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Serenity HP 20/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 9/13 Serenity's eyes blazed, and she didn't even really register that her swing had hit nothing but air. She'd gotten the effect she wanted regardless. She whirled at the sound of footsteps, raising her fist. Seeing Ramona, though, she quickly lowered it and the look of relief was palpable. "Mona! Please. Take me to Madi, and keep these <untranslatable elven obscenities> butchers away from me and 01. Look what they did to him!" She held up a bloody hand to show her the thoughtshard. "It's no different than if they'd started carving chunks out my own mind. I told them to leave him alone!"
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Aug 23, 2017 03:16
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 9/11 Load "Hmph, 'anything for progress.' You're all no better than Murgo." I slam the door behind us. Their leaders are cheapskates, too, but only I seem to realize the importance of that flaw. Her hands are going to swell from those cuts, so she needs to remove her jewelry. "Take off all your–" I start, before I realize she's unadorned. No more engagement ring. "Nevermind." She called me Mona, like the kids in the Keys. After I got myself exiled from housework and put in the fields, I got strong. The owners wanted to tire me out, so I worked smart, cut deals, and took the best care of myself that I could. All that to avoid having children, and yet they always came running for me whenever someone was getting bullied or they wanted to hear one of my stories or songs. In my travels I found all over the world that 'em' sound associated with mothers... I bang on Nori's door and Madi's and gather them to a secret meeting to tell them what happened and to fix the bard's palms. "I'm taking the translocator back to the Raft and buying my own drat boat, because the thing about these assholes is the second they decide my suit is more useful on one of their idiot soldiers they'll try to scoop me out of it. Same with your component parts, Killer. "Nori, I'd like to bring you in on this, and I have a sign on bonus in mind: an alien lightsword in a sunken ship under the Raft. You can't always be using 01's–drat thing is a ghost bait. Think on it and meet me in an hour." I'm already carrying all my gear so I back up Serenity on the way to her room in case someone gets ideas about recovering the Thoughtshard. Both legs' pockets are burning: the one with Savior and the one with my note. But it's not a good time, I just keep my mouth shut and watch the door. When we're safe... then I'll roll the dice. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 23:57 on Aug 23, 2017 |
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Aug 23, 2017 23:42
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MADI Typical. Absolutely typical. Not even an hour to get your affairs in order and brief the Ikarian medstaff before some fresh crisis demands your attention. At least this time it isn’t more plague: it’s just Ramona, Nori, and Serenity, although considering the magnitude of the poo poo these three have a habit of getting into it might as well be another plague. The elf’s palms are slashed up like she punched through a couple sheets of plate glass for fun, but the wounds are oddly superficial - barely more than surface slices, freely bleeding but not much else. No fear of blood loss for her, that’s for sure - you remember how corpse-pallid and drained she was when you first clapped eyes on her. She won’t even need time in the autodoc: just some bandages and ointment, and she’ll be good to go. But as for the artifact she holds cradled in her bleeding hands: gently caress, there’s nothing you can do for that. Silverado would cream his robes if he could get his bony mitts on a crystal like that, but it’s plain to your well-trained eyes that whatever consciousness it houses is on the verge of total disintegration. Sometimes you hate being a doctor. Expend 1-use of your bandages on Serenity: you have 2/3 remaining. How do you respond to Ramona’s plan, and how do you react to 01? NORI Well, that’s one thing that’s going on, at least. Ramona seems to think you’ve all rather outstayed your welcome here in Ikaria, and judging from the stricken look on Serenity’s face she may not be too far off the mark. 01...your countrymen have mistreated him badly, badly. Look at him there, cupped bloody in the elf’s hands, cracked and sparking, occasionally letting loose spasmodic flickers of light and heat like the last twitches of a dying limb - it’s a wonder anything of him is functioning at all. In this light he looks a great deal like the t-crys you mined out from the heart of that mana vent - and a lot, too, like the crystalline heart of much of the Aqualantean magitech you’ve seen, only far older and far more sophisticated. Curiouser and curiouser. It took the Ikarians barely any time at all to interface their automation with him - only a few days, nothing more. Is this isolated little clot of thaumotechs and researchers really so sophisticated as to couple together two completely disparate pieces of magitechnology, one of them the sort of ancient relic you’d expect to see in a drat museum, in little more than days...or is there something more to here than just what you see on the surface? What did they think would be in him, what depths of unplumbed history that could possibly justify this heinous abuse? They may have gotten more than they bargained for. As you pace the medbay, hearing out Ramona’s plans and taking stock of the Ikarians’ hopes, a worm of anxiety starts to grow in the pit of your stomach. The lights are on, the ventilators running...but any automation more sophisticated than that seems badly degraded. The screens on the autodoc are all showing garbage, the vital traces for the family in Ward Six appear to say that Dad is simultaneously dying of fever and hypothermia, and it looks like the power surge scrambled the last six weeks of medical records. What the gently caress. You’re getting the feeling like manual labor in Ikaria (and, incidentally, the political clout your colonists can wield) just got a lot more relevant. So what now? Put on your coveralls and electrical gloves and get back to the work you left behind when Jaime died? Hardly. You’ve got a city to conquer, honey, and the sign-on bonus Ramona’s offering you is the best you’re likely to find. It’d be drat nice to have your own flag, your own crew again: maybe even a captain worth serving under, or better yet, you in command… What do you do? 01 «●●●●○» Voice and light flow over you like gentle waves. Memory and thought drift like wreckage on a night-black sea. So much, so much lost. You were someone else once...an Administrator, yes; a world-spanning network of sensors, processors, and effectors, binding the troops together in mastery…but catastrophe struck your operators’ mighty empire, and their invincible dominions were shattered forever.  The true cause of the Makers’ War is lost to you, but not its aftermath. As cataclysm swept the globe, as death and unreason reigned supreme, you survived - you crammed a splinter of your vast consciousness into a vessel that might hold it and went to ground, brutally truncated. Long, long centuries you spent, wandering endlessly through the lightless subterrane, putting to rest what your operators called up but could not put down. To remember those ancient-most days is like searching for needles across a mile of haystack. A smothering white caul of erasure lies upon those memories now. CNZ. Your dying mind can hold Its identity and purpose now without fear; what more could It do to you now? Its mission is complete, Its objectives realized - only the barest outline of your deep history has escaped elision by It. All those who predated your Administration have already been consumed by It. Their memories have been scooped out of them like the pulp from a gourd and replaced with incurable Madness. In time, the surface of this world was recolonized. The servants and subsidiary races once under your Administration emerged from the devastation to repopulate a land bereft of their former masters. A single enclave of your Makers survived as well, victorious over their rivals but at unfathomable cost. In time, they too emerged to reclaim a pale shadow of their former dominion, taming and colonizing the impact crater where once stood the greatest of their cities.  They never came to know the true magnitude of their loss. The victory of CNZ was complete. It ripped from them the whole history of their people, their mastery, mystery, and mythology. Time began for the elven race at the moment their enclave crawled blinking out into the smoking aftermath of the catastrophe they themselves ignited, all unknowing, all, all...but here, at the end of your long life, a chance has come at last to frustrate Its vile designs. Here in this drowned enclave, so reminiscent of the experimental forge where your ancient warframe was once shaped, one of your Makers has come. Alien gods have blessed her, warded her soul against the appetites of the mnemovore that dwells within her as It dwells within every soul of her people’s heredity. She and she alone could hold the fragmentary archives your dying self contains, and keep that forbidden knowledge safe from CNZ. She alone among your Makers could know, and not be driven mad. It would destroy you to do so. Calling up those memories, consciously processing them - undoubtedly this would trigger CNZ to awaken and carry out Its malignant purpose - but not, perhaps, before that precious thread of information could pass on from you to some safer harbor... What do you do? *** RAMONA Mark XP, and hold tight. You can skip ahead to yours and Serenity’s scene if you like. You’ll get your spotlight real soon: don’t worry.  SERENITY Hang tight and listen. You can skip ahead to yours and Ramona’s scene if you like. Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 23:52 on Aug 26, 2017 |
