|
CourValant posted:
quote:Those who lost are scoured by the Old Guy machine, first wiping away imperfections... and then tearing into their very being! The nine affected are marked with strange scarring, but are otherwise physically perfect-looking; Monsterism of all severities and other conditions are removed. However, internally things are... different. Pick one of these: Lose Primary Skillcore/Drop to 1/2 HP OR Keep Primary Skillcore/Drop to 1/1 HP. Alternately... you may have them succumb, and roll a new character.
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2018 23:40
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 16, 2024 06:12 |
|
|
    ;  Name: Hat Skills: Millinery (+15), Backflips (+15) HP: 3/3 Equipment: Spear (+1), String-Slayer Armour (+2), Tuned Shield; Sikatris Scarf, Mushbrëwm Glory: 28 -> 29 Next stop Öxnyard. Hat quickly packed up her stuff and joined the march. It felt good to be leaving Fostis in the dust. The place had been thoroughly overturned by The Unexpectables, and the inhabitants were still under Grimper's spell. But the Horde couldn't focus on one town forever; there were more towns to conquer, Commanders to defeat, fortresses to infiltrate and siege and conquer; a nation to crush. Queen Reina had done nothing to provoke her demise; by poisoning her, the nation of Frö had merely hastened their own final fate. Hat's Captain, Splut, ordered for his squad to take First Watch, and Hat followed without complaint. It meant a longer day, certainly, but it allowed for one long uninterrupted period of sleep, and no horrible early wake-up call (at least no more horrible than usual). While patrolling the temporary camp, Hat perfomed a few backflips, hoping a small improvement in height might catch any approaching dangers a few seconds sooner than usual. Patrolling on first watch, with backflips (+1 snack bonus!): 1d100+29+15+1 138 I forgot Splut's order bonus! So an extra +10 for a 148 total. Hat tried to keep a normal pace; since the Fröan forces were by now surely aware of their presence in the region at the very least, the Horde's strength should be conserved, ready for the next battle. This was also the reason she wanted to keep her exploring to only the path that the army was taking; too wide a swath of destruction would surely be noticed by the enemy forces. And when Grimper was asking for subjects to talk about on the long walk, Hat re-iterated her desire to hear more about the Thumbscrew, their target in Noostra. As the Horde marched ever onwards towards their next target, Hat sought out and started marching alongside Marra, one of her fellow infiltration squad members. Remembering Splut's desire for all the squad to have hats, Hat struck up a conversation. "Hi Marra! I'm not sure, have we met before? My name's Hat, and Splut has asked- well, ordered me to make hats for all squad members. Did you have any thoughts on what style or shape or colour you'd like your hat to be?"
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 01:04
|
|
|
     Name: Gryph HP: 3 Glory: 10 -> 11 Skill: Medicine (15), Wrestling (10), Slamming (10) On the road again, this time to Oxnyard. Gryph couldn't say he wasn't relieved. Noostra being dug in, meant they'd probably take more casualties,and the horde was fragile these days. There'd been too much hard fighting, without proper rest between them, and Gryph wasn't sure they'd even recovered from the beating at Nagel. But the physical wounds weren't the greatest threat. An aura of distrust had settled on the camp, and morale was low. Ringo was the only one to emerge unscathed from the OG device. the other's had either died or...changed. Humbug had accused Doc, and Grimper had dismissed it. A crisis of faith had overtaken Noggins, although Gryph's words had helped get her head straight. He had been taken aback by having an oath sworn at him, but that was Nog. And she kept her promises. Hob being cured of Wendigoism would help her, and would have brought morale up, but Snödis was withdrawing from regular company, trusting in her squad exclusively, and Gryph knew she was doing... something. But the worst was Gado. Infected and given something that might, might help stave off the effects, Gado had been quiet the whole time. Gryph knew the Digger was a good Tö at heart, that his infection had come as an attempt to help the Horde. But a million things could go wrong, and when the operation is this delicate, there's no room for mistakes. So when Gado volunteered for the first shift, Gryph followed him. When he climbed to the top of a wagon, Gryph followed him. And as Gado stared out into the scenery, Gryph took the stained bandages from his pack and attempted to clean them, one eye on the scenery... and one eye on Gado. 1.First Shift, watching with Gado Bandage cleaning/Watching: 1d100+10+15 68 2. B 3. D 4. A: Corrupt Ritual, what happens and how bad does it get?
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 01:41
|
|
|
    Skills:Spreading Disease, Cursing HP: 2/3 -> 3/3 Glory: 5 Grumbus admired his new epaulettes. He was moving up in the world AND lookin' drat good while doing it. The plaguebearer had even lined the bottoms of them with gauze so they would not be stained by pus or whatever that weird secretion was! When Stårn gave the command for ST6 to take first watch, Grumbus responded with an enthusiastic, if sloppy, salute and a hearty (by Grumbus standards), "You got it Siegeboss! I won't let you down!" This was a good opportunity to bond with his new pals and siege down the walls of Social Awkwardness, so Grumbus made sure to wash some of the more odoriferous parts of his body. Like trying to drain the ocean with a bucket, but it's the thought that counts. "Sucy", he said, "I ain't ever hung around a mushroom expert, that's pretty cool. Tried to grow some myself once but they just got sick. That shroom brew you made is good stuff, by the way. I haven't seen Burnie around ever since that whole business with the Vault, so I get to enjoy a second serving!" With that, Grumbus uncorked his second Mushbrëwm and chugged it down. Mushbrëwm, Round Two(m): 1d4 = 4 "Whoo!", Grumbus giggled, "I feel great, and like, super attentive! Weird! Oh, that reminds me. Sucy, I'm sorry about the business with those Fostinians. When I got conscripted, I was told something Bad would happen to me if I slacked or halfassed, so I guess I kinda went, uh, double-rear end. If it's any consolation, I didn't give them anything really bad, just super annoying. They should be fine." "Speakin' of which...", Grumbus turned to "Only, you know, they're diseases." 1. Hangin' with Siege Team 6/First Watch: 1d100+5 = 66 2. C 3. D 4. A, Madmist paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 07:27 on Jan 3, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 04:10
|
|
|
Bork is dead I don't really have enough time to play this, but I wanted to say to Dog Kisser that it was great fun while I could and good job running it
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 04:25
|
|
|
simplefish posted:Bork is dead  Sorry it didn't work out for Börk, Simplefish. Thanks for giving us the update! With Börk's passing due to the Vile Mechanism, the following things are/were available to be rolled on:
(Personally, Verika is going to be rolling for that Listening core! Maybe it could resonate with her Perception?)
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 07:50
|
|
|
I feel like people peacing out and letting their dudes die is within their rights, but honestly I feel like maybe they should just say they're not able to play any more and have their characters step back into the nameless masses. That way if the situation changes they can come back. Don't feel the need to kill your dudes, dudes (unless the situation requires it)!
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 09:49
|
|
|
Yvonmukluk posted:I feel like people peacing out and letting their dudes die is within their rights, but honestly I feel like maybe they should just say they're not able to play any more and have their characters step back into the nameless masses. That way if the situation changes they can come back. Don't feel the need to kill your dudes, dudes (unless the situation requires it)! Börk was one of the Ten. In this instance he was subsumed by Ringo. This isn't 'peace out and die' so much as choosing option one on the old guy deathtrap menu.
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 09:53
|
|
|
AJ_Impy posted:Börk was one of the Ten. In this instance he was subsumed by Ringo. This isn't 'peace out and die' so much as choosing option one on the old guy deathtrap menu. Oh OK, fair enough then. Bork, then!
