Register a SA Forums Account here!
JOINING THE SA FORUMS WILL REMOVE THIS BIG AD, THE ANNOYING UNDERLINED ADS, AND STUPID INTERSTITIAL ADS!!!

You can: log in, read the tech support FAQ, or request your lost password. This dumb message (and those ads) will appear on every screen until you register! Get rid of this crap by registering your own SA Forums Account and joining roughly 150,000 Goons, for the one-time price of $9.95! We charge money because it costs us $3,400 per month for bandwidth bills alone, and since we don't believe in shoving popup ads to our registered users, we try to make the money back through forum registrations.
«33 »
  • Post
  • Reply
Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


Pillbug

SERENITY
Isha looks right back at you, quiet and unapologetic. "I know," he says, plainly; and as bitter a smile creases his old wrinkled face as you've ever seen.

"Ha, ''know this', like I didn't know it already. Like all us idiots didn't know, signing up to live and work on a floating goddamn city-state built on a conman's dreams. One big trouble, that's us. That's me. But, hell. Maybe the kids down here are all right after all. Half this poo poo was their idea, you know? I was ready to give up on all of it, but what would you do when the kids come to you with all these crazy ideas; when they come to you and say, 'master Isha, give me a new body, this old one won't work down here', what the gently caress am I supposed to do?"

"New bodies for a new world, they say, but it's never really new, none of this is, all they did was just...wake it up again. So I keep it running. Teach what I can. Learn when I can. They'll really be something if Murgo doesn't kill us all."

His eybrows fly wide when you tell you him where you came from. "Johannes' gilded youth haven't poo poo in their own nest yet, eh? I should have guessed. Moreno always was a troublemaker...but problem being, the kids smashed all the comms equipment when we came to power here. Wanted to hunker down, work in silence 'til we're ready to declare sovereignty. They'll have to talk to us, and even then we can only listen: we've got no way to talk back to them without making it obvious we're here. I'll put the word out; see what the kids think; but don't expect any miracles."

"To work, miss Greymist. It was a pleasure meeting you."

* * *

The annidati don't need a chosen one or a high priestess or a fated savior. What they need, as it turns out, is a nanny. The shrine of Eihaix has been converted into a spawning creche, and the lunar clergy are overwhelmed with the demands of their care. Mutely the attendants entreat you, speaking in that odd sign-language so common to those of Isha's creed: please, Dame Greymist, help us care for our infant children. The lunar cult survives here, safe beneath the surging tides; and the survivors among the Aqualantean faithful have reëstablished a center of worship in what was once the Silver-home chandler's quarter.



A gentle whirlwind of domestic labor envelops your concentration for the next couple hours.The tasks would be unfamiliar to any surface dweller - the annidati have radically altered their reproductive physiology, spawning like salamanders in great communal pools - but any infant has needs you've dealt with before, no matter how far evolved from its natal stock. Before long, you find your hands warming to the rituals of bathing, feeding, and cleaning, and soon your broad scaly back plays host to dozens of scrambling amphibian scamps, eager to climb out of their blood-warm birthing pools and out into the new world their parents have made for them. An effigy of Eihaix, a salvaged surface bronze, watches kindly over the scene: a slim, curly-haired youth with an ambiguous flirty grin and a conspicuously missing foot, probably lost somewhere in the city sea-wrack.

Finally, when everybody's put to bed and the attendants are cooling their aching feet in the grown-ups pond, you have enough time free to make your prayers to Nashira, in the district's former public library building, gutted and repurposed for Her worship. Most of the old literature has succumbed to damp and mold, but what knowledge remains from the surface world is gathered here. No statue for the Moon-Maiden here, only a ritual space beneath one of the skylights on the second floor: an empty brazier, a low altar and some salvaged candelabra, sporting glowing mushrooms in place of candles.

Nashira awaits your prayers. What is your new Quest, and what boons do you ask of Her?

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


Pillbug

RAMONA
McKinnin gives you that look, the "oh is that what you're thinking about?" look, before he tucks his copy of the invoice into his coveralls. Well, at least he isn't going to proposition you for 'oysters under the table' anytime soon. Prick.

