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ArkInBlack
Mar 22, 2013


Branwen McAlister
HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 3/12 | Load 12/12
Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ]
Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Speak W/ Dead[ ]
Boom[X]


As the lights go out Branwen registers what's she's hearing once the gunfire and explosions stop dominated the air for a moment. Singing? Wait. She looks in the direction the unknown soldier was. Serenity!? What was... No, there's still a battle to win, it can wait until the undead were obliterated. She slams her weapon-made-torch into the sandbags, pulling the sack off as she stands. She was a War Cleric, let the dead see her and know fear once more. She looks to the now unmanned gun and lays hands upon it, offering up prayer both to her matron Bombarda, but also her brother in the Solar Pantheon Vulcan. "Hallowed Lord of the Gun, blessed be thy magazine, sublime be thy report, let your sister work through your gift to man that her daughter of faith's praises will resound to the heavens as she smites the foes of sacred light, amen." As the prayer finishes, the light behind her swells washing over Branwen, and swirling of its own volition to the ammo box connected to the gun, passing over each link, leaving the exposed tips glowing enough to cast a small light off their jackets.

Branwen's left hand pulls up the ammo box, clipping it to her belt. Standardization of munitions has left almost all human made ammo boxes the same and war clerics are ready to pack heavy equipment. Meanwhile her right hand reaches into her belt pouch and fishes out a harness. Quickly she assembles and dons the harness to take the weight of the large gun. Bran turns to the wall of skeletons and thumbs the button, unleashing a trickle of bullets at the fortifications, each impact causing micro-explosions as a chorus begins to praise the Goddess of Explosions, slowly rising in height and speed as the barrel spins up and recoil brings the bullets higher. "In the name of the Gun, the Bomb, and the Holy Conveyance I return to you death!" With that warcry finished the stream of holy explosive rounds crash into the sandbags and then the last manned gatling gun on the makeshift battlements, peppering the skeletons in their radiant light and furious booms.

Cast A Spell:Bless (+Wis): 2d6+2 11 Branwen takes +1 ongoing until she no longer stands and fights or the battle ends, and has -1 ongoing to cast a spell while Bless is in effect.
Cast A Spell:Magic Weapon (+Wis): 2d6+2 10 Gatling gun deals +1d4 damage until Bran stops holding Magic Weapon, further -1 ongoing to cast a spell until MW is canceled.
Volley (+Dex +1): 2d6+3 10 If the remaining fireteam is Near this targets them, otherwise the Necromech Ramona isn't riding like a bull.
-Volley Damage (Near, Messy, Pierce 1, Magic Weapon): 1d6+1d4 5
Edit:Spout Undead Lore (+int): 2d6-1 2 Why I previously decided against rolling this dot txt

ArkInBlack fucked around with this message at Sep 19, 2017 around 13:40

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Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


BLESSED BRANWEN



The skeletal riflemen surrounding your target, and on the level below, drop flat to the deck as you hose their barricades down. You walk the cone of light emitting from the blessed shells up and over onto your target, hammering fireteam, gun, and cover alike into a cloud of dust, sand, and disenchanted bone chips before they can finish pouring fire into the drunkenly reeling necromech.

Ammo’s showing 62% capacity and a spare box of rounds at your side, but that’s no reason not to conserve what you’ve got -- and then the remaining ranks of gunmen on those barricades stand, aim, zero in on the only bright light on the battlefield, and switch to volley fire. You reel under a rain of inhumanly timed, perfectly spaced four-round bursts, individually a fly-bite against your consecrated raiment, but en masse a crashing hammerblow to your armor and to the flesh beneath.
You take seven six damage from their concentrated fire.

The assault abates. The ranks’ mags click empty. The eerily synchronized sounds of their massed numbers reloading reaches you in the sudden silence, and the steady tromp of more undead soldiers marching on your position. Something’s coming, a slow dragging getting closer and closer - but no, it’s the injured party you saw before! She reached you just barely ahead of the coming troops! An elf’s face, pain-pinched, elegant, and sereennoh Vulcan keep you it really is her.

Serenity Godsdamned Greymist in the flesh. It never rains but it pours. She hauls herself over the barricades and drops in a heap at your feet. Half her right calf is gator meat and she’s trailing more blood from a wound in her armpit. Out in the dark, the snap-click of seventeen rifle bolts sliding home. The dry rustle of cloth against bone -- the frantic shamblings of something horrid looming out of the darkness at your torch’s edge! What in the loving gently caress is going on here?!

Target-rich environment out here, but you’re also about to get shot in the face again. Volley at your discretion, and Defy Danger +CON against the coming gunfire unless you drop the weapon and take cover, ending your Bless. Hack and Slashing is pretty impractical with that gun strapped to your chest, too; and so is any kind of rapid acceleration or ability to dodge. What do you do?