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 10:24
|
|
|
How did he die when he yet lives as part of Ringo's [rolls dice, squints at notes] sweat pores
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 13:09
|
|
|
    Pythag HP: (3) of (3) Skills: * Math (available) * Headshotting (available) * Fearlessness (using) Equipment: * Armor (+5) * Iron Shield * Bowharp * Arrow Flatpack Cosmetics * Nail and Fist Token Glory: 6>7 Ritual Glory: 1 "Aye, aye, Captain." Pythag took his orders to bolster the first shift stoically. It didn't benefit from any Wendigos, nor the Ringdigo, but his normal inclinations towards concern were absorbed and quieted by the new skillcore in his chest. Still, he avoided Grumbus. That bag was super gross. First Shift: 1d100 + 16 = 73
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2018 14:59
|
|
|
Vist joins the First Watch, votes for Grimper's Past, and picks the fastest speed!
|
|
#
?
Jan 4, 2018 03:49
|
|
|
Sucy makes a grab for Börk's bowharp before leaving the vault: 28
|
|
#
?
Jan 4, 2018 03:52
|
|
|
   COSMETIC ITEMS:  Name: Snorkus Skills: Pigilante Justice+10 (using), Gazing+10, Rolling+25 Item Cooldowns: Utility "Belt" (available next downtime) HP: 1/1 Glory: 4 -> 5 Notes: Vile Mechanism Survivor Snorkus saw Ringo taking a familiar stance, and hurried by his side. "Beware, Piglet - the ways of Pigilante Justice can be dangerous! Your enthusiasm is inspiring as befits a HEROIC PROTEGE. Now, watch my movements, and do as I do, so that we may sow dread among our enemies..." 1) Second Shift: Tutoring in the Ways of Pigilante Justice: 1d100+10+4 72 2) Fast Pace 3) Explore Wide Area 4) Grimper, what's YOUR Dark Past? I have been very very busy with personal projects lately but will endeavor to at least throw dice in for the horde! Podima fucked around with this message at 18:45 on Jan 4, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 4, 2018 18:35
|
|
|
   Name: Brumble Skills: Taking HP: 3/3 Stuff: Dance-Fighter Garb, Reedblade, Tuned Shield, Mushbrëwm, Agenou’s Cape Sash Glory: 12 1b "I got second watch, don't even worry about it." 2c "Might as well, right." 3d "We need supplies and stuff, they've got supplies and stuff." Brumble doesn't really march, per se. It's more of a combined saunter, shift and sidle, managing to keep him somewhere near the middle of the horde. As the days go by, he's keeping watch not just on the environs, but also on Ringo, the Tölgamation in their midst. Unusal circumstance is bound to bring oppurtunity. Watching: 1d100+12+1 = 98
|
|
#
?
Jan 5, 2018 01:09
|
|
|
This game has been really fun to read! I can't keep up with the playstyle though.
|
|
#
?
Jan 5, 2018 02:37
|
|
|
There Bias Two posted:This game has been really fun to read! I can't keep up with the playstyle though. That's fine! You could even make a character and never play them, which still improves the Horde.
|
|
#
?
Jan 5, 2018 02:43
|
|
|
 The Horde noisily and messily arranged themselves into neat thirds with a sorting technique that only made sense to Unexpectable minds. They chanted the traditional Unexpectable marching song that they just now invented and began to march, double-time! They’d decided that they wanted to get there Fast, and drat the extra food! Patsy would supply, wouldn’t he? He always did! Good old Patsy! They created a new verse just for him. quote:♪ I don’t know but I’ve been told ♪ Magda lounged in her wagon, being pulled by a dozen Nailbound. This was great - pulling her own wagon full of crap had been a real pain in the neck, but someone had been poisoning all the horses they came around! The Nailbound, on the other hand, would run until their bodies collapsed, with little care about their own safety. Just the way she liked them. She had another one massaging her massive feet. She laughed, a deep booming sound that sent the nearby Horde into their own fits of nervous laughter. When the Nailsmith laughed, you laughed too, or else she’d whip a stone at you. This was known from experience. Still, she had to admit she felt a little fondness for them. A tiny bit. A guttering candleflame of appreciation. They came to her with stories of Glory and battle and foolishness that reminded her all-too-painfully of the Asskickers. She was the last of those, but it was nice to see something like their spirit lived on. She wiped the beginnings of a tear away and threw a broken Mushbrewn bottle at a Mook who was dragging his feet. --- The first leg of their journey was relatively uneventful. Several times, marching through the evening gloom, they thought they saw the enemy. But no - lights from houses or reflected starlight, animals on the path. They’d left with enough speed to avoid reinforcements, and headed in an unexpected direction to boot. Anyone aiming to ambush them was at the wrong place at the wrong time! At some point, Grimper stiffened as he jogged. “They’re there. They’re questioning the townsfolk.” He said nothing for a good while longer, then smiled. “They’re frustrated - you guys must have layered in too many commands to easily crack them!” He patted his ribs, where the linked Nail lay. Fostis had been utterly gutted by the Horde, pumped of all value and left worthless to the enemy. Excellent work by all! Later, while crossing a stream, the Horde encounters a pack of completely oblivious Wagnags. They lapped up the waters and fed on the soft grass that grew on the banks, and looked to be entirely unconcerned by the army only a few dozen metres away. That was an error on their part! Pythag, Portha and Gryph were closest by and opened fire with their bows. The first arrow struck one of them in the flank and they scattered - but not fast enough. The trio downed several of them to cheers and polite applause. Magda hauled the corpses up into her wagon like some sort of enormous crab and a while later tossed out over-salted scraps of jerky. Snacks for the road!  (Moving quickly and towards Öxnyard = no enemy ambushes! Nyah nyah, Fröman scum! One roll on the encounter chart for the first leg: Wild Animal Pack! They’re weak and distracted and are easily dispatched by the archers of the First Watch. The jerky is tough and kinda gross - everyone rolls 1d10; on a 10 gain 1 HP! You also find a Wagnag Horn - no sense rolling for it, first person who wants it gets it.) --- When night fell (actually shortly after, since sunset found them in a wide-open field), they made camp. They found a quietly defensible natural formation at the crest of the tallest drumlin in a field of the same, and two thirds of the Horde sank quickly into an exhausted sleep. Not so for the First Watch. They spread out and investigated their surroundings. It was hauntingly quiet out here, not even the wind for company. The sky was cloudless and the moon new, so the stars were clearly visible. Constellations such as The Hungry One, the Leaf and the Field of Sweet Water winked down on them and revealed the sparse terrain around them. In the distance, on the horizon, lights danced here and there. Towns, or farms, most likely. For their part, the Horde had kept their fires small. No sense attracting anyone unwelcome, and it wasn’t that cold out yet. They ate lightly, too exhausted to cook for the entire group. The night was long and boring, so small patrols wandered out. They had agreed to Explore, after all, and the surroundings seemed quiet enough. Hat the Milliner surveyed the dim path. Since joining the Infiltration Squad, Grimper seemed to think that her and the rest of her crew should serve as scouts. Well, it wasn’t entirely out of their wheelhouse, she supposed, but their crew was better served when there was a place to… infiltrate. She kicked over a stone and paused to examine it. Shaped, not a natural cobble. She waved a few of the others over and they fanned out to examine it. Soon enough they realized they’d happened upon the ruins of a few farmhouses, little more than collapsed foundations. Undaunted, the searched the wreckage. Between them, they found Five Cowardclaw blooms, two sprigs of Hookseed, and - unbelievably - a pair of Lucky Pearls wrapped in an old wooden box. Not a bad haul for an old ruin. They also found a padlocked gate that descended into the earth buried beneath a few rotted old boards and scattered pats of mud and sand. The Horde knew exactly what to do with gates, especially with old rusty ones. Within was a tiny basement filled with old, rusty farming instruments and horseshoes, along with a few inches of standing water. Unusually, there was also a strangely well-kept saddle. It still shone with the polished glow of oiled leather, and unlike everything else it wasn’t dusty at all. They snagged it and filled the hole with dirt.     (No attacks during the night. The First Watch finds a Ruin and a few assorted treasures within. First Watch alone may claim these as they will, first come, first serve. Moving along!) --- The next day the First Watch was exhausted, but there was no time to rest - they had to go! They could sleep the next night. It was alright - they were Töans (well, most of them - the others were honorary Töans) and they were plenty tough enough to go a couple days without sleep! The launched back into their journey, banging their weapons against their shields to pump themselves up (and in some cases to stay awake!) Their campsite was a fair bit less spooky in the morning, and the air had grown chill as the night had worn on, so the rising sun was welcome. They set off, following Grimper once more, since he seemed to either have an infallible sense of direction or else was confident enough to fake it. Grimper kept his pace uncomfortably fast, even for the quickest among the group, and they had no doubt he could keep it up. But he also wasn't going even faster, which they ALSO had no doubt he could do, so in a strange way it was like he wanted to be near them. Supporting this startling hypothesis was the fact that he only berated them slightly for asking about Madmist: “You ignorant sops - it's like you never went to the Queen's Academy! Oh that's right, you're all nobodies. Ha! Now listen - this might just save your life.” He cleared his throat, then put on a disturbingly high falsetto voice and began in a singsong tune: quote:”Clouds of red and crimson briiiight, should your heeeeeart turn to friiiight; “But yeah, we burned away enough of the fungus that we pretty much wiped it out in Tö, though you can still find it in pockets here and there. Without the right conditions it’s just a pest. Naturally we’ve thought about weaponizing it, but it’s just too risky. Wouldn’t want to hit your own troops, right?” He slapped Ringo on the back, guffawing, then kept on walking, ignorant or uncaring of the discomfort he’d caused in his men. (Madmist is an environmental condition that causes and/or exacerbates Monsterism and/or madness. It’s not fun stuff - any action that would bring you in contact with it will be tagged [MADMIST], but it’ll be pretty obvious if you ever see it. It looks like a dense red cloud that sparkles a bit in the light. If you come in contact with it, follow the following instructions:
--- The ‘path’, such as it was, gave way over the course of the day to tromping through a swampy marsh. The road they’d been following cut through a nearby town, and while it would have been easier to simple rampage through it and rob them, Grimper insisted it would be faster to do it this way. He tried to describe the pretzelling way the road took to avoid this marsh, and how much easier this would be ‘big picture’ style, but that didn’t make it any easier to walk through. Nor to pull the wagons through, though the Nailbound bore it all with dopey grace. It must be nice to have not a thought in your head except for pleasing the Warlord and following orders. Too stupid to be afraid, too weak-willed to reconsider foolish orders… on second thought, there were benefits to thinking. For one, avoiding whatever the hell that was! [MARSH BASKER PICTURE] An enormous, warty beast rose from the marsh, revealing that they’d actually been treading over its wide, flat tail without noticing it. It burbled at them menacingly, but the Second Watch was ready for it! When it slammed its massive body down upon the startled Horde, Ringo rushed underneath it and braced his Wendigoad beneath its falling form. Helplessly stuck, it swatted harmlessly at him with stubby arms as the others gutted it. It fell still, and Ringo dragged it along with them for a while as his smaller companions stripped it of useful bits. They saw several others as they trekked - [MARSH BASKER], they read to Ringo’s eyes - but covered in its blood they managed to avoid further attacks. After a few more brutal hours of this, they found themselves back on solid ground.    (Single Marsh Basker attacked you, too weak to really endanger the Horde. You kill it, gaining yourself two Basker Cloaks, a Basker Beak, and a Basker Claw. Second Watch may disperse these as they wish, first come, first serve.) --- It took another few Units for the mud to dry, and even more for it to flake off, but the smell clung long after. Grimper, whose boots alone had been sullied by the mud, cracked jokes at and with them, uncharacteristically chipper. Suddenly, he - and Ringo - snapped their heads upwards gaze into the distance. There was a town here, unrecorded on their maps. The structures were new-looking and freshly painted, and by the sounds of it they were in the midst of some sort of celebration. The Warlord held up a hand to call them to a stop, but only for a moment. “We're going through it. Wendigos, forwards!” Though diminished in numbers, the beastly Hordemates put on their fiercest roars and charged, scattering the revelers and drawing forth the town guard… who were immediately fallen upon by the rest of the Horde. COMBAT it was a massacre - or would have been, if the Horde had enough time to linger and kill everyone. But they were moving quickly, so they merely struck out at everything that moved, stole everything that they could easily carry, and set fire to the rest! Sure, there'd be survivors, but who else would spread their legend if not survivors? Plus, hey, some of them probably got infected by the Wendigos, so that was fun too! Running out of town, whooping, Mason the Hollerer noticed a wooden sign announcing the inaugural opening of the town of Belmysut. He quickly rearranged the letters, flipped a rude gesture at the burning town, and followed the rest of the Horde into the horizon.      (They also didn't have much of a chance! Since you voted to raid, you did - but since you voted to prize speed, you weren't very thorough about it. You didn't collect Skillcores normally, but due to Grim Harvest you managed to finesse a few of them right out of their bodies on the move: Interior Decorating, Watching, Leadership, and Yelling. You also stole three Valuables and ‘Enough’ +1 Belmysut Gear. And by ‘Enough’ I mean all of you should have armor and a weapon by now. If you're missing one, take the other. If you have both, you don't take either. You're traveling light, but you also need to be equipped at Noostra.) --- Night crept up again and the exhausted Horde was near to croaking. After finding a good-enough spot, they wearily dropped their packs and made camp. First Watch fairly dropped on their faces; after a quick repast with the others - consuming another Ration - they fell fast asleep. Third Watch went to their beds chipper and well rested - they'd slept the night before, and would sleep tonight as well. They bid the Second Watch a sarcastic good night, then tucked in themselves. The Second spread out over the area, this one a dry riverbed below a covered bridge. Newly dried water plants hinted that the river was either recently drained or seasonally dry rather than some horrible drought, and the bridge itself wasn't in terrible condition even out here in the middle of nowhere. Say what you would about the Frömen, their infrastructure was pretty decent. Which, really, was a waste of their resources: when Tö conquered these Queenslaying scum they'd just inherit all of it without doing the hard work. Whatever the case, the Horde had tucked themselves underneath it's shadow for the night. It was almost cozy under there… but no sleep for the watchmen! They ranged out in small groups, sticking to official divisions when possible but mostly just wandering with close friends out of habit. The Nail and Fist Knights - well, Noggins, Verika and Somnö at least - walked up the river a few minutes and found a small fishing village on stilts. The river bed below them was dry, but the stilts and boats moored on the bed on long ropes implied that a dry river wasn't unexpected… and people living in the buildings above implied they weren't expecting it to stay dry much longer. It was sorta beginning to seem like this drained riverbed was actually some kind of tidal creek - so when was the water coming back? Noggins examined the stains on the stilts while the others looked on nervously. The wood was impregnated with salt, confirming her suspicions. The Horde had to be warned! They’d been so tired they’d found cover where they could, and this was turning out to be a non-ideal place! They cut the ropes to the boats and sawed away at the stilts (why not, right?) then ran back towards the others as silently as they could. And all along, they fretted that they could hear water rushing towards them.