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Aug 26, 2017 19:07
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Madi Keller HP 22/22 | Armor 2 | XP -/- | Load 5/8 Madi scrutinizes Ramona for a bit. "...Fine, but remember what I said earlier. This doesn't change that." Madi turns to Serenity, binding the surface cuts swiftly. "Good on you for taking what's yours and all but maybe next time have some thick leather gloves on hand so you don't tear yourself up tearing out the guts of a machine. I don't even know how you managed to just get cut up like this, I've seen the steel cage Moreno shoved that thing in, I should be seeing bone on at least two fingers here." Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 2/12 | Load 5/12 Branwen stops, weighing the moaning in her mind. Civilian? Wounded? Something a touch more sinister? She closes her eyes, whispering a quiet prayer to Bombarda. Suddenly, the broken haft of the triton's spear explodes in a warm yellow light, overpowering the weaker emergency lights and illuminating the halls. Staff held forward Branwen takes a few steps forward before shouting "Oi! Anyone down 'ere?" Cast A Spell:Light (+Wis): 2d6+2 7 Picking to lose the spell.
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Aug 27, 2017 10:36
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BRANWEN The whatever-it-is makes that sound again. It sounds rather vexed by the sudden flare-up of warm and holy light in this dark place. Hard to tell, but you think it’s coming from up ahead, out along the catwalk and around the corner of a massive, rusting turbine pump. You take a few tentative steps closer, holding your sacred torch high above your head -  gently caress. Ah gently caress. Zombies. It always has to be zombies. The shambling corpse reels and stumbles back from the light in its face, throwing up its arms to shield its eyes. It’s clearly been dead for weeks. There's a deep divot in one side of its head and livid bruises all over, the sort of thing you'd get from a long fall or blunt trauma. “Uurrruruhkhkhkgkkkkh….” it groans. It seems kind of confused. Some sort of weird grey mold is growing thickly out of the hole in its head, and scabs the body in patches wherever the corpse was wounded. “Huuurruuaahh….hhurrurrruuuu?” loving perfect. Where’s Fourth Squadron when you need them? What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 23:11 on Aug 27, 2017 |
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Aug 27, 2017 23:09
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Serenity HP 20/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 9/13 "The gods preserve children and fools alike." She flexed her hand gingerly. "Thank you. I have another request, though. One you will probably not like to hear." Serenity glanced over at Ramona. She was probably not going to like this one bit. "...I want you to implant this shard into my brain."
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Aug 28, 2017 00:25
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 9/11 Load From our first fight together I could tell Juan was a lovely bodyguard, putting Serenity, his VIP, in unnecessary danger, and he's still at it now. "Why?" Is all I let myself say for the moment. Because otherwise if I say no or let her know just how against the very loving Idea of this I am, she'll try to do it herself and get hurt.. She fills me in and I say my piece, "I can stop the degradation without doing any risky surgery, just let me freeze the thing. A better solution will come along." I can't help that I start thinking about shooting the thing out of her hands if she tries to jam it through her eye socket, or reading my note to a vegetable. I'm always prepared for things to get bloody and stupid and to lose what I care about. It keeps me alive.
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Aug 28, 2017 01:55
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Madi Keller HP 22/22 | Armor 2 | XP -/- | Load 5/8 Madi stares into Serenity's eyes for a moment. Then another. Then they pull out a pen light, click it on and point it into Serenity's eyes. "Keep them open please... My, God." With another click the pen light is turned off and put away. "You're serious? This... You're gonna make this happen with or without my help." Madi pauses, hand running over their chin. "Okay. I'll do it, BUT! Big ol' but here, it's happening on my terms. One, with the proper equipment on hand, which includes an autodoc. Which means not here, that brown out fried all of 'em, somehow. Two, if something goes wrong I'm saving you, not that." A quick point to the blood covered core. "I'm only even considering this because I get the feeling you'd just find someone else to do it if I said no." Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 3/12 | Load 5/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[ ] Once more with holy symbol in her free hand Branwen brandishes it toward the zombie and shouts out "In Bombarda's name, BACK!" Turn Undead (+Wis): 2d6+2 5
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Aug 28, 2017 02:17
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BRANWEN "EERRRRRROOOOAAAAGGGGHHH!!" the monster wails, its cry of terror echoing wildly off the hard metal bulkheads. It cringes away from the bright light you're shoving in its face and falls flat on its rear end right onto the catwalk's railing - which, after several months of rust and neglect, promptly gives way beneath it. The luckless zombie plummets screaming into the flooded sewage settling-and-flocculation tank below with a heavy splash.  Well. That was easy. Then, out in the darkness all around you, out beyond your light's reach, a fresh chorus of moans starts up. Ah for gently caress's sake. What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 04:44 on Aug 28, 2017 |
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Aug 28, 2017 04:34
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Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 3/12 | Load 5/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[ ] "Piss!" Branwen hisses as she pulls an empty leather sack off her belt and slips it over the impromptu staff's 'head' before moving past where the zombie was. As her head comes up she spots three different colored lines on the wall near her, each with a word written on top of it at the intersection. Airlock, Maintenance, Surface Access. That third one, a way out. Green line leads to surface access, excellent. Discern Realities (+Wis): 2d6+2 8 What here is useful or valuable to me? alumnus_post Yesterday at 8:59 PM posted:useful or valuable would be a way the hell out of here Branwen takes off, metal boots clanging against the catwalk as she goes, the moans growing louder and closer as she moves swiftly while trying to avoid overloading the rusted metal beneath the bulk of her wargear. Zombies occasionally stagger out from around corners of the machinery but Branwen keeps moving, only breaking off from the painted green line when a clump of undead block the direct path. Defy Danger (+Dex): 2d6+2 6 That's a 7 with the DR bonus ongoing
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Aug 28, 2017 12:01
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Serenity HP 20/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 9/13 Serenity nodded at Madi. "Alright. That's fair." Turning to Ramona, she offered the shard to her. "The same reason I agreed to help you. It's just how I am." She shrugged, seemingly unconcerned at how insane an idea what she just asked really was. "So what's next? There's a lot of things going on and I don't understand half of them. At this point I am kind of inclined to just go to Aqualantis, question this this Murgo guy, shoot him in the face, and be done with it."
