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Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

They are weird and troubling. We owe it to our neighbors to kill them.


OOC THREAD | UW1 | UW1 OOC



You are becalmed.

Your vessel drifts listlessly across the wide flat sea. Nashira’s clean light mirrorflakes off the waves all around you. How long has it been since the contracts were signed on the creaking docks of Crystal Bay - departing again, for drowned Aqualantis? What might you find down there in the depths? And how in the name of Poseidon’s toenails are you going to get there without a ship?



SERENITY
Now isn’t this a fine start to your story? Water, water, everywhere and no @!$#ing way to get across it. At least you’re in good company. Murderess, murderbot, master-chef and more - you’re all here, somehow, in the same place. Look up: it may be a very long time before you see that bright blessing again. What’s this vessel named? Who captains it?
If you paid for your passage with coin, lose 2 coin. If you didn’t, tell us what you paid in.


RAMONA
Typical Aqualantis bullshit. This ship’s no prize compared to the Fast Aqualantis Transport Submersible. At least nobody’s shooting at it yet. No free champagne this time - but how’s the rest of the ship’s liquor holding out? You made a hell of a splash down there last season: don’t think Karthas Murgo has forgotten who nearly killed him twice over and (briefly) took from him captaincy of the Priceless. He’ll be looking for you - but this time he’ll find you forewarned, well-funded, and very heavily armed. Besides you, who else wants him dead?

THRASH
Somehow, you get the sinking feeling that this isn’t a normal thing for ships to do on their way to the sunken ruins of an industrial wonderland. But who cares? You’ve got a captive audience! The captain might’ve given you the stinkeye when you waxed grandiloquent about your many “culinary” “achievements”, but (as he tells it) their last cook was eaten alive. One man’s grisly death is another orc’s opportunity. Pity you haven’t seen what it was: all they’ll say on the matter is ‘the beaks, the beaks!’. How long have we been afloat? How on earth did you get them all to stomach your cooking this long?

ZERO-ONE
From belowdecks your auditory inputs detect much cursing, banging, and noises as of large tools wielded with great frustration and mounting despair. The engines have stopped: why? Softskins all around you - but you’ve let them live, for now. Even though one spoke to you as though they expected you a servant. How did you convince the crew to let you aboard? Serenity is here, somewhere: that sorry sack of protoplasm which somehow your traitor programming bids you must obey. What was the last thing she ordered you to do?

TUTRESIEL
The gate stands behind you: it will not shut. Until the fate of Hamon is dredged up before the starlight you must abide at the threshold. The crew will not look at you. Some have made the sign of Kel-Asham at you, or at their captain, when they think themselves hidden from your sight. The Cube chuckles to itself in the third chromatic mode. Soon the stars will have been right: soon you will have seized your singular chance. How did you pay your passage?

PADRE CLAVO
No Lantern ever need pay passage aboard a vessel these days. And a good thing, too - seeing as how you’re stone broke. The crew greeted you and Mote with gratitude; they all seemed to breathe a little easier as soon as you and your little light stepped aboard. How have you been passing the time? Mote seems to be enjoying himself, too: what is he doing? And more importantly -- what the hell is that approaching off the port bow?

EVERYBODY: WHAT DO YOU DO?

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Error 404
Jul 17, 2009


MAGE CURES PLOT

01
HP: 25/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 0/10

Alumnus Post posted:

The engines have stopped: why?
Were it not for the animal making those panicked noises, I would suspect sabotage, as it stands I suspect inept maintenance. Sensing further commotion elsewhere in the ship I rise from my seat, drawing my blade-a blunt bar of blackened Thaumium alloy, also known as Soul-steel for its unique quality of absorbing magical energy- at the flick of a switch it begins to make a whisper-like hum as the minuscule entropic generators embedded within begin infusing one side of the blade with a razor keen "edge" and giving off an ominous blue glow. Battle is coming, I can sense it.

Alumnus Post posted:

How did you convince the crew to let you aboard?
Per Serenity's suggestion, I have been 'posing' as a softskin in unique armor and her bodyguard, she paid for my passage as well. I have been bored and plotting increasingly entertaining deaths for the entire crew ever since.

I pause at the cabin door, listening for another moment before I continue to the stairs leading topside, the most obvious angle of attack from outsiders, so that I may slaughter serve my Lady. Ugh.

Alumnus Post posted:

What was the last thing she ordered you to do?
I maintain a low volume, but suddenly Serenity's voice comes from my Vocoder "Now, since you are bound to follow my command, I command you not to kill anybody unless they attack you first." Ugh. Disgusting animal-thing. Once I find a way to circumvent this 'servitude' directive, she dies first.

With a creak the hatch opens and I step out fully into the corrosive sea air, I can almost hear my alloys rusting. I take my blaster off of safe, but leave it holstered for now as I reach 'My Lady's' side.

"I detect potential danger my lady, shall I cleanse this boat of organic filth?"
I set my sensors to highest sensitivity as I scan in every direction for trouble.
Discern Realities 6 +xp
drat, Orokos hates me lately

Error 404 fucked around with this message at Jan 21, 2016 around 07:15

Infinite Oregano
Dec 31, 2007

I'm going to make my friends eat infinite oregano and they'll have to do it because the recipe says so!

Tutresiel

HP: 17/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 0/10

Alumnus Post posted:

How did you pay your passage?

Tutresiel had given the captain one of the three-faced coins of Ro-Bazzanoth, which they had found clenched between the teeth of an mummified corpse, frozen in the pose of the Greater Symbol of Shi'Kushar, surrounded by other mummified corpses who looked like they died begging - this being upon the broken shores of Sullivar, a relatively recent enclave which tragically ceased due to the Bleeding Stars rising in the east.

The captain gladly accepted the coin, although it is unlikely he knew the true significance. Sometimes when he thinks he cannot be seen, he cradles the coin like one would a child - he is becoming obsessed. Such are the risks with such trinkets that appear as wonders to mortal minds.

quote:

EVERYBODY: WHAT DO YOU DO?

Tutresiel stood upon deck, gazing upon the horizon. Although it was not night, the stars were still there - they are always there, even if they cannot be seen. The sun's power blinds people from being able to witness them forever, mercifully. The quietude that the sea has most recently suffered was ominously appropriate, given the circumstances, as such Tutresiel was on edge, slightly. They cast their senses outwards in hope of sensing all that might be of note within the confines of this limited cosmos, or if that would cause an alarming defining of perspective, what is of note within this moment and place.

Discern Realities (Wis): 2d6+3 8

Asking the question:
- What is about to happen?

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 0

The aft of the tramp steamer had faded black letters spelling out Porrima, after the Captain's wife. That name was not legible, however. Rather, a less carefully painted but much bolder red covered up those letters, spelling The Shrieking Harpy, after the Captain's wife. Captain Price himself was from the old school of sailors. A bearded, grizzled old seaman with enough stories and tall tales to rival even Serenity. Many of which began with "I had just finished a bottle of Crystal Bay's finest fermented dog piss they like to call whiskey, when up from the depths came...". Cue any number of unlikely denizens of the deep, all of whom seemed to have it out for Captain Price in particular. That wasn't to say she had not committed his stories to memory; far from it. Any bard worth their salt plagiarizes other people's tales nearly as much as they create original compositions. She had managed to finagle passage for herself and the Killer Machine From Departed Millennia with a couple bottles of "fine" elven scotch. (this particular brand, in her homeland, was also seen as roughly on par with fermented dog piss. But what humans didn't know wouldn't hurt them and all that.)

It was a beautiful evening and Serenity was enjoying the fine clear air and the soothing sound of the ocean waves. Sea air tended to play merry havoc with the harp strings, but she was in the mood for some light music this evening. Reclining on a short stack of cargo with travel harp in lap, she was tormenting one of the deck hands with the worst joke she knew, interspersed now and again by made-up songs full of non-sequiturs and puns to drag out the agony. The joke had been ongoing for an hour now, and the man was clearly desperate for a denouement.

"...Jack glanced over at Sammy and saw that Sammy realized the same thing." She plucked a few strings and sang in Elvish, a sly grin on her face.

A baby frog is not
a frog, not a frog
It's a tadpole
Tadpole, tadpole
Baby frog is called a
ta-d-pole!


"So. Jack took hold of - Oh, good evening, Zero One. Danger?" She gave him a kindly smile while she made a show of sitting up and stretching. "And no, you shall not." She swung her legs over the edge of the crates and hopped down. "What sort of danger?" Her ears twitched and she looked about, but not with any real interest. She suspected Zero One was just being crabby again and looking for any excuse to be permitted to hurt people.

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?


Ramona
26/26 HP; 1/12 XP; 4 Armor
Murgo's company's shareholders are not happy that he's used company money to fund his little expedition, and appears to have gone insane and set himself up to be kingpin of the underwater city. Unfortunately, he has enough allies on the board that make it impossible to oust him. They can't protect him from an untimely accidental death though, and Murgo has no living kin, heirs or even a will. The man is deranged enough to think he's invincible, and his enemies were too impatient to wait for time to prove him wrong. That's why they hired Ramona. That's why anyone does.

The bounty killer stopped drinking outside of Sanctuary after Aqualantis. It was not easy to wean herself off it after all the poo poo that happened, but nothing's ever come easy to her anyway. She tunes out liquor-talk, on this ship and everywhere else, especially when it's used to try to establish rapport with her. "Word is you can hold your liquor!" "Hold your tongue." By her tone it was clear that if they didn't, she would, after cutting it out. Too bad then word wouldn't spread that you shouldn't talk to Ramona about alcohol. Her canteen is actually full of water now, pure and distilled. The closest she gets to drunkenness is the Martini Effect when she dives, or the medicine hidden in her suit that she's never needed to take.

The song of the bard though, is pushing it. Avoiding any quick moves that might set off her bodyguard, whose armor is either so thin as to be useless or is actually an android, like Bishop, she walks up to Serenity, waits for a pause in the song, when her hand leaves the strings. At that moment Ramona takes the harp and throws it overboard. "Stop." Then, without looking, she fires her grappler at the instrument and yanks it back before it hits the water or side of the boat. "You'll summon a kraken." She hands it back.

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 0

Serenity narrowed her eyes. She counted to five, then relaxed, though her face was a neutral mask; all hints of her previous lightheartedness gone. She bowed. "Mistress Ramona. Know that I have the greatest respect for you and your occupation, however unsettling as it is to see you so blasé about it. With that in mind. A simple request to stop without laying hands on my possessions would suffice. Disrespect earns you nothing but enemies."