"Aye, you 'n McAlister have done well enough together," he says gruffly, "'an considerin' as Sunny Jane decided to throw 'er towel in for a fuckin' necromancer I think I can see my way to arguin' for leniency in your sake. Most like, I can get your sentence down to penitentiary labor...and then 'ave that discharged for lay services rendered to th' Church in course of riddin' the earth o' the aforesaid fuckin' necromancer."

"Finance...." he sucks his teeth and wishes for a cigar made out of something more palatable than your invoice before going on, "finance...will be harder. Th' lump sum I can promise you, once that ship's in your hands; lodging willnae be a problem...but it's past my authority to just sign a heathen cap'n over to the fleet's books without so much as a by-the-by up th' chain of command. Maybe if you were willin' to convert, an willin' to take orders from th' Abbot...but I'd not ask that of you lightly. No, independent contractor is what you'll be - 'mercenary' by anyone's books but the accountants' - and it takes special dispensation from th' high muckity-mucks for suchlike to sup from the Church's table."

"I'll get the staff together an' start drawin' up some plans for the assault. Meet you in..." he checks his wrist instinctively, but the watch that used to be there is long-lost at sea by now. "gently caress. Twenty minutes."

"Godspeed, lass. And good luck."

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


Pillbug

Several hours later. . . . . . .


* * * * *


EVERYBODY
Serenity, when you emerge from your prayers at the shrine to Nashira, Kaude is there to meet you, after emerging from their own lustrations at the Jairan courthouse-temple on Fisherman's Hill. Their skin has changed since you saw them last, from a pebbly toad-brown to a bright, shocking red with a stripe of pure black down their spine, like a poisonous salamander. They look frightening, grim and warlike - ready to fight for their future, no matter who's standing in its way.

* [Heal]er, the [fisherman? (this probably means the triton)] is not OK... *, they sign to you worriedly.

* I - S - H - A almost finished, needs someone to [plug the dam]. Please, come; [fisherman] is very sick. *

* * *

Ramona and Branwen, you're hashing out your plans to assault the Visible Hand when Kaude and Serenity hustle past like somebody just called in a Code Blue at the intensive-care ward and they've got the only pair of defibrillators in town. Which, as it turns out, might be pretty close to the truth.

The sick triton is floating in a waist-high tank of clear water, and she's suffering clear symptoms of exposure to some vile poison. Waves of shivering wrack her body every few seconds, and her scaly underbelly is mottled red-and-white with patches of heavy bruising. Her gills pulse erratically, gasping for breath - and she gulps air from the surface too, in great gasping heaves that rattle to a halt as quickly as they begin.

The medical staff swarm around her, administering what care they can - but it seems to be only forestalling the end. "Dammit," one staffer snarls, "it's another exposure case...where the hell is Isha?!"

"Ten minutes," another one responds, "he's decanting the antidotes now; we just need to hold on that long..."
What does everybody do?

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

The end! No moral.


Serenity
HP 21/21 | Armor 2 | Load 1/9 | XP 2/15

Serenity will dedicate herself to discovering the truth of Gretchen's whereabouts and intentions. She will ask for the boons of invulnerability to drowning and a mark of divine authority

The children here would be fine. Serenity had taught a particular song to the creche mothers that ought to make nap and bed times quite a lot more manageable. Some things were truly universal, and a mother's song of safe and peaceful rest was one of them.

---

Serenity only spared a moment to apprise herself of the situation before slipping through the push of nurses and raising herself up above the tank. She wasn't fluent in Triton and had no training in the ways of their tidesingers, but she could at least comfort the woman and grant her strength while they waited for the antidote. Slipping into the tank, Serenity held the triton, a warm and reassuring presence.



Arcane Art: 2d6+3 11
Healing and Assisting the triton to keep her alive and fighting.
Healing Song: 2d8 10

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?

Ramona
18/26-1 HP; 5/14 XP; 1 Armor; 5/11 Load, Scarred
The Triton reminds me of rich people's pets dying in their aquariums. That's exactly the kind of experience a rich shitbag like Murgo, thinking of how to poison a bunch of fish, had to draw on. Fish, to him, were two things: food, and pets. You were only allowed to recreationally poison the latter, and the most common way to accidentally find out how to do so was with cleaning agents. Aqua ammonia. The visible symptoms matched, so I start talking about cycling her water again especially if she's fouled it–more ammonia in the waste–and adding a little vinegar to it.

