gonna take the shield he never used and no one better try and stop me. I'm sick and tired of getting jack squat in this army." Verika carved a straight line across the corpse's flesh with an expert's precision and reached her arm deep within the the Wendigo's vitals, locating the dead Töman's primary skillcore without issue. Claiming the Perception skillcore: 1d100+10 66 Verika fastidiously washed off the dead mutant's skillcore in the waters of a nearby stream, muttering to herself for the benefit of those who might still be within earshot. "I swear, if anyone so much as THINKS of laying claim on this dead Wendigo's stuff I'm going to cut their eyes out while they sleep." She meant it, too. Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 01:48 on Dec 4, 2017 |
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Nov 24, 2017 20:55
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     Gado!!! Skill: Digging (+20, avaliable next turn), Mining (+10, used this turn) HP: 3/3 Glory: 2->3 "Huh." Gado refrains from bolting around the opened Vault well aware of the dangers that could be hidden inside, but after a cursory inspection from the Warlord it's deemed safe enough, so long as they didn't immediately jam their faces against everything present in the room at least. Meandering over to the haphazardly placed pile of trinkets Gado gives his face mask a gentle brush of the hand, there was a mask on the table and his own was in pretty rough shape after all the Unexpectables had been through. With Grimper having declared they'd figure out the odd mechanism in the room later, Gado turns a Miner's eye back to the vault door. The examination party had figured the doors would make a good material for some gear down the road, and now that they weren't under particular time duress. The odd metal pin Gawp had scrounged up had flown back into the door, but it also appeared to have been an integral part of the contraption, could the horde figure out a way to pull bits from the door that wouldn't be recalled once the door was sealed? Did distance matter for the recall process? Free Roll on Loot according to Discord DK: 11 to nab the Mask Giving the Olivite door a good think to see if we can't loot some of it for gear upgrades somehow. 27 mining Successful Businessmanga fucked around with this message at 22:19 on Nov 24, 2017 |
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Nov 24, 2017 21:16
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   HP:3 Glory:21 Lying Cooldown Splut pored over the reports, scowling: what they did have was cause for serious concern, but his Lying core had buzzed and fluttered that they didn't know enough. Lies of omission, as blatant as the ones the Nails prevented but potentially far more damaging. He went over the ciphered messages tö and fröm Fröman Command, picking up what hints he could muster as to what the relief effort was going to be. There was a way to get some real information out of the townsfolk, but it would require a hell of a lot of bluffing on his part, and probably be more than a little risky besides. Given what the shakedown crew had been able to muster, he could make it seem very convincing: He had the names of the nearby commanders, the fact of ciphered communication, and enough local knowledge to make a good fist of it. He was going to pretend to be an infiltrating forward element of the Fröman relief force looking to make contact with what resistance they could, see for himself what loopholes around the nail they were exploiting and try to get a better idea of what was truly going down, the details that had been kept from them. He made a copy of the report conclusions and handed them off to a Mook to get to Grimper, with an addendum there was more still to be found and that he was proceeding to do so. He looked around for the infiltration and covert-cored specialists of the horde, such as they were. Solo or as a team, they'd get to the bottom of this. He just had to hope it wouldn't be too late. Bluffing the Fostisians by pretending to be an infiltrator from the Fröman relief force to get the last vital information out of them: 45
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Nov 24, 2017 21:36
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   Name: Doc HP: 2 Glory: 4 Skill: Surgery (Resonated. +15) Doc really wants that Bonegineering Skillcore. Nothing else mattered. Cut it out!: 1d100+5 = 94 Kyyp fucked around with this message at 21:55 on Nov 24, 2017 |
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Nov 24, 2017 21:49
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   Name: Neebs Skill(s): Sales (+10) (used this turn), Drinking (+10) (on cooldown) HP: 3/3 Glory: 4 -> 5 Freaking typical. While Starn convinced most of the mooks guarding the wagons to help him set up a perimeter, with barely anyone paying attention to the captive's wagon; the prisoners had released themselves and one had gotten outside the perimeter. At least it wasn't the clown releasing them. Neebs bolted upright, dropping the drink she had been nursing. This was exactly what she had expected would happen. She yelled at the clown: "Don't you dare start mumming about again, follow me; we need to catch that escaped prisoner." Neebs proceeded to chase the escapee through the town, using her sales-pitch voice to enlist the aid of any Fostian citizens within earshot. Chase the escapee, projecting sales-voice to get Fostians to help chase the guy down: 1d100+10+4 29 Unfortunately, it seemed the few Fostians within earshot indicated the Fröman had left the town.
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Nov 24, 2017 21:53
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  Name: Harlee Skill: Clowning (Cooldown) HP: 3/3 Equipment: Really Puffy Yellow Collar (Armor +1) Glory: 4 It was all her fault, really. Not that she would tell the others. Let them be oblivious. That Escape Artist? Yeah, she could totally tell the scientist had the skill core. She'd known many Escape Artists in her circuit of the circuses, and they all moved a certain way. She picked it out easily. So of course she had to use it in her act! So when How was she to know that the other hordelings were so lacking in timing? Hehehe, at least it was funnier this way! Half-wit posted:
Hearing this, Harlee laughed and saluted Neebs with a grandiose gesture, knocking herself off her feet with comic effect. Getting up, she ran after the Escape Artist and tried to trip him up by throwing the funniest objects at him she could find along the way: Banana peels, "fertilizer," comically large bundles of mining explosives, pies, underwear, etc. Chuckin' some funny stuff at Escape Artist: 1d100+4: 17 [1d100=13] Turns out none of those things are particularly aerodynamic and/or suitable for stopping fugitives! Slaan fucked around with this message at 23:10 on Nov 24, 2017 |
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Nov 24, 2017 22:32
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    Extra Skillcore: Sitting Quietly HP: 3 Glory: 16-17 Ritual Glory: 5 Snödis rushed to Trinhs side as the change overtook her, taking her Ascendancy in with all the focus four eyes would bring. When she came to, Snödis was there, awestruck and grinning ear-to-ear. "Trinh. Let me be the first to welcome you back to the world of the living. We mere baseline Neötypes are humbled in your presence, and those without our endowments, well, they must be quaking in fear or sweating with lust. You and Qwäg represent the best of us, and I for one could not be happier." --- The Vile Mechanism lay before them, as cryptic as the message outside. It was clear it was made for taking something from ten individuals to transfer to... a table? Something positioned on the table, perhaps? Or perhaps it was the other way around. She turned to the others for input, making an effort to give the other (prospective) captain some extra attention. "What do you reckon it does, Noggins? It ain't exactly carpentry, but a chair is a chair, am I right? Even if they aren't the most comfortable of fit, they are clearly made for sitting in. I'm all for giving it a go, personally." As she made to inspect the Mechanism a bit closer, she made to palm the Spool of Wire. Wire was always useful, and Old Guy Wire? There could be no-end of uses! Claiming the Spool of Wire: 1d100 95 Her mind dreamt of stringed instruments of war, able to carry the tunes of her whistling pet-rock and her own Voice besides over the battlefield.