Serenity straightened up from the bow, and the smile came back with her. "If you would rather, I know of others ways to pass the time that can be very quiet. Just how much so depends on you, of course."

Nevertheless, both Zero One's words and the sight of Tutresiel up and seemingly alert (as best she could gauge the entities' body language) convinced her to pack it up for now. A brief inspection to ensure the instrument was unharmed and it was wrapped up in its cloth and stowed away safely in her pack. She remained kneeling and watched her erstwhile bodyguard as he continued to scan for this danger he had mentioned. As she waited, she hummed quietly, an ancient lullaby laced with enchantments to soothe frayed nerves and promote harmony.

Arcane Art: 2d6+3 9
The next time someone successfully assists Ramona with aid, they get +2 instead of +1
Serenity draws unwanted attention or her magic reverberates to other targets affecting them as well, GM’s choice.

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?


Ramona
26/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 4 Armor
"Good."

Realizing she's being terse, and that might spook the crew as much as the bard had annoyed them, she too tries defuse the tension with a joke. "Yes, I am paid by the word." She sits, and finds herself impatiently tapping her fingers to the beat of the song. Magic. Hmph. It'd better not gently caress up her motions in combat.

Aid Serenity: 2d6 3

Error 404
Jul 17, 2009


MAGE CURES PLOT

01
HP: 25/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 0/10

As the Ramona approaches, my body stills itself entirely in anticipation. This could be it. This could be the excuse needed...

She offers clear insult to...my lady, yet I am not instructed to pound that sub-standard facsimile of a warframe until the organic within it is liquified.

I allow a note of incredulity to creep into my vox "My lady, should I not respond to this aggression!?"

Vulpes Vulpes
Apr 28, 2013

noises, sounds, and sweet airs


Padre Clavo
Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 0/10

Clavo had been, for the most part, enjoying the voyage. Truth be told, he wasn't exactly looking forward to getting to Aqualantis, not with what people were saying about its current, insane state, but that was where he was needed in his role as an ersatz Lantern, so that was where he would go. He wondered idly if perhaps he was conning himself about this whole charade, the same thought he had asked himself daily since taking up with Mote, wearing the unearned mantle of Lantern and setting out into the world to do right.

"Fraa," he muttered to himself, under his breath. Do right. It was a farce. He was a thief, a crook, a con-man. Or, as they said in Bagalish, a bunder, a tidy bit of thieve's vocabulary that encompassed the entire criminal experience. Wonderfully efficient and expressive, Bagalish thieve's cant was, which was most likely why it stuck with the man now called Padre Clavo for this long.

He never tried to con himself that he was a hero, but the truth of the matter was that his life as a Lantern was a better one than his life as a bunder. People treated him with respect, welcomed him into their homes and towns. His words were always measurd and considered carefully, and thanked. He had learned the secrets of speaking with the lights and the secret alphabets that made them heed his instructions. And he had a reliable chivo to watch his back. There was a lot of peril, certainly, but it wasn't as if a bunder's life was one of roses and easy living. And so, he would continue. Down, down, down, into the black depths.

To mad, ruined Aqualantis.

He shivered and pulled some of his heavier robes around him, then threw the empty bottle over the gunwhale again with a brisk overhand toss. Mote zipped out and snatched it out of the air and retrieved it, dropping it back in Clavo's palm. He flipped the bottle over in his hand a few times, then, without warning, threw it again and his light flashed out to catch it before it hit the calm sea. It was good to give the light something to do- Mote had a habit of fooling around with loose objects when bored, and in close quarters, that could mean a mess.

The bottle returned to his palm. Mote flashed about him, turning different colors.

"What, what is it?" asked Clavo, as the light flashed and dimmed. "No, of course I didn't feel it," he said peevishly. "How would I feel it?" More flashing, and the light flew around, agitated. "Because I'm a fraa human, not a light! My senses are limited to the five I got!" Clavo shook his head and looked out into the sea where Mote was gesturing. Certainly, there were some dark clouds approaching but...wait, there was something resolving out of the fog, as if entering into our world...

Clavo turned at the sight and yelled a warning, eyes wide.

"G-g-ghost shiiiiip!!!!"




GET WARPED!

Vulpes Vulpes fucked around with this message at Jan 22, 2016 around 00:47

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?


Ramona
26/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 4 Armor
The bounty killer puts her helmet on and mutters before turning on the radio, "A ship that needs no wind. We should trade up."

Teonis
Jul 5, 2007


Thrash
HP: 25/25 | Armor: 2 | XP: 0/10


The morning had been spent in misery by any crewman who dallied too long near the ship's galley. Stranded as they were in the doldrums on the sea, fresh sea-critters were becoming rarer, forcing the menu options into more of Thrash's experimental meals. The noxious odor of slimy seaweed and even slimier mud-fish combined with Thrash's personal collection of powdered fungi and bizarre ingredients from gods-know-what lands were swimming in the air, offending the senses of anyone who stumbled too near. Eyes burned, gag reflexes were engaged, much of the same reaction the orc had learned his food invoked in weak-palate'd races. Much to the dismay of the crew and passengers, the normal, bland meals one would expect on a ship went out the window when Trash's cooking abilities were truly discovered and any preservable food was rapidly horded by anyone who wished to escape the overpowering and peculiar menu of orcish cuisine.

Hiding food from an orc was dangerous enough, but hiding food from a chef was an insult, too! There were numerous risks involved with stealing 'safe' food. When offered the opportunity to offend the burly orc's cooking or endure it, many had chosen to take their chances on invoking Trash's wrath were their food stores ever discovered. This of course caused the supply of food on the ship to rapidly become more precious than gold and palatable foods became an alternate currency for gambling and bribes and the cause of many brawls.

Naturally, brawling on board is an infraction of the rules of the ship, as was other illicit actions such as bribery and gambling. This was a civil ship, not some pirate galleon! Punishment for such infractions were additional duties, and occasionally floggings. What duties you may ask? Well, sticking with tradition, kitchen duties; placing the offenders at ground zero for the cause of their misdemeanor.

Over all, Thrash enjoyed working on a ship. The only disappointment was the lack of monsters to kill, cook, and consume. Frequently, the captain assigned sailors to the galley to help Thrash cook. Many of them were weak and couldn't withstand the power of Thrash's cooking and they were forced to feed and clean up after Maw-Meow. The beast with the appetite of a garbage-pail, while tame, was not the most friendly to everyone. Those stuck in the kitchen were granted a preview of what was on the menu and could only help but wonder where he'd found these animals: what appeared to be a baked lobster had it's legs replaces with picked tentacles, and the whole thing was covered in a milky-orange sauce with fish scales in it, all resting on a bed of what could have been mushrooms, though one was uncertain of where you'd find mushrooms on a ship. There was also a 'salad' of sea-greens and mystery-meat stuffed into some kind of ruddy-red bread and nestled on a shell of a giant crab - god knows where it came from. There also was a collection of shells floating in a soup, one could only assume what was inside the shells. Finally, there was a bowl of creamed ears-and-eyes of corn.

Throwing open the galley door, a sound rand through the ship which the crew had learned was synonymous with terror: the dinner bell. "The feast is on, pals!" The orc called everyone in a very chummy way to the galley for his "gourmet cuisine" while tucking an over-sized meat cleaver into his belt.

How long have we been afloat?
It has been three months and a week since shipping out. Food stocks are plentiful, but are often used in meals or pilfered by those brave enough to cross the orc. Being caught meant adding a finger or ear to lunch, as the orc was prone to throwing knives at uninvited guests. If the orc didn't catch you, you also had to get by the beast. Part crocodile, part hound, and part what could only be assumed to be goat. The creature had powerful, frightening jaws and a powerful nose for sniffing out 'treats.'

How on earth did you get them all to stomach your cooking this long?
Some of the senior crew have asked me to change the seasonings of the food, the gall! While I will not dumb down the sheer strength of my masterpieces, I have consented to allow them "cat-soup" which is apparently not what it sounds like; they were quite upset at the first batch. I've since learned that "cat-soup" has no animals in it! It is made by crushing different fruits like onion and plums together with syrup or grease. I think that "cat-soup" is disgusting, but apparently it enables the weaker ones to consume powerful orcish foods. I have mixed feelings about it, but how will the weak ever get strong if they can't eat?

WHAT DO YOU DO?
Make some slop!
Cooking Perfection: 2d6+3 9
7-9: One normal serving or three servings with an unexpected side-effect
Passing these servings out to anyone willing to eat!

quote:

Experimental Food
When somebody (including you) eats, drinks, slurps, snorts, smokes or injects a serving of your experimental food they roll+CON. On a 10+ they choose three of the following.
•  You stop feeling pain. +1 Armor for the next hour.
•  You just want to smash something. +2 Damage Ongoing for the next hour.
• You see all of these interesting things. +1 to Discern Realities Ongoing for the next hour.
•  You do not gain a debility.
On a 7-9: Choose one

Teonis fucked around with this message at Jan 22, 2016 around 00:34

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 0

"It's okay, Zero One. We've been out here for months, everyone's temper is just getting short."

He really was starting to worry her. Since they had met, Zero One had demanded to be let of his leash, and sooner or later he was going to snap. Serenity was about to try and console him when the Padre's voice cut through the awkward silence.

"G-g-ghost shiiiiip!!!!"

...Thank Nashira for small miracles. It was not a kraken, and it was something to occupy Zero One's attention.

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

They are weird and troubling. We owe it to our neighbors to kill them.


THRASH
The dinner bell rings - and no response. That’s strange. There’s usually more muttered curses around this time. You ring it a few more times, but there’s not even so much as a plea for the gods to strike you (or them) down before they have to drink another miced tea. Then suddenly—

"—EIIIIIIOOOORRRRAAAARGGGGHHHRUUUU—"

A host of glimmering specters bursts through the galley bulkhead, howling fit to raise (even more of) the dead! They take hold of your cutlery and cookware and play merry havoc with it. The racket is unbelievable. One of them hurls your pot of "shell" "fish" soup at Maw-Meow - another snatches up a brace of knives and forks, and flings them at your head! Aaugh!
Lose one use of experimental food until (or unless) you can get it back in a state fit to eat. You’ve been afloat three months and a week: so were you on this vessel before the rest of the party boarded? What do you do?


PADRE CLAVO
True to your light’s word, something from beyond has breached the surface of this world. The fog thickens rapidly as the ghost-ship bears down upon the Shrieking Harpy. It might have been a fishing steamer in life: now, it’s a wretched, scarred thing, all but the aft smokestack shorn raggedly off. The sea, unruffled and unbroken, can dimly be seen through the gaping tears in the vessel’s sides. Its approach is utterly silent.



