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Ramona 26/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 3 Armor Her voice was straining, even running it through an amp couldn't hide that, "I'm glad...catch me."
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Apr 1, 2016 16:18
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Ramona 26/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 3 Armor Neither of them could die. "Two lives of infinite value to me..." it's unthinkable. She takes what shot she can get without putting either of them at risk, and it's not a bad one. negative damage: 1d6 3, 10 total, messy forceful and all that.
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Apr 1, 2016 22:37
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 Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 0 Armor The fight happens. She survives. Her enemy does not. What a surprise. As they always do after cathartic victory, the ghosts begin to harry her as she cools off. This time it's, "Where's the elf? she's dead, your only hope, because of you, she'll haunt you too, like us, but with the music that you can't silence, that you won't silence, Max won't help you now, you'll be ours" Ramona turns her mic off so she doesn't sound insane to anyone listening. "Shut up, ghosts." she orders them all even the cheering ones on her radio. She wipes viscera off her visor and starts looking for Serenity, who had saved her rear end sixty seconds ago, but something weird happened. Like when she tapped her fingers or punched on the beat of the song earlier. She'd been magically dancing this time, and being held by the waist and touching shoulders made Ramona imagine moving her right hand, which was bracing her blaster to fight the recoil from the deadly marriage of light and sound at the time, instead down to her own waist, hooking the bard's fingers with hers, and being cradle dipped, head thrown back, raising a knee. It'd be back-led--initiated by the follow rather than the lead, a practice frowned upon in traditional partner dancing circles. It'd look ridiculous, with the height, bulk, dress, and race disparity. It'd be completely inappropriate considering the setting--dingy boat, disgusting monster, blood and guts. It'd distract her and probably get everyone killed. It was distracting. drat, if Serenity were hurt because she couldn't deal with whatever side effect that seemingly always came with being imbued with her magic she would never forgive herself-- "Shut up, brain." She couldn't afford to be distracted by that either. She finds the elf, looking forward to hearing her whine about ruining her finery, or the "noxious odor" or something. Later she'll find some way to thank her for actually being strong enough to carry her, for proving the nightmare wrong. But she's supine. Immobile. Ramona's heart sinks, the whispers grow just short of intelligible again. She rushes to her, slips, falls, and crawls the rest of the way. They can't be right, the elf can't be dead. She checks her pulse, choking on her breath. Puts an ear to her heart. Hearts? Whatever, the elf is not dead, she's alive but unconscious and not to be moved until she wakes up and confirms she has no neck or spine injuries. Otherwise, lay her in the suit, it'll keep them from moving or having to support any weight. "Okay." Ramona turns the visor opaque so she doesn't look weak to anyone watching. She weeps. --- Out of the armor, bedside. "You won't be singing a word in your condition. If you try, I will restrain you." It might aggro Juan, but she doesn't care. She's a quicker draw and he didn't have a gun anymore. quote:Bond
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Apr 4, 2016 19:00
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 Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 3 Armor She's growing impatient, and the pisco is calling to her. It's bullshit: the anchor is dropped for the night, the ship will only slowly be making its way through the reefs tomorrow, and the bard's just getting worse. She can't be part of an immortality ritual in a coma. Probably. On goes the suit. Dom is summoned and instructed that should she not come back, he's to find Josephine for payment as written in the contract. Understanding confirmed, she wastes no time diving off the boat and swimming. Enhanced by her suit and a lifetime of training, she will beat two days--she could with or without a head start. If all goes according to plan, the best doctors in the Raft will be waiting for Serenity when she arrives. If they are judged unfit, Ramona will send word for better ones and at worst they will already be on their way. dd con long distance swimming: 2d6+2 11
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Apr 6, 2016 01:17
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 3 Armor She uses her grappler and climbs, going over her to do list again. The exhaustion was setting in and she can't go on forgetting stuff. She'd find a cruise ship, full of tourists, make use of their concierge, and secure some maps and a way to find a rep of her employer, Josephine. Benedict's fiancée was based in Crystal Bay but had holdings everywhere else that mattered. Anyway, from there she could get an advance and find what she needed. First and foremost, a doctor, magical or otherwise, that could treat severe TBI in an elf. Next, she needed a gunsmith, high tech. Juan would be wanting their weapon back, and she wanted to be able to fire the Zero Laser when necessary without borrowing from that loathsome murderbot. She'd get them to help her fix the broken one and fabricate her own, for the suit. The ice cannons too, when the Harpy arrived with them. Third, she'd need to wire a message to Josephine's billing department, letting them know to expect Domnhall to contact them. It wasn't strictly necessary but she liked to stay on their good side, and it wasn't worth chancing that idiot loving it up then coming after her. She'd like to hire guards to escort Tutresiel and Juan, they'd inevitably piss off the wrong kind of people and draw them to her. Finally, she'd rent a secure building for Serenity to rest and recover in, with the perimeter staked out and patrolled. She'd guard the elf's room herself. From there the conflict curse could be contained. In there, she'd turn on alarms for intruder detection and get some sleep, after drinking a duffel full of liquor to keep the voices unintelligible and the nightmares lost to oblivion. She deserved it. Swimming for days is one kind of tired, planning a whole day of bullshit then walking around talking to idiots will be all the others. Just imagining it all and the sweet reward at the end makes her mind wander like it normally only does underwater. It's allowed to do that, but the ghosts' silence is surely a sign that they're watching and listening closely. They can't read her mind, she repeats to herself, just watch and listen. So no letting them see the papers that show how much killing she'd have to do to pay off Josephine for all this crap. Especially Max... an assassination or two would probably cover it all, and the conflict curse was enough to make it seem like a run of bad luck. And no letting them see the part in her letter, where she says she's fine just just having eternal life. That after that she could go return to Aqualantis at her leisure, with a better crew, and find a way to break the curse, banish the ghosts, whatever. Free herself. quote:An assassination; 120 coins slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 03:30 on Apr 14, 2016 |
