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Nyaa
Jan 7, 2010

Q.E.D.



ShadowGlass posted:


Thanks. I'm actually wondering, if the Talent is too weak?
MInt or bust for true experience.

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Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

ShadowGlass posted:

Thanks. I'm actually wondering, if the Talent is too weak?

I was actually thinking this as well. It could work as a Vanilla talent, or we could try to work something else out if you want to keep it Chocolate.
Easiest would be over IRC. We usually hang out in the unofficial CYOA channel at https://www.synirc.net #madgod

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...they shall march out of my laboratory and sweep away every adversary, every creed, every nation, until the very planet is in the loving grip of the Pax Bisonica. And then peace will reign, and the world, and all humanity, shall bow to me in humble gratitude...

Cue the Poltergeist

Initiative: 7
HP: 9
Skills: Telekinesis [3d6], Troublesome [3d6]; Powers: Extreme Prankster [4d6]; Defense: Always out of reach [5d6]
Talent: Spent
Items: Knighthood (+1d6 to rolls that benefit King Norman), Summon Glitchie
Scratch Tokens: 1


Cue spun in circles around its creation. So transgressive! So hilarious!

...

......

Cue was bored. Performing crude gestures was only fun for so long when you were by yourself. Thus there was a new imperative for Cue: Find someone else to bother. It bounced, ricocheting loudly from crumbled walls and rusty lampposts, making its way through the streets, until someone struck its attention, a figure scaling the walls. It was that one lady! Cue had some faint memory of having seen her on earlier floors.

Immediately, Cue shot upwards, to intercept and orbit about the lady. Already, potential pranks were starting to fill its mischievous mind, it cou-

Wait. Was the lady talking to her shadow????

Haha, that was funny! She was completely bonkers!

Wait. The shadow spoke back????

Haha, that was funny! It was clearly some sort of primordial, unspeakably powerful entity! And it was piggybacking on this mortal! How absurd!

Hmm. Piggybacking? Cue was suddenly struck by a brilliant idea, as it stalked the pair through the air. If it angled itself just so in regards to the sun, its shadow should intersect the strange shadow person just right. A ridiculously stupid idea, to be sure, but Cue was not known for its good sense. It was far too engrossed with thought of all the possible hilarity that could ensue instead. Would its shadow become an evil Shadow Cue??? Would the shadow man take its shadow to a shadow realm outside space and time so that it could perform pranks in infinite dimensions???

Truly, the possibilities were endless!


Telekinesis: Scale up the wall to orbit about Emille: 3d6= 8
Troublesome: Shadow Cue hides in Shadow Man's Shadow Pocket for dimension breaking shenanigans: 3d6= 11

Also: If due to its, uhh, adventurous nature Cue is about to get SUPER OWNED here, I'm spending my Scratch Token to prevent that

Theantero fucked around with this message at Aug 25, 2017 around 14:09

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

Wave 2 - First Floor – The Beach Beyond Darkness


[Shy-Iryk masquerading as Duchess Lisila Amgwina]
Leaving all pretense and subtlety at the boats metal door, Duchess Lisila Amgwina's eyes elongate out of her face and grow a series of complicated lenses as if that was a thing that everybody could do.
Shading it from harsh afternoon light with a mass of bone protruding from her forehead, she directs the apparatus over the scene intent on piercing the stone of the bunkers with her gaze as if they where the thinnest, least covering and most expensive silk.

Morph (11) vs Stone Fortifications: 13 = Failure!

But for all xir biotic ability, xir cannot get around the fact that vision relies on light, and that the stone bunkers are made in such a way as to allow as little of it as possible to escape whilst allowing as much of it as possible to get in.

Fearing the worst, xir lets her face fall back into its more mundane beauty, if such beauty was based on spring-tension reactive bone-plates covering the entirety of her body and the extension of every hair follicle by several orders of magnitude, that they would work better to detect any change in pressure or humidity that might accompany any manner of hostile magic or magitek.

[Using a skill to defend costs one of your actions, but sets your defense to that number for the rest of the round. Thus your defensive value is now a dc 25]

All in all, it would have been a weird first impression to make if the other, even more obvious nightmare monster didn't immediately run out into the open and explode – but we shall get to that in a minute.

--

[Molriir]
Having arrived in a place that indicated Danger, the dwarf set his Shield into the ground, covering the boat and the other deepdelvers behind its massive form.

[Using a skill to defend costs one of your actions, but sets your defense to that number for the rest of the round. Thus your defensive value is now a dc 18.
However, as you used your Shield item in conjuction with this skill, the last d6 of your roll will also apply to the defensive values of those who elect to stay behind you (unless you specifically wish to protect only one other deepdelver)
in this instance granting Duchess Lisila Amgwina a bonus of +2 for a total of 27.]


Thus protected, he took the time to admire the defensive stonework, looking for any tell-tale signs of strategy or war.

Dwarf Educated (7) vs Stone Fortification: 8

But just as the Duchess before him, the fortifications remain silent as to the nature of their deadly purpose – letting no scrutiny, no matter how advanced, go rewarded.

--

[Slid]
Speed. With utmost speed must she reach the Tower. Nothing had worth or meaning aside from the goal she had set herself, and she would suffer all to see it accomplished.
She tore herself from the metal boat and up over the barricaded cliffs without so much as stopping to say hello, leaving the other deep delvers in the dust. A streak of silver burning the sand of the beach as it went.

Move (16) vs MagiTek Wards: 7 = Success!