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Nov 24, 2017 23:07
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   Name: Patsy Skill: Baking Skillcores: Regeneration HP: 2 Self-Esteem: 0 Glory: 3 Everything hurt... and was that a tree? What was he doing underneath a... oh. The last thing Patsy remembered was trekking into the woods to scout, tripping over a branch and then black. That was... embarrassing wasn't a strong enough word. He really, really hoped none of the rest of the horde had seen that, although if they hadn't then they also probably hadn't done the greatest job scouting, which wasn't ideal. Patsy pulled himself up off the ground, wiped dead leaves off as best he could, and trudged back to camp. None of this made sense. Now, Patsy hadn't ever really been good at much, but he had been a good baker, and lately he wasn't even that. He hadn't managed to do anything right really, not since the last time he'd gone scouting. The horde ran on his bread once, and now they ran from it... when he even bothered to cook. Maybe Magda knew something about curses? Are curses even a thing? He'd never really believed in them before, but now, he was starting to wonder. He would be sure to ask her next downtime. For now, Patsy was going to go back to his roots, and see if maybe he couldn't help himself with baking by finding something to augment the rudimentary kitchen supplies the Unexpectables generally travelled with. Maybe Portha could help when she finished whatever it was she was working on: she'd seemed solid in the kitchen and he knew she had a knack for finding whatever she went hunting for. Searching Fostis for a means to augment the hordes cooking equipment: 1d100+3 = 5 Having failed to even find an oven of any sort in a large town, which had to be some kind of record, Patsy trudged back to the main camp and sought out Magda. Yes. Yes Patsy just rolled the bare minimum again. Twice, in a row. He really is cursed and Magda better have his back. Mithross fucked around with this message at 23:13 on Nov 25, 2017 |
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Nov 24, 2017 23:21
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In fact, looking back over my orokos history, Patsy has rolled a 2 on a d100 three times out of 17, and I also got a two on that random silly side roll I made.
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Nov 24, 2017 23:25
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 Sucy HP: 3 Glory: 18 -> 19 Skill: Mushrooms Sucy examined the room carefully, it was smaller than she had expected, but considering the literally legendary abilities of Old Guys technology, she didn't doubt that the mechanism it contained would be powerful indeed. For her own safety she resolved that others would try out the mechanism first. Moving on across the room, her eyes fell on the small pile of stuff that was lying on the table and with fingers nimble from plucking mushrooms all day, she made an instinctive grab for the ring, who knows what power it might convey, it was of old guy origins after all. Claim the Ring: 1d100+10: 73 After that she started the trek up top again, in order to corral the townspeople, so that they would not get in the way during the fight or worse yet, betray them in some clever fashion, as surely the Fröans' counter attack was on its way. Corral the townspeople: 1d100+18: 98
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Nov 24, 2017 23:36
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   Pythag HP: (3) of (3) Skill: Math Equipment: Armor (+5), Iron Shield Glory: 3 Sweat rolled down Pythag's face from the stress of the vault. Not only was Grimper here (so any failure was potentially deadly) and not only was he surrounded by the Neotype squad (so there was a heightened risk of monsterism) but it was all going on in an Old Guy Vault. The look of fear on his face wasn't about to fool anyone. Despite the initial moment of conviction to march down here, Pythag's thoughts toggled between regretting it, blaming Magda for pointing out his previous cowardice, an horrible thoughts of vile mechanisms cutting open his skull and unraveling his brain like a früt roll-up. Pythag reached for the thing that might hide the shame and fear on his face - the Mask. Maybe if no one else could see his fear, he wouldn't feel it so bad. Free Loot Roll: Mask - 1d100 = 40 Action: Pending
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Nov 24, 2017 23:47
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    Noggins Skillcores: Carpentry, Precision HP: 3 Glory: 22->23 Ritual Glory: 1 The path down to the Vault was quiet, save for the grinding of the minecart wheels, the heavy breathing of the soon-to-be-Wendigoes, and the occasional grunt from Grimper as he squeezed with a particularly tight spot. Positioned towards the back as she was, Noggins had plenty of time to consider Qwäg. She was... different. Physically different, obviously. Larger than she had been, broader, with more eyes and an arm that was... weird... now. But she seemed like a different person on the inside, too. She'd been, well, nervous before. High-strung, perpetually on the lookout. But now she was possessed of some sort of strange confidence, her new eyes seemingly focused on something that only she could see. Was that just because the worst had already happened? Or was it a side-effect of the actual transformation? Would Hob change, too? Her concern only increased when Trinh transformed, gaining a certain alien beauty, marred only somewhat by the incandescent pink of her wounds. But she was unmistakably monstrous all the same--her terrifying claws left little question as to that. How was Snödis so calm in the face of that? Was her conviction in her beliefs really that strong? Noggins pushed it aside for now. There was work to be done. The first order of business was that hammer. She might not know Wendigoes, or Old Guy technology, but Noggins knew about hammers, of all kinds. Claw, sledgehammer, ball peen. deadblow, tack hammer, warhammer... all had their peculiarities, but they were hammers. There was only so strange that it could possibly be. Stop! Hammer Time!: 1d100 42 Swedish Thaumocracy posted:"What do you reckon it does, Noggins? It ain't exactly carpentry, but a chair is a chair, am I right? Even if they aren't the most comfortable of fit, they are clearly made for sitting in. I'm all for giving it a go, personally." "I'm... not sure. I don't know if I really think that the actual chairs are part of it..." she walked up to one of the chairs, gingerly probing its recesses. "It kind of reminds me of Nail rituals, though. You know, like how you form a perimeter to keep the power in, right? But the handprints... I mean, you're clearly meant to bleed, but... then what? Does that do something in place of a Nail?" Investigate the Table and Chairs With Precision: 1d100+32 73 "Hey Hob, you said you found some kind of picture that was sort of like this, didn't you?"