Nail and Fist Knights = 272 VS. 6d100 = 233
(Well done! Those who rolled 20 or below (only Mooks, I think) are swept away, but since they had warnings they take only 1 Damage and are a little bedraggled and damp. I also had a note in this encounter that those who roll 1 instantly die, which actually happened three times… but 1s are rerolled automatically due to the Ritual so that didn't happen either!) --- Wet and miserable, they were forced to hike a little further before they found another likely place to camp. They spent a fitful night tossing and turning and dreaming of water but though some nasty creatures circled the camp, they opted against making a play for the sleeping Horde. The Second Watch was thankful for the chance to get a break from that at least, because they were also responsible for sorting out the Horde's sodden laundry. Not very glamorous, but necessary! Between winks of shuteye, Grimper debated giving them some sort of official commendation for their valiance, then chuckled himself to sleep. --- The next day was a rough start for everyone - they'd been forced to shelter under an granite outcropping, and the ground beneath them was either hard stone or strewn with pine needles and cones. They grumbled as they got their gear together and made a late start. Grimper was infuriatingly chipper, and didn't seem at all bothered by the chill in the air. “We're getting closer, boys and girls! We're, oh, halfway or so to Noostra, so don't lose heart!” The chorus of groans turned his grin to a lopsided frown and he launched into a barrage of curses that sent everyone scrambling. The day got colder as they went on, and by midday it began to rain, gently at first then with an intensity that made it hard to see the road ahead. Grimper clanged his fist against his stolen armor rhythmically, and for a while that was enough to keep them marching, but when the grade got steeper they had to break. Muddy, soaked, and miserable, the Horde watched their Banner hang listlessly under the pounding rain, sitting wherever they could find shelter. Magda peeked out of her wagon then hopped down to walk amongst them. She paced, hands clasped behind her broad back, then suddenly grabbed the Golden Slinker Flag and waved it vigorously, shaking off fat droplets of wet gunk. “A Slinker is a very strange emblem, my horde.My adopted Horde! There are those who think Slinkers are vermin, spreaders of disease and thieves of food. And you know what? They're right! Slinkers are simply the worst… if they're in your house. If they're in the house of your foe, they can be your fondest friend! That's what you are - that's what WE are - vermin scraped from the streets of Tõ and cast into the house of her enemies! Only recently, you were strangers forced together by circumstance, and now you're bonded in blood and guts and song. Don't let a little rain wash away that spirit! Know what a Slinker does when it's stuck in the rain? It rolls and screams in the mud, clawing at the sky for daring to sully its fur!” She grinned too-wide, then slammed herself down into the sticky earth, throwing clods of mud at those nearby. Her laughter boomed out around them, and she pointed directly into the swollen clouds above. “gently caress you sky! I'll kill you! Come down here so I can beat you up!” When the others looked at her like she was crazy, she reached out and grabbed two of them, one in each massive mitt, and threw them down too. “Come on! Rage at the bastard sky like you'll never be dry again!” She yowled and snarled viciously, and soon the others did too. They threw mud at the sky, they threw mud at each other, they threw mud at Grimp-uh, they threw mud at each other! The forest echoed with their mingled cries, and soon enough they were keyed up enough that they began to march double-time, yelling like wild beasts. Exhausted from laughter (and age, much to her annoyance), Magda levered herself back into her cramped wagon. She'd clean it out later, screw it. They'd needed that, and she'd needed that. She was finding it harder and harder not to care for these kids, but she bit it back. They'd just die on her like all the others. They always did. --- By the time night fell, the high had worn off a little, but a new one was growing to take its place. Grimper pointed out a wide, cleared field visible on the horizon, beyond the wide rolling hills in between; that, he explained, was Öxnyard. And that little line behind it, barely visible against the gloom but lit by a tiny star of light at its apex? “That, my Horde, is Noostra - more specifically the Thumbscrew Relay.” They couldn't see it (well, Ringo and Verika could, as well as a smattering of people with perception-based cores), but the knowledge that it was 'close’ set smouldering coals of excitement ablaze. There was something else, too. Grimper indicated with one finger [url=]a line of tiny lights, moving like slugs across the hills[/url]. “Refugees. They're running, Unexpectables, from you. News travels slow and vague out here. They must have heard an army was coming - and, hell, we are, though probably not as large a force as they expected! What's say we go down there and show them what's really out there to be afraid of?” The Horde shouted its assent, tired as they were. They certainly weren't in any state to argue with the Warlord even if they wanted to… and really, it was heartening to see that at least SOMEONE was afraid of them. All too soon they'd face an overwhelming force, so a little bit of cowering was welcome! The Horde poured down the hill towards the refugees, lit by the blazing glow of Grimper's aura and the glowing eyes of Monsterists. Soon, the refugees saw them, throwing their ranks into disarray! “Kingdom save us, it's the bloody-handed Horde!” Some ran away, some tried to hide, but some brave fools tried to fight! HOPELESS COMBAT The Second Watch pushes themselves to the limit against the brave men and women who threw themselves against them. Not so much because it was especially tough to cut them down, but because their exhaustion had become acute. This one last piece of business, then they could rest. They cut them down mercilessly, toppled a few of their wagons, poisoned a couple of frenzied horses, and let the survivors scatter. Let them tell the tale, whatever - their loot was far more important! For one, they swapped out their busted, dirty old wagon wheels for new ones. Maintenance was important, particularly if they needed to make a quick getaway! The wagons and packs contained all manner of thing, though naturally not really the sort of things an army would need. Clothing, trinkets, money - nice to have, but not terribly useful. Food, though? Food was nice! The Horde gorged themselves on dried meat and fruit and nuts and cheese, and even Patsy was thrilled beyond belief not to have to eat bread! They ate and drank - because, oh, they'd had wine! - and decided to camp there for the night. Why not? The flames of the wagons would keep them warm, the fact that people were fleeing rather than hunkering down in defense implied that they didn't have a nearby defensive force, and also they were really tired! They crashed, the Second Watch clocked out, and the Third Watch began their patrol. (Now, when I made these encounter tables I may have underestimated what your strength would be at this point, but this was never going to be a hard fight. Consequently, they don't really HAVE much of use to you. Feel free to ask for a cosmetic item or something, but otherwise eating here merely prevents the loss of another Ration. HOWEVER, you also killed a bunch of dudes! They're no soldiers, but they had Clouting, Cooking, Painting, Listening, Hunting, Fishing, and Masonry to pick from. First come first serve again - we're not going to do a Downtime, so let's keep things moving.  Also they had another Cobaltwing Chrysalis, but probably nobody wants that.) --- As the fires died down the flashing beacon of the Thumbscrew Relay began to resolve itself. Kinda. If you squinted. Weird to think that something so tiny was so important to the Warlord. Well, it must actually be enormous, really, to see it from here, but distance and darkness made everything seem like some half-real figment. They spent most of the night ensuring that none of the refugees who were surely hiding terrified in the underbrush got any fool ideas about liberating their recently-borrowed goods, but they never actually saw any. Snödis and her crew did, however, find one of the recently abandoned towns by the name of Boulek. The name didn't mean anything to them - they didn't remember seeing or hearing about it prior, not on any maps, not talking to the Warlord - but then there would be hundreds or thousands of such places in Frö, probably. They pushed open doors, peered in windows. No one here. No one anywhere. It was eerie, in the dark, a ghost town cast by their very presence. Hob picked up a scrap of paper. quote:INCURSION EN ROUTE (Empty town, gutted of anything useful in anticipation of your coming, save for the very fact that someone or something mobilized to disperse leaflets informing people of your coming. While this part of Frö (man I really need to draw you guys a map or something) is pretty spread out and sparsely populated, they evidently have some means of coordinating motion over wide areas.) --- Morning came after a decently restful night. The large meal and the warmth of the burning wreckage had come together to make for a fairly comfortable sleep, and while Third Watch was feeling a little weary, everyone else was feeling pleasant enough. “Look alive people! Another day or so of marching and we’ll be tromping through Öxnyard! They know we’re coming, but it doesn’t matter.” He tried to keep his voice excited and