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Ramona 25/25 HP; 9/13 XP; 4 Armor; 11/11 Load "Tell me." She'd better not be lying.
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Jan 1, 2018 05:31
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RAMONA ”You came back,” she says quietly, walking slowly and deliberately towards you. No tricks with her drones anymore. Her voice is as cold and dry and unforgiving as winter’s fallen snow. ”You had to come back. Didn’t you?” She kneels briefly and lays an outsize sniper rifle carefully on the pavement, then undoes some buckles on her forearm and takes off something that looks like a fun-size jackhammer with a blunt, rounded tip. She starts walking towards you: slow, steady, deliberate steps. Her weapons lay where she leaves them. She’s wearing some kind of high-tech bodysuit and a smooth, mirror-surfaced helmet studded with the ridged bumps of full-spectrum thaumic antennae. Her faceplate is an empty mirrored wall. ”You just couldn’t keep yourself away. Even though it feels like things just keep getting worse. Even though people start getting hurt. People start getting paranoid. So you have to hurt them. So they can’t hurt you...” She laughs quietly. It sounds like wind through barren branches. ”You could’ve walked away. Any time, you could’ve stopped. But you chose to keep going. You chose to come here, into his strong place. Under his influence. Under his power.” She’s almost close enough to touch now. The broken magitech conduit in the maintenance shack sparks and fizzles, and her bodysuit ripples with little flecks of color and texture as the uncontrolled thaum discharge washes over her. ”Ramona,” she says. ”He went out on an expedition. He wouldn’t tell anyone where. Somewhere deep, that’s all he’d say. Just him and his little daughter, alone...when he came back, he was so happy. He wouldn’t stop laughing. I caught a glimpse of his prize. What it was he brought back from the deep.” ”The feeling I got when I saw it.” She stops. Her hands rise up to the sides of her neck, hesitate, fall away. Her fingers clench and unclench. She breathes slowly and carefully. Deliberately, she lets out a lungful of air, and lets her chest fall and fall and fall. She stands there, neither breathing nor moving nor shifting her weight, and not showing the slightest hint of discomfort about any of it. Minutes pass. At last, she whispers: ”It’s like the feeling I get when I get near you.” Then she removes her helmet’s faceplate and shows you what lies beneath it. What do you do?
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Jan 1, 2018 17:41
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 9/13 XP; 4 Armor; 11/11 Load I back up matching her pace while she does her little performance. Experiences with Slava and the bard have hardened my heart to undead dramatics and sudden exposure, so I'm not fazed. "I've got g͜òo͠d ey̸es҉, and if I wanted a closer look I'd ask for it. "So far all you've got on me and for me is hearsay." I get impatient with the informant, as I do when they try to make things about who I am instead of helping me do what I need to do. "'I think I can help you, I think I know why, and I think I know what to do about it,' you said. I'm still waiting." Can't help but think while I'm frustrated here that baby's being eaten.
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Jan 1, 2018 21:28
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Serenity HP 15/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 17/13 ...If I live through this Ramona is going to kill me. The agony in her throat threatened to take her feet out from under her. Seeing the ghoul sprint off with its prey, however, put the steel back into them. It was almost certain there was nothing she could do. Catching up with the things was beyond her with her bad leg and fighting them if she did was a death sentence. In spite of that though...she had to try. The bard is going to do everything she can to try and sprint after the ghouls. She doesn't care if her exertions cause irreparable damage to her leg or the fact that she has almost no chance of fighting them off. If she can get the child free and able to escape, that's good enough. Defy Danger +Con: @Shardix: 2d6+1 = (1+2)+1 = 4 Shardix fucked around with this message at 00:26 on Jan 3, 2018 |
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Jan 2, 2018 09:58
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 9/13 XP; 4 Armor; 11/11 Load The heart monitor gives Serenity away. I let out a quick, "I'll be back," and I follow her. One side of me says this is foolishness. Maternal instincts and stress breaking her mind and putting us both in danger for nothing. The other says this could work out in our favor. Perhaps the ghoul's plan was to split our group just like this, and try to take down any heroic prey with sheer numbers and more than doubling the meal. Like fishing. Starting by grabbing a baitfish by hand, then attach the hook to it while it still wriggles. If nothing bites, only then throw it on the fire or feed it to the pets. I can only hope that it ends up that Serenity is my bait for our enemies and not the other way around. For my money, I doubt that triggering the trap saves the baby unless the ghouls are under control by someone else, who thinks themselves clever and indirect. Sandbridge, perhaps. Her failure to call out the nearest ghoul cost me time reacting...
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Jan 3, 2018 00:25
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Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 6/12 | Load 12/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[X] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[X] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[X] Everything happens too fast. I start a prayer, but a choked wheeze from behind me has me spin to look at Serenity, hand to her throat. Serenity makes it clear it's not an attack. Unlike her to choke on a song. But there's no time for that, I turn back to the ghouls, but only see Ramona sprinting off, two ghouls down and the third missing... And with the baby, from a quick head count. Already behind Sahagún, she'll have it handled. I'll see to the civves here. ~~~ Ramona comes back, empty handed... The mother's wracked sobs resume, unrestrained now. Now the drone manager's having a chat with Ramona, when Serenity takes off, down the alley where Ramona had returned from. Already Ramona's off after her, drat. "Secure the area!" I bark the order before I tear off after the pair. Cast A Spell:Bless (+Wis): 2d6+2 4
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Jan 5, 2018 16:24
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Nori 17/23 HP | 1/1 Armor | XP 7/11 | load 8/14 | shaky -1 DEX I close my eyes as the child disappears, I etch the sound of her scream into my memory as I shove the pain of what just happened down into a hole. Stay calm, stay in control, cry later. You've been doing this since the sink, this is the routine. I take a few deep shuddering breaths, repeating until my I can open my mouth without trying to sob. My loving leg, this is my loving fault. That child is dead because I was an idiot. And now the elf and the other two women have charged off again, and I can't follow, I look to Sandbridge and the the Cleric's minions and our assorted refugees. "Ok, people, Serenity, 'Mona, and the cleric be back in a few, so anyone with weapons form up on me, anyone without, get behind me, those ghouls could circle back on us if we're not careful."