***

SERENITY
Grimly, you command your body to ignore the pain and set to work on the disabled death engine hanging above the crater. The flechettes ping off the machine’s armor and stick fast into the coating of sublimating ecto-ice locking up its sensors, but you’re still left with the jammed-open missile launcher. It’s thoroughly demolished by the time you’re out of ammo, a gentle crackling flame leaking out of the compartment - but while you go about your careful work, it’s offloading even more troops: one by one they drop from its rear hatch and land clattering into the crater its missiles blew into the highway.

Time to move, before they can reassemble and march on you. You leave the rifle behind and begin to crawl, painfully prone on your belly, creeping like a lizard across the bare face of the bullet-torn roadway towards the light ahead, the bright and shining glory of a cleric of the Bombardan faith, armed and militant, reeling under a clockwork rain of burst-fire from the marksmen who dodged her blessed shells. Behind you, the steady metronome of the marching dead draws ever nearer...and the hot rage of a Goddess roused begins to swell in your breast, blotting out the raw pain of your maimed leg. These monstrosities weren’t even meant for you. You’re just collateral to them. Well. Maybe they should’ve done a little more research before they found out just who it was they chose to cross.

You heave yourself over the barricades and fall in a heap at her feet, but there’s no time to waste on pleasantries: there, ahead, emerging from the flickering shadows at the edge of her blessed torchlight! Enemies approach, and there’s no barricade from that direction to halt their charge! Three nightmare tangles of reassembled, mismatched parts come clambering out of the darkness, raw jags of fresh-broken bone clinging to shreds of paramilitary dress. One surges towards you on spine alone, writhing like a stepped-on earthworm, the fleshless skull atop it lolling brokenly inside its smashed helmet. Two more scamper on ill-fitting, half-broken limbs, cold blue points of light shining out of their eye-sockets.

Pray to your gods, elf. The hour of your greatest need is now at hand.
Serenity, meet Branwen. Now either Defend her, or piously Hack and Slash at +1 forward, on pain of imminent and immediate imperilment. What do you do?

***

RAMONA
It’s grave-silent in here after the carnage is over. The chaos of war is just a dim background noise outside the thick walls of your brand new half-hijacked personnel carrier. You rest against the forward bulkhead and catch your breath for a moment or two, feeling out the pain and getting to know it a little. Back feels like it’s been jackhammered well and good, but the armor held - neck’s a bit stiff from that little whiplash grapple stunt you pulled. Nothing to worry about. The mech reels gently to one side and around, listing in the air and wobbling - just in time for the gunmen visible through the limply hanging lower hatch to blast apart in a stream of holy gunfire before they can shoot at you any more than they already have.

Those things were so fragile that there’s still gear and bone shards all over the deck. Rifles, body armor, helmets and boots, grenades - even the odd backpack or carrying pouch still stocked with the wargear an ESCO soldier might’ve carried in life. What a slapdash job. These boners can’t even use half this stuff.
There was still 3-uses of adventuring gear (1 weight) and 1-ration on the bodies. Add it to your inventory.

There’s no control surface. No pilot’s door. Not even an intercom. Just a blank span of smooth black alloy behind a row of seats. There's no loving way to control this thing at all, apparently, and yet it’s still obviously taking orders from something: the machine judders in the air, settles, and begins to drift slowly away from the party - your position is wide-open to the world, totally exposed to the murky darkness out beyond the battlefield.

You’re starting to feel a little chilly. Starting to hear things. Staticky fragments of slow, wandering speech - high-pitched shouts and faint cut-off screams thick with feedback. Some kind of interference is hazing up your huds: it’s like the room outside your helmet is filling up with a thick, swirling silver fog. The black pearl is freezing against your bare thigh, positively burning with cold. There’s ghosts nearby. Close enough to touch. They must be piloting this thing somehow...
Savior is something that’s useful or valuable to you here. What do you do?

***

darkened battle schematic posted:


Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at Sep 22, 2017 around 03:53

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 13/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/13

Serenity's body screamed in protest as she forced it to keep moving in spite of the bullet wounds and general thrashing she had given it throwing herself over and across the concrete. She didn't even have time to get a look at this warrior she had collapsed next too, as a group of undying abominations dragged themselves forward to attack. She took a breath, gripped the dagger tightly, and tried to muster up the strength to keep going.

"Open your heart to me, warrior, and stand fast. You'll not fall against the likes of this so long as I draw breath."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWU-ULmQj54

It took an effort of will to disengage from the pain and let herself go. Ramona would demand she be cautious and not make herself a target, but right now Ramona and this warrior both needed her to support them and she could not do that by hiding. As endorphins flooded her brain Serenity slowly pulled herself to her feet, incredibly unsteady but ready to fight. She took a defensive stance and sang, pouring all the magic she could muster into her voice. Nashira would not abandon her now, in the face of her hated foes. Serenity gave herself up to the Goddess' guidance and felt no fear.

Defend: 2d6+1 8

Arcane Art: 2d6+3 8
Branwen heals: 2d8 9 damage and gains +1d4 damage forward.

Shardix fucked around with this message at Sep 22, 2017 around 14:59

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?

Ramona
18/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 10/11 Load
Savior's trying to draw some ghosts to me, but I have other plans. I want to keep my drat privacy...