peppy, but he was visibly distracted by that invisible beacon on the horizon. He looked and sounded a little worried, and if he was worried, the Horde couldn’t help but worry as well. Come to think of it, had he had anything at all to drink during the journey? Even last night he’d merely reclined in a soft patch of grass and looked at the stars while the others had celebrated. That more than anything was frightening. They set off as soon as possible, their feet tracking the ashes of the burned bodies and valuables of the dead across the stony fields. No one felt like singing or cracking jokes anymore, and the closer they grew to Öxnyard the worse it got. They were sick of walking, sick of subsisting on crackers and leftovers and the few stashed Mushbrewms they’d managed to keep over the course of the trip. Something like bloodlust was rising in them, but bloodlust tempered with the knowledge that they faced a vastly more numerous foe. Noostra, their eventual target, wasn’t a military facility, but it was a hell of a lot larger than Fostis had been. What would their hundred-and-a-handful do against the possibly tens of thousands in the city? The Warlord had some half-hearted thoughts on the matter: “Yeah, there’s no doubt about that - there’s no way in hell we can lay siege to a place like this, and if they can mobilize their forces, they’ll crush us. But it’s a city of the fat and wealthy, a city of excess and ‘nobility’. They need to be protected. They think that they’re safe behind those walls.” “But we can break them. We have this.” He swept a hand over the Ram and the Onager, “we have him,” he pointed at the snarling Breakerfly barely tethered to Starn, “and, when the time comes, you have me. We can break their walls, coming from an unexpected direction, and once we’re inside we’ll cause chaos the way only we can. Tie up their supply lines, threaten their powerful and lofty, and drive a spike through their resistance to the Thumbscrew. Once I can get that message out… Magda and I have cooked something up. I’ll leave it at that for now.” “Get me inside, my Horde. Take what we need from Öxnyard, bloody their noses, and get me into Noostra.” He lapsed into silence as they walked, and that was that. It was a kind of plan, and they’d done more with less the entire brief flame of their existence. They’d make do. --- Bamboo was bone-weary of this whole trip, but it was her turn to be on Watch. Everyone was awake now, at least somewhat, but they were counting on the Third Watch to keep an eye out on novel threats while the others guided them towards their destination. She was keyed up, excitement playing through her like music. The terrain was changing around them, turning from the wild patchwork of uncontrolled nature to a more manufactured sort of infrastructure: the roads were better, when they chanced roads; windmills and stranger buildings became more and more common, where before structures were few and far between; while most places seemed to be abandoned, clear signs of organized evacuation showed that once they'd been bustling communities. They were getting close. Suddenly, they became aware of a rustling in the air above that set Flutter chittering. Butterfly scouts! They wheeled and fluttered above on Crimsonwing Darters, lightly armored and apparently weaponless - but it wasn't weapons the Warlord was worried about! “Shoot them down! They can't be allowed to know our numbers and layout!” Those without ranged options scattered and began tossing rocks, but there was no hope that they'd make up the distance. It was all up to the archers. Add Archer rolls here One arrow after another rose like smoke to crowd around the butterflies, tearing wings and scoring hits on the riders. They cried out in alarm and anger and turned to flee, and Grimper demanded someone DO something! ADD HERO ROLES HERE The bodies, bug and Fröman, fell like stones, splattering against the earth. The Horde swarmed over them and smashed them to goo. The first real contact with the Noostrans - victorious! “Strip them of anything useful, and let's keep moving. I think you got all of them, and we'll just have to hope you did. They’re going to notice that a patrol is missing, but until they all check back they aren’t going to know who is missing. But now we know they have butterfly troops, and they've gained nothing for their loss! UN-EX-PEC-TABLES!”   (None of their Darters survived the encounter, but one of them had a clutch of eggs in her belly! Two of the riders had surviving(ish) suits, but only one Skillcore survived impact: Butterfly Riding, not unexpectedly.) --- Oxnyard. Where the great warbeasts of Frö are raised. Many Fröman cavaliers reside here - -in times of peace it is the home to a great many friendly competitions between knights. But in war, the forges pound away ceaselessly as they craft more armor for their heavy cavalry, and the most dangerous steeds are prepared for battle. Grimper cautioned them about what they might find there, though he’d never been there personally. “War beasts, the leavings of foul breeding programs rotting in ditches. Smoke belching from mishapen furnaces churning out their bastard’s armor. Fat, greedy nobles betting and drinking and laughing at the money they’re making on the people dying on the streets!” He spat a sizzling gob, and the Nailbound did the same. They came upon it in the night. [OXNYARD, A DECIDEDLY NON-BRUTAL PLEASANT LOOKING RANCH] The Warlord frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He held a finger to his lips and pointed towards a moving set of shapes coming from the north. A patrol, on high alert, but not specifically looking FOR something. They hadn’t been seen, even if their coming was anticipated. A cluster of large buildings in the centre of the ranch were lit with a soft, steady light. In concentric fields around the property, a variety of animals roamed free and wild, uncaring of what was about to occur. Though exhausted, the Horde took heart on seeing it. At least the march was done - three hundred and sixty eight Units gone, four Units before impact. Swords were drawn, blades were sharpened, and armour was oiled in preparation. Go time.
Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at 20:48 on Jan 13, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 04:38
|
|
|
So that post is enormous - probably too enormous. I think I bit off more than I can chew with this one! However, it's done, so we can move on from here. So, tomorrow I'm going to fix the probably many formatting, logic, and narrative errors, and get cracking on the lots and lots of art, both cards and regular. If you have questions or comments, please don't hesitate to lay them on me. Also, thanks for your patience! This week should be easier!
|
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 05:05
|
|
|
Claiming clouting skills. I'll edit or post real post tomorrow
|
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 05:09
|
|
|
   Gado!!! Skill: HP: 1/2 Glory: 5->6 Mutation Countdown: [x] [x] [x] First watch is thankfully relatively calm, Gado is pleased to munch away on what may be his final meal when Magda supplies some half decent jerky and the walkabout the patrol takes is good enough to get his mind off of things for a time. As the patrols converge on the ruins and smash their way inside Gado is quick to take the light duty of helping sort through the assorted knick-knacks laying about. Opening the box containing the pearls was a great surprise, they were just like the one Shiny had, excited at the find the Digger cradles one in his claws for a few precious moments and then placed it in his bag, he'd need the luck the little pearl could provide with what was to come. The day's march following his turn on watch is particularly hard for Gado, his fever only growing worse as time goes by, but Zapanda had said he needed to wait until the last moment to inject the AntiMon serum and Gado wasn't about to disregard the instructions of the one person nearby who might actually be able to help him. As the crew enters it's final day of marching toward Oxynard Gado just remains behind, giving a pointed look toward Grimper and a nod to affirm that his potential final moments were on the way. As the horde bolts off into the distance, Gado gives his shoulders a rough shake to loosen them up, flicks his wrists releasing a couple satisfying pops and then gets to digging. If he was going to die, or worse become some kind of horrible super titan monster, out in the middle of nowhere he was at least going to have it happen while he was doing what he loved. Hours pass as Gado laboriously digs an incredibly narrow tunnel straight downwards, his climbing core twinging on the verge of use as he sidles back up the hole and discards a few scooplike clawfuls of earth onto an ever growing pile. As The Unexpectables make their arrival Gado sits in a small carved out den at the bottom of his narrow tunnel, AntiMon-M37 syringe cradled in his hands. He wouldn't be able to put this off any longer without just succumbing to the Wendigo infection, and so Gado braces against a soil wall, places the point of the syringe against the hollow of his neck just as he was shown. Zapanda has said to wait 2 seconds afterward, but he wasn't really sure what he was supposed to wait for, so Gado just counts the two long seconds out and then removes the syringe and places it back in his bag as he waits for something, or more preferably nothing new to happen.  quote:Jerky healing=3 So just a full stomach of mediocre meat. Successful Businessmanga fucked around with this message at 01:30 on Jan 10, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 05:32
|
|
, it's a good prize for when people have to murder me if I go Giga-Wendigo too haha.