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Jan 7, 2018 09:04
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NORI ”Roger that.” Without preamble Sandbridge reclaims her dropped weaponry and grapples herself up back to the catwalk. ”I’m sending a drone in after them. Just in case.” A little off-white sphere zips down from the shadows and speeds after your departed allies. ”...f’kin if the fabricants had just built these with mesh networking in mind...” she mutters. The little drone hovering near your shoulder buzzes and flinches; when her voice comes through it next, it’s a little tinnier, and fuzzed with a persistent static burr. ”I’m rerouting the signal topology. Speak into that one with you. They’ll hear you through the other one. If there’s not too much city in the way.” *** SERENITY You break into a limping, shambling sprint, but the ghoul’s far faster than you...a worm of fear twists in your gut as you realize there’s just no way for you to catch up in time; and even if you could catch the beast, how could you hope to free its prize? In minutes the creature’s lost to sight. The thudding clang-clang of footfalls on deck-plating echoes and re-echoes through the claustrophic alley walls - hopeless for you to track it by. You’re forced to go by subtler cues, straining your eyes to discern the impressions of its passage on the dusty, decaying under-city alleyways...slower, harder going, and impossible at a sprint. At last you come across the stolen child. You creep carefully the last few meters. You can taste blood at the back of your throat. The ghoul went to ground at a place where several alleys meet - a roughly circular, vaulted chamber where the city’s piping and wiring comes together. A narrow manhole stretches up into blackness at the apex of the vaulted roof. The city’s surface streets are close. You’re cognizant of Ramona close behind you, trying to conceal her own movement while still making you aware of her presence; and the harsh breaths of Branwen McAlister, panting out a plea to her goddess on the child’s behalf. It’s to no avail. The child is dead. Mercifully, the ghoul’s tangled, stringy hair falls over its face as it crouches in the dust, devouring its grisly prize. It turns to you, laying down the red-spattered remains. An expression of unutterable, satiated bliss spreads slowly over the ghoul’s blood-painted visage; no meat could be sweeter to it than an infant’s marrow…  And then its eyes widen in shock. The ghoul stares blindly down at its gorestained hands. Dawning horror bursts upon it - it opens its mouth to howl - but all that comes out is a strangled cough, a cloud of white spores, and a series of creaking, crackling sounds.  Its limbs twist seemingly of their own accord, forcing the creature to its hands and knees. The ghoul’s stomach twists and swells and bubbles, its back bends backwards in a spine-snapping arch -- and with one final tetanic spasm, the ghoul’s unlife leaves it. Foam and whitish fluid bubble from the lockjaw scream slashed into the dead ghoul’s face. In the space of the next twenty seconds, its distended belly tautens, swells, and splits, revealing a gut crammed full of tangled, semisolid metal-and-plastic pipework. The plumbing looks like it’s been melted, corroded away by some perversion of the monster’s internal chemistry. Something is…breathing?…within that mess, something strange and delicate...fernlike, twisting, spiraling structures are uncurling from the ruins of the ghoul’s guts, pulsing to some slow internal rhythm, colored light glowing dimly from within each frond. Some kind of stalk pushes its way gradually out of the ghoul’s gullet, this one bearing a bulbous, blackened, glassy tip. A flushed and ruddy light pulses slowly, insistently, from within the center of the bulb. You’ve just borne witness to something very strange and secret indeed. What do you do now?
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Jan 7, 2018 22:47
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Serenity HP 15/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 17/13 Serenity pursued, and her heart broke at the conclusion. She was too late. A long hissing sigh escaped as she closed her eyes, and fought back that despair that threatened to seize her and drag her down into the depths. Whatever was going on with the ghoul, she didn't care. It had died, so what? That wouldn't bring the child back. It had burst open to reveal some hideous fungal bloom, so what? No doubt another of the uncountable horrors to be found in the city. It was a struggle to force her eyes back open. She'd much rather just collapse and weep for a while. Turning around, Serenity began to slowly limp back the way she came, her wounded arm clutched tightly by her good hand. She paid Ramona and Branwen no heed. She had nothing to say even if she were capable of speaking. Best to just rejoin Nori and civilians and weather their chastisement. No doubt the child's mother would have plenty to say about her failure. Shardix fucked around with this message at 02:13 on Jan 8, 2018 |
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Jan 7, 2018 23:29
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 9/13 XP; 4 Armor; 11/11 Load I motion with my chin to Bran to check out the growth if she wants. I'd do it, but there's something I'm better suited to dealing with right now than she is. Don't need the heart monitor to read the bard's emotions. She ignores me, but I speak up, softly. "Here." I take a knee and spread an arm, ready to hold her or carry her for a bit. I can't magically fix wounds, but anyone can comfort someone in need. Even me. Right?
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Jan 8, 2018 03:01
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Serenity HP 15/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 17/13 Serenity attempted to tell Ramona No, but all that came out was a sickly sounding hiss that burned like acid in her throat. She fell into a coughing fit that only made it worse. The bard hunched over and staggered a few steps before spitting up a gobbet of blood. The coughing finally stopped and she straightened up. Turning to Ramona, Serenity took the woman's arm and urged her to get back up. The gesture was kind but right now she just wanted to be away from here.
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Jan 9, 2018 05:02
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 9/13 XP; 4 Armor; 11/11 Load When she finishes coughing and can actually hear me, I elaborate, "Come on, rest and let me carry you. Don't argue." If you're in no shape to run in hostile territory... I shouldn't need to say it, she's grown, and always lording her three hundred years over me. With any luck the worst that happens this way is she gets blood tears and sick all down my shoulder. Like a baby. It bothers me though, that no one came running after me when I was lining up my shot on the ghoul that ended up missing. Only after it was too late and I called it off. If I'd been pinned down after overextending, I wouldn't have any backup coming. It's nothing new, the paradox of getting complete trust that I can do everything on my own one second and having my calls disregarded the next, but I hate it all the same.
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Jan 10, 2018 01:38
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SERENITY Ramona kneels down and offers you the safety of her arms...but something at the very edge of your hearing makes you stop, makes you halt and wait before you walk away from this sad scene. Your ears prick up reflexively, seeking the source. The warrior and the cleric don’t seem to hear it at all. Did you think that your gods had abandoned you, starchild? Jaira may be a harsh and unbending mistress, but even She is not incapable of forgiveness; and even should Her heart never soften towards you again, Her sisters remain to grant you their blessings. In the depths of your grief, the Lady of the Hidden Moon reaches out and speaks to you -- Nashira’s voice thrums silently through your exhausted flesh, searing fresh energy into your stricken heart. 𝓜𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓷 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭, 𝓞 𝓜𝔂 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹𝓭𝓪𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓻. Hope bursts upon you like a sudden dawn. You edge a little closer to the expired ghoul, the better to hear what your goddess has granted you the senses to perceive. The tiny, reedy wail of a newborn child. 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓜𝓮, 𝓭𝓪𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓻, 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭 𝔂𝓮𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓼. she whispers, awestruck, from within the silent places in your heart. 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓭, 𝓪 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓷𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓜𝔂 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽. 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓳𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮. The frondlike, fungoid infestation that took the ghoul’s unlife is already dying. Its rustling tendrils and shifting color-play are growing dull and brittle, shuddering to a crackling halt like fallen leaves...but the bulbous protrusion extending from the ghoul’s gaping mouth is splitting open like an unfolding flower-bud. Something hard and glasslike rolls from those unfurled sheets of strange tissue and clinks against your hobnailed boots. It fits comfortably in your hand: an oblong, pointed-and-curved little pebble of matter, translucent like smoked glass. There’s a subtle, resilient give to it, the sort of thing that no glassmaker could ever duplicate. It’s warm and pleasant to the touch, like a lover’s or a child’s hand. Ruddy light pulses slowly from within the depths of its strange substance. What you hold is more than mere lifeless matter. It’s a container; a repository for the child’s living soul. A seed. The soulseed has the tags (0 weight, magical, occupied). Nashira’s joy at witnessing a secret never before seen by Her worshippers has granted you energy and fresh hope: take +1 forward. What do you do?