I start channeling current through my chain and fry all the ghosts before they can reach him. Set them free, the way I know how. I tear open the black metal panel–I'll have to test it for ghost-permeability later–and destroy the pilots behind it with current through my chains.

The vehicle is built to be operated by possession, so I have to improvise to access its controls. I raid the bone soldiers' gear for repair tools and jury rig it best I can. Impulse, steering, weapons. I can operate only one at a time. Steer it to Serenity, start it moving forward, turn on the outer lights so I can see and be seen, then I attach the grappler to the weapons circuit and let it unreel behind me as I rise out of the top of the tank.



I move to the cannon and wrench it into a close range ground shot into the center of the undead soldiers. Right as it lines up I cry out: "You've waited this long for Ramona to come to you, don't turn your back on me now!"

@slydingdoor: 1d6+1d8+2 what are you waiting for, power over others = (6)+(8)+2 = 16

Then I send the spark down my chain, right as I see her.

slydingdoor fucked around with this message at Sep 22, 2017 around 18:19

ArkInBlack
Mar 22, 2013


Branwen McAlister
HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 4/12 | Load 12/12
Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ]
Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Speak W/ Dead[ ]
Boom[X]


Fuckin' like shite I will, is as far as Branwen's thoughts get before the bardic music washes over Branwen, part war song, part hymn to Nashira. Her hesitation, insult half way up her throat is shattered when a bullet catches her shoulder plate. Too hot to bother with an old grudge still, if she was to die here and now it wouldn't be with her last act shaming a bard. "Behind me, Serenity! By the light of Sun and Moon release these souls of their foul bindings!" and Branwen drags the line of fire to the nearer of the hover tanks, drilling into it with twice-blessed ammo, streaks of silver light ending with the brilliant bloom of explosive sunlight with each impact.

Defy Danger (+Con, Blessed): 2d6+1 6
Volley (+Dex, Blessed): 2d6+3 9 losing 1 Ammo for this
-Volley Damage (Near, Messy, Pierce 1, Magic Weapon, Arcane Art): 1d6+2d4 9

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


SERENITY
As the undead bear down on you, you put aside your fear and doubt and place yourself in the the arms of your goddess. You time your swipes and dodges to the beat of your sacred song, parrying an sharp jag of broken rib on the off-beat before it can slash your throat, and coming in with a punishing elbow-thrust to the bony forehead of a chattering, smashed-in skull...but for all your skill, all your martial prowess, they’re still coming from too many directions at once!

Hot slashes of pain erupt across your arms, wrists, face - their stabbing, sawing bones are everywhere, opening a multitude of fresh wounds wherever your armor is thin - but, with the quiet strength of Nashira at your side, you fight on - these horrors will not reach Branwen while you've got a scrap of breath left to defend her with. Amidst the melee you catch sight of something unusual. There, fixed within the dead men’s broken skulls or socketed into scraped-out cavities in the larger bones: dark and glittering gems, each about the size of two or three clenched fingers. A weakness?
You take eight six damage during the melee. If you spend your Defense hold to deal your level in damage, you can accept your wounds and put an end to these monstrosities at once; otherwise, you have to Hack and Slash to defeat them.
What do you do?

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 10/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 11/13

Spending my hold to halve the incoming damage to 3.


Serenity danced around behind the cleric, dodging and parrying as best her wounded body would permit her. She was slowly losing ground but at least their unexpected ally had a little less heat to deal with.

As a scything claw lashed out across her face, Serenity stumbled back and touched her nose. There was blood on her fingers as she pulled her hand away. She didn't think of herself as a particularly vain person. Her willingness to go into danger was proof scars didn't worry her. And all the ink she had certainly gave no impression that she held her skin as needing to remain unblemished. Nevertheless, she considered her face and her hair wholly off-limits. The bard's eyes narrowed and she charged the trio of undead with murder on her mind.

Hack and Slash: @Shardix: 2d6-1 = (4+2)-1 = 5

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


RAMONA
You rip open the forward bulkhead with a tremendous heave and recoil as a gout of glutinous ectoplasm sprays from the rent and disappears out the open door, wailing faintly. Spirits, what is this?! There’s some sort of electrified containment chamber on the other side, lined in faceted crystal and spewing smoke and lightning into the personnel bay. Oozing, half-formed faces and hands issue from the gelatinous ectoplasm penned within. You unsheathe your electrified grappler and put an end to the doomed spirits’ misery before Savior can induce them to turn on you.

The craft’s been pithed, debrided, and thoroughly hijacked. It’s yours at last: now to figure out how to actually pilot it. You let the craft drift and list for a minute or two longer, while you work on putting out the fires and figuring out how to bypass the machine’s motor circuits without a passel of imprisoned ghosts running the control loop. It’s crude, but it’ll work for now - and more importantly, it’ll probably keep her safe...