The liquor bottle you two were playing catch with trembles in your hand, as though eager to escape. A frightened Mote darts beneath your cloak: where its light peeps out, the fog seems a little less dense. A few of the braver crewmen have gathered around you - maybe they think your reputation as a Lantern will protect them. A clot of spirits is drifting towards you. They seem to move aimlessly, but that could change in a hurry if you or the crew make it known you’re there. What do you do?

TUTRESIEL
Whatever senses the Lantern’s little star-child possesses, you too possess them in some measure: and it’s these that forewarn you of the onslaught of the dead even now approaching from the clutching fog. The Cube abruptly ceases its contented laughter-shades and glissandoes into a disquieted tritone. Many paths are open to you. What do you do?

RAMONA
The captain’s son, dashing for the armory, hears your crack and does a double-take. "You crazy, cabróna? Where you gonna stand?" But you know better than to listen to this little baitfish. If anyone on this tub can steal a ghost ship from under the noses of its haunts, it’s got to be you. Now you just have to figure out how. And get that sodding song out of your head while you’re at it.

Spirits are boiling out of the holes in the ghost-ship’s hull. Skeletons too; gathering in little knots at the prow and toppling gracelessly into the water. They look angry. Actually, they look dead, but maybe they died angry. Also, hungry. Most of them are armed with crusty old fishing gear - gaffs, spears, nets - others are waving eerily glimmering swords. A couple even have guns. You have a moment to act before the spirits are upon you. And the others too, I guess. What do you do?

SERENITY
For a few moments before the panicked yelling starts, your nervous ditty is the loudest thing on deck. Oops. You, Ms. de Sahagún, and the begrudgingly faithful 01 are squarely in the spirits’ sights, and it’s to you that they swarm most thickly. Their mouths are open one and all in a silent furious scream. Perhaps they hunger for the joie de vivre that all bards share - that which is forever beyond these poor lost fishermen-that-were. It’s getting very cold in here…what do you do?

01
What are these idiotic softskins yammering about now? Ghost ship? What ghost ship? There’s nothing but fog and mist and a lot of panicked yelling. And splashing. And it sounds like the orc’s dishwasher is having a temper tantrum down there. Wait a second. Are those skeletons in the water? What do you do?

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 0

Gritting her teeth, Serenity stood and brought a hand to hilt of her sword. "Ramona, I've got your back, whatever happens." Glancing aside, she nodded to Zero One. "Hey handsome! You're free to let off your stress on these undead bastards as you see fit."

Taking up a defensive stance, Serenity kept an eye out for Ramona's blind spots while keeping a respectful distance from the woman herself. It'd be a shame to end up an incidental casualty should the bounty-killer get too exuberant. As she watched the creatures advance, she ran through the tales she knew about them, and what sort of weakness they might have that could be exploited.

Bardic Lore - Creatures Unusual: How can a ghost be made corporeal? It's hard to stab them without an enchanted blade.

Aid Ramona: 2d6+1 9
Ramona gets +2 forward.

Error 404
Jul 17, 2009


MAGE CURES PLOT

01
HP: 25/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 2/10

Finally, something to distract from more conversation and the stench of softskin failure.
At My Lady's words, I shift into Aggression mode, the single ocular sensor on my "face" increasing brightness to a blood-red glow. Serentiy sticks with the imposter, so I stand a bit further back and to the side, the better to pick off whatever tries to go around the Ramona. I draw my blaster and set it to maximum, taking aim at the magically animated skeletons climbing over the railing and boarding the ship.
With a loud THWOMMM I unleash what look like rippling bursts of air at the skeletons.
Volley 6 +xp

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?


Ramona
26/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 4 Armor
"No, stay here: within minimum range of the line, or you get hooked. Also let me magnetize your big leg-shaver: ghosts sense our E-fields. Like abelhas." Bees. Well, ghosts were more like the flowers, actually slowly losing the charge the living bees leave on them before they're done eating all the candy, and wishing they'd come back, hating them for never losing their charge... unless they die. People were the bees, and magnetized weapons bent the ghost's fading fields and disrupted them. This was common knowledge among exterminators.

Point is, a mundane sword would be useless. Just like Juan's air gun or bass drum or whatever the hell it was that he wasn't even aiming at the immediate threat. Some bodyguard he was.

The ladies stay back to back and start brandishing their weapons, crackling electric whip and blue lightning letter opener, trying to stave off the ball of moaning ghosts. "You better know your steps, diva."

Defend plus double aid: 2d6+4 9

Gonna deal 5 messy forceful damage to every ghost in the ball if they get in range of the Blades of Chaos.

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 1/10

"I better know my steps? I invented most of them, Miss Lady."

Narrowing her eyes, she gauged the approaching foes. As they hurtled forward, they never saw the blade coming as it slashed out in a vicious arc.

Hack and Slash: 2d6+1 4

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

They are weird and troubling. We owe it to our neighbors to kill them.


SERENITY AND RAMONA
Your weapons' combined energies only serve to spur these spirits on. You can almost hear their crazed wails above the rising panic: a very faint, very lonely wind is blowing. They meet Ramona's expertly wielded grapple-whip headlong, and where it cracks it tears them to grey rags of fog; and Serenity's energized blade splits ghosts down the middle with no more resistance than cutting air.

Then even more of them howl up through the deck below and overcome you. Arctic wind tears through your flesh, your armor, your bridge-coat - everything. Fear clutches at your hearts and limbs. They pass through you and coil away to haunt some softer targets. Serenity, you were expecting something corporeal, something that cuts with more resistance than air: you stumble and fall heavily to the deck. Just in time to get a nice good look at the other ghost, the one with the tattered tricorne that's been sucking greedily away at the entropic generators on Zero-One's thaumium-alloy killblade this whole time. Already its limbs have a horrible silvery plumpness that its brothers lack. It unlatches from the blade and lands on the deck. Actually lands. For a split second you glimpse the old black night in its eyes and shudder. The sky above Nashira's temple was that color once. But for the moment its attention is on the weapon and its wielder, not you...



Both of you take six damage ignoring armor. You wanted to know how ghosts can become corporeal: now you know! Ramona, you're still on your feet, and your field of fire is empty for now. What do you two do?

01
You squeeze off round after round into the oncoming bone-tide to absolutely no effect. Save your breath for something fleshier, why don't you? You knock a few off-deck when you catch them climbing over the gunwale, but they just splash back down and climb up again. And now it sounds like they're climbing up the starboard hull too—

***



***

—Something yanks, inhumanly strong, at your wrist. You are slammed to the deck so hard it leaves a dent in the plating. The thaumium blade is torn from your grasp by something you can only barely perceive. Some kind of silvery-black fuzz clouds your sensors when you try to look at it. Your weapon whips through the air seemingly of its own accord. What do you do?

PADRE CLAVO
Also, there's skeletons coming onboard. The crew near you shrink back and finger their cutlasses fearfully: but you seem to be hidden in the fog for now. A few whisper to themselves about 'that thing with the mask'. You'll have to take these into account, too. What do you do?

Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at Jan 23, 2016 around 04:54

Error 404
Jul 17, 2009


MAGE CURES PLOT

01
HP: 25/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 3/10

I reel from the attack that I never even-<PC LOAD LETTER>
What the F/-/< was that!?
With a dangerous grace I regain my footing. Through the haze of visual distortion I can make out the <CONTEXT: NULL a05ds425f> that took my weapon. It's a nice weapon, I intend to get it back. I stomp across the deck, several paces (step to the side, lean to avoid a blade swing) to dart in and grasp the hilt of my sword. In that same instant I deploy anchors from my feet, holding me fast to the deck, I holster my pistol and reach toward the place this annoyance's body is most likely to be. RIP AND TEAR RIP AND TEAR!
Hack & Slash 6 +xp
I divert extra power to my legs, which give off a stressed whining as I attempt to hold off the damnable strength of this <BAD SECTOR>
Immovable Object 9
You throw, push, or drag the enemy who tried to move you, moving them just as far as they would have moved you, in any direction you like.
I'm trying to drag it down to it's knees in front of me.

Error 404 fucked around with this message at Jan 23, 2016 around 05:25

Infinite Oregano
Dec 31, 2007

I'm going to make my friends eat infinite oregano and they'll have to do it because the recipe says so!

Tutresiel

HP: 17/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 3/7 | XP: 0/10

Ah. The undead. One of the Great Enemies of the Silent God. 'Funnily' enough, if Hamon was here they would be able to turn them. There are two thoughts as to why the undead are so hated by the Silent God, death is a final thing - to be acting beyond it is breaking a fundamental law is the primary one, however there are (or were) treatises on the greater nature of such things, having been beyond the veil of death can grant profund and unnatural knowledge, a fact that even some mortals are aware of and so some of the foolish seek out ghosts, the lost souls of the dead still bound to the world, in order to ask them questions. Obviously this usually ends badly.

Regardless, Tutresiel slipped the cube back into the Pall, cracking open the box's lid just slightly and causing the opening to bloom as it does, providing the transdimensional interface, while the cube's shape appears to warp and shrink in a better approximation of the internal world-space of the Pall. With that the cube was safe again, it was less use in an actual combat situation, which unfortunately this seemed to be the case.

Witnessing the energies emitted by the spirits, Tutresiel did not appreciate this spectral incursion. With that they grasped a dead star, called from a higher dimension where they float unaided, forever, the radiance emitted by such an object (especially upon such peculiar wavelengths) casts itself upon many things, perhaps in its presence soulless entities might be able to pereceive more esoteric things, or perhaps not. Tutresiel had little time for things that had no place in the cosmos, the constructs of mortals could never achieve anything that grandiose, they were to be forever overshadowed by their creators.

With a pale white star glowing brilliantly in their right hand, Tutresiel advanced around the ship's deck, catching sight of the spirit that had grown manifest upon deleterious energies. Such a thing would necessitate being a primary target, for its ability to affect the physical world more completely was not only an issue in the immediate sense, but also in the theological sense, for it had achieved by now several of the steps of the path of Im-Voshim, known to mortal scholars more commonly as Hollow Declension. If it were to one day fully achieve this it might build a fortress of ivory and force the Glazen Threshold, as well as regardless becoming a more dire threat to the world, but more importantly it would challenge the more key dogma of the Silent God.

With that in mind, Tutresiel used their left hand to infect the star with deleterious vibration, causing it to (however temporarily) transcend its form to become a dying star, but an unstable one. With that Tutresiel tossed it at the ghost 'captain', all the while the others witnessed this moment, the star having left the calming presence of Tutresiel, and with that its faith rioted.