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Nov 24, 2017 23:58
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   N̻̩ͬ̉̃a̫̭̣̼̹ͮm̠̥̱̥͚e̯͕͡: Hob HP͝: 1/1 G̀ͪ́ͥl͑̎́ory҉̶̛̤͍̼: 9>10 Ri͞t̲͠ua͚̝̹͉̟͇l Glory : 5 Skill: Bee keeping(used), Contortion(used), Ş̀̕̕͜i̷n̢g̸̵̨i̸̧͜ņ̢̨͝g̛(cooldown) D̵̻o̼̦̜̗͕o̧̭̻̭̤͕̺m ͓̖͚͎̟̮͠counter: 2>1 Hob was in the vault! Actually in the vault! "W̧͚͕͉̦͠o̷̭͉͍̰͈̯͉̭w̖̠, ahem." Looking around, it was nothing like he had imagined. But the chairs... Walking around them, Hob spied the Ring on the table. Magical rings were a staple of stories, but equally so were cursed ones. The others were reaching for some of the items so he Contorted his body between the others to snag the RING: 1d100+10 68, being careful not to touch the table while he did so. Best he ran the risk of the curse, the others could take it from his cooling corpse soon enough. Speaking of which, time was of the essence. Hob's doomsday clock was ticking down. He still had time, yes, but every action was important. Had to make it count. "We shouldn;t activate it just yet, too dangerous, but we can perhaps deduce the puzzle. "We ne̲͍̝͙͚̗̤e̥͡d̤̜̣̭̞. *cough* we need to work out what this does, what's this? S̄̾ͬ҉̡̦̮͎̝̤̮̺̙P͙̺̉ͧ̆̾͌̓͢͡I̦͖̮͇̣͚̰̳͂̄͂̓̒̌̈͞N̟͌ͭ̇̿̈́ͨͣ̿́͟͞ͅE̫͕̐͊́̆̊Sͦͤ̆҉̻͍̞͜ͅ *cough cough*, spines here?" The Lord of Hats posted:"Hey Hob, you said you found some kind of picture that was sort of like this, didn't you?" Hob tugged the his hat down over the right hand side of his face before nodding to Noggins, pointing out any copies of the images he could see. "The image from outside po̵̧͎ͧ̑͊ͭͪ́ints to the ten into the one, their minͤ́ͭ̿ḋ̝ͧ̋̂̏ͮͦs̝͖͐̃? SKills? But leaving them black, Ā̻̩͕͚̖̰ͥ ̭͙̩͓ͤ́VͪͭͭŎ̼͔̯̮̰̭Ḭ̻͍̭̭̏͛͌͛ͦ̓̋D͈ hrm~ a void. Or corrupted maybe? It's..." Hob wracked his mind. "The many benefit ẗ͔h̜̤̪̝̟̤̊e̜ ͇̬̥̃͋͊̀̊̎̚o̭̮ͦͩ̉ͅn̯͎̰ě̤ͨ̇. The queen is strong so the Hive is strong. The swarm may diminish but while ẗ͔h̜̤̪̝̟̤̊e̜ ͇̬̥̃͋͊̀̊̎̚o̭̮ͦͩ̉ͅn̯͎̰ě̤ͨ̇ remains, they are safe. But the stings, they face the wrong way. Stinging themselves? Or sacrificing themselves against a threat. Hmm. But what is the threat? We know them to be cruel mͮ̉͛҉͖o̿ͫ̽ͫ̎͏̺̥̠̰̭̤̤n̫͇͛ș̢͔̗̥̹ͧ͂̃̊t̑̊̈̋ͫe̩̋ͫͫ̿ͫr̸̩̤̖͖̘̓ͫ͑s̛̙͚, inflicitign suffering. The blades outside, a clue? When leafcutter bees slice through wood and leaves, it is clean, it then they use it to c͉͉͕͇̣̲̞r͈̤̯e̟͍͎a͙̫̘̲̣̟͔t̝͙̭̗ḙ̙ ̣̲̹̰̫l͓͈̞͍̮i͚͚̜f̣e̗, to build a protective egg shield. Could this t̬̰͚̘͚͈ak̭̘͕͉͔̲e̩̗͓͍̺ the cuts from one living thing to build up another? Literal or figurative? Hmm. Literal." beekeeping wisdom to puzzle out the Vile Mechanism: 1d100+19 109. "Zapanda mentioned woodcutting secrets in the other v̛̫͓au҉l̹̤͈̣͎̥͜t̹̰͈̹͙̯̬, do any of you see anything that seems to have synergy with your skillcores? The smallest link could help us work it out. Maybe." There had to be a link. Hob's fate had taken him here. Death was nearing. It was his fate, wasn't it? He wasn;t so sure anymore, as the time got closer. The Old guys cruelty... Could Wendigoes be another example of that? Not fate, not meaning. Just another cruel trick. He would need to talk to Noggins before then. She had been a good friend. Say his goodbyes. He willed his legs to move but they ignored him. He still had time. WereGoat fucked around with this message at 00:34 on Nov 25, 2017 |
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Nov 25, 2017 00:10
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 Skill: Sleuthing (used), Science (using) HP: 3/3 Glory: 5 ----> 6 Humbug spent some time going through the results of the interrogations with Biggo. None of the new intel was presenting good news for the Horde - amusing anecdotes aside. There were enough commanders nearby, indicating military forces, that the Horde's life could be made very difficult indeed, if they all converged... though it was likely that Noostra would be reinforced by one of or two of them, while the others investigated Fostis. The Sleuth hoped cracking the Old Guy Vault would prove worth the effort and cost, because battle would be coming soon enough! Suddenly his attention was brought to a hue and cry from the where the prisoners had been held - a breakout attempt? His hypothesis was quickly confirmed as he saw Neebs and that hilariously incompetent buffoon, Harlee, trying to chase down one of the scientists. It wasn't looking like they were having much success, the prisoner having gotten a decent head start, and poor Harlee kept tripping over his own tools of trade. Oh! Ow. How had that rake gotten out there? He reluctantly tore his gaze from the pursuers, to instead frown at the runner. It just wouldn't do - a prisoner, escaping, and telling on the Unexpectables, after all the the pain and effort the Horde had been through to be, well, mostly unexpected? Unfortunately, they were clever types, these Frömen scientists, and it looked like their chosen had planned their escape route well. Humbug hummed, eyes narrowing, his skillcore-enhanced mind calculating likely optimal trajectories for the Escapist through Fostis town. Most likely they'd tumble through the narrow alleyways behind the Crusty Keg, avoid any Töan mooks running towards them from the Mayor's office to the north or the base camp to the east, and then... there. The Sleuth sauntered over to the end of Grockit Lane and rested against the wall as he waited for the hapless Frömen to make a dash for freedom. As soon as the Escapist crossed the corner the Sleuth's arm stretched forth, clotheslining them from nowhere. Humbug almost smiled at the dazed, shocked expression, which would have ruined the stern look he was trying to give them. It was so much like old times in the Watch, chasing down petty criminals and gaining a name for himself as a capable thief-catcher. Think like a scientist to catch a scientist: 1d100+15 98