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Apr 14, 2016 02:07
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 Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 3 Armor Hers was a bedtime story told to scare criminals and fugitives everywhere. There's a dark bar full of low life scum making small illicit deals under the table, business as usual. In walks the biggest freewoman anyone's ever seen, with a hat, scarf, veil or just sunbleached hair obscuring her dark, tanned face. She sits at the bar and orders a club soda and bitters. What the gently caress. When the bartender delivers it or laughs at her or just... responds, she pulls him by the collar and starts whispering. The only thing intelligible is something like "ampersand," ...or, "Anderson." That's it, Anderson. Whatever she says it pisses off the bartender plenty, and the other patrons start drawing guns and knives and what have you. Looking to start some poo poo. She stands from the stool so fast it flies across the room, and whips out the biggest hand cannon they've ever loving seen. Anyone trying to take the force of nature down gets torn apart, leaving mixed medium art on the walls and ceilings they slam into hard enough that the collision alone would have killed them if they could have survived the deafening blasts and bone breaking strikes that launched them there. When the place is quiet she looms over the only one she left alive enough to talk, and they tell her everything, give up all the goods, confess their sins. Then she turns her head and one bright, blue-green eye glares at the patron who hasn't tried to kill her--yet, as far as she knows. She walks up to them, aims the cannon, and watches. Inevitably, the one she left alive decides that confessing to the devil won't absolve them, and tries to take her with them to hell, and she puts them down for good. Then she pays, and leaves. The bartender rises from under the counter, shotgun in hand, and they get it the worst of any of them. Blasted through the guts, hung spread eagle on the bladed wall of shattered glass bottles above the bar. Maybe tonight it comes true. If necessary, hns: 2d6+3 9 slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 01:11 on Apr 19, 2016 |
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Apr 18, 2016 00:49
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 3 Armor He could be useful. While she gathers bottles that haven't been shattered, she answers his questions then makes him an offer, "List's too long and incomplete. Whoever they are, they probably want you dead. Or just figured out you're too green to know what my name means and not take the job. "You probably don't want to end up like them, so I'm making you an offer: follow me around, pretend to 'shadow' me. But actually find Anderson and leave me drops where you tell me what you know. If I get into a fight and think it's your fault, I'll find you. If you prove useful to me but your boss finds that out and tries to come after you, in person or just with goons, I'll find them." She pours two shots and slides one to the drider, "Do we have a deal? If so, grab whatever other bottles you can carry, I'm burning this bar down. Hopefully without you in it. "Oh, and also go fetch some firefighters while I'm on that, so they show up on time. Don't want to burn down the whole ship, after all." She considers it for a moment. "At the very least, it could get evacuated that way." slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 01:13 on Apr 20, 2016 |
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Apr 20, 2016 00:54
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 Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 0 Armor Ramona steps out of the armor, puts on a blue dress that matches her normal sleeveless look, grey pants, grey jacket, umbrella, and–crucially–glasses, and heads up to room 319. She has her whip-gun in her pocket, and an ace up her sleeve–well, in her little library looking book because it was a sleeveless dress–a needle tipped with TTX. Tetrodotoxin, courtesy of a blowfish she took from the Harpy's hold after the big catch. Would be a shame to waste the little pincushion after she forbade anyone from eating it. She'd knock on a few doors, tell people to open up and evacuate immediately. She'd get to 319, get a positive ID, he'd get a little mosquito bite, then he'd go from 0 to numbness around the area in around 8 minutes–probably less, since the man was small and fit–then came the weakness, paralysis, and heart attack and/or respiratory failure. He might also tragically slip overboard too, when no one was watching, unable to make a sound if he wanted to, and die about 20 minutes after exposure. Then it could also be drowning. What it wouldn't be is poison, the drat thing worked its magic with mere micrograms, and the ways it killed were completely inconspicuous. Anyone could have a heart attack. Anyone could fall into the sea and drown. They were so mundane, in fact, that the people she killed with it didn't even know to haunt her. Their ghost would have to stick around then she'd have to return to the scene of the crime with her haunters in tow, and they'd have to convince them to join up. It was funny, even the suckers who knew they'd been pricked still failed to ID her more than once. Because of the glasses. She was just a harmless librarian, looking at the ground, trying to hide her embarrassing height, and plain face, dress, and shoes. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 19:39 on Apr 30, 2016 |
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Apr 30, 2016 03:11
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 0 Armor Score. Cooper and his boss. Good thing she packed spare needles. She comes up with a quick plan and alias–something nice sounding–then she knocks at the door urgently, "Hey! It's your neighbor, Grace! You gotta grab your valuables and get out before the firefighters break down your door and carry you out! Please, hurry, or you'll catch fire and have to jump in the drink! If your father is in there, don't worry, I can walk him out!" It was obvious enough code: she's from another gang or something with a vested interest in their survival, whatever was going on they needed to stop loving around and get out with their cash, product, or both before those goons downstairs showed up to rob, kill, and/or arrest them in who knows what order. Cooper was already "on fire"–targeted–so he'd need to swim for it, but the elder man she could sneak out of the place. The young one she'd prick during a good-luck pat, maybe hidden behind a fingertips kiss before he jumped overboard. The boss she'd bring to that abandoned storage room where her armor was under a dusty blanket, call it a safehouse to stay a bit til things blew over, offer the boss some spiked punch from her crate, then she'd spike him too. Getting drunk would completely hide the symptoms until it was far too late. With any luck, "dad" would bring his money with, and some nice loot. I think that's a parley? Parley violence: 2d6+3 9 If they aren't under threat of violence then it's a fail.