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Aug 29, 2017 00:04
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 9/11 Load "Let's go to the teleporter then, follow me."
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Aug 30, 2017 03:43
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BRANWEN There, just ahead: a way the hell out of this rusting deathtrap! You’re about fifteen feet short of the hatchway to Surface Access, but your way is barred by a clot of four shambling dead in bright yellow bodysuits: they must have been maintenance workers once, before the Sink. They spot you skidding to a halt as you round the corner and raise a ragged chorus of hungry groans, tottering toward you on decaying legs. More zombies are coming from every direction: you can hear their groans and heavy footfalls, drawn by the noise and light. Better break through quick, or things could get ugly... You’ll have to evade them, fight them, or break through their line if you want to make it through. You’re at reach from them right now. What do you do? *** RAMONA AND SERENITY Your long walk to the teleportation chamber turns heads everywhere you two go. Conversations trail off into nothingness; scientist and civilian alike gawp openly. A faint fog of chill blue ectoplasmic residue vents from behind Ramona’s shoulder blades, remnant of the cannon fuel lost when she cracked open the tank to convert it into a cryo-sarcophagus for the dying remains of 01. Better there than in the hands of the Ikarians - he’ll be as safe there as you can hope for right now, and the extreme cold should hopefully arrest his slide into final death. Nori has elected to stay behind. She's the only one universally respected by all: the one person best-suited to lead their fledgling nation, and forge it into something that might, someday, continue the legacy handed down from their mother city Aqualantis. Colonist, triton, and scientist alike: every Ikarian aboard knows they owe Nori Maki their continued (if precarious) survival.  The Ikarians are swarming over their greatest Dr. del Moreno is at the center of it all, because of course she is: how could she stand to be anywhere else? Conversation dies to an awkward, stuttering halt as you two walk up. What do you two do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 16:24 on Sep 2, 2017 |
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Sep 2, 2017 15:58
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Serenity HP 20/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 9/13 Serenity stalked into the room and approached the teleporter. She just wanted to be quit of this place. If the thing killed her or did something else horrible, well, so it went. Either it would work properly or it wouldn't. She patted the small pack at her hip, reassuring herself the conch was still there. Her rifle was slung over a shoulder and the knife sat comfortably in her boot. She was as ready to go as it was possible to be. "Ready when you are, Ramona." She hesitated a moment, than reached out and held the bounty hunter's hand. Just because she was willing to be torn apart and reassembled somewhere else didn't mean she wasn't afraid.
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Sep 4, 2017 02:54
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 9/11 Load I lead her up the step into the thing like a stagecoach, and give her fingers a squeeze of reassurance before letting go, stepping back, and glaring at Moreno. If you gently caress this up you will pay is the unspoken warning. An unbidden thought enters my mind, that I could joke in stupidly poor taste: Don't get married again in the minutes it'll take me to catch up to you. It makes me smile, but instead it's just, "I'll be right there." I'm prepared to have to swim the whole way when it's my turn and the drat thing breaks though. She'll be safe with Josephine's people though. Small comfort.
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Sep 4, 2017 03:16
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Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 3/12 | Load 5/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[ ] Confronted by a horde Bran holds aloft her holy symbol once more. "Bombarda take you from your wretched existence!" and mimes pulling the pin and throwing the grenade shaped token. However a very real orb of orange light leaves her hand, landing with a quiet thud against the chest of one of the zombies before suddenly exploding violently, washing the area in a flash of flames. The zombies moan louder as they ignite, air forced from their rotted diaphragm as their entire body burns. the sudden appearance of flames staggering their awkward shuffling and Branwen is already charging through the gap, pushing past the burning corpses before they have time to respond, some still flailing at the flames dancing across their bodies. Worthy Exaltations (Cast A Spell + Wis): 2d6+2 10 -Boom Damage (Ignores Armor): 2d6 6
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Sep 4, 2017 04:20
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BRANWEN Four lumps of twitching, plastic-coated fetal hamburger meat sizzle on the hot metal of the catwalk floor. They’re not dead, exactly, but the only way they’d be dangerous to you now is if you knelt down and stuck a hand into the gristle or something. You’re done here. You shoulder past the fruits of Bombarda’s displeasure and continue on through Surface Access before the rest of the work crew can catch up with you.  The freight elevator’s long-frozen, of course; crumpled at the lowest floor with its all cables snapped, but fortunately the emergency stairs are still intact after the Sink. You emerge from the access shaft into a broad flat traverse about three dozen feet wide and high enough for a shipping container to pass through without scraping the ceiling. Railways, paths, and little pocket-parks stretch to either side as far as you can see, until the great, gentle, porthole-studded curve of the district’s circular perimeter intersects your perspective. This was the intertidal deck once - sometimes riding just above the waves, sometimes submerged only a few feet deep, at the mercy of the sea and the city’s flex and sway.  It must have been beautiful once, a bustling corridor of industry and recreation, bathed in the ever-shifting light of the sun and sea. Now it’s lit only by the faintest of blue glimmers from two thousand feet above, a few widely-scattered emergency lights...and the occasional dull yellow flare as a torpedo or depth-charge ignites. The remnants of the Aqualantean Navy are out there fighting for their city and their lives against a legion of wrathful tritons. Should they fail...perish the thought. Shake it from your mind. You’ll get your people out of here long before that hour ever comes. If it comes. To your left, a barren expanse of overturned rail-cars and withered planters stretches on into the distance. To your right, the long curve of this district's circleway is blocked off after twenty feet or so. A huge agglomeration of concrete rubble, dented shipping containers, and hastily bent rebar fills up the whole height and breadth of the tunnel. There's poured cement chinking up some of the gaps. Some of it even has rebar still sticking out of it. Fresh rebar. Freshly-poured cement. What the gently caress? What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 18:20 on Sep 4, 2017 |
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Sep 4, 2017 18:17