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Nov 25, 2017 00:31
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   Name: Bamboo HP: 3/3 Glory: 20 + 1 (Action Glory) > 21 Skill: Basket Weaving [ACTIVATE] -[Fostis Caves]- Bamboo slowly lowered her hands from her face as the light from the vault faded. She blinked in rapid succession to try and restore her vision; why was it always blinding light and choral music during these types of events? This makes two Old Guys Vaults she's visited now, and, Bamboo wasn't sure if she would ever get use to it. There was just something so . . . alien, about the these places. Something so . . . wrong? Not that it mattered. What did matter were the artifacts she now found herself starring at, just lying on the table. In particular, the Mask. "Yes, the mask would interest you, wouldn't it?" Bamboo only nodded, and walked towards Her Prize. She had to have it. She had to make it hers. Again. "I wonder, would it make you better, or worse?" Loot Roll > Bamboo tries to claim the Mask: 1d100 2 [1d100=2]  Patsy!!! Take back your bad rolling luck!!! ***** As Hob moved to investigate the Vile Mechanism, Bamboo quietly join him. She had seen what these 'traps' were capable of last time, and she had no desire to have her legs removed, or, bear witness to more senseless amputations. Bamboo cast her eyes about the room, looking for this puzzle-trap. She would solve it, she would get stronger, she would weave a solution out of the air if that's what it required. Action > Bamboo 'weaves' a solution to the Vile Mechanism: 1d100+20 71 [1d100=51]
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Nov 25, 2017 00:57
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The curse is spreading!!!
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Nov 25, 2017 01:08
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Extra Skillcore: Sitting Quietly HP: 3 Glory: 16-17 Ritual Glory: 5->6 "Well." Snödis said, "there is only one way to find out!" Sitting Quietly to Suss out the Secret of the Chairs: 1d100+10+17 = 118 
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Nov 25, 2017 01:08
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   Name: Portha Skills: Rummaging (cooldown), Cleaning, Imagining HP: 2/3 Glory: 11 There was too much ground to cover. Hopefully they'd catch someone with one of the traps but it didn't seem likely. Portha knew her best chance at this point would be to wait for a report from the scouts and focus on shoring up the defenses on the enemy's main path of advancement. The real trick was building something that could be quickly deployed and was easy to conceal but still effective at taking out the enemy. She'd have to go through what was left of Fostis' supplies with a bit more creativity. Think of some more quick traps with what's left 1d100+26=55 Whatever they were, they were terrible but could probably still be used to some effect with a little creativity.
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Nov 25, 2017 01:16
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My gut says get Magda in the OG vault for consultation. If it's a ritual book that's the reward for besting the Vile Mechanism, then Magda's ritual knowledge is what is needed to get it. Cause HP 3/3 Glory 1>2 https://i.imgur.com/9n3SLRb.png https://i.imgur.com/xjq9KBZ.png Archeology (using) CHASE THAT ESCAPE ARTIST,THE TRACKS AND BROKEN BRANCHES OF HIS TEARASSING AWAY IS BASICALLY VERY RECENT ARCHEOLOGY. Cause ran with the desperate strength of the newly traitorous. An escape artist... Well, you'd think he might even be the guy to notice what his doctor/keeper could do, but it's not like the monsterized were given the chance to press their caretakers for info. That one had always had a very watchful eye about him, though... Almost as if he knew where people's opportunities were. Well, Cause knew just barely enough about the ways of the forests to recognize the signs running at a breakneck pace left. And it was always nice to find a specious opportunity to apply his education! Now, someone who knew about escaping might well know to leave a fake trail, it all depended on the lead time he had, and whether he had any other skillcores gleaming in that clever gut of his..... (I may have screwed up here, I implied I was using archeology last turn but didn't add it to my roll. If it's ok, I'm adding in my skill this time.) https://orokos.com/roll/571531 1d100+10+1= 37 Education... not as... relevant... as surmised....
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Nov 25, 2017 01:36
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Is it time for Ringo to do something incredibly ill-advised? Probably.