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May 1, 2016 00:56
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 0 Armor Bullshit throwing a man at her would slow her down. She'd lower her center of gravity and bulldoze through grandpa, pricking him if that was the play. She had reason to recognize him: anyone who "seemed familiar" to her was on either side of succumbing to the pearl's curse or holding it off. Each of those things were worth remembering. She'd also never forget a face who owed her money. I'm shooting first. Spout Lore (face): 2d6 7 DD strength: 2d6+3 11
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May 9, 2016 20:17
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 Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 0 Armor She sees her target is not yet completely without a doubt screwed, and rolls her eyes. Josephine didn't hire her to pickpocket, and that's all she'd really done so far. Hyperventilation is how she prepares for the next and hopefully final step in the process. She dives back into the sea, drawing her pistol out of her jacket. Then she gives the gun a button press and twist, turning it into the grappling whip, and unleashes the coils upward, at Anderson's ankles. She descends, he descends. It was just a matter of holding her breath at this point. The debilitating symptoms would start showing up around 8 minutes, and certain death in 20. She could hit without even trying a good day, wouldn't even need to push herself. It was easy because her ghosts were like bees in more than one way–when she was diving they also could only angrily swarm above the water and wait for her to surface. Gave her time to relax, same as when she's drunk. She'd figured out drinking worked after diving because slaves didn't exactly get to imbibe that much, but they could swim, and when you dove deep enough the martini effect went into play. Nitrogen narcosis, which altered the brain much like the timeless drink. Even after she surfaced, it kept the insects from being able to land on her until the effects wore off. Too bad she wasn't going to get anywhere near the depth that'd accomplish that. Then again, the ghosts had been quiet lately. Maybe Max had something to do with it? Who knows. Anyway, after she finally completes the Anderson mission, Ramona rendezvous with her armor and alcohol in that abandoned store room, and returns to the concierge. She gets paid, then pays the doctor and gunsmith via the concierge, then she could get drunk and pass out... unless she needed to keep an eye on Juan, Tootsie. drat troublemakers. The way they treated colleagues, mere strangers were doomed. As for that elven antidote to age, Serenity–she knew well enough that beauty alone painted enough of a target on one's back without looking weak as well. So of course she'd have to stay up and watch over them. No rest for the wicked. Hopefully the concierge would have some spare uppers. Caffeine, amphetamines, whatever. She would put the armor back on the Harpy, get her spare glasses and umbrella, and head back out there in disguise again. Hopefully nothing too sudden would happen, and she'd have time to put up her hair and throw off the disguise before swooping in to save the day. Didn't like being out of the "uniform." 
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May 17, 2016 07:53
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 Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 4 Armor This is bullshit. Ramona snarls in frustration and fires into the air to get everyone's attention. "What's going on here? You always electrocute your patients when they flee from you? Talk!" She looks over her shoulder at Serenity, "Do get away from him..." Half of her visor turns transparent, revealing her demonic glare. "you will not be bedded again." It turns opaque again as she turns back to the "doctors" and she points at Tutresiel and Zero without looking at them, the ones who can't get sick, with V-fingers and then down at the man. They should be the ones protecting him, not her. Parley violence: 2d6+3 13
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May 24, 2016 18:02
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 4 Armor Irritability is a known side effect of whatever's keeping Ramona awake, so she has no patience for the droopy Serenity's fatalism. She lassos the elf and pulls her off the sick man, and whispers at auctioneer speed, from the stims, "but it's not too late for me to worry about it, so stop doing something foolish. You put your life in my hands, remember? I will not let it slip away. And if you try to let it do so again, now you know how long is my reach." Then it's back to the white-coats and their dark-coat and her booming voice, "There, you see? We have shown that we are willing to cooperate. Now do something for us." Aid Serenity: 2d6+2 11
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May 28, 2016 05:01
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 2/12 XP; 4 Armor Ramona growls at the other elf as he approaches, pulls hers closer to her, and snaps, " She stays with me, we're not animals, we know how to disinfect ourselves. Tell me what kind of infection we're dealing with and I'll use whatever chemical beats it." She already knows which bottles of spirits she'll sacrifice to clean the idiot. Still, her whip and hand release her Serenity, and she snatches the radio away from the security guard, speaking into it, "This is Ramona. Your man's alive, I just took the radio. What do you want? I don't have time to come meet you."