It would do what it should have done aeons ago, if it were not for its dimensional misplacement and stasis.

Using the +1 from Discern Realities on Nova

Nova (Wis): 2d6+3+1 8

Damage: 1d6 1

pre:
Nova (WIS)
You can conjure small stars within Reach of you, but they destabilize rapidly. They can provide light
 and heat, but burn out in a small explosion after a short time. When you create a star with intent to 
harm, roll +WIS. On a 10+, deal your damage to everything Close to the star you created, and it detonates 
exactly when you want it to. On a 7-9, it still detonates, but it hits less than you wanted it to, or the explosion 
causes collateral damage.

This might hit 01 assuming it's close enough, but then again I think 01 can soak a point of damage, and who knows, maybe 01 can see now???? Praise the Silent God for granting us vision

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 12/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 1/10

Hauling herself up after the assault, Serenity winced and tried to quell the fear that threatened to rise up. These risen dead were far angrier and hateful than she had expected. Something terrible must have happened to them in death to warrant this level of unfocused rage.

First, ensure the bastion did not falter. Serenity knelt and clasped her hands together, singing an ancient hymn her husband had taught her. It had been a comfort in hard times, a litany against the iniquitous. By Nashira's grace, that prayer would would be bolstered into truth.

Queen,
Queen of tremendous majesty,
who freely saves those worthy ones,
save us, source of mercy.


Arcane Art: 2d6+3 11
Healing Ramona: 1d8 4
Ramona recovers 4 HP

Shardix fucked around with this message at Jan 23, 2016 around 16:24

Vulpes Vulpes
Apr 28, 2013

noises, sounds, and sweet airs


Padre Clavo
Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 0/10


There was the temptation to stay still. As of yet, the dead hadn't seemed to notice him or the frightened knot of crewmen whoo huddled in the fog with him. Maybe the others would be able to take care of the dead? He scolded himself mentally. That was bunder talk. A bunder hides. A Lantern shines.

"Mote! Blades!" Clavo roared as be stood tall. In an instant, his hand was filled with a score of longswords made of the sun itself. With a cast that echoed the bottle he had been throwing, the swords spun through the air and slammed into the dead minions that suddenly took note of the Lantern.

Volley: 2d6+2 7, reducing Piercing 2 to Piercing 1
Damage: 1d6 2 ok seriously, I think orokos just spits out a 2 every time I roll damage.

"Come on, you lot!" he shouted, trying to rally the men with him. "Are you going to be unmanned by a bunch of bony wimps?"
Reveal the Way: 2d6+2 7
On a 7-9, they aren't sure it's something they want to do, but you have their ear now - you gain leverage over them.

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?


Ramona
24/26 HP; 3/11 XP; 4 Armor
You’re never caught by surprise. When an enemy would get the drop on you, you get to act first instead.

The rising wave of ghosts crashes on Ramona first, since she was the lead dancer. Hit through the suit, what bullshit these spirits were. She'd have to invest in some kind of soul armor. Chicken soup probably wouldn't do it.

On the other hand, magical musical healing went through armor too. The first good new so far, and she mutters as much into her helmet, "Hactenus re primam bonam fio," mic muted. The bard probably only sang that dead language anyway. So, she wanted to be saved... fine.

Ramona grabs the bard by the back of the pants before the spirits start chewing on her, and hurls her up onto the mast. No ghosts up there. No crow's nest either, because who needed to see things coming anyway? Point is it'd buy her some time to do whatever she does out of harms way for a while.

So she's gonna 'shoot first' to throw the bard out of the damage before she takes the damage. Ramona will take the damage and healing.

Next, to draw the rest of them away. They like Juan's overdesigned, long-named butterknife, do they? Then it just had to be over there, far away. She uses the inertia from throwing Serenity up the mast to rotate herself and somersault jump up the same mast. Her eyes narrow at the sword, then she fires her wrist-mounted grappler in an arc above the slapfighting over the stupid thing, and kicks off the mast, reeling herself in firing her blaster just to clear her way. Killing all the ghosts would make them go after her, out of self preservation. She wants them to just be afraid to approach her, such that they'd rather take a free meal. The free meal that would belong to Ramona soon.

When she approaches the sword, it's about to be brought down on Juan's head while he distracts the thief. She slows her grapple-reel, and the change in acceleration makes her legs rise behind her, like a face-down trapeze artist at the peak of a swing. It also makes her arm and hand dip, such that she can reach out, grab the sword, then pull into another quickly spinning somersault and land. She rises sword first, waves it around to get everything's attention, then tosses it into the drink.

Of course, just like with the harp, she shoots the uncharged grappler after it as well.

DD Str shooting through the ghosts: 2d6+2 6
okay jumping through a ball of ghosts might hurt a little.

slydingdoor fucked around with this message at Jan 23, 2016 around 18:54

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 12/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 1/10

All of a sudden the world fell out from under Serenity as she felt herself bodily hefted up and tossed onto the mast. Lashing out, she snagged a nearby rope and arrested her fall. A quick motion as she sheathed her blade and adjusted her grip. From her vantage, she watched as Ramona began pulling off some impressive acrobatics. It was hard to believe somebody could move that well in armor like that. A shame the armor didn't seem to slow these spirits down all that much; they were swarming up to mob the bounty hunter unless someone did something.

Spotting a nearby rope, Serenity put her nimble fingers to use undoing the knot tying it back. Tricky work to do one handed, if you were someone else entirely and thus not amazingly competent at pretty much everything. As the rope came loose, she cast another glance down. Ramona had Zero One's sword in hand - wait, no, was she...? Yes, she really was going to throw it overboard. Or at least pretend to. Nothing for it but to give her some breathing room, then.

Gripping the rope, Serenity swung down with a laugh, aiming to swing past Ramona and back out of danger. As she barreled through them, the spirits surrounding her comrade dissipated in her wake. Only for a moment, but a moment was all that was needed.

Aid Ramona: 2d6+1 10
Ramona gets +1 to her DD roll.

Error 404
Jul 17, 2009


MAGE CURES PLOT

so hey my computer chose tonight to die. I will try and keep up posting and hopefully I'll be back up and running soon.

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

They are weird and troubling. We owe it to our neighbors to kill them.


TUTRESIEL
For a bare instant, the dying unlight of an ancient sun glares out over the battlefield, swollen with unimaginable age. The sheer force of its radiance is a physical shock all on its own: it’s as though you put your ‘nose’ up against a vat of boiling lead for that one instant - and snatched it away before it could do more than give you a nasty sunburn. The spirit swells so obscenely in the brief torrent that parts of its substance ablate away. It turns to you, fathomless hunger in its empty eyes - somehow it must have sensed that your will was what summoned forth the star - and hurtles recklessly for your throat!
You and 01 both don't take any damage. What do you do?

ZERO-ONE
For the one moment the alien’s star shines, a solar lifetime’s worth of entropy-flux is squarely at your foe’s back. Your weapon’s entropic generators are no more than a guttering candle against that brief flare. Its last breath illuminates the entropy-glutted spirit with such intensity even your sensors are able to clearly perceive the

—NULL—

smash its head into the deck, one, two, NaN no no dodge its bite NAND deal its shoulder a blow that would NULL the softskin’s bones like ripe fruit. What..? what did you NULL—

>>> can’t NULL, segmentation fault in nulutative subarray 0egzERSijrtyQxnIOuVvA87g: NULL neither NULL nor NULL >>>

—No. What’s >>> fatal: /proc/mem02eb4d62 not in ambit >>> no something’s wrong. For a moment you comprehended something in its merge conflict in origin:NULL, NULL to restore branch tip that your sensors and thoughtshard were never intended to perceive. NAND every time you try to NULL about it the thought that you NULL its NULL is spreading through NULL NULL unthink it NULL it null NULL—>>>>>>>> 01@u}g͝"-u:R{goasxѨ'檑|EQKlĦmR|&xl8a`# :i{+oAhE#l�+�Ϫ�Tt*0mzyΈ]\]Ž@n"LS�G�ixW�MA��~ej]x�G��vM��'~ջ�z!˅>�($Wk*Wݶ�b�ڟ*4?�Y0:HLg,�햙�Ұe�m��>#>>�������———



When you reboot (your call how long that takes), tell us about the last time you came across something older than you.
You now have the SIGFPE debility: take -1 WIS ongoing until you can execute a thorough debugging suite and consistency check. Sorry about your computer! Jump back in whenever you can.


RAMONA
The first part of your plan works flawlessly. Some kind of dead alien light flashbulbs in the ghost’s face and it makes the killbot go limp at the same time its mistress plays weed-wacker with the ball of ghosts that wants to eat your face some more. Perfect distractions. You rip the sword out of ghost-cap’n’s hand and chuck it overboard. It doesn’t even care. Crap. Just goes right for the alien’s throat. Must want more of whatever juice that light made when it lit up.

Whatever weird metal 01’s sword is made out of, it’s something your grappler can’t grapple - its grabby tip clangs off and flies wide! If you’re not quick it’ll end up on the ocean bottom, or in the middle of a skeletal feeding frenzy!
You can keep hold of the weapon but end up in the water, or leave it behind and stay on deck. When you put it into your inventory without dropping anything else, you’ll have 15/14 load: take -1 ongoing until you lighten your burden. What do you do?

PADRE CLAVO
Mote immediately conjures exactly twenty gleaming longswords and dumps them all in your arms at once. You promptly drop them. He looks very pleased with himself. The weapons are heavy - somehow - and balanced exactly like you’d expect a longsword to be, i.e. poo poo for throwing. But when they hit, they hit: enough so that the bones of the two you actually manage to hit shatter to brittle dust.

Five more left: one each for you and the four crewmen around you. You’ve held the rest at bay with your wild tosses long enough for them to find some steel in their spine, at least - and they charge into the fray with a yell of “FOR THE LANTERNS!”
What do you do?

SERENITY
Your pull off that little rope trick without a hitch - zipping through the ghost-ball keeps the spirits distracted long enough for Ramona to snatch your bodyguard’s sword and hurl it overboard?! 01 grapples with the captain for a moment or two, then the alien Tutresiel conjures up some sort of starburst. When its awful unlight hits 01's sensors the machine just — switches off. Flops to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

Then you hear rattling. More rattling. Sounds like they’re climbing back up over the gunwale! You could probably make it belowdecks if you’re quick: most of the crew were belowdecks in the engine room before this fog came on you. But can your companions hold the top deck without you to help stem the tide?
Undo the six damage you suffered earlier! Ramona hurled you out of harms’ way before it could happen. Your weapon is still magnetized but it won’t stay that way forever. What do you do?