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Nov 25, 2017 01:44
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   Name: Ringo! HP: 2/2 (Crippled) Glory: 11>12 Skill: Lockpicking, Ventriloquism (cooldown), Whistling (using now) Ringo whispered to the others from behind a fallen tree. "One or all of you hoof it back to town and tell everyone what we've seen here. I don't really care who it is. Just run like hell and don't look back. I'm about to improvise." Ringo took a deep breath, and then put his fingers to his lips. The shrill alarm cut through the sound of marching feet like a knife. Ringo put on his best surprised face and mugged for the invading Frömans. "Holy poo poo! Wait till the boss hears about this!" Without waiting for anyone to get even a step up on him, he dashed off headlong into the woods perpendicular to Föstis, only taking enough extra breath to keep the alarm going. Now, if only the others had enough sense to scram and warn Grimper while the Reds' attention was divided. Whistle for Attention (and then run like hell): 2d100+21 156 Edit: Took that extra d100 for the element of surprise. Green Intern fucked around with this message at 02:27 on Nov 25, 2017 |
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Nov 25, 2017 02:25
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 Name: Börk Skills: Kissing (using), Listening (cooldown) HP: 3 Glory: 2 ->3 Börk saw several others give chase to the fleeing Froman, and got an idea - he'd circle round a different route and head the fugitive off. But as he ran close to the lake, he heard someone yelling. Only snatches of the voice carried. "Go on... fight me... harvest... skillcores... thinks of laying... sleep..." His ears pricked up at the woman's voice. Skillcores? Fantastic! And getting laid or sleeping with someone? Even better! Abandoning his chase, Börk darted off the track towards the source of the shout. He arrived behind the female Töan, who seemed to be standing over a Wendingo. At first, Börk shuddered, but it seemed to be lifeless at her feet. The familiar glint of a skillcore emboldened him, and he began to approach. Time to turn on the charm. Shirtless, he sidled up behind her and put his hands on her hips, leant in close and kissed her neck. "Hey guuuurl, what's -" But that's as far as he got. Next thing he knew, Börk felt a pounding in his chest; though it wasn't his romantic heart, but a well placed shove. He planted his arse in the pine needles and dirt. Poor Börk. He wasn't normally this forward in approaching women - after all, he'd done all his kissing practice with his hand. It was only meant to be a distraction. But now he wasn't sure what he hoped Verika thought - on the one hand if she thought he was a creepy little sexually-aggressive sod, that was bad. But if she figured out what he had really been after... was that worse? He couldn't decide. In any case, she looked more than a tad miffed. --------- Roll to claim Perception Skillcore: 1d100+10(kissing) = 22 (ouch) simplefish fucked around with this message at 03:11 on Nov 25, 2017 |
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Nov 25, 2017 03:04
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   Skill 2: Amputation HP: 1/1 Glory 14 Ritual Glory 1 Qwäg stared with her panoply of strange eyes at the Old Guy apparatus before them, lips curling in a silent snarl. Even to her uncanny new levels of pattern recognition, this was inscrutable. A method of interrogation? Formation of a hive mind? A ritual to imbue new (or extant) Warlords with the power of their lessers? Given time, she could puzzle it out, but they were crucially short on that commodity. One of her eyes, the surly one in her right arm, cut to Grimper, and Qwäg wondered, not for the first time, the true circumstances of his becoming. Then, back to the hateful chair. "NǪ́T ̧͡S̷̕͡Ì̢̀T̕͜͝T̨I̡̡N̶̨͡G̢͜ ҉͝IN̡͏ TH͘͞AT.̨͝ , " she declares simply and unambiguously, before turning to Captain Snödis. "Ơ̷L̕̕͜D ̸͘G͞U̡͠Y͘ WÍ̶̡R͘҉E," she observes, not to be confused with an old guy wire. "Ç͘O̵͡͡U҉L̶͟D͘͞ ̧B̡͜͏Ȩ͡ ̛͡U̕͡͞S̸̸E̷F̨U͟͜L̵.͏͘ .. L͢ÉT̷̡ ̨͟͠M̡Ę ̢KN̶͘͞Ǫ͜W̨͘͡ I͜F͡ ̸I͜͞T̴'̸͢҉S̀͘͞ N̨̨Ò̶T̛͟ T̶̶̀Ơ YO̶̸U͏͟Ŗ͟ ̛T̶A̢̢͜S̶T̵͜͝E̛͝ ...I̕ C͜͏͟A͏N͟͞ ̡́Ḓ̡̛̤̭͙̯͔Ę͖͔̬͇F̶͓̤̱͕̱͇́Ì̙̳͔̲̭N͍̱̻̲̦̫̺̺͞I̛̦̙̞̝ͅṰ͙͠E͉̼̻̩̹̼L̶̼̕Y̵̘̘̹̮͙̳͜͞ F̧́IN̢͝D̷ ̨͏À̡ ̕͠͞U̸͜͜S̴͠Ę̀͢ ͜͝F̢́Ǫ͜R̛͝ ̀́̕Ì̀T͟.͝ " As the Captain takes a seat, and some of the team sets to investigating the Mechanism, Qwäg watches intently. She will turn her intöan insight to unraveling the mystery of the Vile thing, and guard well Her Horde. If anything unsavory presents itself, or if someone should find a hand stuck fast to a life-draining artifact with no chance of escape, Qwäg will not hesitate to Amputate the offending member. Investigate the Vile Mechanism / Do The Necessary: 1d500+24 32
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Nov 25, 2017 03:44
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 Name: Dack Skills: Athletics (Used last round), Ą̀͠c̵̢͡͠͏r̴̸̛͝͡o͘͢͜͡b͜à̵̡̕t̷̢̀͜i̸̸͞c͘͟s̀͜͟ (Using) HP: 3 (Soon to be 1) Glory: 11>12 Doom Clock: Two rounds remain With Trinh transforming in front of Dack's eyes, and with the Warlord's warning, Dack realized he was running out of time to think about what he should do. He could run into the wilderness and hope he didn't die or become a Wendigo, but that could also result in him dying alone. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he never had a choice to begin with. It was decided for him the moment he took that Wendigo's skillcore, and now he had to pay the price. But it's not all bad, right? Snödis seemed to be genuinely supportive of the Wendigo members of the squad, and maybe after transforming Dack will get a mouth he could actually speak out of? Seeing as all of the treasures on the table were being claimed, Dack follows after the Warlord, finally ready to accept a Brand. Assuming he wasn't incapacitated by pain, Dack planned to help out the others in figuring out the Vile Mechanism. He wasn't smart, but he could probably balance on the spiky and narrow tops of the chairs to search the room for anything not immediately obvious, like a hidden lever or something inscribed in the ceiling or whatever. Hopefully the chairs were sturdy enough to support Dack's weight... Going to have Dack get Branded first. Using Ą̀͠c̵̢͡͠͏r̴̸̛͝͡o͘͢͜͡b͜à̵̡̕t̷̢̀͜i̸̸͞c͘͟s̀͜͟ to search the room by balancing on and jumping between the tops of the chairs: 63. I rolled a 2...