|
Name: Gryph HP: 3 Glory: 11 -> 12 Skill: Medicine (15), Wrestling (10), Slamming (10) I'm a little indisposed for about a week, so there'll be smaller posts from me for a while. Claiming a sprig of hookseed if it has medical properties. Or if it doesn't, really. Ranged attack: Slamming an arrow into the first patrol!: 1d100+11+10 53 Oh, and for the 'enough' thing, I'll claim a +1 weapon if possible: a pair of handgrip/bandages for my knuckles. Torchlighter fucked around with this message at 05:46 on Jan 8, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 05:40
|
|
|
Verika's claiming the Hunting skillcore and a Basker Cloak for herself. She's also pretty sure she found a telescope in the town's belongings! (Full post to follow, pending Captain's orders.)
|
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 06:02
|
|
|
   Name: Bamboo HP: 1/2 Glory: 31 + 1 (Action Glory) > 32 Skills: Virtuoso [ACTIVATE] Poor Decision Making [READY] Brief post due to time constraints, will be on travel this coming week. -[Oxnyard]- Bamboo snuck away from the rest of the Horde without another word. Time to reclaim the legacy of The Pawns. It would be a performance worthy of the best of them; a recital of Death by a gifted Virtuoso. Action >Bamboo ‘Goes In Solo’ and garrotes a HVT.: 1d100+31+10 137 [1d100=96] I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Bamboo really likes the killing; also, finally roll should be 139, I forgot to add the +2 weapon bonus. > Jerky roll.: 1d10 4 > Bamboo tries to claim the ‘Interior Decorating’ skillcore.: 1d100 88 Dog Kisser posted:Also, thanks for your patience! This week should be easier! 
|
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 07:14
|
|
|
   Name: Portha Skills: Rummaging, Cleaning (in use), Imagining HP: 3/3 Glory: 13 Tired from but really happy at all the looting she'd been able to do. Those cowardclaw would make good poison when they got more Sonior, assuming they didn't get used in the upcoming fight. Taking out one of those patrols seemed like a chance to finally try out her new bow on a real enemy. She snuck up on the first patrol that wandered by, waited until she had a nice clean shot and fired off an arrow. Snipe the first patrol 1d100+23=91 Claiming the horn to upgrade my bow with next downtime. Also, reminder that I gave two bottles of poison to Neötype Squad.
|
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 07:57
|
|
|
Sucy is going to claim the strangely clean saddle . Proper post to come later
|
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 08:29
|
|
|
No time to do proper post yet (and I must state my distaste for first-come first-served looting) but Hat tries to grab a Lucky Pearl from First Watch.
|
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 09:23
|
|
|
  Name: Waesh Skills: Piracy, Grappling (using), Yelling HP: 3/3 Glory: 2->3 [I'm going to take a yelling skillcore, a cowardclaw, and a +1 belmysut armor.] Examining his ill gotten gains from the first night, Waesh had thought this adventure couldn't get any better, but then they found some otherwise occupied civilians at a festival! Ah, nothing gets the blood pumping like a good raid, thinks Waesh. With a hearty 'Yarr Harr' and a good and menacing wave of his sword, the belmysut villagers didn't know what hit them! They didn't have much in the way of booty, but that didn't matter. Raiding was essentially land piracy, and that is its own reward! He did manage to steal some useful armor, however. --- When The Unexpectables reached Oxnyard, everyone quietly divided tasks amongst themselves. Waesh sneakily spied some of the beasts of the field, but animals weren't his strong suit. He figured he might leave that to some of his fellow horde members while he tried for something a little more... intimate. When his allies rained arrows on the first patrol, he crept behind them to get in close, and run them through at close range with his sword before they knew what hit them. Like a tendril of fog curling across the moonlit sea, he whispered up behind the patrolling fro... Grabbing and stabbing the first patrol: 1d100 + 15 = 47 ...it might have been more effective if he could keep from crunching things under his boots. Captainicus fucked around with this message at 05:25 on Jan 10, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 09:26
|
|
|
       Extra Skillcore: Fashion +25 HP: 3/3 (2 wire) Glory: 18-19 Ignomity: -6 Ritual Glory: 1 Hoarded Glory: ? (0+ How many combats were won during the march.) Under the cover of taking a circumnavigatory patrol-route, Snödis crept up on digger Gados gravepit, leaning over the edge to give a sharp salute.  "Gado, your dedication to the safety of your comrädes brings honour do your name, but do not fear the change. Embrace it. You are stronger than mere mist or fungi, better than those Madfrö at Nägel, they who plot only our genocide. I know you have been approached by other squads, and by all rights they should be glad to have you, but known that if you do Evolve and retain your, ah, more lucid state, the Neötypes will at least be here to guide you through the transition. Soon, you will become better and more diggy than your wildest dreams. Do not let predjuice win out over progress here, so close to your rebirth. Goodbye, Soldier. Arise, Friendingo. -- Later on still, Snödis slides up to Splut, a mad gleam in her four eyes. "Splut, Infiltration? Snödis, Neötype. Good to meet you, Captain. I have a cunning plan." "Öxnyard is known for its warbeasts. Thus it must be that they breed and stable their fiercest here. My plan calls for some of your squads considerable talent in what will be a fierce blow for the officer corp situated in the city of Noostra, which will make our Siege of that place all the swifter. "First, we will need to secure ourselves one of these famed Öxnyard chargers. I believe your squad will be instrumental here, as the Friendingoes are more likely to cause a stampede than not. Secondly, the captured warbeast must needs be infected. Neötype Squadron will handle this, either with a friendly bite or by adding some Red Goop to its feeding bag. Thirdly, a letter will be forged (by yours truly) to convince the Noostran Stablemaster that your finest Infiltrator is actually a stablehand, hand-delivering a new horse to replace one who was sadly infected with slinkerpox! That is the fourth part of the plan, I am sure a fine stable-hand-hat will be needed for this task. Fifthly, we must kidnap the Öxnyard stablemaster, as I cannot forge that Frös signature, (again, on us) and sixthly we must acquire the proper parchment and stamps for the letter to be officially recognized. I leave that last part in your capable hands; ours are too full of claws as you can imagine! I am sure you see the brilliance of this plan, Comräde. Not only will the Noostrans be short a mount, they will have a veritable ticking timebomb in its replacement, ready to caus havoc from within! Whats more, the brave Tö you send with the beast shall have his or her pick of the city, ahead of the bumbling horde. Please, Splut, can you help me make this happen?" -- Snödis is proposing a many-stepped plan to Infiltration squad and Neötype Squad both. Snödis is delivering the following orders to the Neötypes: Infect the captured Warbeast without killing it or making it look too infected. [Solo Mission] Kidnap the Öxnyard Stäblemäster so we can force him to sign the forgery. [Solo Mission] Keep Bäbï safe! -- With or without aid from the infiltrators and with or without the exact grade of paper required, Snödis gets to work on the letter. "Dear [insert name of Noostrans stäblemäster], I am sorry to inform you that a rabid slinker slunk into our last shipment of warbeasts' bunk, infecting the lot with monsterist rot, I am sure you will find this news abhorent! Though I am loathe to admit the only way forward is to commit, a slaughter most equestrian, afore you must sequester-in, a bunker for fear of Wendingoes. But fret not, Stäblemöster, for a fresh batch of certifiably non-infected horse is already on its course, of course, to prevent the pending horse-less disaster! - Signed, [stablemaster of Öxynyards forced signature goes here] -- Complicated Plan: Disapproving Poetry to Forge a Letter: 1d100+18-6+30 = 106 [Solo Mission] edit: (forgot to add my poetry bonus in the roll, but it is a stable 30 i think? -- Swedish Thaumocracy fucked around with this message at 13:35 on Jan 8, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 10:46