I try to reassure the Triton in her language as she has to watch more chemicals, likely the cause of her distress, being added to her water, "This will help. You're just a little basic."

2d6 SL = (4+5) = 9

ArkInBlack
Mar 22, 2013


Branwen McAlister
HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 8/12 | Load 4/12
Spells: Light[ ] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ]
Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Sanctuary[X]
Boom[ ]


A small fire casts shadows around Bran, secluded from the noise and movements of the medical ward, barely seen among the bioluminescent fungus. With solemn grace Bran pulls a small water-logged block of wood from a puddle and tosses it into the flame, which hisses and pops. Sighing at the meager offering she has, Bran closes her eyes and begins to pray.

~~~

As Serenity hums Bran walks the edges of the room, quietly chanting praises to Bombarda and asking her to watch over and protect those within the ward and speed their recovery. As she finishes circling the room, the path she tread becomes a warm orange glow the color of the sky as the sun sets, filling the room with a wholesome warmth.

@ArkInBlack: 2d6+2 Cast Sanctuary = (3+2)+2 = 7
Losing the spell as the cost

ArkInBlack fucked around with this message at Nov 8, 2018 around 04:00

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


Pillbug

EVERYBODY
Serenity, you slither into the triton's tank and entwine her in your song - but she's too far gone, lost in a poisoned dream...her body and mind won't accept you! Madly she struggles against your embrace, berserk with fear and pain. In your well-meaning touch she finds only the terror of the deep, the crushing grip of the kraken's coils. Her pulse is wild, erratic - you can't find a beat to anchor the rhythm of your magic to. You can't hold on - you're losing her!

Branwen's invocation of sanctuary couldn't be more desperately needed. Bombarda may be best-known as the Matron of Detonation, but even her most ardent devotees need someone to salve their burns after one too many close encounters with a keg of gunpowder. The glimmering mushroomlight recedes as she paces the ward, overtaken by a power too long absent here, so far beneath the waves: the golden light of the setting Sun. Her prayers invoke succor for a wounded soldier, adherence to the laws of war - an aid and comfort beyond the power of the lunar tides to give.

Gradually, oh so slowly, your patient's convulsions begin to calm. Her breath comes less raggedly. But you're not out of the woods yet - still she struggles blindly, her mind lost in delusion. Serenity's magic is no use against it; neither Branwen's blessings -- what it takes to bring her out of it is Ramona, and her completely ordinary words of reassurance. It takes time and patient repetition to get through to her, but ever-so-slowly the madness leaves her eyes. She stops babbling about krakens and wurms and the terrible crushing black and takes a deep breath of freshly flushed tank water, gill-slits rippling wide.

"W-- cough, gasp --...where...?" she manages to choke out.

"Easy," a nurse shushes her, her eyes squinted against the bright Bombardan dawnlight.

"Easy, easy. You've been badly poisoned. Hold on. Just hold on. The doctor's coming with the antidote."

Two or three minutes pass in an agony of strained activity. Healer, nurses, preacher, and staff: all of you together do everything you can, but this poison has claws. All you can do is slow its progress. The glassy sheen is starting to creep back into her eyes when Isha limps heavily down the stairs.

He looks terrible. Like he's been doing about fifty different kinds of drugs over the last few hours. The scum of mildew across his scalp has noticeably grown since you saw him last, and his limbs shiver like the tremor in McKinnin's hands. He holds up one arm to shield his eyes as he steps across the sanctuary bound, hardly able to bear the light. A nurse rushes to his side to support him.

"H-h-hhh-here," he stammers. "Had-d-t-to s-s-suff-fer it to. T-t-t-o heal it. T-t-t-t--ake. Take it." His arm's shaking so hard he almost drops it - a clear jug full of pale orange liquid, like the probiotic drink from hell. A nurse takes it carefully from him, unscrews the cap, takes a deep sniff - you catch a whiff of citrus fruit and nightshade berries - and glugs half the contents right into the triton's tank, no time to waste!

The effects are immediate and dramatic. Within a half dozen breaths her convulsions are stilling, her pulse coming back down to the realm of sanity. The nurse measures out another portion into a beaker and feeds it to the triton, mouthful by careful mouthful. Her breathing slows and deepens, and, with a sigh of profound relief, the triton slips quickly into a healing sleep.