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Nov 25, 2017 03:48
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  Name: Gabber Skill: Mimicry, Listening (using), Night Vision {cooldown} HP: 2/3 Glory: 5 -> 6 Gabber eyed the army marching down the road with wary apprehension. He was still in his spot a short distance from the others, but he hadn't needed to worry about missing any approaching forces; there'd been no attempt by the drumming army at masking their approach. A warlord, he thought, eyeing the walking set of hulking battle armor. Is this Sikatris? Or someone else? Either way, they clearly needed to get back and warn those at Fostis of the approaching danger. With such a small group, there wasn't much they could do. Gabber scratched his chin, trying to think of a plan. They had the element of surprise - maybe they could silently slink off a ways, then quickly make their back once out of sight? There was no way they could infiltrate as their skin color alone would give them away, and their small group stood no chance against a group of this size. They needed the whole Horde - they needed Grimper. He was about to leave his somewhat secluded position to rejoin the others and try to discuss a plan, when he spied Ringo whispering to those nearest his position, and then suddenly standing up and whistling as loud as he could. Oh poo poo. poo poo poo poo poo poo. Green Intern posted:"Holy poo poo! Wait till the boss hears about this!" Without waiting for anyone to get even a step up on him, he dashed off headlong into the woods perpendicular to Föstis, only taking enough extra breath to keep the alarm going. Now, if only the others had enough sense to scram and warn Grimper while the Reds' attention was divided. Fight or flight kicked in, and his body began moving him in the opposite direction of Ringo with as much haste as he could make. He didn't wait to see if others were following, or charging, or frozen in place. Gabber began bolting in the general direction of Fostis and away from where Ringo was headed with all haste. Have to stay off the road. Have to use the cover as much as I can. Have to warn the Warlord. Oh poo poo poo poo poo poo poo poo. Tearing down the hill side and making towards Fostis with all haste he could muster, the brush and branches of the woods tore at him as he went. He'd eventually have to make his way into the road again, but he needed to put some distance between him and that army first. As he scrambled away from their lookout position, he tried to listen as hard as he could to see if he was pursued. Were they following him, or Ringo and the others? ...he hoped it was the others. Running Back to Fostis Using Woods as Cover/Listening for Pursuers and Trying to Avoid Capture: 2d100+15 204  89 and 100? Hot drat!-------- Action: Get back to Fostis, using woods as cover as much as possible. Ultimate goal is to tell Grimper directly, but will warn anyone else he passes on the way, specifically keeping an eye out for Magda. Task Manager fucked around with this message at 05:11 on Nov 25, 2017 |
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Nov 25, 2017 05:03
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Noggins Skillcores: Carpentry, Precision HP: 3 Glory: 23 Ritual Glory: 1 As Hob spoke, it rapidly became harder to understand him, as snippets of s̫̝̘̦͢ơ̗̼͉͖̪ͅn̴̮̜̦g͕ started working their way into his words. It was obvious to everyone that whatever was going to happen to him, it was going to happen soon. It was obvious to Noggins that for however brave a face he was putting on right now, he was terrified. She stepped away from the bit of machinery she was examining, and walked up next to Hob, throwing an arm around his shoulders, pulling it back reflexively when she felt how hot he was, then settling it back down. "Hey. Hey. I'm here for you. Okay? I'm here. Whatever happens next, I'm here for you." with her free hand, she patted down her side. She hadn't thought to bring a waterskin along, even tough she knew it was probably going to come to this at any moment. Why had she forgotten? Why? What kind of terrible friend was sh--no. No. Hob had told her himself that this wasn't her fault. Be Slick. It would have been nice if she could help more, but that just wasn't the way things were. She couldn't get him a drink, but she was going to be here for him. "You're going to live, okay? I'm not just saying that. Qwäg and Trinh are doing just fine, and you will, too. It's going to be different, but you're going to live, and you're going to be the best drat friendigo in the entire Horde, you got that?" Bracing herself, Noggins drew Hob in for a searing hug. It hurt, but the hurt was good.
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Nov 25, 2017 05:20
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Börk posted:He arrived behind the female Töan, who seemed to be standing over a Wendingo. At first, Börk shuddered, but it seemed to be lifeless at her feet. The familiar glint of a skillcore emboldened him, and he began to approach. Time to turn on the charm. Shirtless, he sidled up behind her and put his hands on her hips, leant in close and kissed her neck. Name: Verika HP: 3/3 Skills: Accuracy (active) Equipment: Fröman Cuirass (+1), Sharp Stick (+0) Glory: 1 Ritual Chits: 14 -> 15 (artwork bonus) Morrskag Forest (part 2): Verika couldn't believe the audacity of some horde members. The Unexpectable Horde is right, she thought to herself. "Can I help you, small fry?" Verika had rebuffed the lustful Töan's unwanted advances with a single shove, knocking him flat on his rear end. She rounded on him and made as if to kick him in the peas and carrot, pausing mid-swing just to make him flinch. She smiled at the instinctively cowardly display. Verika wiped the wet spot off her neck with disgusted sneer and glowered at the shirtless Töman. "Börk, right? Aren't you supposed to be guarding the wagon train with the other gormless layabouts? How did you even know I was out here?" The pitiful Tö could barely squeak out a reply, too busy staring at her bust, most likely. Verika shifted so that the Perception skillcore she was holding would be squarely hidden behind her back. "For the last time, Börk, I'm not into you! So get your pine-needle-y rear end out of here before I have to repeat myself again."  Börk. Of all the Unexpectables, why did it have to be Börk? For a Tö who was supposed to be good at both Kissing and Listening, he was decidedly bad at both. Hadn't she just said she would blind the next fool who loot-blocked her? Didn't he know that the dead Wendigo was also carrying the Gazing skillcore? If anything, Börk was better off Gazing at women than he would ever be at Perceiving their needs... Verika's thoughts rumbled with a simmering dissatisfaction. She'll just have to be true to her word some other day. Verika knew that in matters like these it was best not to engage, much less waste actions or words on fools. Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 12:00 on Nov 25, 2017 |
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Nov 25, 2017 07:08
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        Name: Stårn Additional skills: Butterfly Beastmaster HP: 3 Glory: 21 -> 22 Stårn slammed a hand on his own forehead. How foolish of him! He had been so busy preparing for an outside siege, that he totally forgot to prepare for the eventuality of an inside siege! Stupid, stupid. Totally unforgivable. They had even performed some inside siege to the enemy during the Siege of Nägel, so all this should be fresh on his mind. What would pa think? What would the Warlord think? His entire honor as a respectable sieger was in line here! He had to do something. And this something, he resolved, was to send a cloud of butterflies to follow and hang above the escapee so he would be easy to track. A genius plan! ... ...... Hey, what was that neat looking thing on the ground? A scarf of some sort? Was it abandoned? Did somebody own it? Stårn didn't rightly now, but he just got the sort of feeling that whoever owned it much didn't care for it anymore, so it might as well be repossessed. Butterfly Beastmaster to capture escapee by marking down his position: 1d100+31=114 Also, looting that Sikatris scarf left to the camp by the now-perished Gawp for I can tell it is up for grabs via the famous Töan loot-sense: 1d100=84
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Nov 25, 2017 16:23
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"It was strange," Patsy thought. "Maybe the people in Fostis just didn't like bread."