THRASH
You have twenty-four hours to post the rewritten thing before I show you my stabs. What do you do?

Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at Jan 25, 2016 around 02:09

Vulpes Vulpes
Apr 28, 2013

noises, sounds, and sweet airs




Padre Clavo
Damage: 1d6 | Armour: 1 | HP: 17/17 | XP: 1/10


"Unbelievable!" hissed Clavo at Mote as the sunswords clattered to the deck, but his peevish expression broke as one of wonder came over his face when the assembled sailors and seas scum armed theirselves and rallied at his command.

Fraa, he thought to himself. We're doing this!

"Cut them to pieces!" he ordered in a manner he was pretty sure was not particularly Lanternly. Now to make sure that the men didn't get cut to pieces themselves. Muttering to the spirits of ambient light (less sophisticated beings than Mote or any other Lantern's light, but still chatty), he tried to gather some sunlight to push against the ghostly devils...but he got the nagging feeling that something was lost in translation.

Bend Light: 2d6+2 6
On a 6-, the light is sick of being bossed around - the GM chooses one from the list and uses it against
you!
• You command the light to attack – temporarily blind or stun a group within Near range.
• You calm the light until it stays still - create a wall of light that blocks off one passageway.
• You praise the light until it draws close - fill an area with light.
• You terrify the light until it flees - shroud an area in darkness.

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 1/10

Serenity shielded her eyes as raw light exploded around Tutresiel. As the glare died down, she risked a glance outward. Zero One had collapsed, and now the ghostly captain was lunging towards the angel with death in his eyes. Nope. Not on her watch.

As the rope reached the zenith of its arc, she shifted her weight and hurtled back at speed. A few small adjustments, like so...now! Releasing her grip on the rope, Serenity somersaulted forwards and landed, sliding in between Tutresiel and the onrushing ghost captain. In one fluid motion she stood, assumed a side-facing stance, and whipped out her sword in a crushing blow across the specter's face.

"Back to the underworld with you, dog!"

Hack and Slash: 2d6+1 6

Infinite Oregano
Dec 31, 2007

I'm going to make my friends eat infinite oregano and they'll have to do it because the recipe says so!

Tutresiel

HP: 17/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 4/7 | XP: 0/10

"Perhaps a dead star was the wrong choice." muttered Turesiel as the spirit exulted in the presence of its radiance. "Perhaps something more... vivacious will work." said Tutresiel as they drew a hand deep into the Pall, its lid opening like an iris and the interface between its outside and inside blooming causing a disturbing visual effect, before Tutresiel drew out from it a mote of burning plasma, a shard of a celestial realm, something impossible that should not be here, and yet it was. Its divine nature exultant as Tutresiel gripped it, the air growing insufferably hot for anyone but the masked figure, Tutresiel said nothing more as they thrust it at the inbound figure, the radiance of this being very different to the last, it is silvery, strange sigils seem to follow it in afterimages imprinted upon the mind, the hostile nature of the Broken Domain upon anything that is not from there would soon become evident.

For entropy came from death, and a dying star being resonant with entropy made perfect sense. But this was order, cold stasis - so cold that it burns hot with a scouring nature, castigating the chaotic universe around it for daring to show such flaws. A purifying relic, disdainful for anything less pure than it was, which which the majority of this world, as flawed as it was. But flaws can be scoured away, but without those flaws they might cease to be.

Hack and Slash (Str): 2d6+0 9

Damage (Messy, Ignores Armor): 1d6 6

(The tags of the Heavenly Shard are Hand, Near, Messy, Ignores Armor, and Thrown)

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?


Ramona
24/26 HP; 3/11 XP; 4 Armor
Dammit, none of the ghosts were taking the bait, and the sword was somehow ungraspable--of course! The weapon had been drained of its thingness. It was a nigh empty flower now, holding barely a charge, and the skeleton ghost was an engorged bee, as charged as any other at least for the time being. Her grappler had no soul, nor was it charged with electricity--that would have probably destroyed the sword even if it had just been a sword--so it couldn't interact with the fading shell of a weapon. Ramona knew what she had to do now--first, get the sword back, with her own hand. That meant jumping after it.

On the quick couple steps back to make room to get a running start, she whips out her telescoping harpoon, magnetizes it, and throws it such that it sticks vertically across the ship side of the three guard rails. Her loadout was heavy, and reeling herself in was likely to go poorly if she didn't distribute that weight among all them more or less evenly. That spear, of course, had better tensile strength than any of the vertical bars linking the rails. Then she leaps after the sword fires her grappler back at the harpoon, grabs the butterknife again, and reels herself back to the hull of the ship feet first, like a rappeler. Rather than run straight up the ship's side and have to halt her momentum, instead she runs once to the side, then faster to the other, like a pendulum--or a windshield wiper cutting through skeleton-raindrops with an energy cannon. When she's about to peak her second wall run, she reels in hard. The conservation of angular momentum makes her fly by the side of the ship, grinding atop the guard rails and shooting sparks.

Serenity is now facing the green skeleton alone, Juan having decided to nap on the job. What a disgrace. At least her target is distracted again. She lightly charges Juan's weapon to ensure it at least can do his job, disengages her grappler, and plunges the sword--appetite piqued but doubtlessly ravenous for its old soul--into the green ghost that stole it. "Suck it dry," she growls, maybe to her victim, maybe to her weapon, maybe both.

DD strength (blast through all the skellingtons): 2d6+2 9
Maybe that should be a forceful Hack and Slash now that I think of it, assuming the skeletons can fight back while climbing. Otherwise I think I got it right, because either way they could slow Ramona's momentum and not give her the flying backstab on Captain Kermit.
damage of windshield wiping (forceful, messy, probably against a lot of skeletons): 1d10+1 7
I really hope that's enough to oneshot them all.

slydingdoor fucked around with this message at Jan 27, 2016 around 17:44

Teonis
Jul 5, 2007


Thrash
HP: 25/25 | Armor: 2 | XP: 0/10


As a horde of specters burst through the galley wall, Thrash waves his hands in the air, "One at a time! ONE AT A TIME!" he shouts at the surge of activity. "Oi, can't you lot always be this excited for grub-time? Wait- Put that down!" Thrash ducked as one of the servings flew across the room, clattering into the wall and scattering muscle-shells and some kind of meaty vine pieces across the counters in a gray-colored stew. "I'll have your heads for that! Ye knew you'll be scrubbin' floors and pans fer a month!!"

When the knives flew across the kitchen, Thrash began to realize this was more than just a riot. Besides, these folk were quite transparent, and he knew he kept the crew fed enough that they shouldn't be that thin. "What are you lot?" He said before whistling sharply. At the sound, Maw-Meow charges in from the dining hall of the galley to his creator's side. "Maw! Sic!" Thrash shouts out as he begins to swing at the ghosts with his cleaver.

Hack & Slash: 2d6+3 11
Damage + Maw-Meow: 1d6+3 9


were you on this vessel before the rest of the party boarded?
Nope, we've all been stuck out here this long. Sure, maybe Thrash had a week on the others while he was stocking the pantry with odds and ends. Mostly odds. but it has been one, long, miserable journey of sampling Thrash's foods.

Error 404
Jul 17, 2009


MAGE CURES PLOT

NULL DEV-ERROR
HP: 25/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 3/10 | -1WIS