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Jan 11, 2018 05:11
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Serenity HP 15/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 17/13 ...A miracle, yes. Yet Serenity did not have it in her to react much emotionally. Nashira's elation swelled in her mind, certainly, and that buoyed her spirits. Her own feelings though? They were in a holding pattern. They'd been much used and abused and were wary of permitting another blow so soon. In such cases, she could at least fall back on her schooling and experience so she could know from an objective standpoint what this might mean. Disregarding everything else, it was going to be no less difficult to explain to the child's mother. Spout Lore: 2d6+3 7 Spouting Lore on this soul seed, to see what Serenity knows about such things and what is to be done with them.
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Jan 12, 2018 13:43
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SERENITY You rack your brains for knowledge and - of all the things - your mind comes to rest on your older nephew Ighirian, a Greymist of your father’s line. He had a voracious interest in such things as a younger elf, an interest which in time became a consuming passion. As befitting a noble of the Dominions’ distinguished lineages, he was encouraged to hone that passion to its perfect pitch - to leave no stone unturned for the greater glory of the elven race. Sadly, you lost contact with him long before you and your family became estranged. He was summoned to High Clarity to become formavit, and after that he was little-heard from again. Name the title of the elven deity Who made your cousin formavit. Was it She of Many Eyes and Shadows, He Whose Blood Is As Fire, or someOne else? Beyond that...all you’ve got to go on is speculation. The voice of your goddess is truth, that can’t be doubted - what you hold is an infant’s vitrified soul - but what in the Nine Hells are you supposed to do with it? Stick it in the dirt and water it for nine months? A necromancer might know - gods know they’d have a field day with the soul of an innocent - but you’re not exactly about to hand over such a prize to them, are you? * * * NORI Your allies go pounding off into the undercity to chase down that ghoul. The Aqualanteans mill around aimlessly, not sure what to do. The Bombardan acolytes form up close on you, jumpy but still controlled: five of them hustle into the maintenance shack and sweep it down for threats, and the other two busy themselves with putting a half-dozen rounds into the skulls of the downed - and still twitching - ghouls. “Can’t be sure enough wi’these ugly bastards, miss,” one of her dwarves says - a patchy-bearded stocky fellow with a peppering of burn scars across his jawline. This one’s Lighterman, you think. In a couple minutes the Bombardans are back, having swept the building: “It’s all clear,” Niamh reports to you, safing her weapon and letting out a long breath of pent-up tension. “Nothin’ but dust and a cracked mana pipe. Cor, what a clusterfuck.” Zilch is talking quietly with the bereaved couple and their older companion. He motions you over, offering a shoulder so you don’t have to put your weight on your wounded leg. “Can you believe it?” he whispers to you incredulously, half-ecstatic and half-suspicious. “They say they came from Silver-home, and this old guy here says he’s a local. Mmf. Rich bastards if I ever met any...” A ghoul howls from somewhere off in the undercity, the sound too far away and muffled by intervening buildings to get a clear heading. Before you can get too close Sandbridge’s little comms drone interposes itself between you and Zilch, her sharp voice crackling out: ”Nori. Wait. Don’t get close. I’m suspicious: they’re civilians without an escort. This district was written off six weeks ago. Nobody should be left alive in…” she trails off, attention somewhere else...then suddenly she’s live-wire tense, snapping out crisp orders left and right! ”Zilch. Decon procedures, you and the other techs. Move. Nori, we have a fight on our hands. My drones are picking up movement in the undercity tunnels. Scrimshaw is coming, and he has more ghouls with him. We need to pick our battleground, or run. Hurry!” Scrimshaw and his ghouls may be coming, but you still have time to ask somebody a question. Ask anything to anyone and you’ll (probably) get an honest answer out of them. Then, what do you do?
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Jan 14, 2018 19:53
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RAMONA While Serenity works out her grief and exhaustion, you think you’ve realized why nobody came running after you. It’s because they’re not idiots, and they don’t want to be ambushed, outflanked, and then torn apart by ghouls. You saw just how drat mobile those undead horrors were. They were jackal-quick on their feet, and they went from zero to eat-your-face in two seconds flat once the shots started flying. After dealing with that, why would anyone want to go chasing those things into a maze of lightless, unmapped passages, where death might lurk behind every juncture and alley door? Hell no, huntress. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have a steel skin to protect them. And speaking of ghouls: there’s one now, howling in the dark from somewhere close by. Too close for comfort, frankly. A twinge of pain lances through your sternum; your cursed pearl beating impotently against its exorcium shell. ”Ramona. You need to get moving. Scrimshaw is coming. He’s bringing reinforcements. Don’t let him catch you in here.” That’s Sandbridge again -- where the hell did she come from?! You turn and almost blast her little comms drone out of the air. Oh. That’s where. Because of course she’d follow along without putting herself in any danger whatsoever. Another ghoul howls in the darkness, the sound of its bestial hunger bouncing off the tin plate and molded plastic of the alleyways...this one’s closer still. ”There’s...one more thing. Does it ever feel to you,” she says quietly, ”like...your whole life, everything you’ve been and done, everything that brought you here...does it ever feel to you like all of it’s been planned? Like all of it was fated to happen, right from the start?” ”I can feel what it is you’re carrying. Even from where I am. I can’t even see you, but I can feel it. It’s your curse, isn’t it? No matter where you go, you’re always at the eye of the storm. Always fighting. Always struggling. Always haunted. Murgo knows it too...and now he thinks he can control it.” A grating chreeeeeeak of filthy talons off steel pipe. The panting, ravenous slaver of the unquiet dead. One of them’s coming full-tilt, straight down the alleyway in front of you...and Serenity’s between you and it! Shoot the oncoming ghoul First. Then, what do you do? BRANWEN You’re out of position at the rear of the party, and more ghouls are no doubt on their way! There’s a T-junction in the passageways behind you, a sealed alley door to your immediate right, and a closed manhole up to the city streets above where the dead ghoul is. Ramona and Serenity are in front of you, and the oncoming ghoul is ahead of them. The passageway you’re in isn’t wide enough for two of you to walk abreast. What do you do?