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Nov 25, 2017 17:51
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The Lord of Hats posted:"It was strange," Patsy thought. "Maybe the people in Fostis just didn't like bread." 
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Nov 25, 2017 17:52
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  HP: 3 Glory: 4 -> 5 Skill: Jousting (being used), Guarding (on CD) In her mind, the Long disappeared into the clouds, shining and splendid. The view from the hill outside of her home allowed one to take in everything - the rising Long, the bronze-walled compound at its foot, the distant forests of Frö on the horizon. She had been so full of hope, so sure that an exalted place in the Töan military awaited her, a glorious placement that would make her family proud and redeem her community in the face of skepticism and blasphemy. So different from her younger self, given to rebellion and certain that the Long was nothing more than it appeared, a crystalline pole that rose infinitely into the sky, placed there by a technologically advanced race for some inscrutable purpose, it's Virtues lies passed down from antiquity and its priests fools who died in the attempt to climb it. How naive she had been, both in her rebellious childhood and in her credulous young adult ambition. The Töan military had no need of her, had passed her off to a disgraced Warlord, a ragtag Horde. And how high had she risen above, how her Horde had risen above, living up to their name in her heart and in the expectations of high command. Now she believed. She believed in redemption, for her religion, her Warlord, and her Horde. She believed in potential, the fate of her Horde and her friends. And she believed in herself - her own HUGE dreams, her own HARD resolve, her own SLICK strength, and her own SCINTILLENT nature. Without looking, Vist's hand struck like a viper, grabbing Gabber's arm before he could flee. "WAIT," she hissed, "Dinnae let Ringo's gamble be for nothin'." Maybe the mute Hordeling wasn't as doughty a warrior as she believed. "Ye and I are gonnae watch and see how they be movin', and THEN we go," All this in hushed tones. The wagon lay waiting, and with a signal she lay flat, bringing Gabber and the rest of the team with her. "We was ordered to BLOODY THEIR drat'D NOSES," Vist whispered through clenched teeth. She would not be thwarted by cowardice. "If we dinnae, Grimper'll 'ave our hides." She waited for the rest to settle down into hidden positions. The wagon, luckily, lay well-hidden in the trees. "Ringo 'as give'n us a chance. If they be splitting, we might be able ta take one a' the groups ourselves. An' if not..." she glanced at Mason, "Maybe we can be arrangin' a surprise. If we cannae ride tha wagon down tha hill, we can still send it wit something for 'em. An explosive somethin." She smiled without mirth, showing her teeth. Vist is using her knowledge of the jousting charge to carry out one of two plans, depending on what the enemy horde does. Attack! A Surprise for the Frömen!: 2d100+39 180 Plan 1 is if they split up to follow Ringo: the remaining 9 Unexpectables will crash down upon the smaller group in the wagon, weapons up in a glorious charge, and perform a hit and run - kill as many enemies as they can quickly, toss the boomstick at the drummer/warlord then use the explosion as cover to run in the opposite direction as Ringo. Plan 2 is if they stick together to follow Ringo, or otherwise don't give chase: Vist and her team put the dynamite in the wagon, attach a slightly longer fuse made of vines, and cover the whole thing in rocks. With the fuse lit, Vist uses her knowledge of the charge to send the wagon rattling down the hill into the Fröman horde, directed as best she can to the Edit: with confirmation from Mason, adding the dynamite to my roll! gowb fucked around with this message at 03:39 on Dec 15, 2017 |
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Nov 25, 2017 18:26
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Name: Gabber Skill: Mimicry, Listening (using), Night Vision {cooldown} HP: 2/3 Glory: 6 As he turned to bolt, Gabber suddenly felt an iron vise on his arm. Vist! quote:"WAIT," she hissed, "Don't let Ringo's gamble be in vain." Maybe the mute Hordeling wasn't as doughty a warrior as she believed. "We are going to watch and see how they react, and THEN we will move." He was certain of it now - the Youster might be balanced of foot, but surely she must be unbalanced in the head. It was an army against ten! And Ringo hadn't moved off to a new position and whistled - he'd whistled from right where she wanted to wait! They'd be on their position in no time, they had to go, now. Had the stalwart warrior in front of him been Grimper or Magda or Snodis he may have listened, but Vist had no rank - he wasn't giving up his life to see what mad plan she had. OOC: Per the most recent update this sounds like PvP, so Gabber is going to try and break free and proceed with the running. He won't resort to actually trying to harm Vist though - the last thing they need is a fist fight to give away their position. Yank out of Vist's grasp: 1d100 13  Well gently caress. I am guessing that will lose once gowb rolls - if so, I'll write a short follow-up with Gabber's reaction to the rest of the plan while locked in her grip. Task Manager fucked around with this message at 19:14 on Nov 25, 2017 |
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Nov 25, 2017 19:12
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   Name: Hat Skills: Millinery, Backflips HP: 3/3 Equipment: Spear (+1), Leather Armour (+1), Sikatris Scarf Glory: 20 Ritual Glory: 1 Hat sighed. It had been a thoroughly unproductive couple of hours; there were no obvious signs of resistance in the streets of Fostis, nor any coded signs for help that she could see. The only unusual thing she'd noticed was a shop proclaiming itself to be a "Bakerey", but Patsy was already thoroughly exploring the site, so Hat left him to it. Upon meeting up with the others it was clear that Hat had misunderstood her orders. They had been interrogating the citizenry, not wasting time helping themselves to free frabric. When Splut announced his intentions to pretend to be a Fröan infiltrator looking to make contact with the rebels, Hat spoke up. "That's a great idea! Maybe one of my patented disguise hats might help sell the deception a little? I've fought the rebels before, maybe I can recreate a symbol they were wearing, show that you're in with the in-crowd." Assisting Splut with a disguise hat!: 1d100+20+10 108
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Nov 25, 2017 22:10
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I actually misread Ringo's actions, I thought he was heading back to Fostis himself...no need to roll Task Manager, if Gabber still wants to go then Vist isn't going to stop him! Though it would be nice to send a mook instead! If you must have a roll... Keep Gabber Here!: 1d100 32 gowb fucked around with this message at 01:34 on Nov 26, 2017 |
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Nov 25, 2017 22:21
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HP:3 Glory:21 Lying Cooldown Ritual Glory:1 Cloud Potato posted:When Splut announced his intentions to pretend to be a Fröan infiltrator looking to make contact with the rebels, Hat spoke up. Splut smiled at the interjection from their Chapeaumeister, nodding his assent to Hat's assistance. He'd seen her work up close when they successfully pulled off the equipment heist: Their disguises had worked better than they could have hoped on that occasion, so falling back on a proven successful line made sense here. "Excellent thinking. Maybe there's something from these ciphered communications that might give us a good angle on that. I trust you, I'll wear whatever you come up with." And so, upon receiving the head apparel, tucking his conspicuous cranial crenellations beneath the brim,  "How do I look?"