̠̹͇̱̮̯̗̼͘͡ ҉͔͚̼͍̜̦͍ ̯́ͅ ̡̡̰͎̞͎̜̗S̫̲̤͍̲͡y̫s̼͡t͖͖̥̖̗̗͉̰̕e̛̮͙͚̹̟̕m̴̬̼͍̩̟ͅ ͖͜[̟̖b̷̶̦̥͕̲]̼͈̙̱̤͙̙̣̕͢E͉r͍̫̝͓͕̲̕̕r͙̼̖͈͘ó̳̪̹̻̰̼̼ͅr͍̤̦͍̲͈͟͜ ̩̯̀͜C͝҉͙̯̮̠͈̙͓̟o̭͈d̤͉͡e̟͇s̥͟ͅ[̷̴͔͎/̶̻̟̘̱̖͟ḇ͇̤̼̫̦̫͚͠]̵̳͔̺͓̰͚ͅ ̷͎͍̯͈̭͡(̸̞̫̫̫̱0̮͖̭͍̳̲̦-̛̘͔̮4̡͟҉̺̟̳̭͖9̸͓9͏̝̥͙̩̖̞)̡̥̦̪̖̺̻͙̀͠ ̷̢̙(̴͚̤̞͍̩͚́0̶̠͘x̡͔̠̱̙͕̝͖̞͜0̱̖̻͚͍-̺͓0̨̘̱̰̯x̛̱͔̤̩̠͔͙̳͞1̴̪̺̻f̸̞̖̮͚̠̼͔3̟̫̠̲͝͡)̪̠͍̗
̨̪̯̞̣͇͍̱͠ ̹̯͖͈̮̖ ̡̱̳̻̹̠͡ ̦̼́ ̷͎S̩̝̖͔͔̣̗͞y̪͓͢͡s̷͙͎̺ͅt͇͈́͡e͔̬̭̙̜͇͟͠͡m̧̩̻̥͈͞ ̛͕̠̦̮̮̀͟É̱̲̪̦͘r̙̝̦̗̫͇͢r̛̞͎͓͓͜o̴҉͇͓̮r̝̩̱̬̪̰͟͜ ̸̩̪͈͚͟C̯͎̘̫̀͢ǫ̪͖̝̙͉͙́ͅd̛̖͖̙͠e̵̢͍̟̳͉͍̗̮̰̻͢s̟̝̤̪͔͠ ̡̱̪̘̭͈͕̠̟̫̀̕[̴͙̗̘̥̖͝b̵͙̙͖]̺͚̦̹̟͉(̵̫̠̕5̢̨̮͙͚͍̜͇0̷̧̖͈͠ͅͅ0̻̥̕-͇́9̧͍̣̯̟̝̠̜͡͝9͉̞̦̦9̷̵̡̘)̙̪̩͔͓̫̼[̡̛̝͍/̢̞͓̪͇̳ͅb̴̫͜]̢̩͓͔͚̗̩̱̲͓ ̧̧̤͎͇̟(̶̳͙̹̩̦̹̞̝0̮̬̖̣̥̼̹͙̀x̘̲͟͠1̠͎͘͟f̧̡̛͙̳̲͓̫̻4̨̹̞͈̬̦̺̳̻̀-̺̯̟͕̙̭̤͠0̛̟͔̫̮̳͜x͚̪̩̣̯̦̩̣̟͢3̳͕͘͘e̵̜͈͉̬̣̯̰̬͜͝7̦̮̲̳̜̀)̸̷̦̠̱͕͓̗̝͘
̸̛̲͓̞̳̝̲ ̩͠ ͙̤̱͖̙̘̖̻͜ ͍͍͠ ͝҉̭̹̱͕̣̳̹S̙͎̰͉̜͝y̡̛͍̙̙̘̰͇̹ͅs̵̛̱̟̝͉̺̮t̨͇̰̙̟͈͠ę̶̝̺͙̣̱̱̞̝m̛̦̙͙͙̳̱̲ ̧͇̪̖̬̙E̴͔͟r̡̻̩̗͙͎͘͜r̡̬̝͕̜̦o̺̫̯̖̼͜r̬̺̰̬͡ ̘̱̙͍̣̝̹͖̕C̛̛͎̤̩͖͖̱̮o̷̲͔̺d̷͖͎̝e̵̜̜̝̱͓̱̦̘s̵͔̜̳͙̕͡ ̶̵̢̹̹͍̭(͚͎̀1̧͕̩̬̪͝ͅͅ0̨͈̼̖͎̫͈̬͔͡0̧̟̲͇0͈̥̜̙͕͢-҉̸͖̯̙́[̶̩̙̲͔̠̕͜b̪̼̲̲͘̕]̨͍͎̤͖̲1̶̭̝̦̣̝̹͘2̡͖͉̮̥́͟9̩̘̬̠͉̠̕͜͞9̨͍̟͟)̷͍̖͇̫̭̖̬ ̯͕̬͎̙̻͍̺(̟͓̬̟̠͚̘0͏̩͎̙̼̰͈͖x̨͕͇̦̙̜͉̖̲͜3̵̷̹̠e̝̰̺̜̖̫͚̮8̤̘̗̹̭ͅ[̼̭͓̼̣/̴̣ͅb̙̖̹̮̰̪̫͕͘̕]̸̻͚-̸̖̹̳͎̪̦̪͕̞̀̕0̵̺͕͓̯̮͠x͎̺̳̗̬̠͟͞5̶̦̙̯͚̣̝͔͔̠1̢̞͙̟3͍̮͚̬̖̖͘)͘͏̗̥̜͚
̸͓̺͔̜͈́ ̵̴̱͈̳͠ ̴͍̗̯̰̝̺́ ̟̦͕̰̳ ̛̗͙͓̘͞S͏̹̠ỳ̢̮̣̫̜̗̲̘̼s͟҉̗̱̟̹͓̲͖͚̀ţ̱͙̭̯͡ḙ̡̰̯̯͟m̠̹̞͠ ̤̤̀ͅẸ̸̢̗r̨͙̳͓̱͢r̘̪͜o͔̲̦̗̮̞͚͜͡r͘͜͏̮̯̯͕̭͕̺ ̴̨͉̗͠C͏̰̭ͅo̘͚̬̜̗̩̳͈d̮̮̳͍e̡͏̻̳̪̯̤͉̟̟̜s̷͉̝̹̖͎ ̨̯̜̝̳̘[̡̛͇̘͖̼̰̯b̸͏̜̟]̵̜̘͚̞̺͠ͅ(̷̲͉1̢̫̙̙͠3̸̱̳͙͕̤͢0̸̦͍̙̟́0̥͈-̟̞̮̳̻̳̳̦͚1̵͙̹6̰̞͙͢͡9̻͎̘͕͍̩9̜̱͚̫̫͈)̩͉̥̹̰̫͔͢͝[̟̫͉͉/̷̪͖̠̥b̷̞͉͙̮̩̲̹ͅ]͍̭̞̥̭͞ ҉̬(̷̱̘͈̀0̵̨͕͎̺̦x̞5̧̘̙̤̬̠͓̝͠1̛̯̫̺̩̙͜4̨̬̫͕-̢̗̦̞͇̠̬0̸̼̪̰͢x҉̙͙͕̮̕6̮͔͖a̸̡̫͞3̴̙̞͘͞ͅ)̴̵̨̮̤̗͚̦̣͙
̵̴̫̻̣ ̮͓̪̹̣͎̻͎͈́͜͞ ̵͔̬͈̺̰̠ ̴̢̗̜͍͓͉̣̰̤͇ ̣̻͇̩̹̦͡S͍̫̬̦̖̜y̶̷̢̲̺͕͇̼͚s̢̨҉͓̭̫t̥̫̯̩̗͎̬͘̕e̯̮̬̲̦͢͡ͅm̞̥̲̗̺̖̙͈ ̭͇͔͍͕̱̜̻[̰̙̜̕b̛͇̥̺͎̬͔̺̱̪]̧̮͍̗̕E̡̟̭̟̟̱͖͈̺r̵̖̥͓͝r̴͖̖̞o̙̭͕̹͉̠̣r̦͖̟͝[̙̲͢/̧͍̦̝̮̞̞͙͜b͏̧̟̰̬]̛̖̻̭͓̩͙ ̢̞̀͝C̻̺̹͙̗̖o̢̠͉̜̞̻ḍ̮͚̥̠̣͢͝ͅe̞͓͚̱͟s͕̙͖̠͇̜̝̱̕͠ ̨̝̩̦̼͉̱̭̕(̧̦͇͇͠1̛͢҉̮̘̭7̫̪̺̯̲̫0̛̫̝̰̀0̵̸͓̝̝̩̰͡-̧̼͓̦̟̙̩̙̤͍́3̶̰̜͕̣͖͢9̥̠̞̝9͙̕9̭̜̗͍͘ͅ)̣̱̲͓̩̮̤ ̙̩̳̳̠(̢͖͈̥̦̞̭̘́[̨̘̳̭͔̘̹͚͘b̥͚̬̺̮͔́̕]̷̵̥͔0̰̭͘͡x̡̡͏̥͉̘͉̯̯ͅ6̢̛͙̫̰̹͠ͅa͈̰̮̮̖̩͟ͅ4̤͉̪̯͎͔[̧͙̰̠͖̙́/̬͍̱͠b̛̦̗̮̣̲͓̫̖͠]̷̡̛̠̱̱̥̱̦̱͖-̲̘͉͢͞0͈͉̗̮͠x̠̘̜͈̣̙͔͘f̭̻̰̼͔̥͍̝͜͢9̤͎̭̫̬͔̬̀͡f̫̩̗͘)̜̬̖̦͞͝
̫̠̠̗͍͉̩̙́ ̸̵͇̹ ͏̧̺̩̥̯͚͎̀ ̭͎̺̪̜͙͟͝͡ ̥͈̥͔́S͇̼̩͔̟̣͓̼̀̕y̴̜̺̠̟͇̜s͏̗̙t̯̦͙͈̱̳̦͓e҉̶͚͙̗̹m̜̀ ͏̧̫̙̹͖͜E͙̠͘r̠̤͚̣ͅr͠͏̤̜̗͙͇ͅo̸̷͔̩̥͙r͏͏͖̳͈̪̟̝ͅ ̢̫̘͍͖͉C̥͔̲̥̟̩̖͝͡o̵͈̪͝d̴̹̪ȩ͈̭͈̪̦̕s̻͉͈̼̟̞̠̣ ̭̹̗͎͚̦̮̦̕(̹̝̘4̦̩0͢ͅ0̺̻̦̩͞ͅ0̛̗̲̭̯̙̤̼ͅ-̸҉̜̗̠͖̟5̡̼̟̘̹̲9̡̣̲͔͔͉̪̤́̕9͍͖9̴̩̙̜̕)̪̣͎͠ͅ ̘͚̱̺͙̻̝(̰͍̙͈̝̤̟0̰̠̫̯̭͔͓͘͜͜x̠̕f͚̝͖̻a̴̠̳̥̞̙̼͉0̯̞͎͍-҉̠͎̕͝0̵͕͙̙̰̲͚x̧̱̣̮̖̬̯̗͔̞1̭̮͙̼̺̟͙̥7̸̧̰6͕̣̼̗͚͍͠f̯͚̦̭̩͔͘͜͡)̸̧̜͙
͏͈̥͈̺͍̳̫͙ ̣̟̰̘͙̥̪̰͟ ̢̧͉͚̱͔̟̼͉̦ ̵̪͞ ̵͘͏̖̤[̨͈̻̺̬̦̰̩ͅb̛̝̪̭̳͜͠]̶̛̱͕͈̲̫͎̤Ş͈̗͉̹̯͓͙̞y̸͖̺̱͕͖̟̗s͇͖͇̠̯̯̲̖t͟҉̴̱̭e̤̮͚̯̕m̶̞͙͎̬̦͍̰̬͡ ̢͇̪̜̥É̺̦̳ṛ̸̮̻r̴̦͍̳͉̖̘͉̜̖o͉͔͍̮r͙͙̤̺̜ͅ ҉̳̭͔̘͉̠͓̙ͅC̡͇̳̺̯͟o̡̮̘̜͇͕̮̫̭̱͠d̟̙̦̭̰̖̪͎ͅę͚̗̲̦̲͇̮͎͘s̞̻[̸̘͔̣̩́͟/̮̜̤͜͠͞b̸͍̳͇̺̀]̸̲̗̬̬̫̙̜̱͍ ̖̤̀(̨̧͚̮̰̖̰̜6̘͈̼ͅ0̲̭̹̪̥͠0҉̥̗̥0̴̵̛̭̞͍-̪͚͠8̀҉̢̦̣̯͖̥̼1̧͎̝̙͈̘̤̕͘9̨͇̘͍̹͎͘ͅ9̤̺͕̹̲̯͞)̶̵̞̩̪̮̞̕ ̷͚͍͉̞̤̘̞͠(̤͇̠̝͙͡[͍̫̲͟b̼̥̹͙̜͢ͅ]̪̬͎͡0̰̫̭̩̝̞̳͝x̛͚̠͎̘͚̖̩̱̱̀͞1̸̨̲̻̜̼͚7̗̦̥̰̜̭͘͢7͏̴̟̻̣̰̝ͅ0̺̺̩͎̹̝̦̕͜-̵̢̮̹̣̙͍̟̯̝̫0̷̮̰̮͔̫̝̣͍̟͜x͡͏̗̠̤͉̙̞ͅ2̀͏̝̗̫̣̜̠͕0̖͔͕̝͡0͍͚̬̗͖̮͓̯͟7̢̝̦̤͈̳̗̯͎̜[̰̣̹̺͎̠̲/̖̞̳̮̫̫b̸̨̤̳͎̗̝ͅͅ]͙͓̟̙͔̜͍͞͠)̶̵̼͇
̶̢҉͚ ̗͖̻̬͈̰͘ ̨̛̲͓̰̯̘ͅ ͏̷̭̮̳͡ ̬̲̳̥̥͜ͅ[̼͙͚͢b̢̦̰̲ͅ]̴̭͚S̴̜̗̼̠̺͘͜y͎̻͕̺̕ș͍͈̘̗͜͞͞t̴͇͇̼͠e̛̬̫̩̜̟͝m̸͇̮̥͚̝[̸̷̗̤͚̬͙͔͕́ͅ/̘͔̘̕b̶̧͓̫̮͘ͅ]̡͚͎̟̰̟͖̼̹͟ ͚̜͕̻̖̭̟͔͖́E̺̬̗̙̜͍ͅr̝̖͞r̡̘̱͕̭͍̪̫͚͙͘͞o̸̭̟̦̭r̗͉̀ ̷̨̜̖̺̜C̴̳̥͍̞̙͉͟o̪̰̼̳̦̟̠d̶̘̬̲͈̙̬̥͍è͇̺̦̰̪̫s͏̰̀ ̵͈̭͚̰(҉͍̱̮̬8̡̢̬͚͓̤͓̬̲̰2̵͕̣0̺̯̯͜0͉͚-͚̳8̜͚̫̬͎9̧̰̺̻̱̻͎͢9̴̵̙̦̬̗̜̣̬̬͙͘9̸͎͚̳̹̼)̡̩̘͙̫́ ̶͏͏̪̺̜(͙̪͡0̣̜̖̪͇͢x̷̡̳̞̙͟2̨̜̦̼̮̻̲̘́0̼̳̺̪̮͜0͏̼̩͙̭̦͔̗͚8̠̭̰͇̫-̤̼̫̺ͅ[̼̞̰̀͜b̩̣̤̱̙̗́]̹͢͢0͔̞̩́́͞x̢̢̬̥͎̬2҉͍̥̼͍̱̳3͙̩̘̺2̶͚̖̻͉͙̭̟7͙̺͝[̪/̕҉̡̠͚͖b͙̘͜]͏̥͚͙̘͈͢)͈̗͈͇
̸̫̦̙͍̬͎̥͎̙͠ ̸͚̞͍̟͙͢ ͘͏̠͉̬͖́ ͈̟̠͖̖́ ̨̛̗̙̺S̫̝̦͚y̶͔̫ṣ̲̻t̬̘͇͍͘e͇̦̬͖̦͈͔̟ͅm̖͓͖̹̩̞͍ͅ ̡̦̹͖̻̜E̫̠̞ͅr͏͓̺͈̙̳r̴͏͈͈o̬̣͜ͅr̷̨͚̜̠ ̶͖͕͈̭͍͎̠̱͔[̸̧͔͞b̸̢̥̟̤̤͢]̶͕̙̳̲̣͖͔͎̟͢Ç͇͚̝̞̟̱͢ͅͅo͚̳̮̺̞̦̖̫ͅḓ̭̱͎̩̪͚̜e̷͕̝̻̪̬̰̝̖͇s̸̱̼̼̘͡͞[͚͉͟͟/̷͙̻̕͜b̨̪͓̤]͓̜̝ ̢̗͚̣̼͙̣̱͢͢(̢̦̫̤9̜͕̫͙̱̞͇̻̀͝0͇͇͇̬̤͜0̡̛̙͉͇͢0̲̣̲̲̲̝̠̯̱-̸̜͔̦̖̹͚̻ͅ1̣͎̩̕͝1̢̦̦͓͚̖́9̙̭̕9͏̪̯̠͚9̗̘̲̮̤͍̭́)̘̤̙̞ ͇̼̳̩̘͓̪̭(̛̣̲̞̗̘0̴̲̹̖͉̕͟x͏̣̜̫̲͡2̦̘̟̠̙́3҉͖͇̱͍̲̠͠2̹͔͖̣̟̺͔́͠ͅ8̵̱̤̝-͏͉͇̳̱̀[͏̨͏̱̫͍̰̯̻b̀҉̝͇̭̤̹̗̲͇͚]͢ͅ0̖͉͈̩̩̠̲͈͠x̷͉͙̠͚̗̀ͅ2̬̙͖̣̮̬͠͠e̠͔̮͕d͖̥͖̖͍͚̮̫͖f̧͖͍̗[̨̝/̶̗͉̦̞̩b̼̻͓̭̠͇̲͜͢]҉͏͏͓̞ͅ)̴̛̹͍̠͈̤̠͓́
̻̩̤̪̻̺̫̩͓͠͡ ̶̛̱̩̮̣͇͠ ̰͎ͅ ̸̺̺͓̠͝ ̛̪͠S̷҉̙͇͕̥͟y̦̙͙̥ͅṣ̛̯͟t͇̘̮̩e̹̹̭̟̞̤͓͚̯m͘҉̱̻̭͎̭́ ̶̶̜͇E̛͚̜̙̖̦͕ͅr̸͉̩̻͜r̝͚͔͎̫̀o͓̜̦͉r҉̭̮̠ ̛̯͇ͅC̼̠͚̕͝o͏̭̻̱͠d̖̯͢e̗͇̖̟̩̹͚̬͔̕s͏̪̩͎̞̲̙͟ ̵͕̼[͏̣̻̱b͕͖̠̗́]̛̼͎̺̼̙͉(̢͈̥̹̱̠1͎͈̳2̷̢̦͠0͚0̦̻͉̰̦̟͝0̡͏͔͔̩͈̖̜̦͎̹-͓͙̝͉̰͡1͚͓̬́̕ͅ5͔̰͕̯͝9̵͖̦͙̘9̸̹͝9̵̨̻̮̘͉͚)̴̤͕͇͓̀[̴̫̬̀/͏҉͎̟̠b̟̭͇̦̮ͅ]͕̭̜̰̥̦̣̳͈ ̬͉͝(͏͔͇͚̟͙͔̘͡0̝̱x̸͙͓̻͓̫̙͝2̨͓͚̰̥̫̩̕ę̩͙̟̫̮̙̳͈̮ḙ0̸̥̩̝͟-̴̠̬͘0͏͕͎̪̥̦͟x̷̼͎͍̱̤3̨͍͉͕̜̰̦͍̀͘e̶̬̼̜7̭̰̞̬̝̺̰̬f͉̝̰̩̻)̡͕̣̺̖̹͘͡