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Jan 14, 2018 22:18
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Nori 17/23 HP | 1/1 Armor | XP 7/11 | load 8/14 | shaky -1 DEX | Defend: 4 "Zilch? You know Decon, so get these people behind me and the...uh...Bombardians? keep close enough we can guard you, but far enough away we don't need a Decon ourselves, ok? Bombardians! form up. Overwatch says we got incoming! Sandbridge! I want you spotting, don't fire until one of these assholes is about to eat our faces. If your drones have spotlights we could use the light for target acquisition, otherwise just call em on the Clock. GET YOUR ASSES MOVING!" I gesture and point as I shout, trying to build a salvageable tactical plan out of what looks like piles of assorted rubble and trash. Once everyone is in the best spot I can put them( in relation to the direction Sandbridge says the threat is coming from) I drop myself down into some sparse cover where I can cover that direction, and everyone else here with me. The word Decon is still racing through my mind. Decon for what? I unsheathe my sword, placing it beside me within easy reach and steady my HMG and wait for what's coming. No questions, yer honor, only killing.  Defend 10 hold 4, not spending hold yet until I see what's about to happen. Error 404 fucked around with this message at 08:16 on Jan 16, 2018 |
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Jan 16, 2018 08:13
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Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 6/12 | Load 12/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[X] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[X] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[X] Holy symbol once more in hand Bran presses against the backs of Ramona, thrusting the anointed grenade forward toward the ghoul. "See the most holy glow of Her Thundering Grace damned soul, and know that she holds no love or patience for the blasphemous risen dead and will deliver unto them her wrath and scorn!" Turn Undead (+Wis): 2d6+2 8
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Jan 17, 2018 17:48
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Serenity HP 15/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 17/13 Serenity had had a lot of reasons to be in the middle of a war alongside Stathis, and a hope that he knew something about her cousin was one of them. Ighirian served She of Many Eyes and Shadows and Stathis had been very evasive on the particulars. All he would say is that it was not a good idea for Serenity and Ighirian to be alone together and try as she might, she could pry nothing further from the drider. Tucking the soul carefully into her satchel next to the conch, Serenity whipped her head around as a ghoul howled as it closed the distance.
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Jan 19, 2018 20:39
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Alumnus Post posted:RAMONA 25/25 HP; 9/13 XP; 4 Armor; 11/11 Load Yeah, Sandbridge was obviously born free. She hadn't seen the living world for what it is: chaos. "No. It's not fate. Nothing just deserves to be the way it is. The deck wasn't born to be stacked against me, and I wasn't born to play. I do what I do, just like everyone else. But better. On your left." Last part's to Serenity, who I run past to get between the ghoul and her. I spin up the chain faster and faster so its beat is quicker than my enemy can dance and whip it out so the enemy will never dance again. SidekickBOT - Today at 1:28 PM @slydingdoor: 1d10+1 MF reach damage = (10)+1 = 11
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Jan 19, 2018 21:33
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RAMONA Your chain lashes out and bisects the terrified ghoul, frozen where it stands by the might of Branwen’s goddess - you plow a ragged furrow through the top of its skull clear through to the groin, and the severed halves shower you and Branwen in reeking gore as they crash to the floor. Ghouls. Disgusting. A softball-size chunk of concrete hurls out of the dark passage ahead of you and misses the side of your hip by a fraction of an inch. You can hear the rapid, repeated clicking of heavy claws on metal over the baying of the ghouls - something’s coming down that passage at a rapid clip. It’ll gain the central junction in just a few seconds, and so will another three or four of the ghouls if they’re coming down each passage. Meanwhile, your back’s unguarded except by Branwen and Serenity... The entryways to each of the six passages in the central junction are at reach when you stand in the center. You’re just at the entryway of one, and Serenity and Branwen are behind you. What do you do? BRANWEN You step forward against the hunter’s back, peek out around the other side of her chain arm and thunder a blessing to Bombarda as the ghoul reaches the end of its charge and leaps - its threshing legs lock up and spasm as though it slammed into an invisible brick wall. Ramona whirls her chain, building momentum, and scythes the ghoul in twain in an arterial fountain of pressurized gore. Oh god some of it got on your face, that is just disgusting-- --a softball-size chunk of concrete hurls out of the dark passage ahead of you and straight toward your exposed head and shoulder. More ghouls bay and scream, coming down each passage in the central junction - for a moment your feel fear, imagining what those beasts will do if they catch you... Defy Danger +DEX. On a 10+ you’re fine. On a 7-9, it’s a glancing blow: either take 1d8 messy damage or be stunned, ending your Turn Undead until you roll again and succeed. On a 6- it’s a direct hit: suffer both effects, and the damage is b[2d8] instead. What do you do? SERENITY Ramona steps neatly in front of you, already primed to fight - her and Branwen step forward and dispatch the beast with ease. There’s a whirling swoosh of metal, a noise better left undescribed, and then a splattering crash as the ghoul hits the floor in two separate pieces. ”[krzzzt] [khhhhk]nity,” the little comms drone crackles from just over your shoulder. Sandbridge being the fly-on-the-wall-again. “[zzzzkkkk]o get out of there. Scrims[ssshhhhhhhh…..]” --the drone shudders and shakes in midair, and her warning fades away into indecipherable static. The little machine clinks lifelessly to the floor, a trickle of smoke leaking from its speaker grill. Something moves in the darkness, further down the passageway you followed to get here. The faintest scratch of claws, the wink of a too-bright eye...hope you still remember the way out, because if you get lost or separated in here now, the consequences may be dire… What do you do?
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Jan 20, 2018 19:59
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Serenity HP 15/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 18/13 Serenity locked eyes with...whatever it was coming towards them. She rubbed the heel of her hand into her left eye to clear her vision and glanced around looking for something she could use as a weapon. As she did so, she grabbed the earpiece and stuffed it into her satchel. That woman hurling static into her head was only going to be distracting rather than helpful. Discern Realities: 2d6 5 Bonds: Branwen is one of my kids, even if we share no blood. I stole Branwen's mother from her, and I don't think she's ever forgiven me.