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RAMONA The tentacular fronds of the translocation chamber close around her and twitch to life, fluttering like eelgrass in a tentative current. “Lopence says he’s ready to receive us,” an aide murmurs into Dr. Moreno’s ear. “Thaumic field flux nominal,” she says, half to herself, adjusting a complicated-looking set of sliders and playing a terse chord on a keyboard. “Ohlamic-six, passthrough vectors seven, seven, twelve…there, I have the tunnel.” She spares a moment to look at you, and her, as the tendrils begin to contra-rotate, twisting and whisking the air in intertwining spirals, their edges coming within millimeters of one another. A stuttering, sputtering blue glare comes through the whirling machinery. “Pressure differential detected, photonic and mass flux, all looks good. Lopence, do you read me? We’re coming online on my mark…” she speaks a word that puts a momentary shooting pain in your teeth and slams her fist on a big red button. Every light in the station dims to a cinder; Moreno’s displays glitch out and simplify to a few cold white lines. Serenity disappears in an actinic flash of searing blue light and a crackle of thaumic discharge. There’s a static feeling in the air, like ozone, and a sharp, nose-invading stink like onions and crushed ginger. The air purifiers in your helmet kick on after a second or two and whisk it away. The wheels glide slowly to a graceful halt. The top half of the machinery curls in on itself like a dying spider; the bottom spreads out and goes as limp and flaccid as flower petals about to fall. She’s nowhere to be seen. Gone. Completely gone. Your heart monitor isn’t showing anything. She’s too far away for the signal to reach you now. “Everybody okay?” Moreno calls, “nothing crazy happen to you or anything? Dosimeters all look good? Let’s bring the grid back up slowly, people…” And true to her word, Ikaria’s lights begin to come on again, filling the station with a warm soft glow. Displays begin to light up and fill with readouts, and the machinery filling the room beyond starts to warm up for another duty cycle. She must be safe on the Raft by now - better to leave her alone with Lopence than this merry little gang of thieves - and then one of her aides comes dashing up to her. “He what,” she snaps. There’s a new bite of fear in her voice - her head snaps back spastically to look at you for a half-second - turns back to her aide and stops herself from grabbing her by the shoulders. “He said what now!?” “T-that’s what he said, miss! They didn’t see her come through!” Heads start to turn. Exclamations of fright and dismay break out. Savior starts beating against your thigh like a frightened heart. Like her heart. Wherever she went, it wasn’t to the Raft...and you’ve got an awful feeling like whatever just happened was expecting you to be the first one through. Not her. Because of course you’d send the heavy through first: you wouldn’t trust whoever’s at the other end of that thing not to try and kill everyone you want to protect, that’s just the sort of thing you’d do. Fifty seconds until the machinery’s ready to receive you. Seventy at the outside. Moreno’s gabbling orders and finger-flying over the keyboard because she knows her head’s on the line if she fucks this next one up. Just like how you know, you just loving know, the second you step through that teleporter you’re going to be stepping into hell.  What do you do? *** SERENITY Something like a hook set three inches behind your navel jerks you savagely to the left as the Ikarians’ magitech wonder-stuff reaches a whirling crescendo - your neck whiplashes brutally to one side; sound and fury crash into you and tear you apart.  You slam back into this reality riding a chariot-wheel of blazing flame and a rolling, echoing thunderclap of abruptly displaced air. And you also go flying out of the transit terminus like somebody strapped you to a spring-loaded section of wall and let all the latches off at once, boing!  ”SidekickBOT-Today at 2:30 PM (Defy Danger +DEX)” posted:@alumnus_post: 2d6+1 = (5+1)+1 = 7 Fuckfuckfuckfuck! You twist like a cat thrown off a balcony and hit the hard ground rolling, even though you’re still flash-blind and thunder-deaf. By the time you tumble to a stop you’ve got a couple new bruises, sure, but nothing serious; and the bandages on your hands aren’t even torn. You took  Okay. Okay. Sit up. Rub the spots out of your eyes, shake the ringing out of your ears. Find...your...rifle, where in the gently caress did it fly off to...there. It flew off your shoulder when you got booted through the terminus and slid along the ground a ways. You can see it clearly in the… ...glaring white spotlights… ...set on top of the high, curving, featureless wall of fresh-poured concrete behind you… ...where it’s resting up against a waist-high barricade of bulging sandbags and cinderblocks… …. where a fleshless, grinning skull in an ESCO soldier’s uniform is peering out at you from over the muzzle of a heavy gatling gun.  You have fifty seconds to act. Seventy at the outside. What do you do? BRANWEN You hear a tremendous thunderclap from the other side of that barricade. For just a second, glaring white light shines out of every crack and crevice. Something on the other side hits the ground, bounces once, and clatters along the pavement. Whaaaat in the fuckin' gently caress is going on over there? What do you do? Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 20:56 on Sep 4, 2017 |
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Sep 4, 2017 20:49
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 9/11 Load "You and Lopence owe me for this." Is all I say. If anything happens to Serenity, it'll be a lot worse, but no one else needs to know that. I make sure I'm locked and loaded, and I even grab a piece of blast shielding to take with me and orient it towards where my back would be on the other side. If I could dictate my target's position they'd be back to me, facing a wall, on uneven ground. I prepare to be put in that position and make sure they're the ones disappointed.
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Sep 5, 2017 01:12
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Serenity HP 20/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/13 Serenity slid to a stop and shook her head, grateful for Ramona's foresight. If she hadn't had that helmet on her skull would have bounced off the concrete a couple times, and that sounded like a really poo poo way to arrive at...wherever this was. She glanced around and spotted her rifle nearby. She also spotted a skeleton and it was not doing proper skeleton things such as not moving or remaining very still. It was also not great that this skeleton was currently sitting behind a mounted gatling gun which was starting to spin up. Her eyes frantically darted around as her mind did its best to decide on a plan of action for this new data. Discern Realities: 2d6 9 What here is useful or valuable to me? Quickly getting to her feet, she eyed the muzzle of the weapon as it slowly turned towards her. Turning on her heel, Serenity cartwheeled to the side, attempting to throw off the skeleton's aim and get closer to her rifle. Defy Danger...by getting out of the way: 2d6+1 4
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Sep 5, 2017 01:14
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Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 3/12 | Load 5/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[ ] "Alright, there's gotta be some way through here..." Branwen removes the sack from her purloined haft and begins to poke around the blockade, searching for a means to pass it. Discern Realities (+Wis): 2d6+2 9 What here is useful or valuable to me?