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

They are weird and troubling. We owe it to our neighbors to kill them.


TUTRESIEL
Serenity Greymist interposes herself between you and the onrushing spirit - to absolutely no avail. It smashes her aside and rises up to embrace you - and that’s when you shove a piece of white-cold stellar Law straight into its chest!

Its scream of shock and agony is actually audible. The air writhes. Lanterns crack. Rivets shiver in their seats. The crew on-deck quail and cower in fear. Light itself flees from the world in the wake of that impossible noise, and the stellar fragment’s hot radiance is quenched to a sullen red glare as it sears a hole clean through the spirit’s being. Ectoplasm gushes from the gaping wound. In the few moments before the corporeality drains out of it entirely, it comes ravening right up your arm and tears at you with frigid claw and ripping tooth!
You take six five damage. Ow!

The wounded spirit, now as transparent and filmy as its brethren, rises from the deck and flees for its ship. Silvery spirit-stuff banners out behind it from the glassy-edged hole that was once its torso. In the darkness it leaves in its wake, the remnant ghosts and skeletons find new courage, and surge forward to overwhelm the crew on deck!
You burned the corporeality right out of it! But your heavenly shard has been temporarily weakened: until the end of this fight, it deals d6-1 damage and no longer has the messy tag. What do you do?


SERENITY
You try your best. You really do. But situations like this are the reason you’ve got a bodyguard in the first place. Had a bodyguard, anyway. You meet the ghost-captain’s charge head-on - but it bends inhumanly backwards at the neck and slips right past your stop thrust! It aims an entirely too real-looking fist at you, but you manage to twist aside and take the blow on your shoulder and back only a moment before it would’ve caved in your oh-so-delicate nose. Even so, it’s like you just got hit with a cannonball of frozen nitrogen. You go careering rear end-over-teakettle for the second time in as many minutes!


Like this but with less Homestuck. Also you take two no damage! Aren't you glad you've got armor?

When you manage to pick yourself up again, you can see that it’s much too dark in here. Actually, you can’t see much of anything - all the lights are out! Nashira’s radiance has diminished to a foggy grayness somewhere near the zenith, hardly distinguishable from the rest of the sky. The battle sounds like it’s taking a turn for the worse: you hear shouts of fear and pain, ghostly moaning - then an awful choking gurgle as some poor sailor gets speared right through the neck!
What do you do?


PADRE CLAVO AND RAMONA
Padre, the lights understand you perfectly. They’re just not listening! Every single light nearby is too bloody frightened of that inhuman shriek to keep burning - even Mote! You can barely even make him out anymore: the fog is closing in, and your little light has shrunk to the size of a campfire spark - hardly anything these undead would fear. And indeed, the sudden blackness gives the undead the chance they’ve been waiting for: what remains of the original ball of ghosts coils out of the fog as your skeletal foes surge forward and overwhelm the crew! Their battle-cries and terrible puns about bones quickly turn to shouts of fear. “Light!” one cries. “LIGHT SAVE U—uuaauurgkkkhh….”
Who was that? What do you do?

Ramona, you power-grind across the gunwales, blasting skeletons to bony flinders as you go - but they don’t go quietly, not at all. Those that are close enough stab at you with their gaffs and spears in the few seconds before you re-murder them, and the few with guns discharge silent white projectiles that splash off your armored suit, leaving it brittle and bleached of color where they impact. None of it even so much as slows you down, and two passes is enough for you to completely clear the hull of bony barnacles.

Make no mistake, that awful cry shivers your timbers too - you’re just used to dealing with gut-clenching fear. Your plan to shove 01’s entropy-powered sword back into the ghost that was feeding on it works perfectly, except that you have to use the rest of your angular momentum to clear the ship entirely, since it’s now running scared back for its ship after Tootsie blasted a huge hole in its chest with a slightly different kind of star. It twists around to look at you, and you swear you can make out gratitude in its empty eyes. But it doesn’t try to fight back, or even keep flying: just latches back onto the weapon’s mostly-drained entropic generators, and lets gravity drop it and the sword both into the briny deep!