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Jan 21, 2018 02:01
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NORI You’re forewarned just barely in time. With minutes to spare, Sandbridge directs you and your troops to the foot of the highway off-ramp, positioning you and the Aqualanteans with your backs to a twelve-foot sheer wall of slick plascrete. She takes up her firing position clinging to the tunnel’s ceiling, with a wide vantage across the off-ramp, the derelict maintenance shack, and the exits of the undercity sewers and crawlways. The Bombardans occupy the shack themselves, taking up firing positions on the ground floor. Zilch leads the others in administering to the bereaved, ignoring their feeble protests as they’re thoroughly soaked down with some kind of clinging chemical spray. You don’t have time to watch - while he motions over another Aqualantean carrying a satchel of sealed glass ampoules, you quickly set up a makeshift gun-nest at the edge of the pocket park and prepare to receive your enemies. You won’t have to wait long... * * * The ghouls boil out of the undercity maze in a howling cacophony, a half-dozen glaring drone spotlights already trained on them as they emerge. The bulk of the maintenance shack shields most of them from your gun, but the Bombardans are free to open fire! Unfortunately, ghouls need a whole lot of killing unless you go right for the brain, and none of the Bombardans are particularly crack marksmen - their volley fire barely does more than keep the monsters pinned down for a while behind a rack of steel machinery cabinets. The drones drift back smoothly from the alley entrances and cover the maintenance shack in a ring of light. The ghouls dart for any scrap of ground-level cover they can reach, menaced by staccato bursts of suppressing fire from the Bombardan garrison. For a moment or two, there’s a tense, singing silence broken only by the feral growl of a wounded ghoul...enough time for Sandbridge to vox you quickly, ”I’ve lost contact with my relay drone. Scrimshaw’s in the undercity. Nori, he must be -- ten o’clock high! Covering fire, now!" Her rifle lays a thunderbolt crack across the open air, a mist of ghoul brains erupting - there’s a squadron of six (five, now) coming for her, hand-over-toenail across the ceiling itself, clinging to the walls like geckos! You’ve got a perfect angle of fire on the backs of the ghoul squad’s heads, assuming you can make the shots...but anything other than a shot to the brainpan means you’re going to need a lot of bullets to take any one ghoul out. You’re not sure what kind of fighter Sandbridge is up close, but you’re quite sure the ghouls are fearsome opponents in melee. If enough of them close with her at once, she could be in real danger. What do you do?
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Jan 24, 2018 04:38
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Nori 17/23 HP | 1/1 Armor | XP 7/11 | load 8/14 | shaky -1 DEX spending all 4 defend hold, spending 1 ammo to do it at range: Deal damage to the attacker equal to your level x2 (6 dmg) to the ghoul closest to Sandbridge Open up the attacker(s) to an ally giving that ally +1 forward against the attacker Redirect an attack from the thing you defend to yourself (come get some you baby eating bastards!) I swing my HMG up towards the pack of disgusting rear end in a top hat ghouls closing on Sandbridge, I let loose a couple quick bursts at the one in the lead, in unison they all glance back and down at me. Oh goody...
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Jan 25, 2018 04:18
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NORI You steady your shaking hands and steel yourself against the anticipated recoil. Two quick hammering bursts of heavy-caliber fire stitch a shaky X across the highway roof. Gratifyingly large bullet wounds erupt across the lead ghoul’s hip and upper back. One lucky round impacts square in the middle of the ghoul’s right palm, and it loses its grip and topples! The monster lands badly on the steel guardrail protecting the edge of the off-ramp, dropping like a sack of rotten potatoes -- its spine snaps with a sickening crunch. You get just enough time to hear it take a single shuddering gasp of breath, cut short by another sonic-boom report from Sandbridge’s outsize sniper rifle - then the other ghouls release their grip and plummet from the ceiling, limbs splayed, howling as they come. Short, staccato bursts of fire erupt from the maintenance shack - the Bombardans are keeping their ghouls pinned down, but they only have so much ammo: once it runs out, you’d better be there in time to start lopping off limbs or things could get bloody for them... One of the ghouls is about to drop right between you and the civilians - you might have enough time to intercept it or fill it full of lead, but either way you’ll have to deal with the two about to land squarely on top of you and your gun nest. The fourth looks like he’s going to land a little out of position - not able to immediately close with anybody, but that also might mean he’ll come at you from the flank if you don’t keep an eye out... Time to get stuck in. What do you do?
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Jan 28, 2018 03:41
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Nori 17/23 HP | 1/1 Armor | XP 7/11 | load 8/14 | shaky -1 DEX The burst of gunfire was only a distraction, and it worked pretty well. I drop my gun and let it hang on its sling, picking up The Sword. I charge forward, launching myself at the ghoul threatening the civilians, and brandishing 01's blade. Hack and Slash 11 you deal your damage to the enemy and avoid their attack. damage 10 messy Tremors travel up my arms from the small vibrating whatsits in the sword as the blade part starts its usual bluish glow. I don't know if its my imagination or if I can really hear a soft hum, like fluorescent lights in a silent room. Adrenaline and practice take over as I sidestep a clawed strike and whip the sword upwards, slashing the ghoul from groin to skull. I square up with the fucker, keeping a mental tag of the two ghouls in my former position, out in the shadows I hear the gurgling growl of another, and in the corner of my eye I track the muzzle flashes of the Bombardan weapons dealing with their own two ghouls. When it rains, it pours...