SERENITY
You charge at your undead foes, armed with nothing more sophisticated than your fists and a knife, empowered by your goddesses’ righteous wrath...but to no avail. Though your knife may plunge deep into desiccated marrow, though your strikes and parries may crack and splinter brittle bones, you can’t quite seem to purge the unlife from these clattering horrors. They drive you back, step by step, forcing you to give ground until you stand back-to-back with the Bombardan cleric. Three more skeletal troops are coming, these ones almost whole, marching relentlessly up to the barricades…

BLESSED BRANWEN
In the few seconds available to you before the ranked gunmen finish reloading and turn their fire on you afresh, you slew your line of fire over to the last place you remember seeing that hovering necro-tank and let loose with a blistering torrent of gunfire. Your twice-consecrated rounds drill straight into the machine’s forward armor plating, spanging off at an oblique angle at first, but gradually digging deeper and deeper as they slowly chew a hole in the thick alloy. Behind you, a wounded Serenity fights for her life and yours against a steadily encroaching tide of undead soldiers…

*****

RAMONA
There. You’ve got it: weapons, steering, impulse. You risk a look out the rear hatch and see the situation’s going from bad to worse. Branwen’s drilling down the other necromech, under heavy fire herself, and Serenity is fighting a losing battle with nothing more than a knife and fists. The undead are about to storm the barricades and bring them down - time to exfil, now.
You expended 2-uses of adventuring gear to repair the tank. One left.

Grappler detached, hooked into the firing circuits like an old-fashioned pull cord; running lights cranked to max, shining down on the chaos below. If these bone-bags had any brains left in ‘em they’d realize by now this vessel’s no longer their own - thank the gods for small favors. You duck back into your makeshift control panel and check the main gun settings: azimuth, barrel elevation, all looks good - set it for fire in seven seconds, right when its angle intersects the near-dozen fresh troops marching across the killing ground.



You flip up onto the tank’s slick upper surface and shout out your mocking war-cry to the swarms below, contemptuously ignoring the riflemen now unable to shoot at you without going through the tank you’re standing on. You yank the ripcord, and the main gun goes off in a two-second blaze of eye-searing purple lightning, chewing a furrow into the pavement and blowing a clutch of skeletons back to hell...and then a lot of poo poo goes down at once.
You dealt five damage to the luckless little bonesuckers.

The ectoplasmic ice locking up the other mech’s rangefinder finally dissipates.
You notice a very small red dot settling onto your chest.
The mech levels its main cannon at you and fires.

Branwen’s blessed gatling-gun fire finally punches through that mech’s frontal armor plating, pulverizing the trapped ghosts beneath it in a bonfire of gold and silver flame. Its hoverfield fails, and the machine noses slowly down into the crater its missiles blasted into the pavement -- and then the lightning transfixes you and everything goes white.
You take nine six damage, piercing 1, and you’re also stunned! You have to Defy Danger on your next post in order to do anything other than dangle by your grappler from your new necromech, the danger being: you’re stunned! The energy blast has temporarily knocked out your suit’s weapons and sensors. What do you do?

*****

SERENITY AND BRANWEN

Ramona posted:

You've waited this long for Ramona to come to you, don't turn your b--

And just in the nick of time, there she comes -- Ramona herself, riding a pithed necromech like it’s her own personal steed, yanking on a pull-chain and blasting a furrow through the oncoming troops with the machine’s main cannon! The troops about to advance and overwhelm you halt, re-target, and fire en masse - their bullets spang uselessly off her tank’s underbelly, or fly wide and vanish into the dark! She's done it - she's won you two cover, protection, and some very heavy armaments - now all you need to do is get to the chopper rear hatch before you're overcome and overwhelmed by the marching bone-tide!

And then, just before Branwen’s gatling fire penetrates its frontal armor and sears the piloting ghosts to nothingness, the other necromech levels its main gun and shoots Ramona in the face.



Lightning transfixes her and blasts her off her car, and she dangles by her grapple-chain over the rubble-strewn pavement, an ugly black scar plastered across her chestplate. Her new hovertank slews to one side and down, on a collision course with the pavement if its course isn’t corrected.

gently caress.

Oh, and the three broken-up skeletons are still trying to kill you both; and they’ve been joined by the skeletal fireteam Ramona grapple-smashed apart and flung away - rejoined, back together, and very peeved they’re missing a gun to fire.

gently caress.

Oh, and there’s a little red dot jittering on Ramona’s chest, gradually tracking its way up to her head...
What do you two do?

lovely battle schematic posted:


Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at Sep 30, 2017 around 23:10

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 10/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 12/13

Serenity reeled as the onslaught drove her back. It was all she could do to fend off the attacks, nevermind effectively counter them. As her body went through the practiced motions, she tried to dredge up what she knew about necromancy. Had there been something in her lessons about gems being used to empower the undead?

Spout Lore: 2d6+2 6

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


SERENITY
You rack your brains for necromantic lore and come up blank. You never had a scrap of interest in that foul practice - why would you? Nashira's tenets forbid it; civilized society abhors it; all decency and reason recoils from it. The gemstones nestled in these monsters' blood-daubed bones remind you vaguely of the Ikarian magitech that brought you here - but nothing you've seen during your time in Ikaria leads you to believe even those brilliant, unscrupulous scientist-magi would stoop so low as this. Not with Nori Maki leading them, urging their fragile new society to learn, build, and grow - not with the Dolphin Clans there to enfold, protect, and police them when they go astray.