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May 28, 2016 17:04
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 3/12 XP; 4 Armor Behind her visor, Ramona's eyes narrow. She starts loud enough for everyone to hear and only builds into a furious crescendo, "You let a patient with a disease you can't name or treat escape, may have infected my elf, now you're saying it's either you treat her or you kill her, point a ton of guns at us, and then you offer me employment? Someone should be telling you how to do your job! Listen, if you knew who I was you'd know you can never threaten me or mine and get away with it. You have to pay. This is how: you bring your inoculations, antifungals, and immunostimulants to me, with instructions, and we leave before another of your patients vomits on us or one of you does something stupid. Five minutes, and we can forget this happened. Then my alien might talk to you." Then the mic turns off and she starts quickly commanding the Black Gang, "Just jam their guns, don't get fancy, don't get thirsty, be careful around the stunners, they're electric." command; parley again if necessary: 2d6 6 2d6+3 7
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Jun 3, 2016 17:10
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 3/12 XP; 4 Armor The bodyguard sidles up to the desperate bard, puts a hand on her shoulder, and whispers quickly gesticulating wildly with her gun arm, "Now you listen here, I'm better than--than that. I just don't trust them, the whole thing is suspicious as all hell. Please just, after all I've, how do I get you to let me protect you? Keep you safe?" she realizes too late how shaky her hand is, and jerks it away, "...ugh, fine, if that's what you really want!" she speaks up again, "I keep my weapons, she never leaves my sight. I inspect every label and witness every procedure, for which she gets informed consent. The first impression you've left of how you treat your patients..." slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 23:51 on Jun 4, 2016 |
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Jun 4, 2016 02:32
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 3/12 XP; 4 Armor Ramona sneers behind her visor at the doctor who apparently had never removed a belt before, is about to comment about incompetence again and just tell Serenity to do it herself. Or do it herself, just to speed up this process. The one telling commonly known stories about her isn't even glared at, lest he accidentally pop off. But then she sees the muzzle flash in the corner of her eye and immediately pushes down hard with the hand on Serenity's shoulder, "GET DOWN!" She'd like to whip out her own rifle and have a sniper duel, but it the incompetent patrolmen have that covered, Juan will too. Hundreds, probably, will die. Ramona only cares about two lives though, and starts crouch-running the both of them below the hospital ship's decks. The elf has an abrasion on her cheek. Whatever ship that was where the fire came from, tomorrow she'd be sending it to Aqualantis the hard way. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 00:49 on Jun 15, 2016 |
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Jun 13, 2016 18:15
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Ramona 18/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4 Armor "A would-be trained soldier's lack of trigger discipline is exposed. Another faction cuts ahead in line with extreme prejudice to take me on. Sometimes strange things just happen to people who threaten my life. It's bad luck, like shooting an albatross. "Her risk of infection is on you, it doesn't mean anything to me. If you want me to fix your problem up there, make me an offer. But I'll tell you for free that you should stop sending people in to die, and the ones already in could just withdraw or surrender. It's trying to fight back against a superior force that's getting them killed. I know how that looks." I know how that looks. And I feel like I know how he would look before I walked in here. From that electrocution dream being operated on, being sapped of some vital fluid. It was a bad memory, drove me to drink. Spout Lore (face): 2d6 2
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Jun 19, 2016 19:44
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 Ramona 18/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4 Armor I smile under my mask, now we were getting somewhere, "You have yourself a hunter." Leaving was good too. Hanging around someone about to owe you a lot of money was a double-waste when Savior was around. And besides, I have to make sure Serenity isn't being dosed or treated without informed consent as I ordered. Doctors forget just like all people, they have to be watched. I scoff. A swab and needle, I could have done this myself– ten seconds pass of complete tunnel vision, my guard is down with my jaw, and I still can't look away. Brown skin doesn't blush, and even if it did, visor. gently caress. This. Bard. She will distract me, one of us will get hurt, then the other will heal them. That is the cycle. I'm just waiting here transfixed like someone I'd hate, knowing part two is about to come and not doing anything about it. But it goes away beforehand. There is nothing I can do about this yet and I need both of us alive until the ritual. This is going to be a job alright. "They're at the door. I should go. Shoo them away." Filling the choke with gurneys and bodies would be easier than sticking my neck out to fight them in the open anyway. Juan's already on it though, making himself useful for a change. Fine by me. I tell the staff to do the same and obstruct the hallway. In case he fails. Sometimes I wish I were thinner, like an elf, so who could do the safer kind of subterfuge from inside the vents of a building like this. I have to stick to soft steps and long-distance-only disguises. Scrubs and a mask will do. The suit will keep watch for me in my right lens if something goes wrong. Or... I search the doctors' notes about this kind of vaccination in another elf. Find Antanara's, in fact. Made sense he needed the treatment as well. As I thought, I could do this myself. Faster, too, since Serenity already gave me carte blanche to protect her. I walk back into her room, in suit, and take over for him, "Stop me if I do anything wrong." He won't, because I won't. The only things that delay me are the grazed cheek, because if my guard weren't down it wouldn't be there, and taking an extra second to fumble covering that shoulder up–due only to the drugs I took–then say, "Now let's get out of here." I whisper the plan to her on the way out, sidestepping into the hospital locker room, while getting out of my suit and into some scrubs I take from a now carelessly open locker. "Juan has things under control outside, and I think there's something more to Orson and Antanara. We can get into scrubs and do some spying–you from the vents, me, just in disguise. Or you can wait here or go out there and almost get shot again." I pop open another locker and glance into it and back to her. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 01:23 on Jun 21, 2016 |