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Jan 28, 2018 23:37
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 RAMONA The ghouls reach the ends of the passageways and stop, panting harshly, just short of the central chamber where you and Branwen have chosen to make your stand. You can feel the pressure of their hunger - and their dull fear, both of you and of the other who approaches. Scrimshaw has come. THE SUZERAIN OF THE UNQUIET DEAD, FIRST DISCIPLE OF THE NEW ETERNITY  IGHIRIAN GREYMIST, MALACOSTRID WAR-MAGE HERETIC: “SCRIMSHAW” Half humanoid, half benthic monstrosity, he saunters into the pressure of Branwen’s holy chant like a vice-president into a round of layoff meetings, supported on the six thick pillars of his segmented, spike-tipped crab legs. A flabby man-shaped torso rises squat from the gristly knot of his cloth-draped triple hips, a grotesque commingling of pallid, fatty flesh and sheets of battle-scarred chitin plate. His left arm is long and slender, tattooed and scarified with a complex network of intermeshing whorls. The other is bulging with thick ropes of muscle, the better to support the massive crab-claw replacing his right hand from elbow down to finger. “Ramona,” he says quietly, arms spread wide in greeting. His voice is unexpected, incongruously high and sweetly-pitched, melodious to the ear. The micro-distortion of some kind of defensive ward sparkles in front of his smooth, rounded, beardless face, thickening and hardening the air around his frame. One pointed ear twitches. The other is missing, replaced by a shallow-domed swelling like an overgrown keloid turned to black glass and then vitrified. “So good to finally meet you.” He points with one long, tapered finger at your chest, where Savior jingles in his exorcium prison, tinkling futilely against the walls of his makeshift cell. The ghouls pant and snuffle, shrinking away from him; one moans low in fear. He oozes Power like a stench, a palpable aura of eldritch force like the chill of an entropic cryofurnace against your face. A red, thin-lipped smile, and a slow baring of teeth; dark stains of ritual scrollwork against flawless white enamel, sawtooth-filed and polished to a mirror sheen. “I’ve come to set you free.” What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 05:24 on Jan 29, 2018 |
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Jan 29, 2018 03:01
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BRANWENAlumnus Post posted:--a softball-size chunk of concrete hurls out of the dark passage ahead of you and straight toward your exposed head and shoulder-- You chose to take a rock to the face, and as a result you take The thrown rock crashes against the high collar of your consecrated EOD suit, punching a deep dent into the layered padding of cloth, metal, and prayer: and even through the thick armor protecting your head, your skull rings like a bell as it receives the transmitted force. A spike of pain throbs through your temples; you reel back and almost lose your voice, the harsh light of your holy symbol gutters and flickers - but you stabilize in time and find the next verse of your chant, holding firm against the tide as the awful Scrimshaw steps calmly within your aura of protection. This one's alive. You'll not find it so easy to bar him from your presence. You’re keeping the ghouls at bay for now. You can feel the steady pressure of their hunger like dark water against a dam. If you stop chanting, or bolt, or drop your holy symbol, they’ll be on you at once - blood-drunk on fear and rage, less afraid of you than they are of their master... What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 03:58 on Jan 29, 2018 |
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Jan 29, 2018 03:54
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Serenity HP 15/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 18/13 Stepping back, Serenity glanced at Branwen and nodded. Whatever was on the girl's mind, she was smart enough to put it aside for now. A brush of a hand across the dented helmet and a sympathetic look, and the elf slipped by and pressed her back against the cleric's. Aiding Branwen: 2d6+2 10 As her daughter prepared her blessing, Serenity caught Ramona's eyes and gave her a nod as well. She took a deep breath and ignored the searing pain boiling up as she forced herself to sing. Arcane Art: 2d6+2 11 Ramona gets +1d4 forward to damage and the next time someone successfully targets her with aid, she gets +2 instead of +1 Shardix fucked around with this message at 14:44 on Feb 2, 2018 |
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Jan 31, 2018 01:20
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Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 6/12 | Load 12/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[X] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[X] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[X] Suddenly Branwen's symbol drops from her hand, chain bringing it to a clattering rest against her breastplate as the blessings of Bombarda wash over her. The ghouls lurch forward freed from divine compulsion but hesitate a moment for fear of treachery and trickery. It's enough for Bran to bring the heavy mounted weapon up from her back and into her hands as she spins to face the mutated(?) elf. Through a half-manic grin Bran spits out "Good, a proper living face leadin' these gobshite deaders to turn into bloody pulp." before thumbing down the trigger, spraying Vulcan's leaden blessing directly into him, the barrage cracking chitin as it crashes into him. Cast A Spell:Bless (+Wis): 2d6+2 9 Lil bit of help from Shardix makes that 10 so Bran's blessed. Cast A Spell:Bless (+Wis): 2d6+2 7 And with that Ramona is blessed and Bombarda revokes the spell. Volley (+Dex, Blessed): 2d6+3 10 -Damage: 1d6 2
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Feb 2, 2018 14:36
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 9/13 XP; 4 Armor; 11/11 Load Set me free? I scoff, and sing out in time and in tune with Serenity's song, "My win, on you. Let's set that to 'free.'" Woman needs a break before she blows her voice. Still in musical theater mode, I extemporaneously think up a spoken word "aside" inspired by my sitting through one of Slava's dueling stories. The time he fought a(nother, in a way) formavit mage. Turns out their divine magic and protection comes from the non-elf parts being together as a whole, but the elf part alone needs to be the steward of their new, larger body. Organized religion's greatest weapon is just as weak and as strong as organized religion itself... Time to hit this fat sea bug so hard all its limbs fly off. @slydingdoor: 1d6+1d8+2 cry challenge for POWER OVER OTHERS = (2)+(5)+2 = 9+1 from forgotten bless=10 @slydingdoor: 1d6+1d8+1 SL bless POWER OVER OTHERS = (6)+(4)+1 = 11
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Feb 4, 2018 14:14
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BRANWEN Scrimshaw braces himself and crosses his arms in an X as you spool up the barrels - the engravings and metal inlays on his claw flare magnesium white, and an elliptical pane of shimmering green mist congeals in front of him. Your fire belches forth, straight into his spellwards as Ramona unlimbers her chain and assaults the charging ghouls with a series of heavy, looping overhand strikes, driving them back into their tunnels. You walk your line of fire methodically across his face and torso, hips and shoulders braced against the battering recoil, pouring fire into him from mere feet away. Scrimshaw’s outline is momentarily lost behind a strobing cluster of rippling flashbulb lights. The smoke clears; the spellward fades. Your heart sinks.  