Something, clearly, is deeply wrong in this drowned city - but what? How could this atrocity possibly have come to pass? Aqualantis has attracted its share of enemies, certainly; and from what you've seen, that enmity's often well-deserved. But why? Why raise the dead here, in this fragile bubble of air, when at any time the wrathful Sea could roar in to drown them all? No ghost could survive that rushing flood-tide. No disembodied spirit or animate shadow could ever stand against the all-encompassing, all-dissolving ocean - it would take them in, whelm them, and consume them utterly. Why go to all this trouble - why set up a drat army of the fuckers and assemble some bizarre high-tech snare specifically just to trap and slay Ramona de Sahagún and anyone foolhardy enough to accompany her?

And what are you doing thinking about all this when half a dozen skeletons are about to eat your face?
The nearest skeletons are now too close for Branwen to effectively Volley at. (Everybody farther away is still a valid target.) What do you do now?

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 10/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 12/13

As the onslaught, continued, Serenity jammed her knife into the skull of one of the skeletons and shifted her stance, bringing her fists up and preparing for the worst. She was barely able to stay on her feet but that didn't matter. Her companions were depending on her to carry her weight - so what if her leg and arm were near useless? If she wasn't dead she could still fight.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUrXdXZCAqA

Serenity is unleashing her kung fu on these fuckers
Hack and Slash: 2d6-1 11
Damage: 1d6 2

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


SERENITY

2HP left. You’ve got an opening. Take +1 forward. What do you do?

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 10/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 12/13


Hack and Slash: 2d6 8
Damage: 1d6 1

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


SERENITY
At last, you spot an opening. As the snake-thing rears up to tear your throat open, you shove your dagger’s point into its eyesocket and twist. The handle bucks satisfyingly in your hand, and you hear a glassy crack from within - it reels away, spinal column spasming randomly! Now - seize your chance! In a whirlwind feat of martial prowess, you kick its skull clean off the vertebrae and, spinning like a dervish, convert your momentum into a spinning roundhouse! The kick connects solidly, and the bony projectile smashes into the ribcage of the bone-broken shambles about to come up at you from one side and shred you. Skull and skeleton alike collapse into a tumbling heap of broken gems and disarticulated bone, right about the time you land catlike on the pavement, mangled leg stuck stiffly out behind you.

And then the third one grabs you from behind with three arms and a foot - jagged bones digging into your skin, pinioning your arms and one good leg!
Bran? Mona?

Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at Oct 3, 2017 around 02:29

ArkInBlack
Mar 22, 2013


Branwen McAlister
HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 4/12 | Load 4/12
Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ]
Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Speak W/ Dead[ ]
Boom[X]


Perimeter, or what passed for it, was compromised. But the second hover tank shudders and dips, slamming into the dirt. The immediate need for overwhelming fire power has passed, leaving only a strong want. The suited up fighter would be fine, hijacking enemy equipment, necrotically powered, armored heavier than most battleships. Time to tend to the flock on hand. Pulling the harness free Bran drops the large gun and rushes over to Serenity's side, delivering a swift jab to the skeleton's face, sending it flying into the inky dark. As the other undead approach she once more draws forth her holy symbol and shouts "BACK! IN BOMBARDA'S NAME!"

Hack N Slash (+Str, Blessed): 2d6+3 9 Punching the 1 hp skeleman, it redead.
Turn Undead (+Wis, Blessed): 2d6+3 7 No undead can come within reach of Bran while she brandishes her holy symbol.

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?