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Jun 21, 2016 01:11
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 Ramona 20/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4 Armor She questions whether I had any respect for the rules of polite society and keeping at arms length. I bend my head down over her, looking her in the eyes from less than a foot away, "No." In the locker room, after I bust open a couple of them and start changing into scrubs, fumbling with the drat gloves, I, against my better judgment, sit. Then she stops talking and starts distracting me, "I'm fine. Shh. Don't sing. Quiet!" I keep her voice down, but still she sings. Every note is a lullaby at this point and I doze off, humming along in a dream. In the dream, my forehead hits that shoulder and I repeat something I haven't thought about since I found Savior. "I've been awake for twice my age in hours." 32 back then. 48 today. Then the ghosts strike while I'm vulnerable, the dream turns to the nightmare where I get stabbed in the heart by someone I'm leaning on same as before. Hypnic jerks wakes me up. I'm humming the same tune out of the dream too. drat. aid: 2d6+2 12 I clear my throat. "We'll do it your way. Again." I get back in the armor and get ready to clear a path. A spiked ball is attached to my chain whip, flexibility and articulation aren't called for here. Just whirling death and dismemberment. "Stand back, keep your head down. And you might want to avert your eyes." hns: 2d6+3 15 damage: 1d10+1d4+1 7 reroll d4: 1d4 3 1d6 additional: 1d6 2 11 messy forceful damage 
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Jun 22, 2016 08:12
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 Ramona 20/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4/1 Armor I'm fast on my way to madness and an early grave if I can't take my sleep meds and get to a secure location before these awake meds wear off. First things first though, I corner Juan, who looks like hot poo poo. "Hey. I'm giving you an order, as a representative of Serenity. She's pledged hers... soul to me so what I say, goes. With her. Kill every last one of them. Take their ship, sell it, or sink it. No one shoots at us. After that, guard Serenity. But do it right this time, no loving around trying to kill and destroy instead of–" I gesture in circles, unable to come up with an appropriate turn of phrase before settling on, "–keeping your eyes on the prize." I can't guard her all the time, after all. How would I? Lock her up while I'm asleep? I wish I didn't, but I have to trust this machine to succeed where I almost failed earlier. Then I head over to Serenity and Tutresiel with a list of stuff I paid for that they need to pick up, this morning or next, doesn't matter, I've been out and about enough in this drat town and I don't want to draw more attention to us. Then I corner the elf, "Hey, I don't know if I told you this already, but I've been up for almost 48 hours and I'm almost 24 years old. So I have to sleep. It's not easy for me, so I have to ask you for something. A promise that'd help me sleep, and help me protect you." I avert my eyes in my suit where no one can see. From that bullet graze, and from that drat tattoo, "If I die, can you come save me? From hell, the evil spirits, all that? Just try. I know that bard's tale about another bard who fails to do so, but..." I don't know. She'll be different? *** They come back when I'm about three-quarters through my medicine. I have to pace myself because I don't like to risk wasting any of it and drinking vomit is a thing of the past and I mean it to stay that way. The last quarter is the hardest to keep down, so I try to distract myself. "We're playing a drinking game now. Three–Two truths and a lie. I tell two truths and a lie, then pick two of you. If you guess the lie, I get you a drink. Or soda or whatever you drink. Motor oil. If you're wrong, you get one for me. Beverage of my choice. I'll start. "You three remind me of what I hate about myself." I point to Serenity, 01, and Tutresiel as I name the three things, "Past, Present, Future. I'm gonna become just as unrecognizable as a human being as you, because of all the adjustments I have to make to how I think to stay alive. Babbling about things I've named that no one else knows what I'm talking about. That no one other than a few other crazy people will comprehend. And you, you're who people think I am now. An unfeeling killing machine with no real loyalty to anything besides the thrill of battle. That'll pretend to be working for someone but really just looking for an fake excuse to kill. The money, orders, justice. Tactical necessity. And you. A decade ago I dreamed about being like you. I knew all the old songs and dances and stories that everyone else had forgotten. I wanted to bring them with me all across the world, to gather moss and to roll. Make the world my oyster. Everytime I look at you I have to stop thinking about that. So give me a break every once in a while." I point to Tootsie. They're wrong. I point to Juan. He's wrong too. I send them to get me drinks. It's just me and the elf. I lean in and confess a secret. "Heh. I cheated. They're all true. You should go next." I'll do the move later. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 03:17 on Jul 3, 2016 |
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Jul 3, 2016 03:14
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Ramona 20/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4/1 Armor "Stathis Argyle you followed me here! If anyone followed you I'll have to kill you! So, I found what's-his-face on my own, you didn't do anything, so you still owe me. Well since I need to pass out, wake up, drink again, and pass out again, and can't be out and about, even if I had to be I'd be too tired and there's too much heat. They should still not know you're working for me." I focus back on why I started this ramble. "I have another job for you. This one I can't possibly do for you. "Keep an eye on them. The bot, the grey, and the woman. I don't want to send the normal contacts out for this one, they've done enough for me already. Even though you still owe me, I'm not made of stone. I'll give you an advance." I offer the bag of coin then pull it away coyly. "After we play a drinking game. Everyone else lost and bailed on me. Didn't even bring me my drinks I rightfully won. So. Tell me two truths and a lie, if I guess the lie you get me a drink. Otherwise I get you a drink. And the advance. No cheating. I'll know, I can read you like a book." It's not a lie per se. I'm too farsighted to read without my glasses or my suit's visor, neither of which I'm wearing at the moment. And I'm too buzzed to really care if he cheats, secretly I want him to leave. To get on the job, yes, but also to leave me alone since I'm nearing the end. I make sure no one's around then, because I won't remember what happens. I don't like surprises, and I don't like having to be my own detective. So that's out.