He’s not even loving scratched. Your gatling gun impedes your movements (and counts 8-weight towards your Load) until you can remove it. Melee will be difficult. Casually, he reaches out and clamps his crab-claw down, and the dual barrels of your gun screech to a juddering, grinding halt. “Child, please,” he says calmly. “You should know better.” He narrows his eyes and sniffs; a sadistic grin breaks across his face. “Bombardan whelp. Praise her. Burn for her. You are tallow.” He leans forward and speaks a single word in a low, throaty whisper, his voice throbbing with power and menace. “RETH.” The spell hits you with a kick like a rabid mule. The consecrated wards woven into your EOD suit spark and crackle as Power washes over them in a flash of coursing flame, and a hot and ominous tingle crawls up the back of your neck. He twists his triple hips and wrenches with his claw, using the gatling gun as leverage - you describe a neat cartwheel-and-a-half and crash smouldering against the wall! As one, the ghouls howl in delight and surge forward, hungry for Ramona's blood! You’re down, you're harboring a rethched curse, and your EOD suit is a little bit on fire! Take 1d4 damage from the impact. What do you do?? ***** RAMONA The more you recall of Slava’s tale of victory at arms, the more worried you start to get. The formavit are simply terrifying in close quarters, purpose-built terror weapons crafted to instruct the Choir’s foes about exactly why it’s a bad idea to gently caress with the Elven Dominions. You listened carefully for once, committing every detail to memory - you knew even then that his advice might save your life someday. Your old frenemy the Evenblade once cornered an isolated devotee of He Whose Blood Is As Fire, amidst the chaos and insanity of the most recent Elvenwar, as the Choral forces fell back to bear away a fallen Prime. He thought the risk well worth the potential reward. Should he emerge victorious, the blazing soul of an elven mage-knight would be his to feast on, along with all its hoarded spoils of loot and treasure. He was young and arrogant then, barely forty years dead, flush and bulging with the souls of many fallen soldiers. And even with all that power at his command, even with his prey cut-off from its allies and lost in unfamiliar terrain full of traps and snares, he nearly died twice over. He would have died twice over, if not for the Strigices’ tainted gift; sustaining horrendous injuries that would’ve meant instant death for anyone still among the living.  In the end, it was Veacheslav’s cunning tactics and superior mobility that secured him a victory. He harried his enemy relentlessly, never closing the distance until he was assured of every advantage of position and terrain, where his finesse and blade-arts could secure a fingernail-hold of leverage over the formavit’s overwhelming close-range sorcerous might. He knew there was no chance of a quick kill, so instead he sought first to cripple: an unstaunched wound, a severed limb, slowly bleeding away his enemy’s strength and will. Only when his quarry was driven to ground, unable to flee and trapped on unfavorable terrain, did he close for the final melee - emerging an inch from final death, shredded, blood-soaked, and battered, clutching the formavit’s beating heart in his dead fist. *** It occurs to you now that all these things that Slava told you...these are things you’re quite clearly not doing here. That you encounter now a formavit at the zenith of its power, allies at its back, in a place and positioning most favorable for a close-range magical knife-fight. That you’ve called him out to his face and established yourself as the most immediate and dangerous threat. He speaks a word of power and wrenches the Bombardan cleric aside; she crashes smouldering against the wall, and you shield your eyes against the flash of searing spellflame. The ghouls howl in delight and surge forward, hungry for a taste of blood. He pays Branwen no further heed, stepping quickly towards you as you raise your chain for another lash. One of his legs punctures the chest of the baby-eater, and a smoky green flame kindles within the corpse and begins to spread. He said he’d set you free. And his gaze is fixed squarely on Savior, rattling impotently against the walls of his exorcium cell. Maybe, just maybe, this was not the right time or place to get into this particular fight... Scrimshaw is now at close range. Don’t let him close to hand. The ghouls are coming for you too. What do you do? ***** SERENITY The voices of your gods are sorrow and bitter fright. Your warband is outflanked, outnumbered, and a vile sorceror is bearing down upon you. Something has gone wrong here, deeply and perhaps fatally wrong. Scrimshaw is clearly formavit, clearly shares the basic body-plan of those consecrated to She of Many Eyes and Shadows...but none of the Choir glorify the crab as their sigil and totem-animal. Formavit of the other choirs are often meant as front-line warriors, but not Hers: such are stealth killers and terror weapons by nature. It's fit and proper that the ghouls should shrink in fear from him, but Scrimshaw seems to command these beasts. Even the Dominions abhor the walking dead. No, whatever Scrimshaw is, he’s chosen a path a little bit like your own. Long centuries of exile and change, a road darker and stranger even than that of the formavit...and whatever it is he's become, it's enough to cause the staid, long-enduring Jaira to wail in grief and fear. Fear for you. You’ve been led into a trap. Baited and drawn out. And now he’s got you right where he wants you. Pray to your gods, star-child. They may be the only thing that can save you now... If you first score coup against Scrimshaw - deal him damage from a flanking position, or strike him and escape unharmed - Jaira will instantly restore Her blessing, repair your voice, and grant you one use of Metal Hurlant. You’re unpressured, but you’ve got the feeling like something’s creeping around behind you. What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 04:15 on Feb 5, 2018 |
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Feb 4, 2018 21:16
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 9/13 XP; 4 Armor; 11/11 Load I match the crabelf's pace, keeping him at reach while striking back with my flail, but he protects himself with a ghoul-shield before throwing the near-dead creature at me, hands and face destroyed where it tried to cover itself from the head of my weapon. I glance at Serenity and order her, "My dagger, use it," then quickly return my focus to Scrimshaw. I keep talking to her though, because it's hard not to pay attention to her and I want to bolster her heart, "Going to have to kill every single stupid ghoul, aren't we? Get in line then!" 15 hns 10 damage, smashed talons, forceful messy
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Feb 7, 2018 02:36
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Serenity HP 15/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 19/13 Serenity began to turn, the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright independent of the decapodian horror bearing down on them. The sensation was quickly shattered as Jaira's cry and Ramona's order stole her focus, and the blade was in her hand without even being aware of drawing it. Her head swam and it took a moment to properly register the ghoul and understand what the bounty hunter meant. Her gaze flicked between the easy target and true threat, uncertain of which voice to heed. Pragamatism won out and she settled on the wounded ghoul. It was probably just as well. A nearly dead ghoul robbed of most of its weaponry might only cripple her as she attempted to slay it, versus whatever Scrimshaw would do if he laid hands on her. Forcing her leg to move against all desire to the contrary, she limped forward and seized the ghoul by the hair and drove the knife point home into it's throat. That was no satisfaction in the kill. In fact, there was really only yhr dawning realization that she had misjudged Scrimshaw's pursuit and situated herself between him and his target. Turning, she stared up at the elf and gripped her knife tightly. She could only hope he was too intent on his quarry to pay her any mind. And if not, those joints of his looked like they would not enjoy being wrenched open with a blade. Such a blow would not be telling, but it might make him think twice. And as big as he was, she would not have to maneuver much to make such an attack. Defend: 2d6+1 10 Hold 3 Shardix fucked around with this message at 03:46 on Feb 8, 2018 |
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Feb 8, 2018 03:20
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Branwen McAlister HP 17/20 | Armor 1 | XP 6/12 | Load 12/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[X] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[X] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[X] Bran grunts as she recovers from the blow from the crab... elf? Thing. She raises a hand from the mangled gun to pat out some of the remaining fire before pausing to stare at it. "Tallow, maybe..." She says aloud as she glances down at the inoperable gun and it's remaining ammo on her belt. "But tallow acting as a fuse!" Now dropping the gun entirely to hang from the harness once more Bran pulls her trophy staff off her back and charges forward into the pack of ghouls as they chase after their advancing master. Like a bull she smashes into the side of their ranks, battering them aside with body and staff, both furiously lashing out at the damned souls heedless of danger. Crab Damage: 1d4 1 Figuring armor applies so eat it crab nerd, ghouls throwing rocks did better. Defy Danger (+Int): 2d6 8 Hack N Slash (+Str, Blessed): 2d6+3 10 Bran is exposing herself to enemy attacks for damage -HnS Damage: 2d6 10 Big money.