Ramona
12/25 HP; 8/13 XP; 4 Armor; 10/11 Load

alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 8:55 AM
how about these consequences instead unless you hit all these resist rolls: you get sniped by the mystery red dot while you're vulnerable and stunned, you can't protect your friends from the encroaching skelingtons because you're stunned and partially disabled until your suit comes back online, and you take a mess of small arms fire on top of being at risk of snipe
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 8:56 AM
sure
thanks
god i am hosed
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 8:57 AM
you're okay.
we're okay.
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 8:59 AM
/roll 2d6+2 #con stun
SidekickBOT - Last Sunday at 8:59 AM
@cryingdour: 2d6+2 con stun = (4+6)+2 = 12
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 8:59 AM
i turn the danger on itself
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:02 AM
/roll 2d6+2 #dex, on the move, reset suit manually
SidekickBOT - Last Sunday at 9:02 AM
@cryingdour: 2d6+2 dex, on the move, reset suit manually = (1+2)+2 = 5
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:02 AM
RIP
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:02 AM
eh
you're buff enough not to care
but it's staying disabled for your post
not that you can't fight or move or anything, just no power or servo assists
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:04 AM
/roll 2d6+4 #str, on the move, power through inactive suit to pull self into cover
SidekickBOT - Last Sunday at 9:04 AM
@cryingdour: 2d6+4 str, on the move, power through inactive suit to pull self into cover = (1+4)+4 = 9
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:04 AM
well, at least I'm super not stunned lol
i'm just shot by rifles and can't protect friendos(edited)
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:04 AM
so are you going back up to the tank?
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:06 AM
yeah I'll haul myself back into it by my chain, like a spider
since I can't reel the chain in
climbing it instead
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:07 AM
you should probably course correct once you're in
when you got shot, the ripcord yanked on the controls a bit
no danger
also: if you're turning sniper danger back on itself: how?
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:12 AM
When the dot went to my head I saw exactly where the sniper was, so when I go back in the tank I'm going to take another shot with the cannon
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:13 AM
do you try to dodge the shot or get out of the way at all?
+con implies just enduring it
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:14 AM
I didn't think i could even move while stunned unless I endured the pain or whatever
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:14 AM
which you did
giant lightning bolt taser? ramona don't give a gently caress, even if it does hurt
maybe your heart skips a beat or two
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:14 AM
i liked it
instead of being blinded by the pain i got a moment of taking the targeting computer off, luke
and saw the real enemy
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:16 AM
aha ha
saw how? just a position fix? it's pretty dark outside yours and branwen's lights
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:17 AM
yeah I saw the red beam point straight to them
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:17 AM
you don't have a sharp look, it's too dark for that
but you do have location
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:18 AM
there's probably some particles in the air
that'd make the beam a little clearer
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:20 AM
oh definitely, there's a war on after all
but it's not like the sniper is silly enough to have a light burning on her position other than her little laser sight
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:21 AM
yeah I don't know who she is
well, in game
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:21 AM
(yet)
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 9:21 AM
just exactly where her gun is
could be a remote controlled gun for all i know
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 9:21 AM
let's say your location fix is on an overturned ground car
couple hundred feet out past the killing grounds
alumnus_ghost - Last Sunday at 11:20 AM
cannon roll is a Volley, it's got the tags near, far, piercing 1
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 11:21 AM
/roll 2d6+1 #volley
SidekickBOT - Last Sunday at 11:21 AM
@cryingdour: 2d6+1 volley = (5+5)+1 = 11
cryingdour - Last Sunday at 11:23 AM
/roll 1d10+2 #messy forceful piercing 1
SidekickBOT - Last Sunday at 11:23 AM
@cryingdour: 1d10+2 messy forceful piercing 1 = (9)+2 = 11

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


RAMONA
Everything blanks for a second or two. Everything you see, everything you hear, nothing but white. Your heart goes crazy, hammering and fibrillating inside your ribcage like a caged beast desperate for freedom. Your eyeballs throb as blood rushes to your head, and one eye blazes with red as the unseen sniper in the distance zeroes in for the kill. Adrenalin and electricity are surging in your veins like a rushing flood-tide. Did they really think a love-tap like that was going to kill you? Please. They’re going to have to try a little harder than THAT.

You pull yourself up with one tremendous heave of your steel-hard abs, turning and curling up against the chain so as to present the smallest silhouette to the sniper’s line of fire. Obligingly, she takes the shot - and the supersonic slug slams dead-center into the heavy plate on your back, kicking you into a gentle circular motion at the end of the chain. Hand over hand, you start to climb. An acrid stink is seeping into the inside of your helmet, and smoke and sparks rise from the center of the blackened, half-melted scar in your armorsuit’s chestplate. Your suit’s inactive, totally powerless. Huds are completely out, not even so much as a winking telltale. You've got no blaster, no electrified grapple, no servo assists...not that you need them or anything. At least the ectoplasm containment seems to be holding.

Your suit is offline and heavily damaged. You need time and safety to repair and re-power it.
Your last use of adventuring gear will suffice to either restart your suit or repair its battle damage, but not both. Your grappler is usable, but unpowered.
In the meantime, you're still wearing a suit of full plate, and you can move and fight in it just fine.


Small-arms fire from the skeletons below pings and spangs off your heavy plate as you climb. One wild round ricochets off your visor, leaving a white star of cracked plexiglas where it hit. Inch by inch, you gain ground against the hail of bullets, until at last you can pull yourself bodily over the lip of the dangling hatch and crawl into the necromech’s empty personnel bay.
You take ten six damage from sniper and small arms fire.



Even though your body feels like it’s been worked over by a dozen kobolds playing a symphony in pain-minor scored for mallet, drill, and pickax, there’s no time to be lost. You’ve got a heading on that sniper rifle, and you’re going to make drat sure the gunner doesn’t get a chance at a second shot. You clamber up the aisle and settle yourself into the blown-out containment chamber, where your makeshift controls jut from tears in the bulkhead plating.

Unfortunately, you’re finding it rather difficult to actually aim your shiny new guns. The containment chamber is still powered, and the heads-up displays and tactical subsystems embedded in the faceted crystals of the chamber wall are still semi-functioning...but the drat things were designed for ghosts! Flickering rings of pearly light, clipped bursts of infrasound, other indicators too subtle for the coarse-grained senses of the living: the tank’s HUDs are useless to you unless you can decipher the meaning of all this and act on it.