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Jul 3, 2016 21:16
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 Ramona 20/26 HP; 4/12 XP; 4/1 Armor I squint at him, trying to read his face through the blurriness. Of my poor eyesight, not any liquor goggles or anything of the sort. "You don't believe your cause was just anymore. Your heart isn't true now, maybe it never was. Your weapon's either too old or too new, ironically. Maybe both. I called you out as a green bounty hunter–didn't know your trade, your competition. Didn't know me. You were a soldier. Now you don't know what you are. I blink, tired of squinting, tired of talking, slipping into oblivion. I slide the advance across the bar, and pour him a goblet full of brandy. "Forget the game. You don't need to tell me whether I'm right or wrong. Take the drink and the advance. You're gonna need it, looking after my crew. Rolled a gunsmith you say?" I shake my head. "I don't want to know what the elf gets up to, just whether she gets into trouble. In which case, come wake me up. The alien's gonna get up to some weird poo poo, but give them the benefit of the doubt. Juan I gave a mission to take out those black ops' ship. You don't have to help, just watch his back. He belongs to the elf." The last thing I do is watch to see if he warms the brandy. See if this ex-elf has class.
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Jul 4, 2016 03:17
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Personally, I'm done with the drinking game. e: End of Session. Resolved Bond: I had to tell Serenity how much Maximilian loved her. If he can be believed, she's a fundamentally good person. I am terrified that she will leave me to die or that I'll die myself trying to keep that from happening. Reason: Serenity promised to save me from hell. I'm more afraid of her dying because of me after that bullet grazed her. Fulfilled Alignment: Don't kill what I know from the beginning is an enemy until my life is in imminent danger. Reason: Spared Stathis after feeling my life was not in imminent danger anymore. Was even aiming at him for a little while. Did we learn something new and important about the world? Elvenwars, Elven biology, abyss worms. Did we overcome a notable monster or enemy? kraken Did we loot a memorable treasure? nope 8/12xp slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 22:06 on Jul 4, 2016 |
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Jul 4, 2016 17:44
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Ramona 26/26 HP; 8/12 XP; 4/1/0 Armor I wake up from my first night's worth of sleep at sundown, and lie there thinking. Having talked to an actual battle hardened soldier last night makes it clear to me that she's got to go. I start writing the slip in Elvish, which none of my ghosts can read. The perks of only mortal idiots ever trying to kill me. quote:S. Greymist quote:Enclosed is a machine from my suit. At first, it'd track my location and heartbeat so the suit would automatically come to me if I got in trouble. Now its range is longer and tracks only the heartbeat. It'll start ticking when the other stops, so you'll know when to come to hell for me if you still wish to do so. I get those letters sent through Josephine's company's concierge, do as quick and intense a workout as I can, then finish just in time to hear the haunting spirits beating at my the ethanol walls. So get back in bed and start rebuilding them before they're breached. An hour or so to reinforce, then another eight to sleep, then the real journey begins.