Anyone who ingests the antidote gains permanent immunity to Murgo's nerve gas, and resistance to all other poisons like it. Serenity, you don't have gills, so but you haven't been dosed involuntarily (unless you want to be).

What does everyone do now?

Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at Nov 12, 2018 around 16:58

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

The end! No moral.


Serenity
HP 21/21 | Armor 2 | Load 1/9 | XP 2/15

Serenity, once assured the triton was in no further danger and peacefully resting, slithered from the tank and approached her companions. She hadn't realized they were in the area, but it was certainly well that they were. Some wounds went too deep for even her songs to heal alone.

Squeezing the water from her hair, she spoke. "Thank you for the help, Morning Glory. Mona." A quick sign of lunar providence before she continued. "Do we have time to wait? I cannot deny that I would like to speak with the triton woman, and I am concerned about our host." She eyed Isha for a moment, conflicted. He had offered them hospitality and aid, and for that he had her gratitude. Yet the things he spoke of were...concerning, to put it mildly. "However. Sitting on our hands is not going to get anything useful accomplished so I can certainly understand moving onwards at the earliest convenience."

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?

Ramona
18/26-1 HP; 5/14 XP; 1 Armor; 5/11 Load, Scarred
I know if Serenity helps Isha without his publicly and memorably asking for the help and he later dies, from anything, I'll catch the blame. I sign at the old frog, "Isha, you look worse off than her now. Do you need my elf to help you? Tell her either way." If he does, I can talk to the triton I guess.

Alumnus Post
Dec 29, 2009

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


Pillbug

RAMONA
Old man Isha just splutters; it's the closest he can get to a laugh right now. You get the feeling he's thinking exactly what you're thinking - you won't let Serenity be seen to offer even the appearance of poisoned aid - this despite your heroic efforts just now to resuscitate an enemy combatant in full view of all his medical staff. His aide hands him a beakerful of antidote and he gulps greedy swallows from it, orange liquid spilling down his cheeks. It doesn't seem to do him much good.

"She c ccan ttrr yyy yye," he manages to get out.

Meanwhile, the triton is sleeping soundly, her deep barrel chest rising and falling in time with the gentle pulsing of her gill slits. It might not be best to wake her now, not when she's just passed through such a harrowing ordeal. You could wait, of course...but is that time you can afford to spare? Even now the Visible Hand waits in drydock, undergoing its final preparations for launch. Perhaps it's already gotten underway in the time you've spent here. You found your way into it last time like that, of course -- but something tells you Scrimshaw won't be so stupid as to invite you in like Murgo did...
The choice is yours. Wait, find something else to do in the meantime, or move on?

SERENITY
Isha's nurses escort him carefully to a bench and help him sit. One holds a cloth to his lips while he coughs violently. Man, he's really messed up. 'She can try,' is that what he's trying to say? How sick is he?
What do you do?

Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at Nov 13, 2018 around 03:18

slydingdoor
Oct 26, 2010

Are you in or are you out?

Ramona
18/26-1 HP; 5/14 XP; 1 Armor; 5/11 Load, Scarred
I'm gonna spout lore about what's wrong with isha
based on what little alchemy i learned since the last campaign because while gurgle was useful i never wanted to rely on someone like him ever again if I could do it myself instead.
1d6+1d8 SL ha:poo = (3)+(3) = 6
e; if isha's anything like gurgle he brews in his own body
which is like a Mr. Burns-tier clown car of lethal poisons and poo poo
I'm guessing if the bezoar cures them, it upsets the ecology of his system
because bodies attenuate to those kinds of things, organs stop doing work that chemicals are doing for them

slydingdoor fucked around with this message at Nov 13, 2018 around 21:15

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

ArkInBlack
Mar 22, 2013


While Bran's expertise is more on the explosive side of alchemy, Bombarda's faithful have found their fair share of non-combustible knowledge in pursuit of their Matron's majesty.

@ArkInBlack: 2d6+1 Aid Another = (5+5)+1 = 11

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
  • Post
  • Reply
«33 »