Still, even so: you’ve got your own controls. You can manage somehow, even if you have to resort to dead reckoning.
Now you have a necromech. Ho ho ho. The main gun is near, far, piercing 1, and the missile pods are near, forceful, area, ½-ammo.



You haul the steering over to arrest your war machine’s drunken slide, and calculate frantically as you bring the tank around. Should be on target just...about…now. You squeeze the firing stud, and an overturned groundcar some hundred-fifty feet away disappears in an eyewatering fireball of twisted metal and coruscating energy. One shot, one kill. Clean. Unless she was using a remote gun or something, you can scratch one sniper...

Take +1 forward - all this danger is making you feel so alive!
When you Volley with the tank’s weapons, you're using guesswork and dead reckoning to direct your fire: take -1 until you can figure out how to use the targeting systems.
Savior, per your last Discern Realities, remains useful or valuable to you here.
You have the helm: what do you do?

Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at Oct 8, 2017 around 02:24

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


BRANWEN AND SERENITY
Serenity struggles in the reassembled skeleton’s grip as its jagged fingerbones reach up to slit her gullet. Branwen moves like greased lightning to come to her aid, unhooking the massive gatling-gun from its hip harness and turning to unleash a swift and deadly facepunch to the monstrosity’s misplaced cranium. The crystal prism socketed within its skull cracks and splinters; its disenchanted bones drop to the ground in a heap.

The three skeletal gunners clear the barricades and come at her with soldiers’ fighting knives clutched in their bony knuckles. One darts out past the other two and plants a dagger in Branwen’s back while she’s extricating her fist from the bone-pile of her last opponent, just below the right shoulder-blade. Her blessed armor blunts the worst of the blow, but not enough to turn the knife completely. She whirls, knife-handle still jutting out of her EOD suit, eyes aflame with pain and fury, and brandishes the Holy Hand Grenade of the Bombardan faith right in her assailant’s face.
Branwen takes four three damage before she gets the turning off. Also, there’s a knife in her back! It’s (hand, thrown, 1 weight) if anyone wants.

The skeletal gunner reels away, holding its forearms over its face, somehow managing to scream. It backs up into the barricade and falls rear end-over-teakettle out of the gun nest you two are in - the other two stop in their tracks like they ran facefirst into a brick wall and quickly scramble back over the other side. A harsh and terrible light glares from the cleric’s clenched fist, like the blast of a great bomb frozen in time. All around, the skeletons rustle, click, and back up, reorienting themselves to face this new threat - even the ones on the firing range leave off taking meaningless potshots at Ramona’s necromech and level the muzzles of their rifles at Branwen.

But they don’t shoot. They hold their fire and wait, staring with sightless eyes, while Branwen chants her holy catechisms and clenches that terrible menacing gleam in her fist. Ramona’s hijacked hovermech floats overhead, the barrel of its main gun gently smoking, while out in the distance an overturned car burns merrily. Ramona herself is nowhere to be seen, having crawled up into the belly of her machine while under heavy fire. Evidently not even a direct hit from one of those tanks is enough to kill her.
What do you two do?

Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at Oct 12, 2017 around 03:07

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 10/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 12/13

The heat on her had died down, thankfully. This Bombarden cleric was steady enough to handle things for the moment while she refocused on Ramona. Even in the chaos of the battle, that onslaught her companion had suffered had not gone unnoticed. The trouble was, of course, she couldn;t catch sight of her right now. Smoke and fire and bone obscured everything, and Serenity feared her voice lacked the strength to carry her prayers very far.

Well. Isurus had given her gift, and such a gift was just what these sorts of situations called for. Raising the Bodhi Shell to her lips, Serenity let loose a mighty war call, piercing through the noise of this battle like a clarion.


Arcane Art: 2d6+3 9
Ramona heals: 2d8 7 damage and is shaken clear of one enchantment.

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


RAMONA
There’s not really much in the way of light in here. The dead don’t really need it, so the engineers who built this thing didn’t bother to put any lights in it. Nevertheless, the maimed instrumentation of the control chamber is casting a kind of sporadic pearly flicker over your surroundings, like television tuned to a scrambled channel - little more than candlelight. You don’t really have a good idea of what’s going on outside anymore. The gunfire sounds like it’s stopped. Savior is freezingly cold amidst the fever of combat and adrenalin, burning against your bare leg like a block of ice held against the skin.

He’d want you to think the worst, of course - and why wouldn’t you? The heavies may be taken out, you might’ve taken the sniper out, but this is hostile territory in every direction - you have no way of knowing what else could be out there, what devious snares or lurking armies ready to pounce. All this, for you. This trap, this army, all of it hasn’t proven enough to make an end of you yet...and now the guns have gone silent…


***


SERENITY AND BRANWEN
As the blood runs freely from your many injuries, you take the tritons’ ensorcelled horn from your pack and set your lips to its oddly sculpted mouthpiece. As you stand, drawing in a great breath of air, your lips and the tip of your tongue start to tingle with magical radiations, as though you laid your tongue across the terminals of a high-voltage battery.