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Jul 6, 2016 18:18
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 I kneel down pick up the paper, and look up at her. "As you wish... Hang onto the tracker." I put it on the table where she can see it. " Your things are in your room, consider it a farewell gift." Sent the courier who was watching out for her to buy them back from the same pawnshop she sold them. I wasn't going to pay Nori directly for her man's dying on the job, that's what they signed up for. Bodyguards do whatever it takes. I'm good at what I do. This guy's okay. While I gather my own things, I fill out another invoice, scribble what she said about Abyssworms and such. Press my radio button, "We have a deal, sucker." Transfer complete. The bounty is his now, and I got an arm and a leg for it from that foppish cadaver. He'll arrive soon, meanwhile I start pouring the remaining liquor down the drain and listen to things that will cease to matter. Juan's inhibitors are turned off. Now he's just like me. That's... comforting, I guess. At least the elf and the alien will have two self-centered idiots to take care of them. And Stathis is a veteran, he'll balance them out. And Slava is the second-best bounty hunter in the world... Serenity knows Stathis. Not really a surprise, they all knew one another, elves. Growing up with their ancestors right next to them, alive and well instead of spectral and... starving. Bet Slava knows the ones even farther back. I'm packed up and ready to say goodbye when Sucker shows up. Of course the bastard just so happened to take a bounty here, hoping that I would die on the hunt and he could sweep it up before Gabriel or some other competitor. I look over my shoulder one last time and see daggers. He brought two letter openers to a job like this. The world's tiniest smirk on him is a shiteating grin to me. I alter my farewell when only he is looking.   Veacheslav Evenblade 24/24 HP; Level 5, 8/12 XP; 1/3 Armor "So these are the ones you don't believe can survive your curse, Salva? Worry not, mine is only dangerous to my enemies." I slightly emphasize the "worry." She pushes past me, and I turn to listen to her final farewell. "This joker bought the Aqualantis bounty off me for more than it was worth. I added the amendments some of you made to it. He's already dead, so don't stick your neck out for him." She nods to the alien and drider, then I see her linger before the pure elf, whisper a "Take care," and finally walk out the door, waving without turning her head. She's worried, but "that's my secret, leech. Always worry." I pity her. Introductions, though, are in order. "I am Veacheslav Evenblade. I have my own reasons for destroying Karthas Murgo." I read off the list she gave me. Two elves. That boded well. I nod to the other two of them, "Tutresiel. Juan. Greetings." I have seen enough aliens in my cursed existence to think nothing of the former other than what emphasis on their protection Ramona had made, but the latter seemed familiar to me. Sometimes the memories from before my metamorphosis take time to regenerate from the trauma when willed to do so. I owe a respectful bow to the drider, "Stathis." It is a forgone conclusion–we will spar. And I offer my hand to the pure elf, "'The bard Greymist.' Ramona neglected to give me your name, or even how to address you. Mademoiselle? Or Madam?" Like the alien, one I am to guard. Perhaps I know her ancestors, from the time there were fewer elves to remember. quote:I may have killed a relative of 01's in the past. A notable sentiment only because of their nature. "We are of one mind. I choose the nascent leyline as well. Before long Murgo will find a way to leverage its power, if he has not already. That we must prevent. Or stop." Name: [vya' chess love] meaning glory. The translated elvish surname properly conveys the ambiguity between 'precision' and 'night.' hashtag 2goth4u.] slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 21:00 on Jul 9, 2016 |
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Jul 9, 2016 20:38
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Veacheslav Evenblade 24/24 HP; Level 5, 8/12 XP; 1/3 Armor They could be sisters, only this one has lived long enough to become boring. That is the bardic way: remember everything you hear and forget where it came from, sustain the delusion of your own ability to innovate. I withdraw my hand back to my cape, "Still uttering the same nonsense. I have long given up hope for one such as you to compose an insult I have not heard before. And yet I appreciate what your arts must have affected young Ramona. Human lives end so quickly they never realize how unoriginal they truly are." I steel myself for the tedium to come. Would that of our excursion begins before long.
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Jul 10, 2016 19:59
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Veacheslav Evenblade 24/24 HP; Level 5, 8/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I ignore the all but verbatim repetition of my own words. 'Remember everything you hear and forget where you heard it' indeed. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 05:10 on Jul 11, 2016 |
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Jul 10, 2016 22:04
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Veacheslav Evenblade 24/24 HP; Level 5, 9/12 XP; 1/2 Armor The Ramona I know would have let herself become attached even to these ingrates, it is a weakness of hers. For me, such a thing is impossible, as I like it. I am able to focus on the mission. "A telluric current can be caused by magic not unlike my own. Perhaps humans are to blame, or perhaps it is the sea or the earth attempting to attack an unsuspecting enemy. Or to defend itself or something valuable." Spout Lore (telluric current): 2d6+3 6 maybe +1 from racial bonus? Elven Revenant: You descend from an ancient martial tradition. Gain +1 to spout lore on anything related to warfare. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 21:07 on Jul 11, 2016 |
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Jul 11, 2016 06:03
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Veacheslav Evenblade 24/24 HP; Level 5, 9/12 XP; 1/2 Armor It is no secret that the android has mistaken the bard as its master. With nothing better to do, I turn my attention to why. I reach back into my memories of the ancient elves in search of her ancestors or doppelgängers. As for the souls of the damned mariners, they are welcome to what souls I leave behind after my curse is sated. I approach the other elf. "My lady, a memory such as mine might be useful in determining what about you evokes the prior master of this golem. Tell me your family tree and I shall study your visage." Spout Lore: 2d6+3 14 slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 19:16 on Jul 24, 2016 |
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Jul 24, 2016 19:02
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Veacheslav Evenblade 24/24 HP; Level 5, 9/12 XP; 1/2 Armor "Hah. I was told my name was stricken from the lines, like a stillborn, and if I had any children they would be swiftly adopted into other families and hidden from me. An empty threat in the end. I must admit I am grateful to know more records bore my name than could be erased." I smile slightly, "...and that you and I are not directly related." it is no secret the feeling is mutual, it may as well be a source of some mirth. slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 00:43 on Jul 27, 2016 |
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Jul 25, 2016 17:25
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Veacheslav Evenblade 24/24 HP; Level 5, 9/12 XP; 1/2 Armor "The bounty on Karthas Murgo I purchased from Ramona I mean to collect after I return you to the surface, my contract of protection fulfilled. But I was bound for Aqualantis even before that serendipitous opportunity: Eudoxia Lightbringer, a contemporary of mine thought to be laid to rest with the others, escaped from her estate where her family kept her alive in secret. The fools thought the Madness must be temporary, like a mundane illness, that after eleven centuries her condition was improving. "She is a mere warrior, not a duelist. With no army for her to command, the finding will have been more effort than the killing." I unroll the perfect canvas rectangle I cut from a family portrait.  "This is she. Keep watch for her and do not engage her on your own. Leave that to me. "Is there anything else?" What do you wish I would do?