|
|
|
   Cosmetic:  Name: Hob HP 2/2 Glory: 2>3 Ritual Glory : 2 Skill: Singing (cooldown), Contortion, Butterfly riding (in use) Chow on jerky: 1d10 5 As the body of the darter crashed to the earth nearby, Hob approached sadly. It wasn't that he felt a kinship with the insects, no. It was more a hollow feeling. He could remember feeling awe, and friendly beekeeping rivalry at the sight of the great butterflies overhead. Knowing they were distant, alien, but in some ways similar to his bees. Now it was just... Empty. Approaching the fallen rider, he stripped them of their armour before checking for a Skillcore, cutting them open. Eurgh, it still felt weird to chop someone up. Butterfly riding? That could be useful for... She was nailbound. Hob's eyes narrowed as he looked at the core. He looked at the dead insect and felt nothing. He looked at the core again. And popped it in his mouth. The butterflies were dead, terrible. He felt a great kinship with them. And he felt...? Wait, that Darter, could it be? Eggs? Slicing it open a little further along the arrow that pierced its body, he found a clutch of eggs. Darters?: 1d6 5 There was movement, feels like one was wiggling! "Does anyone want this armour? If not I'm having it." No one cared about the armour, so he slipped it on. A few days without any had left him a little chilly, to be honest. But the harness was airy enough that it didn't feel like he was trapped. --- Hob's gonna nab the Darter egg clutch plus butterfly riding Skillcore, he misses his insect friends. Might as well wear the Butterfly rider armour too, complete the set. Request for cosmetic item- can armoured eyepatch be converted to a cosmetic item? Drums up for grabs to whoever wants them, else returned to Magda.  --- Protect Babi? Hob listened to Snodis's plan, slightly confused. Aside from the last order, it seemed pretty convoluted, lots of stuff going on. And he wasn't confident he was up to the task without Wendigo strength. But Snodis knew what she was doing. Best bet to protect Babi seemed to be to take out one any patrols that might wander by and pick up on what they were doing. But they seemed well covered... They needed animals for the plan, right? The horde needed animal too, regadless of the plan. Maybe he would be best places to use his new core and try and rustle up some animals? It wasn't strictly speaking part of snodis's orders to the neotype squad, but it was part of her overall plan, kinda. And maybe the rest of the horde could get butterflies or hoggy beasts or something to ride. And Jo was wandering over fairly unsupported, he needed backup. Sneaking along, Hob tried putting his new skills to use. if he was lucky he could judo on one and clip his new harness to a a butterfly our beast. Ride some beasts back to the horde.: 1d100+10+2+5 43+5=48 WereGoat fucked around with this message at 20:22 on Jan 9, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 10:58
|
|
|
   HP:3 Glory:34 Lying Charm +25 Ritual Glory:0 Infiltrator Captain His face was impassive as he listened to his fellow captain's request, mind ticking over as he weighed up its merits. "Convoluted, but that seems necessary in order to be Unexpected. Very well, Captain: Our squads will collaborate in this endeavour. I'll see about charming the Charger personally. Infiltrators! Your orders are as follows. Forge or obtain an Öxnyard Stablehand uniform. Investigate the documents here to learn the identity of the Noostran Stablemaster. Obtain the correct Öxnyard stationery. Infiltrate Noostra with the infected horse, disguise and forged documents. Any questions?" When it came time to act, he tried to use his considerable charm to befriend an Öxnyard Charger, and lead it back to the rendezvous. Charm an Öxnyard Charger and bring it back to safety as part of the Convoluted Plan: 70
|
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 13:31
|
|
|
 Old placeholder. The real post is later but Trinh is claiming Basker Beak for an art project. Jvie fucked around with this message at 19:02 on Jan 8, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 14:55
|
|
|
 Name: Jö, the Nailed Fostis Butcher Skills: Butchery, Impatience (CD), Clouting (using) HP:3/3 Glory: 2 > 3 Roll Modifiers: -10 all rolls Must obey all orders: Immune to orders from Hob Items: -Shield of Meat (free Fostis caravan, iron shield as stand in) -Drum (Battle loot) -Froman Sword +1 -Belmysut Guard Uniform +1 Apparently when I made Jo I didn't give him enough items. I could have the shield, drum AND a weapon/armor. So retroactively getting the sword and a new armor from this update Jö was ecstatic over this trip to Oxnyard. His previous trips to the town to pick up beasts ready to be butchered in Fostis hadn't gone this well before. He had never met such a kind group of fellows that wanted to help him; they practically forced him to No caravans full of refug--- *BZZT* Ref--- *PAIN* [FRIENDLY CIRCUS MEMBERS EAGER TO HELP US], and no towns full of Whatever, at least along the way he managed to pick up a skillcore. He had found the local butchery in Belmysut and found one just lying there near the Dead [LARGE PILE OF MEAT]. Jö had met the man a couple times in his journeyman days, and so didn't think Rö the Butcher of Belmysut would mind him borrowing it. Jö was always good for his money. And many customers wanted their meat tenderized for cooking later that day. Having a skillcore for bashing things could go well. No harm, no foul! Not to mention it was useful to put animals in their place. If they got unruly, a quick smack to the neck disoriented them enough for the blade or leash to be used. And now that he was in Oxnyard, that is precisely what he would do. He was going to go get some animals for his new friends, so that they could help him bring them back to Fostis. Why, with this many allies, he was sure to have enough profits to send his children to Schööl! Stealing Animals by hitting them in the skull: 56 1d100+10-10+2+1: 56 [1d100=53] Hmmm, hitting them pigs and things made them docile but they had a hard time following Jö after on their collapsing legs. Maybe he hit them too hard? Slaan fucked around with this message at 23:19 on Jan 9, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 15:21
|
|
|
Potrait:    Naim: Mason Skillz: Mason Hootin' an' Hollerin' +15 Mason MasonryMasonFlailing +25 HeeP: Mason Mason Mason Glury: Masonx21 -> 22 "Dat butteryfly thang. Dat's mine, y'heer?!" Will update this with full post shortly but Mason wants a new whip and claiming the Cobaltwing Chrysalis, clumsily trying to feed it some "Hoomaide Masun Hooch" to make it grow big and strong. Mason Uses Ambushes Second Patrol with Seege Tame Sex!: 1d100+32 125 HiHo ChiRho fucked around with this message at 18:17 on Jan 8, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 15:23
|
|
|
Pythag HP: (3) of (3) Skills: * Math (available) * Headshotting (available) * Fearlessness (charging) Equipment: * Armor (+5) * Iron Shield * Bowharp * Arrow Flatpack Cosmetics * Nail and Fist Token Glory: 7 Ritual Glory: 1 Pythag considered the haul laid before the first watch. He didn't know what the Hookseed did. But he was all too familiar with the Cowardclaw blooms. His fearlessness core continued to influence him, even during its recharging. He walked up, served himself all five blooms in a firstly manner, stuffed them in a wet sack so they wouldn't smell quite so strongly, then marched straight for Magda. "These are for you, Asskicker." He tossed them on her wagon seat. "Frankly, I think we should destroy every single sprig of this. I suspect the only people interested are ones we wouldn't want having it." "But - at least if anyone wants to buy one they have to face you. Seems to me that takes a lot more courage than pulling them out of the mud, at least." Claiming all five Cowardclaw blooms and giving them to Magda to either sell, dole out or destroy. He then went looking for his Captain, eager for new orders. Barbed Tongues fucked around with this message at 16:35 on Jan 8, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 15:35