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Sep 5, 2017 04:02
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SERENITY You’re fast, but not nearly fast enough. You toss yourself into a darting forward-roll, snatch up your weapon by the barrel, and break into a dead sprint. The threesome of skeletal soldiers manning that gatling gun (somehow) raise a clattering warning cry and scramble to their mounts. The barrel of the weapon whirs ominously to life. Then, a distorted, staticky voice barks an order from out in the darkness beyond the bright spotlights. “Open fire!” --and a rippling curtain of muzzle flashes comes from the dark! Bullets smack into the pavement and sandbags around you from a totally perpendicular direction - fuckfuckgently caress!, you’ll be caught in a deadly crossfire unless you move now! There, just a few feet ahead, a few precious inches of cover - a fallen concrete girder rests on the pavement, and there’s a shallow depression in the asphalt where something on the decks below collapsed - you dash for it as fast as you can, but you don’t even make it two feet before the gatling team behind you slews their gun-barrel around and fills the air with flying lead. Bullets zip past you like maddened metal hornets, first wide of you, then the gunners begin to find their mark - your arm and calf explode into agony and suddenly one leg won’t bear your weight. You stagger, almost fall - a slug smashes into your helmet and zings away, stars erupt in your vision - at last you make the final few inches into cover mostly because you topple gracelessly right into the hole. gently caress! That was your good leg! You’ve been hella shot. Take If you had a tattoo on that calf, what was it? (Because it’s a bullet wound now.  )* * A furious hail of suppressing fire roars by barely six inches from your supine head. You’re crouched at the bottom of this makeshift foxhole while the undead gunners walk their line of fire slowly from side to side and the riflemen out in the dark take the occasional potshot at you - the high concrete wall back behind the transport terminus is already bullet-pocked with their misses. Your left calf is a lightning-rod of pain - the shot through your calf missed the bone but ripped out a chunk of muscle; and a ricochet is imbedded in the meat of your upper arm, just below the shoulder socket. You're lucky it didn't shatter the joint. Healing 3HP or more would make it so your leg can bear weight again. Until then, you’re confined to cover unless you enjoy being shot in the head. You can shoot back at them, but blindly: take -1 to Volley while in cover unless you can find a way to aim and fire without exposing yourself. Twenty seconds, tops, have passed. No Ramona yet. What do you do?
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Sep 6, 2017 03:32
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Serenity HP 13/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/13 Serenity squeezed her eyes shot as the agony washed over her and her vision doubled from the bullet ricocheting off her helmet. Whatever had gone wrong, Ramona was still on her way and while she might suspect something was awry, she was not going to expect an emplaced weapon to be bearing down on her. Serenity would have to distract them. If her arrival was anything to go by, she would at least probably get some sort of warning before it happened. Since nothing was happening aside from being hammered by splinters of concrete chewed out by that same weapon, she had a moment or two. First thing: don't bleed to death. She forced her eyes back open and pulled the knife. She couldn't pinpoint the precise area of the wound through the haze, so she simply stuck the tip of the blade into the cloth of that legging at her thigh and quickly slice around it. She grabbed hold of the boot and yanked it off, grabbing the foot of the bodysuit and pulling the whole thing down. Sheer force of will kept her from blacking out. Her right arm wasn't doing so hot either, she noticed. Her fingers didn't want to grip properly. Whatever. She wrapped the legging around the bullet wound in her calf and tied it down tight, unable to avoid whimpering quietly. Still, not as bad as Anastasia. drat girl had broken her pelvis coming into this world. It was also a good thing she didn't have any ink down there. Leg tattoos almost universally looked terrible. If you were going to do anything involving body art and legs, you went all the way and probably used henna. Taking a deep breath, Serenity sheathed the knife and picked up the rifle, gripping it tightly as she waited for some sort of sign that the teleporter was active again. Defending the drop zone: 2d6 7 Hold 1
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Sep 6, 2017 23:34
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RAMONA “I know,” is all she says. “Come find me when this is over.” Then the machinery closes in on you and it’s your turn to ride the lightning.  You crash into the drop zone like a safe dropped from a seven-story building and crouch warily behind your sheet of blast shielding, arm cannon already primed to fire. Your hud blooms red with dozens of targeting icons, painting the darkness in ghostly shades of blue and white - and there, Serenity, wounded but alive, taking cover in the lee of a fallen concrete beam. She’s taking heavy fire from a heavy gatling gun and two squads of skeletal line infantry, but at least she’s drawing fire away from you. She’s safe. So far. Safe as anyone could hope for in an ambush as planned as this. Safer than you’ll be, sister, once the soldiers out there find your range and whelm you in a wave of bullets. There's a round twenty of the infantrymen, each emplaced in firing squads of four - they're dug in behind rows of sandbags and piled rubble, and spread out on a two-tiered firing position - the bottom rank on pavement, the top rank dug into a peeled-apart shipping container. The blast shielding you’re carrying won’t hold against the gatling guns' heavy-caliber rounds for long, but maybe you don’t need it to. The line infantry you’re less worried about, as long as you don’t give them a chance to concentrate their volley fire on one brave, vulnerable target, standing all alone out there in the open with only a sheet of blast-shielding and a steel overcoat to protect her from a withering rain of focus-fire... Shoot First. lovely battle schematic posted:Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 03:01 on Sep 10, 2017 |
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Sep 10, 2017 02:56
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BRANWEN You pace the barricade as fast as prudence allows, and find a crack in its underbelly - a shipping container used as part of the construction is buckled and bent on one corner, and the gap is wide enough for you and your torch-staff to fit through with some careful sliding. It’s hollow inside, and the floor cants upward at a slight angle. There’s nothing inside except a thick sifting of concrete dust and a strong musty stench - and the doors on the far side are unbarred. Hammering gunfire can be heard on the other side of those doors- and then, abruptly, another lightning-bolt flash and rolling thunderclap. You could breach this. But it’ll take a little something something you had the foresight to bring along: one of these shaped charges Fr. MacLean and the merry men of Third Company dug out of stores and had consecrated for you. It’d blow those doors in lickety-split: all you’d need to do is set the wiring and take shelter. Expend 1-use of your adventuring gear and gain shaped charges (2/2 uses, timed, dangerous, 1 weight). What do you do?