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Nov 25, 2017 23:11
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The Lord of Hats posted:"It was strange," Patsy thought. "Maybe the people in Fostis just didn't like bread." The perfect immortalization of Patsy's ineptitude. He would be... well, he wouldn't be proud, but I love it.
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Nov 25, 2017 23:14
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 Name: Gloff Skills:Lifting+(using), Swimming, Smithing(used) HP: 2 Glory: 10 Gloff was thinking hard of how best to utilize his skillcore. Sure, lifting someyhing heavy and dropping it on someone had worked okay for a while, but how to improve on that? Looking around the smithy he was using to make traps, he had a brilliant idea. Lifting up the anvil, he walked to the entrance of town, where the enemy was sure to come from. He then climbed up on the roof of one of the taller buildings, somewhat awkwardly. Lift something really heavy and drop it really far. That's the path to sucess. 1d100+25=113 Sax Battler fucked around with this message at 03:00 on Nov 26, 2017 |
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Nov 26, 2017 02:47
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  Skills:Spreading Disease, Cursing [CD] HP: 2/3 Glory: 11 Grumbus whistled merrily as he prepared a room temperature soup inside one of the Frö homes that he From talking to the other interrogators, Grumbus had discovered that not only was there a good chance that a Frö army coming, but the inhabitants of Fostis knew more than they were letting on. So the horde's resident plaguebearer came up with a plan that he believed could take advantage of this. Satisfied with his dubious 'soup', he shouted, "I've prepared dinner for you lot! Get in here!" At his command, a small group of Frö filed in. Grumbus smiled and greeted them with a wave, "Alright, I've got a very special job for you all. First off, you're going to each have a bowl of this soup. I'm not going to ask you to like it or smile or give me some "Thank you Mr. Grumbus" nonsense, because hoo boy does that smell rank. You will, however, try to keep it down; I prepared quite a bit for this reason." "After you are done, you're leaving town. From talking to all of you, we've concluded that somebody's coming to check this place out. You lot are going to try and find them enroute. Once you find them, I want you all to greet your future saviors warmly. Give them high-fives, hug em', kiss em', heck, sleep with em' if you want. I don't care. All that matters is I want as much physical contact as possible. And don't you dare give them any kind of important information." Grumbus scratched at a sore on his chin. Hmm, he didn't want them to take a mile, given an inch. "For that matter, don't give them any unimportant information either. And no insinuations or hints. Alright, get outta here ya scamps." After they left, Grumbus exhaled. He usually preferred to do this sort of thing personally. Oh well. Send infected townsmen to search for the reinforcements: 1d100+10+11 = 53
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Nov 26, 2017 05:29
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Name: Gabber Skill: Mimicry, Listening (using), Night Vision {cooldown} HP: 2/3 Glory: 6 Her grip was like iron! Despite his best efforts he just could not get his arm free of Vist's grasp. Fearing his flailing would draw even more attention to their position, Gabber allowed Vist to yank him to the ground, slamming his chin into the mud and lying still. quote:"We were ordered to BLOODY THEIR NOSES," Vist whispered through clenched teeth. She would not be thwarted by cowardice. "If we don't, Grimper will likely have our hides." She waited for the rest to settle down into hidden positions. The wagon, luckily, lay well-hidden in the trees. "Ringo has given us a chance. If they split, we may be able to take one of the groups ourselves. And if not..." she glanced at Mason, "We may be able to arrange a surprise. If we can't ride the wagon down this hill, we can still send it with something for them. An explosive something." She smiled without mirth, showing her teeth. Trying not to hyperventilate, Gabber quickly jabbed at Vist to get her attention from their prone position. Once he had it, he clasped his hands together, then quickly expanded them outward. He repeated the motion several more times, each a bit more frantic than the last while still gently tugging at Vist.1 1) "Just send it down and blow it up! Send it down and blow it up!!" Action: OOC: Since Gabber lost the contested roll, he'll go along with laying low for this round to see what the enemy does. Gabber is fully on board with just lighting Mason's explosives, rolling the cart down the hill, and hightailing it out of here. I think we should just do that no matter what the enemy does. Under no circumstances will he get in the cart at this point,  He'll have to be picked up and thrown in for him to ride down the hill at the enemy, trying to jump out at the first opportunity. So! Count this as a vote for using our surprise round bonus to light Mason's explosives, throw it in the wagon, and push it towards the enemy. Depending on how far time advances, I also would like to run back to Fostis the second we push the cart down the hill. Task Manager fucked around with this message at 06:27 on Nov 26, 2017 |
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Nov 26, 2017 06:22
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  Name: Gryph HP: 3 Glory: 5 -> 6 Skill: Bandaging/Medicine As the guards took off in pursuit, Gryph slammed his fist in the ground. One had escaped, after Gryph and the rest of the horde had vouched for them. He quickly moved to make absolutely sure that there wasn't something going on. While the others could probably capture and subdue the escapee, there was now only him watching the wagons. A perfect time for those inside to try again, or an opportunistic enemy to make a move. This was not his area of expertise... Watching the wagons: 1d100+5 76 Torchlighter fucked around with this message at 20:53 on Nov 28, 2017 |
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Nov 26, 2017 06:51
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