|
|
|
Will have to actually post later, but I’m torn between having Ringo try to solo a patrol, or stealing a personal warbeast
|
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 16:04
|
|
|
Marra   HP: 3/3 Glory: 5 Skillcore: Backstabbing, Timing (in use), Performing Notes: Slinkellomas Immune, Sharp Knife 'just in case'. Cloud Potato posted:As the Horde marched ever onwards towards their next target, Hat sought out and started marching alongside Marra, one of her fellow infiltration squad members. Remembering Splut's desire for all the squad to have hats, Hat struck up a conversation. "Hi Marra! I'm not sure, have we met before? My name's Hat, and Splut has asked- well, ordered me to make hats for all squad members. Did you have any thoughts on what style or shape or colour you'd like your hat to be?" 'Hmm...' Marra ponders. 'Something...inconspicuous.' recalling her travails while hunting for a scarf, she is struck by inspiration. 'A hood or a cowl, I think. Something I can use to conceal my face, but I could easily pass off as a scarf in a hurry. Perhaps a nice earthy tone...' She trails off. She's never been so...open with people before. And now she was blabbering about hats. Was she going soft? She awkwardly made some excuses and Once they reach the farmhouse, Marra immediately moves to snap up a sprig of cowardclaw. She's used it once or twice before, and it's usually worked out in her favour. Not so much for others, but, well...that hadn't really been her problem. Seeing Pythag moving to grab all five, she immediately challenges him. 'HEY! You don't get to take all of them!' AJ_Impy posted:"Convoluted, but that seems necessary in order to be Unexpected. Very well, Captain: Our squads will collaborate in this endeavour. I'll see about charming the Charger personally. Infiltrators! Your orders are as follows. Forge or obtain an Öxnyard Stablehand uniform. Investigate the documents here to learn the identity of the Noostran Stablemaster. Obtain the correct Öxnyard stationery. Infiltrate Noostra with the infected horse, disguise and forged documents. Any questions?" Marra feels immediately that this is a very, very stupid plan. She's not sure what the apparent Wendigo obsession going on in the horde, and why they seem determined to flirt with monsterism, but at least the first steps will probably be feasible before things go completely wrong. There are already patrols going around, but if they can get past the initial cordon, then it should make their tasks so much easier. And if these guards are like the guards literally everywhere else she's had means to encounter them - tending to favour their patrol routes and mundane predictability, then it should be possible to thread the needle. And she has a timing skillcore now. She attempts to find a spot to watch the patrols pass to gain a sense of their routines, and then, once she feels she has an opening... She moves. 1d100+15=83 I didn't add an order bonus, I'm still not 100% on how that works. She decides to affect a manner that suggests she is not trying to hide, on the off chance she's spotted. She adjusts her sash - briefly unwrapping it from around her head and instead to conceal the Nails in her arm - do the Fromans use Nails? If she is challenged...well, 'refugee from Agenou's horde' might be a useful disguise. It might be time for a different kind of stealth. Edit: Green Intern posted:Will have to actually post later, but I’m torn between having Ringo try to solo a patrol, or stealing a personal warbeast Oh, if you'd only asked before I posted my action, maybe Marra would be willing to pay back that favour and help... Yvonmukluk fucked around with this message at 16:22 on Jan 8, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 16:18
|
|
|
    /// Cosmetic Items: /// Name: Gabber Skill: Mimicry, Listening(+20), Night Vision {cooldown} HP: 3/3 Glory: 14 Action to come later once we get orders from the Captain - for now, emboldened by his chat with Magda, Gabber is going to claim the Listening Skillcore and slam it to his ear. Claim Listening Skillcore: 1d100 Claim Listening Skillcore - RITUAL REROLL: 1d100 16  Edit: L'sFG notes it works on "conflict and combat" rolls - I imagine if I'm rolling against others that's a conflict, but if not whatevs. Task Manager fucked around with this message at 16:36 on Jan 8, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 16:28
|
|
|
    Name: Ringo! HP: 4/4 Glory: 21>22 Skill: Pigilante Justice(cooldown), Ventriloquism (using), Whistling+15 Hotswap Skillcores: Kissing, Cross Stitching, Accuracy, Bee Keeping, Lifting +15, Lockpicking, Firestarting, Weaving +15, Avoiding Notice Other: Rolls 10d100, may optionally reroll lowest ~Oxnyard~ Ringo gazed upon the ranches of Oxnyard. It was...unimpressive, to be honest. A glorified stableyard, at a glance. Grimper seemed enthusiastic about overrunning it though, so that was good enough for him. The whole trip over here, he'd taken cues from Snorkus. The smaller To had seemingly adopted Ringo as his sidekick. Ringo found his enthusiasm infectious, and for better or for worse, his mannerisms were infectious. There was no denying the pigilante's lust for justice in this unjust world. Ringo and Snorkus stood perched on the highest building they could access in the whole settlement, watching one of the patrols go by. Ringo waited until they were just underneath, and then started whispering, throwing his voice to a far wall. As soon as they started to turn and investigate, he was upon them. Fight Patrol 3 (Ventriloquism): 10d100+10+21 483 [10d100=31, 66, 86, 19, 58, 3, 67, 67, 18, 37] Rerolling that 3 Fight Patrol 3 (Ventriloquism) - Reroll that 3: 1d100 21 501 OOC: Ringo and Snorkus are going to pigfight the hell out of Patrol 3. Let's see how we both roll, and then we'll see if we want more help. Green Intern fucked around with this message at 01:54 on Jan 9, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 16:46
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 16, 2024 06:12 |
|
|
         Name: Stårn Additional skills: Butterfly Beastmaster, Timing +25 HP: 3 Glory: 31 -> 32 Stårn rubbed his chin in thought as he regarded Öxnyard. A neat looking place, certain to contain many beasts suitably for lugging around all the Sieging equipment he had. But reclaiming them would be for other teams to do, Sieging was not a cash and grab enterprise. Well, barring exceptional circumstances, at least. "Siege Team Six", he stated, in hushed tones, "We need to move the Önäger on proper position to intercept troop formations from Öxnyard, and for that we need a sieging perimeter", he lifted a finger like a teacher would to make a point "BUT as is well known fact, what separates a professional sieger from a mere amateur is stretching and optimizing your resources to the max. Logistics is the heart of Sieging after all!" Stårn grinned, "So we are not going to set a mere perimeter, we are going to set up a perimeter that also functions as site of ambush for enemy troops!" Stårn peered into the distance where the second patrol group could be faintly seen, and run a couple of quick sieging simulations in his head to figure out where they would most likely go, "Right, I think I've figured out the most optimal sieging position for us to leverage our advantages for force multiplier. Follow! Oh, and one of you pick up that Drum, and if you can't, then one of those Nailbound should My mount might need direction for optimal siege performance you see." He only gave a single glance and a grimace towards Gado's little hole before leading the group elsewhere. Here's hoping he'd join them soon enough. Siege Team Six takes +10 to take on patrol number 2 (via means of setting up a perimeter on the route they're taking and ambushing them as they try to cross) Timing to spring the ambush on the Second Patrol at THE PERFECT MOMENT: 1d100+56=113 Dog Kisser posted:Feel free to ask for a cosmetic item or something Stårn will raid the arts and crafts section of the wagons to make a bright red silky sash with CAPTAIN written on it in all-caps with gold glitter and glue, and hang it from his right shoulder to his left waist. Theantero fucked around with this message at 08:38 on Jan 9, 2018 |
|
#
?
Jan 8, 2018 17:30
|
|