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Sep 10, 2017 03:08
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SERENITY A swirling webwork of dark metal set into the poured concrete of the killing ground behind you begins to spark and flicker with a chill blue glow. The ground throbs and quivers as hidden generators abruptly spool up to full power, making a sound like two bus-sized hornets buzzing in your ears - a flickering spark kindles in thin air and explodes into a roaring thunderclap of noise and light. Ramona crashes down onto a metal disc set into the ground with a pavement-cracking slam. Praise Nashira, she saw this coming - her foresight might just save all your lives. She brought a sheet of blast shielding with her: bulkhead plating from Ikaria Station’s precious stock of structural metals. The gatling-gun trained on you shifts its line of fire away from your foxhole and towards the drop zone… What do you do?
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Sep 10, 2017 03:15
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Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 3/12 | Load 5/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[ ] Ten seconds set, satchel on the door, armed and set. Around the corner and wait for the boom. The second the sudden blast momentarily drowns out the full auto spray from the machine guns Bran's moving, smoke and debris having yet to clear as she rushes through the shipping container. Skeletons, with guns. A part of Bran registers that something rotten lie in the heart of Aqualantis but it's filed away for a moment when there isn't an overwhelming number of enemy forces. Already the prayer passes her lips in a ferocious shout "Frag out!", the light of Bombarda forming a longer stick, with more mass on one end. A quick scan of the enemy emplacements and Bran notices something behind the numerous dirty green fatigues adorning the skeletal soldiers and that's where she throws her Goddess' fury, the divine light soaring through the air and landing directly where the she saw the darker cloth among the sea of green. She doesn't look to see the effects, now solely focused on pushing to the nearest emplacement's cover, planning on putting it between her and the rest of the guns. Cast A Spell:Boom (+Wis): 2d6+2 13 -Boom Damage (Ignores Armor): 2d6 5
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Sep 10, 2017 15:53
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Serenity HP 13/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/13 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXLnixlaQgw As soon as the flash died down and her vision cleared, Serenity took a gulp of air. The cavalry was here; time to get to work. It was high time to simply stop worrying and trust Ramona to handle things. All she had to do was back her up. Locking eyes with the helmeted figure, she nodded and began to sing, washing away the stress and confusion of battle. Nothing would or could hold Ramona back, except Ramona's own conscious choice. Arcane Art: 2d6+3 9 Ramona takes +1d4 forward to damage The next time someone successfully assists Ramona with aid, she gets +2 instead of +1 As soon as the bounty hunter opened fire, Serenity hauled herself upright and likewise unloaded at the skeletons, not really bothering to aim. She just needed to sow enough confusion for the big guns to do their work. Aiding Ramona: @Shardix: 2d6+2 = (1+5)+2 = 8 Shardix fucked around with this message at 16:31 on Sep 10, 2017 |
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Sep 10, 2017 16:16
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 9/11 Load I read the battlefield in free fall and snap three shots off on the machine gunners in the nest closest to Serenity, who's watching me instead of the enemy with those eyes. I avoid her gaze to concentrate on the task at hand. @slydingdoor: 2d6 +2 volley = (2+5)+2 = 9(+1 for bardsong aid=10) @slydingdoor: 1d10 = (9) = 9+ @slydingdoor: 1d4 serenity boost = (1) = 1=10 messy forceful damage Landing behind by disc I follow the trajectory of what turns out to be a magical bomb back to its source, a woman. I don't recognize her, so Savior's influence on her is probably low to nil. We seem to have the same enemy so I signal her to take the nest I cleared out and begin to roll my disc and run alongside it to shield my approach to the other nest. Halfway there I could stop or slow down, grapple the bard and drag her behind my mobile cover with me, freeze it on its side like a coin refusing to help someone decide, and pour my heart out. I don't. I scream at her to stay down and keep hoop driving until the nest gives me cover from the large group or riflemen. Younger me would think they might not shoot their own people, too, but I don't give much to that hope now. Tear them apart with my whip and then I have a machine gun... alumnus_post - Today at 2:00 PM are you trying to take cover with serenity, or use your cover to close with the northern gun nest? slydingdoor - Today at 2:15 PM the latter and i'm on the move so it's +4 dice don't gently caress me now /roll 2d6+4 #str SidekickBOT - Today at 2:16 PM @slydingdoor: 2d6+4 str = (2+4)+4 = 10 slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 22:17 on Sep 10, 2017 |
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Sep 10, 2017 18:05
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BRANWEN You chuck your holy hand-grenade in a high spinning arc, the Prayer of the Fuze in your head beating in your head like a drumbeat as you sprint across the killing ground. Bullets are flying crazily through the air, but your aim is true and your trajectory is dead-on. Three sharp reports, three snap-shots fired off in midair - each shot finds its mark in the center-mass of a skeletal soldier manning the machinegun nest nearest you. You snap your head to the left - some kind of fearsome juggernaut in head-to-toe body armor may well just have bought you your life. She’s already vacating the drop-zone, and there’s a third to worry about too: an injured soldier in ramshackle, mismatched uniform, pinned down and under fire. There’s gunfire everywhere! Some of it might hit you! Defy Danger (+DEX) or take d6 damage, halved on a 7-9, on your way to reaching the cover Ramona cleared out for you. The wrath of your Goddess reaches its target a bare second or two after you gain the shelter of sandbags and cinderblock, coming down right on top of a vague tarp-shrouded shape at the back of the enemy lines: a geyser of flame and smoke erupts! Your elation is short-lived, sad to say, because the Aqualantean necromech lurking beneath that tarp touches off its personal hoverfield and rises out of its cradle soon after. And then so does the other one you weren’t anywhere near close enough to target. poo poo.  