The clarion blast of that magical horn bursts forth like an autumn gale, far louder than should be possible for an instrument of its size, cutting through the din of the battle with effortless ease. The skeletons at the edge of Branwen’s holy light sheathe their fighting knives and give ground under the sonic assault, putting bony hands to their ears in a parody of deafness. Somehow, the sound of your horn doesn’t interfere with the cleric’s prayers at all. You can still hear her chanted declamations close beside you, loud and clear.

Magic, huh? What doesn’t it do? Well, “bulletproof you”, for starters, because while you might be playing that horn for all you’re worth right now, you’re also standing up out of your foxhole in order to do it. The last time you checked, there were still more than a dozen of those undead soldiers out there looking for something softer than Ramona’s tank to shoot, and you’ve just broadcast “Serenity is here” for every last one of ‘em, in words not even a zombie could misunderstand...
There are probably enough guns to kill you leveled at your dear little heart right now. You can make more rolls for Arcane Art as long as you keep playing the horn and don’t take cover. What do you do?

Branwen, Bombardan war-chant flows forth from your mouth like the steady hissing of a fuse. The undead within your light’s reach are staring fixedly at the dread and terrible light clenched in your upraised hand - they know and fear it well, and dare not approach any closer. The elf you just rescued has begun to wind some kind of magic-infused horn; its mournful, piercing tone lends an air of dread inevitability to your martial prayers.
You can multitask while maintaining your Turn Undead as long as whatever you’re doing is one-handed and doesn’t need speech. What do you do?


***


RAMONA
...but Serenity certainly hasn’t! The magic-laced blast of her sonorous horn cuts through the thick armorplate of your necromech like it isn’t even there, impinging on the crystal-lined cavity of the control chamber and kindling the magitech inside to brighter activity. It resonates inside your helmet like the sweet tone of a silver bell, and the pain of your wounds slips away. What on earth is she thinking, drawing attention to herself like that?!

With the reverberations of her horn-blast still ringing in your ears, you start to hear a kind of stuttering, coalescing static coming out of the walls - it gathers itself and resolves into a woman’s voice, cold, controlled and flat.

“Ramona,” she says.

“This is Commander Marshell Sandbridge. Aqualantean Urban Defense Corps. Listen to me. I have you and your allies surrounded, outnumbered, and in my sights. I have the Bombardan’s people in my custody, unharmed. My orders are, at this time, to engage your party with lethal force. I’ve been instructed to give no quarter and show no mercy.“

“But frankly, Ramona, my orders can go gently caress themselves. Enough. This is madness. Stand down at once, safe your weapons, tell your friends to do the same, and I’ll deactivate the soldiers. I’ll turn them all off.”

“I want to talk. I want a cease-fire.”
What do you do?

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?

Ramona
19/25 HP; 8/13 XP; 4 Armor; 10/11 Load
Sandbridge, so that was the freewoman's name. We shared the same blood, but trust in her is built on a foundation of sand. I moved her once, I throw my weight around again.

"Prey always outnumber predators; and surrounded? More by the fallen, as time goes by. I can deactivate your zombie puppets myself. Permanently.

"The sniper, though, I bet they were a live one, not just one of your slaves! You want to avoid more losses? Save your forces and threats: part for me like the waters before a prophet, I don't even want to be in your hosed city. I'm leaving, tell them it wasn't even Ramona who went through that translocator, just a dummy, or a bomb. If anyone points anything at me or mine or gets in my way, you know who's quicker on the draw when cease-fire becomes resume-fire. Then the truth will doom you: that you have failed twice to beat me, this time with even more of a head start than before."

SidekickBOT - Yesterday at 6:49 PM
@cryingdour: 2d6 parley, feel alive = (5+2) = 7


"Make your soldiers drop their weapons and play dead right now and I'll even let you keep your tank."

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Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

I've earned my fee. Ta-ta!

Serenity
HP 10/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 12/13

Serenity could feel her strength ebbing. Blood loss was quickly becoming a familiar companion of hers and kept on hammering on her door, no matter how many times she told it to gently caress off. Well. That just meant they needed to clean this up before she passed out. Shifting the horn to her wounded arm, she whipped around and seized the knife in Branwen's back.

"I'm sorry!" At that, she pulled it out as cleanly as she could and spun, searching for a target. The smoke was obscuring her vision a bit, but mostly it was the blood loss dimming her sight. A few stray rounds kicked up chunks of concrete near her feet, and she dove to the side to evade. She landed hard on her bad leg and went to a knee, nerves screaming. With a final surge of strength and a ear-splitting shriek, she hurled the blade into the skull of a nearby skeleton.

Volley: 2d6+1 9
damage: 1d6 2
Since it's single knife, reducing ammo by one doesn't really count as a valid option for a 7-9. Opting for 'You have to move to get the shot placing you in danger as described by the GM'.

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