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Jul 28, 2016 16:39
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Veacheslav Evenblade 24/24 HP; Level 5, 9/12 XP; 1/2 Armor "Pity," I say, smelling for a newly freed soul to consume while I fold up my silks in a waterproof garment bag. "Now to loosen the hatch until it blows open and violently floods this chamber with heavy, bracing water." It makes little difference to me, I feel neither cold nor the pressure of the deep sea.
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Aug 1, 2016 01:13
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Slava 24/24 HP; Level 5, 9/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I know their game. We have been marked by scouts, so a more powerful weapon can be trained upon us. The light and the anchor must be moved away beforehand, all to easy with Void-Edge. With two slashes I sever the dangling light from the shellfish and it from the rudder. The two are sent spinning upward end over end, the former high up above me, the latter near enough for me to demonstrate my skill to our Triton observers. I shatter the cirriped with a single thrust that does not even change the speed of its revolution, only sends shards outwards in a slow explosion. The spinning fragments flash in and out like blinking eyes as their nacreous inner sides catch the rising lantern's light and their black outer sides absorb it. I can even see the faint beams they cast on the motes of dust suspended in the dark waters. I settle into stance and watch the watchers, emitting my own deep, rumbling laughter. Not to convey amusement, only scorn. Enough chittering, come and fight. Defend: 2d6+2 10
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Aug 6, 2016 18:40
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Slava 24/24 HP; Level 5, 9/12 XP; 1/2 Armor Cowards. And fools to think they can attack me before I finish my own arcane strike. I hold my main gauche high in preparation to block the dart of the leader, then with one sweep of my rondel I pull my cape around me as a shroud and send a crescent of light at the leader. It strikes not with deadly force, but instead stops short and turns concave like a pincer, then closes into a ring of light around my foe just as the curve made around myself forms encircles me. The rings spin on their lateral axis, leaving a sphere around us; this is the spell that ensures a fair duel–the Warding Circle. No cheaters' projectile can pass through either sphere. From here I can continue to fire further waves of cutting steam... or the coward could come engage me in melee. Wind Slash: 2d6+3 9 Spending one hold for half damage from at least the leader's javelin and Warding: Your attack creates a ring of light around you and your target that other creatures (and their projectiles) cannot cross.
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Aug 8, 2016 14:55
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Slava 24/24 HP; Level 5, 9/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I allow my right rondel-arm and its javelin to be entangled in order to swim the arm over and under, pulling my enemy into my range and inside their own. I am able to strike, and put us both in control of the other's right arm. While my rondel-dagger clashes his net, my eyes turn red and meet my foe's. I know him now, and what his next move will be. Halving the entanglement to get into hand range and doing my level 5 in damage. No more hold. Discern Realities: 2d6 9 What is this person about to do?
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Aug 8, 2016 22:34
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 9/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I stare my triton in the eye, then at once cut the cord linking his net to his wrist, turn my main gauche to relieve him of his spear, and kick him away, out of the melee. Then I jerk my head forward and widen my eyes for a split second: "begone" in the universal language of countenance. Shedding the net from my rondel wielding arm is no trouble with no adversary wrestling for control of it, so now freed I turn to Serenity, hold my palm out firmly, "don't move a muscle" in sign language, then cut away all the spears in a series of void-edged slashes. Only coins of resin remain, like wax seals on that purple love note of an elf. Then I look at the triton leader, turn my head to the side, gesture in front of my face, then quickly blow out my cheeks and emit a bubble of air, pointing to it as it rises. Then i hazard to speak into the water, "take us where there is air." slydingdoor fucked around with this message at 01:48 on Aug 12, 2016 |
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Aug 11, 2016 19:27
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http://orokos.com/roll/426573: 2d6 5
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Aug 13, 2016 19:17
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http://orokos.com/roll/427112: 2d6+3 12
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Aug 15, 2016 22:39
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 11/12 XP; 1/2 Armor A hidden door, a lack of light, and no elf. The first is a curiosity I can spend a second to survey. I make my rondel shine with the unearthly light of the void edge and shine it on the door for any sign of what lies beyond. I cut into it shallowly a the elven glyph for the number One in orange molten metal, then I search for my the lamp from before, not to use it myself in lieu of my glowing blades, but to lead me back to my charge if I do not find her without it. dR: 2d6-1 5
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Aug 16, 2016 18:16
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