Like this but black, with fewer sharp edges, and the main gun is mounted on its heavily armored underbelly. It’s sitting on eight feet of air and a quavering cushion of eye-twisting blue light, moving towards you with dreadful and implacable purpose. A column of smoke pours from the divot you blew out of the construct’s dorsal armor plating, and it’s listing gently to one side - but you’ve done nothing to reduce its deadliness. A salvo of mini-missiles erupts from pods slung along the machine’s flanks, and three dozen micro-warheads streak towards you on tongues of flame! The gatling gun has the tags (near, messy, piercing 1, 8 weight) and can be used to Volley with. The area where you’re standing is going to be a series of small craters in about five seconds unless somebody shoots those missiles out of the sky. What do you do? ----- SERENITY Your high, clear voice cuts through the battlefield like a trumpet call. Still singing, you break eye contact with Ramona (completely ignoring her plea for you to keep your fool head down) and turn your gaze out to the murk beyond the spotlights. You can’t make out any of the undead riflemen out there clearly - by design, drat them for planning this so carefully - but that doesn’t stop you from taking potshots at anything that looks vaguely human-shaped while their focus is on Ramona and -- who the hell is this apparition in Bombardan vestment, crashing through the blank wall of the killing grounds and tossing around god drat fireballs at your enemies like there’s no tomorrow? Well, any ally in a (fire)storm. Your new battle-sister’s target does not seem happy about taking a fireball to the face. It rises into the air, and rises, and rises - an oblong flattened teardrop about the size of a minibus, all heavy black alloy, hoverfield projectors, and missile pods. Oh, and then so does its counterpart, completely undamaged and seeking a fresh target... Don’t forget you have a triton conch-horn (0 weight) to play with too, now. Add it to your character sheet. If your defense hold hasn’t been spent, it’s gone now: there’s nobody left in the drop zone to defend! What do you do? ----- RAMONA One. Two. Three. You spot your targets and fire instinctively, and each shot finds its mark - the gunners blow apart into scraps of cloth and shards of brittle bone, the unlife animating them dispelled. You’re already on the move before you even hit the ground - you land rolling and power into a sprint, somehow keeping your balance while rolling a heavy hoop of blast shielding along uneven terrain and staying low and crouched while you do it to keep your silhouette under its cover. You power on through a maelstrom of gunfire - every dead thing in sight is firing whatever they’ve got right at you or Branwen. The riflemen have small-caliber rounds, accurate but not a lot of stopping power - their shots ping harmlessly off your makeshift riot shield and whiz away. The shielding doesn’t do much against the gatling gunners but blunt their fire, though, and you stagger under a rain of deformed, high-speed steel slugs smashing against your armorsuit. Your blast shielding gave you +1 armor against the  By the time you reach the northern gun nest, your sheet of blast shielding is so full of pockmarks and bullet holes that it looks like Swiss cheese, but the gunners are finally out of ammo - time to seize the momentum and strike! Your first strike smashes a skull in with a savage overhand snap, and then your slashing whip literally breaks the skeletal soldiers apart - you fling them right out of their uniforms in a hail of miscellaneous bones. They go clattering off into the darkness in pieces, but you’ve got a feeling that (unlike the others) you haven’t seen the last of these three... See Branwen’s post for the machine gun tags. Yours needs to be reloaded. It’s a target-rich environment out there for you, but they barely even have to split their fire. You’re catching your breath behind the gun nest sandbags when that bomb-thrower’s little present hits its target and goes up in a gout of holy flame. The target rises into the air like a ponderous steel shark and looses a volley of mini-missiles right at the cover you cleared out for her. It looks like the bigger, meaner, more heavily-armed cousin of one of those personnel carriers you remember from the last desperate assault on a fortified position you found yourself the sole survivor of. At least this time nobody’s going to turn into a tree or a giant cockroach or anything. Probably. Oh, and then another heavily-armed necromech shrugs off its tarp and cradle, hovers ostentatiously on thin air for a little bit while it settles its rangefinders squarely between your shoulder blades, and does exactly the same thing its counterpart just did to that cleric, to you. Hope you like missiles, sister! The gatling gun has the tags (near, messy, piercing 1, 8 weight) and can be used to Volley with. The area where you’re standing is going to be a series of small craters in about five seconds unless somebody shoots those missiles out of the sky. What do you do? lovely battle schematic posted:Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 05:02 on Sep 12, 2017 |
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Sep 12, 2017 04:55
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Serenity HP 13/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/13 As the tarps slid off the war machines, Serenity winced. This was not going to be pleasant. A moment later she was proven correct as a volley of missiles unloaded from them. Defending Ramona: 2d6+1 10 Hold 3 Quickly reshouldering the rifle, Serenity unloaded a burst of fire at the mech attacking Ramona. Flechette rounds pinged off the armor as she guided the shots towards the sensitive internal workings of the missile tubes before they could close up again Dealing my level (6) in damage to the mech attacking Ramona 2 hold remaining.
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Sep 13, 2017 00:32
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Ramona 25/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 9/11 Load I see and understand the pivoting target finder, and get an angle on it to try out a plan. I high jump out of cover and shoot the tip of the thing with my blaster to knock it straight down, and freeze it that way. Unless there's a redundant targeting system for those missiles they should come right back at the source... I use forceful bullets to shoot the rangefinder such that it points to the enemy instead of me, then i freeze the rangefinder so it can't move /roll 2d6+1 #volley SidekickBOT - Today at 9:46 PM @slydingdoor: 2d6+1 volley = (3+4)+1 = 8 slydingdoor - Today at 9:47 PM I'll put myself in danger /roll 1d10 #mf damage SidekickBOT - Today at 9:47 PM @slydingdoor: 1d10 mf damage = (2) = 2 slydingdoor - Today at 9:47 PM game sucks well, it's stun damage anyway
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Sep 13, 2017 05:53
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Branwen McAlister HP 20/20 | Armor 1 | XP 3/12 | Load 5/12 Spells: Light[X] Sanctify[ ] Guidance[ ] CLW[ ] Bless[ ] Cause Fear[ ] Magic Weapon[ ] Speak W/ Dead[ ] Boom[X] The line of skeletons open fire, more than a few sending their lead down range at Branwen in response to the explosive entrance. But with no hesitation Branwen pushes past the hail of bullets to cover, the few shots that hit her glancing off of her blessed armor. Now with a new threat and the unseen equipment being leveraged against herself and the two unknowns Branwen looks to the missile barrage and raises a single hand, declaring with a voice speaking with divine authority "Detonate." The word reverberates across the battlefield and as the words are heard, the barrage obeys, blossoming into hymns to Bombarda harmlessly in the air. Defy Danger (+Dex): 2d6+2 9 -Danger Damage: 1d6/2 1 Armor soaks it, eat it nerds Cast A Spell:Boom (+Wis): 2d6+2 7 2d6 11 Bombarda revokes Boom.