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Feb 9, 2018 16:24
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BRANWEN He turns his torso back to you as he lumbers deliberately into the entryway of the alley, cutting off your retreat, the fanatic’s light gleaming in his eyes a passionate devotion to match your own. A bloodthirsty sawtooth grin across his face, he skewers your gaze with his and whispers, ”Indeed.” The tattoos on his more human arm glare incandescent red as he reaches out, shaping a twisting sigil in the air with his fingers and growling a phrase in some archaic, guttural elvish dialect. The ammo box sears suddenly hot against your hip, a dull pain spreading from the point of contact - you look down and the metal is shimmering with dull red heat! The bottom drops out of your stomach. Has your martyr’s flame just become the striker-pin to the assassin’s bullet? Before you have time to answer, Scrimshaw turns away to face Ramona and his ghouls charge forward to bar your way! Your whirl your staff like a dervish and snap out the tip at the ribcage of the first one to pounce you, and just like that it's the first to fall: the tip impacts with a thump like buried dynamite and a flash of white light! The ghoul staggers and falls, torso pulped with a wet skrunch, but before you have time to strike again, the other two are upon you!  They try their best to maul you, but their ragged nails can’t always slice deep enough to reach your flesh - instead, your vambraces and greaves blossom with excrescences of ballistic foam, puffing out from the gashes that would otherwise have torn your arms and hips a half-dozen ragged wounds. Take 1d8+1 messy damage, piercing one. The ghouls are so close that they’re interrupting you from getting any closer to Scrimshaw, who’s out of reach until you can deal with his bodyguards. You give ground a pace and set your stance for the next strike as the ghouls rush in to meet you again, watching with consternation as scattered sheets of embers start to kindle on the outer layers of your suit. One ghoul goes low, a hunchbacked pounce with arms outspread, aiming to pinion your hips and drag you to the ground. The other one goes high, aiming for your sternum with a leaping knee, one hand clutching a jagged, sharp-edged stone to bring it down smashing on your faceplate. It’s starting to heat up a little in there…  What do you do?
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Feb 12, 2018 01:17
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NORI You duck the ghoul’s swipe and bring your blade up in a practiced upward sweep, splitting the ghoul open from groin to neck like a rotten fruit! You come just barely within an inch of bisecting its spine and securing the kill completely, but nevertheless the monster’s entrails slither out of its bifurcated torso and slosh to the ground with a noise better left undescribed. It topples to the pavement, a twitching sack of putrid gore - but then a scream of “LOOK OUT!” comes from behind; one of the Aqualanteans shouts and points! Your eyes bug out in horror as you realize you left yourself open, and the other two ghouls crouch to spring and loose a deafening howl! Panicked, you whip the sword out in a desperate horizontal slice, but the ghouls anticipated it - they stop short and hold their feint as your blade whickers uselessly past their bellies! “Nori, I can’t get the shot on these,” Sandbridge voxes you tensely - her rifle booms again, barely missing the ghoul now climbing up the overpass wall. ”We’re being caught out. We need to reposition. Scrimshaw’s found my surveillance net...I think he’s drawn your friends into a trap. We need to move, now.” The other ghouls are at the farthest edge of close. You’re between them and the civilians, but the terrain is open enough that they could go around and try to flank you unless you’re fast enough. The Bombardans are still keeping their ghouls away, but you’re not in position to help them in melee and their ammo won’t last forever... What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 02:27 on Feb 12, 2018 |
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Feb 12, 2018 02:21
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Branwen McAlister HP 8/20 | Armor 1 | XP 6/12 | Load 4/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[X] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[X] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[X] The ghouls' ferocity catches Bran across the side, claws biting deep past the armor as the two set to their bloody work with vigor. Seeing her plan coming to fruition Bran shoves back the ghouls and smacks the ammo box from her belt and shrugs off the harness holding the chunk of scrap formerly known as a gun, dropping both to the ground. As the ghouls press back in Bran charges forward, shoulders down, ready to try and batter her way through the undead. Ghoul Damage (Messy, 1 AP): 1d8+1 9 Defy Danger (+Str, Blessed): 2d6+3 6 ArkInBlack fucked around with this message at 05:05 on Feb 12, 2018 |
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Feb 12, 2018 04:55
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RAMONA You give ground a few paces, until he’s just at the edge of your range, stepping a pace or two behind Serenity while she finishes off what’s left of Scrimshaw’s ablative ghoul-shield. He lets you retreat, glaring behind him to check on some fell sorcery he’s preparing against Branwen, then he turns back to you and smiles like a knife. The formavit splays his rear four legs wide and rears up high, a nimbus of electric force seeming to gather about him. His forelegs trace jerky, angular patterns of cherry-colored light in the air, and he raises his claw-hand as high as the confines of this low tunnel will let him. He lashes out with that great thigh-snapper as he slams down hard from the rise, hammering a pulse of scarlet lightning into the mana duct bolted to the nearest wall. Your hair stands starkly out as the destructive energy crackles past you, reaches a conduit-box five feet behind you and explodes in an eye-searing flash of flame and dust!  There’s a grating, groaning creak as the ceiling gives way under the force, and your retreat is abruptly blocked by an urban rockfall of shattered brickwork, piping, and twisted metal. The only ways out of his sightline that you can see are two sealed doors ahead. One is immediately to your left, and there's another one to your right: a quick sprint for you, but a long stride or two for Serenity to reach. “Take the pearl from your person and show me it, Ramona,” Scrimshaw says quietly, settling back on his triple hips -- his high-pitched, level voice somehow penetrates the sound of Branwen fighting through his ghouls, slithering into your ears like a mollusk out of its shell. He levels his crab-claw down the passageway like the point of a couched lance and opens the joint of it wide, shifting his bulk into an attitude of bracing for a charge. “He̶ do̸ęsń't de͟se̶r̷v͘ȩ yòu̵.͠ But I do.” “I can come and take it from you.” A shudder of anticipatory pleasure runs across his smooth face and down along his arms. “Or I can make it hurt first. It's your pleasure.” What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 06:16 on Feb 12, 2018 |
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Feb 12, 2018 05:42
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| # ? Apr 24, 2024 17:52 |
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SERENITY You crouch low and ram your weapon home, burying your knife to the hilt in the ghoul’s throat. It shudders, gasps, coughs blood; judders on the floor and falls silent. Scrimshaw speaks over you, not even noticing your dark crouched form, loosing a destructive evocation into the city’s mana ducts. With just a sweep of his claw, he’s cut off yours and Ramona’s retreat -- and the lurking presence you thought you sensed skulking around back there. Jaira’s fear and grief gathers in your breast, a cold and joyless swelling strength like waves breaking on an iron shore. Even unto what may be your approaching death, that stern Judge could never allow a disciple of hers to fall without a fight. Her endurance and resolve are yours to cast against your foe...but who could hope to stand against all his strongest force and fire? The formavit’s untransformed hand circles and flexes, traces and flicks, circumscribing his person with wards and layered force-shields. He’s turning himself into a bullet in the barrel of a gun, and you and Ramona are the only things standing in his way...is she going to defuse this shot, or invite him to take it? Anyone still standing in the way when Scrimshaw’s charge hits is not going to have a good time. Be advised: high damage rolls from Scrimshaw are life-threatening to you. Take evasive action or risk the consequences. What do you do?
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Feb 12, 2018 06:13
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