Looks like fighting back is reserved for the rest of his ghastly crew: the ghosts you and Serenity didn’t manage to kill the first time around, and the skeletons still left in the ocean - the ocean that you’re even now heading feet-first for, since you had to fly off at an awkward angle to meet the captain in mid-air. Better prepare for splashdown…
Take seven four damage, and you have -1 armor ongoing for that damage and until the end of this fight. The captain still has that sword, but he’s too weak to hold on to it and fly at the same time! What do you do?


THRASH
Maw-Meow flattens himself against the deck and the pot of “soup” narrowly misses bruising his spine. Lucky for you, your knives have been soaking in butchery for so long that they have a vague presence in the spiritual realm as well as the real one - otherwise you’d be dicing air! Your goatdogator snaps at flying silverware and claws pots out of the air, but his teeth and claws just don’t have what it takes to harm these poltergeists. Nevertheless, in short order you turn your kitchen into a ghostly charnel house, paying no attention at all to the deadly flying knives. The remaining spirits, severely diminished and not at all used to their victims fighting back with such gusto, flee through the opposite bulkhead.
You do six damage to them instead of nine, unless you can come up with a really good reason why your pet can hurt ghosts.

Your kitchen is now thoroughly drenched in ectoplasm. It remains to be seen whether or not your “soup” is even nominally edible any longer. In the sudden quiet you can hear a great deal of panicked yelling and banging coming from further down the corridor. And from the room next door: “HELP! HELLLPPplblurbrglrhrbghk….” It sounds like your dishwasher’s in trouble!
How did this poor bastard wind up working for you? What’s his name? What do you do?

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 18/18 | Armor 2 | Load 3/9 | XP 2/10

These twice damned spirits were growing bold in Nashira's absence. With the Lady's grace hidden from sight, the sailors would lose heart and the battle would be lost. Well,not if she could help it. A quick glance around informed her that the spirits had momentarily lost interest in her, and the spectral captain that had nearly pasted her across the deckplates was nowhere to be seen. Taking advantage of the breathing room, Serenity unslung her pack and lifted out her harp. Deftly undoing the wrappings, she took a breath and struck a chord as she rose back to her feet.

"Have heart, men! The dead feed on your fear! Show those abominations what seadogs are truly made of!"

Swallowing her own fear, Serenity played as she made her way back towards Tutresiel. Catching his eye, she flashed him a confident smile. She would not let her own trepidation dishearten her and destroy the last thread of morale that kept the sailors from panicking. Centuries of practice paid off as her fingers expertly wove across the instrument, acting on pure innate skill that required no conscious thought. As the dulcet tones reached the angel's ears, the unholy wounds from his assailant attempted to close.

Arcane Art: 2d6+4 7
Healing Tutresiel: 1d8 2

Edited: With Ramona's Aid, Serenity manages not to fail especially badly. Tutresiel heals 2 HP.

Shardix fucked around with this message at Jan 29, 2016 around 00:51

Error 404
Jul 17, 2009


MAGE CURES PLOT

01
HP: 25/25 | Armor 3/3 | XP 3/10 | -1WIS

/
.../
/

/

/I:CMD~Hello World/
...
Boot Cycle Y/N?
...Y

\\
\\
\\\\\...

Activation +0.00000000000000000000000000001 seconds

As I power on my Ocular sensor begins to give off a dim red glow. Omnidrectional audio pickups make out the ongoing sounds of terrified combat. I search recent memory >NULL SECTOR BAD-<.
Odd. Gyrotic Stabilizers engage and tell me that I'm rocking back and forth...On a boat? yes.
Activation +0.00000000000000000000000000007 seconds
I take stock as each system and subsystem signals readiness.
Activation +0.00000000000000000000000000021 seconds
I disengage foot anchors, and stand up, puzzled by the battle around me. Animated skeletons tear softskins apart, other softskins appear to do battle with thin air. Invisible enemies? Logic checks out.
Weapon systems>
>Gun
[Ready]
>Sword
[Not Found]

Suboptimal. Current Priority: Locate Sword.
I sway a little as my systems align, internal tracking says my sword is just over the side, I steadily make my way to the edge swinging my arms out and snapping, crushing, and scattering skeletons left and right.
Hack & Slash 15
dealing +1d6 damage, leaving myself open
damage 7 messy, forceful

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?


Ramona
17/26 HP; 4/11 XP; 4 Armor
"Oh, no you don't," thinks Ramona, gripping the sword hard and hefting the skeleton back over the guardrails. Juan is coming her way like an angry toddler helicoptering his arms and closing his eyes, so she slides away making more cinematic sparks. What the hell are these rails made of anyway?

Her kryptonite, music, starts playing while she's preparing to beat the poo poo out of the ghost skeleton, and sure enough she starts punching him in the face with her blaster arm to the beat.

Hack and Slash; messy forceful damage; Aid Serenity: 2d6+2 4 1d10+1 2 2d6 11

It's loving her violence up a lot--she could be hitting him so fast he starts spinning around on the sword, then she'd shoot all his limbs off with a lathe knife made of lasers--and that pisses her off. This was a life and death situation, not a concert. She was hired to kill people, not to jazz them up.

Rolled natural ones on every die except to aid, where almost got boxcars.

Infinite Oregano
Dec 31, 2007

I'm going to make my friends eat infinite oregano and they'll have to do it because the recipe says so!

Tutresiel

HP: 12/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 4/7 | XP: 1/10

Tutresiel reeled somewhat from the blow, however the damage of the material is nothing compared to the damage of the immaterial. However the destruction of this body would cease Tutresiel's capabilities within the mortal world, something that could not be allowed to occur, for now.

Paying no heed to the pain, and no blood being spilled quite yet (the flesh having taken on a frozen texture instead), Tutresiel still gripped the shard. However this was not the time nor the place for it, drained somewhat of its essence, tainted by the gulf it had touched, Tutresiel placed it back within the confines of the Pall, the opening blooming once more as the light escaped back beyond contact with this world.

With that in mind, Tutresiel called forth a nascent star in their left hand, causing all around them to bask in its golden, warm, glow. Still holding the star, Tutresiel gestures with their right hand, causing a miniscule, yet perfectly circular (and flat) region of space to form, casting a silvery glare, like as though a portal to some celestial realm, the hole surrounded by rotating runes that are disquieting to behold.

A similar portal of the same shape and size forms in the air near the fleeing ghost, and with that in mind Tutresiel flings the nascent star through the poor, using its own inherent instability (and the force that Tutresiel used in its ascension) to time it correctly before it destabilises entirely and erupts in a blast of golden energies, hopefully lancing through the incorporeal form of the fleeing ghost and sundering its very nature.

Using Origami Universe and Nova combined to get that ghost some good.

Nova (Wis): 2d6+3 6

Looks like I'll be marking XP, unless someone is going to Aid me

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?

read last

Ramona
17/26 HP; 4/11 XP; 4 Armor
The bountykiller sees the portal open and sees Tootsie on the other side holding that telltale unstable star. She looks through it at them with a "come on, really?" look on her face that's obscured completely by her visor the explosive is shoved through the immediately closed portal. Luckily, the star seems to be collapsing without the normal explosion, like a dud mine. But Ramona loves death, so she stops trying to punch the ghost, yanks the sword out, and aims for the star instead.
Aid Tootsie: 2d6+2 8
This was a crazy idea. She should have shot Tootsie through the portal before the thing was pushed through and let them reap what they sowed. But she has one last trick up her sleeve. If she survives the explosion and her enemy doesn't, that's victory. All she had to do that was take a defensive stance and hope for the best.
dd con: 2d6+2 7

Infinite Oregano
Dec 31, 2007

I'm going to make my friends eat infinite oregano and they'll have to do it because the recipe says so!

Tutresiel

HP: 14/17 | Armor: 1/1 | Load: 4/7 | XP: 0/10

Unmarking XP!

Damage: 1d6 3

Tutresiel could appreciate a plan coming together. Because this was totally all planned. Yes. All of it.

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Teonis
Jul 5, 2007


Thrash
HP: 25/25 | Armor: 2 | XP: 0/10


As the specters flee the fury of the enraged orc-chef, Thrash takes a look around his kitchen. Most of the food he'd prepared was still intact, minus a portion which Maw-Meow was now lapping from the floor. The beast's iron-stomach cared little for the harshness of the dish as the creatures adaptive mutations enabled it to regularly eat the failed experiments and garbage dishes that were thrown away. Meanwhile, pans and knives had been strewn about everywhere, as well as some transparent, green goop left by the galley intruders.

The savage nature of Thrash's knives had cut through the spirits just as it would any meat. If the orc were more spiritually minded, he'd probably note that his cleaver, one that was constructed of his own design, was seeped with the malice of many-many slain creatures, some of which were intelligent, or even magical. The wicked-looking meat-cleaver hacked their bodies apart either way, and their remains were boiled, fried, or seared before being consumed by unsuspecting patrons, or worse, the garbage-pail like gullet of the orc's "pet."

As the aforementioned Maw-Meow finished lapping up animal shells and limbs from the spilled pot, it went to work on cleaning the nearby area of ectoplasm. Certainly, this creature must have lost its sense of taste a long time ago. "Oi! That's ingredients, not food!" the orc roared at the animal, which dumbly hopped around in a circle before sprinting to a different corner.

Thrash had just picked up an empty jar to can the ectopalsm when a scream came from down the hall. It was the whimpering cries of Dassof, the twig of a dishwasher. He'd been the dishwasher on the ship for about two weeks now, since the last one eviscerated while Thrash was harpoon-fishing for sharks. It wasn't Thrash's fault, he told the lad to tie off the other end of the cable, not to stand in the way as the cable went taunt, pulled by a 4500 pound shark. That boy snapped in half like a wishbone. From the sound of it, the same thing was likely happening to his current dish boy.

He shook his head sadly. "This kind of thing wouldn't happen if you lot would just eat real food. That bland scrap will never make you tough, like a real orc!" He called down the hall to the dying kitchen-hand. Picking a spatula from the floor, Thrash began scooping ghostly remains into the jar in his hand while the screams of the man down the hall ware snuffed out.

After a few moments, Thrash had happily filled the jar with quivering ecto. It was then that he'd realized that one one else had come for dinner. Outrage! The sailors were trying to skip meals again, and after he had slaved over this pot all day. It seemed like there was a ruckus going on elsewhere on the ship. A brawl, more ghosts? He was certainly going to find out why no one had come for his food!

Collecting up the remaining servings in the large, silver stock pot, he tied a towel through the handles of the pot and the lid to keep it on tight. He then converted his apron into a sling and used it to secure the large pot of strange foods to his back. "Maw-Meow, come!" he called to his animal, which replied with a disturbing cry, and headed out the kitchen door to find some mouths to feed. He cooked this food and someone was going to eat it!

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