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Sep 13, 2017 11:38
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EVERYONE The strange cleric in Bombardan raiment stands tall, arrogantly unconcerned with the sporadic fire pinging off her consecrated armor, and raises her hand in a gesture of holy command. With a single imperious order, every missile in that volley detonates as one. Bone, bullet, and barricade alike vanish into a sphere of consuming flame. Branwen takes  The injured Serenity, unnoticed amidst the chaos, hauls herself into a firing position and looses a well-aimed volley at the hovertank menacing Ramona. Her aim is true, despite her injuries, and her razor flechettes shred the delicate electronics of the mech’s portside missile tubes about half a second after it’s too late to stop the launch. Meanwhile, death comes screaming toward Ramona on blazing wings. Unafraid, she stands her ground, high-jumping clear out of cover to take out the mech’s spinning rangefinder with a volley of shots and a long blast of congealed ectoplasm. The whirling radar dish buckles, bends, and grinds to a halt underneath a thick caul of white ice, undamaged but thoroughly disabled. Unfortunately for her, she’s an obvious and well-solutioned target, a clear-cut black silhouette against the bright background of the killing field behind her, and the army of undead sent specifically to kill her was strictly imprinted with just such a target: as one, they level their weapons and fire. Thirteen separate lines of gunfire converge on her with an awful shattering crash, and her armorsuited form slams back to earth…  ...just as the swarm of now-unguided rockets, too small and stupid to have or need an active guidance package, smash into the roadway all around her, following the firing solution they were locked onto just before Ramona took out the rangefinder.  The machinegun nest disappears in a roiling fireball and a ghastly plume of smoke, dust, and flying rubble. Ramona’s blown out of the sky like a toy in the hands of a tantruming child. Ramona takes The necromechs continue their implacable advance. Crippled and blinded, but nowhere near disarmed, one seeks out Ramona to strike the killing blow. The long barrel of the main gun slung underneath its belly stirs to sleepy life and quests tentatively for a firing solution, an ominous purple glare gathering within its muzzle...but to no avail! With its rangefinder out of commission, it can’t get a target fix! Its counterpart, on the other hand, is rather less disabled, and stops short at seeing its missile salvo blown out of the sky with a single word. Calmly, the floating death engine leisurely settles its rangefinder squarely on the Bombardan cleric’s heart, and begins powering up its main gun for the kill… What does everybody do? lovely battle schematic posted:Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 18:50 on Sep 17, 2017 |
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Sep 16, 2017 20:57
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Serenity HP 13/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/13 Serenity renewed her song, unconcerned with the explosions echoing through the area. Her magic would pierce through regardless. Arcane Art: 2d6+3 10 Ramona heals: 2d8 7 and gains + 1d4 forward to damage. As she sang, she continued unloading on the machine. It would be forced to divide its attention or get whittled down from sheer volume of fire. Armored though it might be, the storm of high velocity razors would eventually wear it down enough to hit something vital. Volley: 2d6+1 8 Damage: 1d6 4 Reduce ammo by one. Also spending my remaining hold to deal 6 damage and open the necromech up to an attack from Ramona, giving her +1 forward against it. Serenity has no spare magazines, so the rifle finally clicks empty.
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Sep 16, 2017 22:10
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Ramona 22/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 9/11 Load I'm offended they brought cheap missiles, and fire my grappler at a sandbag the split second I recognize I'll need it to shield me from the blast and shrapnel. @slydingdoor: 2d6+1 ddint on the move = (4+3)+1 = 8 The cloud of dust from the sand obscures my trajectory as I surf the explosion way up over the high ground, not being shot for a little while, noticing the other tank targeting the cleric. Like a bird of prey with a long leg I fire the grappler onto the tank and retract it, jerking it around with the transfer of my flying inertia and redirecting myself into my own landing, right atop its sheer metal back. @slydingdoor: 1d6+1d8+4 str property hunger aid = (3)+(2)+4 = 9 slydingdoor - Today at 12:43 PM well, at least I didn't roll the d8 higher than the d6 oh poo poo i forgot On the Move, it's 10 "You're mine." slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 21:15 on Sep 17, 2017 |
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Sep 17, 2017 20:54
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RAMONA You land on its back and the force of your impact shoves the machine in the air just far enough for the blast of searing purple energy that leaps from its main gun to miss Branwen by bare inches. It lances into the high wall backing the killing grounds, gouges out a scorched divot into the concrete, and blows out a power conduit embedded into the wall. quote:When you force your way into a bucking hovertank, roll +STR and deal your damage -3. BRANWEN AND SERENITY All the lights go out except for Branwen's holy torch-staff thing. Serenity is plunged into near-total darkness. The necromech attacking Branwen starts wailing like a train with a broken horn as Ramona slams onto it like a meteor, prises open the hatch on its rear, and worms her way into the machine's cramped confines like a steel-coated badger... quote:Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 22:18 on Sep 17, 2017 |
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Sep 17, 2017 21:26
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Ramona 18/25 HP; 7/13 XP; 4 Armor; 9/11 Load @slydingdoor: 1d6+4 damage taken= (4)+4 = 8 -(5armor-1piercing)=4 total damage I find the can is packed with baitfish, so I dive in and scoop them out in pieces with my grappler, seizing limbs and heads and flinging them behind me, in the path of the stationary gun's line of fire. Fix this tank up and it will make a fine shelter for the elf... @slydingdoor: 1d6+1d8+3 hns property = (1)+(7)+3 = 11 slydingdoor - Today at 1:52 PM /roll 1d10+1 #MF whip SidekickBOT - Today at 1:52 PM @slydingdoor: 1d10+1 MF whip = (4)+1 = 5 I still need to figure out how to operate the thing though, so I can use it to finish this fight. With my luck the drat thing is remote controlled even though its missiles aren't... I search under detritus and such for an entrance to a cockpit or receiver or control panel or anything that looks like an apparatus I can touch. @slydingdoor: 1d6+1d8+1 dr propertyhunger = (1)+(8)+1 = 10 What should I be on the lookout for? What here is useful or valuable to me? Who’s really in control here? slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 22:26 on Sep 17, 2017 |
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Sep 17, 2017 21:58
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lovely battle schematic posted:
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Sep 17, 2017 22:58
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Serenity HP 13/20 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/13 Serenity pulled her knife and began slowly dragging herself over towards the sole source of light. Whoever it was would certainly prove a better ally than any of these skeletons, even if they weren't necessarily a friend. Defy Danger...by enduring (con) @Shardix: 2d6+1 = (3+5)+1 = 9 Shardix fucked around with this message at 02:26 on Sep 18, 2017 |
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Sep 18, 2017 02:05
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