With great leaps powered by perfect sinews, Slid flashed through the first section of wards as if they were not there at all. Minor explosions in myriad colours followed her as she went; magical landmines disposing of her tracks but never swift enough to catch up with her.
In seconds she reached the first bunker and dug into it with her claws, pouring outrageous power into the environment, intent to Ruin it and all that would stand in her path.

[Mint Talent Critical Failure] vs [Stone Fortifications / The World in General]



A fantastical light exploded from Slid, her strange and powerful Talent infecting everything around her and making it More. The bunker she had intended to destroy instead started to fall back and grow, taking on a darkened hue as the stone turned from natural into artificial.
She could hear screams from somewhere inside, but these soon turned to laughter as more and more of the wards and dangers of the beach where collected by the ever growing vortex Fortress – amassing itself Perfectly around the central MagiTek tower.



When it was finished, Slid lay bleeding on the ground, covered in a shadow of a behemoth castle bristling with MagiTek artillery pieces and defenses. Dozens of Kobold warriors rushed to the gun-ports, waving swords-turned-rifles and jeering in her general direction.

Spotlights shone from the top of the tower, fixating on her location just as a crude, draconian voice emanated from speakers hidden beneath armoured wall panels.


"Alright 'bolds, looks like we got us a 'delver, coordinates roughly three paces south-south-east of main perimeter. This is not a drill. Fire permission has been granted by Egg command, repeat, fire permission has been granted by Egg command, Over."

[Horrendous Failure! The only thing you have ruined is your own chances, for now things are looking dire indeed! The Fortifications have turned into a state of the art MagiTek Fort and the gear of all therein upgraded significantly!
You take no injury aside to that to your pride, gaining instead a 1d6 Shame of the Betrayor wich will flare up whenever you try to not help anyone in the future, as acting on your own clearly isn't working out for you!
Also you are being targeted by a dc 15 artillery strike, meaning you are going to get absolutely pasted if you don't spend an action on getting away from it with a better-than-15 roll of your choice.]


--

[NPCs]
Staring wide-eyed at the madness of the beach-front defenses, most of the other 'delvers stay put for now, hiding behind one another and more importantly behind Molriirs heavy shield. If there is a first step to be taken in the fight for the Tower, it is not on them to do so.

--

[Everyone]
The scene before you now is one much changed from earlier; A field littered with magi-tek wards extends from the beach up all the way up to where the bunkers used to be, the remaining distance to the tower now being composed of a nigh-impenetrable fort bristling with heavy weaponry and angry, armoured Kobolds.
All the same, the warded grounds are a distance you will have to cover in some manner if you want to have any chance of attacking your enemy behind the amount of cover your fellow deepdelver has so graciously provided for them.
That is, if you still think a head-on assault is a good idea. The beach is wide and probably filled with traps, but the attention of the enemy force is directed solidly unto Slid. An opportunity?

Nyaa
Jan 7, 2010

Q.E.D.



King Norman

Hunger. It is a fatal condition that must be sate. For a man of royalty rarely goes hungry for long and that is why, King Norman's knight are highly trained in destructive cooking!

King's Dominion :8

What is a king without a blood griffin head to show off to his friends everywhere? And it can serves as emergency food on the go that fitting of a King's meal!

Cook Griffin's head: 16

Scepter the Spector slice with extreme accuracy and peels of all the feathers and uneditable components perfectly!

He then smash can cut up a perfect dining table off the concrete stone with nice decoration and perfect sized chairs for all guest who attend. It is customized to fit perfectly with their rear end or equivalent if any!

Then with the griffin meat sliced to perfection as lay on the chef table, Scepter grind his sword on flint rocks to produce fire on the rock stove to slow stew the meal at a proper degree due to the proper amount of used wood fuel. Scepter is the ace in the royal knight cooking class and consecutive champion until his retirement from physical bodies.

Yet, the specter never failed to maintain his excellence destructive cooking skill famed for destroying local objects into proper equipment or furniture to prepare for ANYTHING in war. Part of the reason that the king's army is undefeatable even during the winter invasion.

The fire under the stew died at the perfect time of the meat cooked medium rare. If there is any mishap, the king is forgiving and accept welldone, but he secretly like it a bit more burned. If only his kingdom wasn't filled with weirdo/ that eat things not fully cooked.

Regardless, every food made by scepter is amazing and there might even be surplus meats to take to the next floor.

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

But People have fears that beasts do not. Questions, too.


[Slid]

Oh. Her power had skipped off the surface of the world like a stone, creating an ordered new existence. It was awful. Without pausing for an instant, Slid whirled to her feet, the same motion launching her out of the spotlight and away from the strike she could already feel singing through the air like angry wasps.
Skill - Move 4d6] = 16
She leapt towards her attackers, sighting out the soft moving parts of the impregnable fortress. Cables, fastenings, infantry, anything she could grip and break and injure.
Attack - Hurt 4d6] = 17
She didn't make a sound, and didn't smile, but it was possible she enjoyed herself. She felt the Shame like a parasite, an imposed thing that desired companionship, or at least teamwork. She would rather die. She would break all these skittering lives she felt all around her, and then she would break this shackle she felt on her guts, or she would be broken herself. Both were equally desirable, but she erred towards whatever preserved her momentum.

Scribbleykins
Apr 29, 2010

Any scientist with the right background can brew his own booze.

...

What do you mean electrolytes aren't used for brewing booze? That's silly!

...

Well when all you have are chunks of TNE and an overly large water ration, all the world looks like a still!

Grimey Drawer

Molriir Hearthstone
HP: 10
Skills: Educated Dwarf [3d6], Hearthstone [4d6].
Power: *Superior Quality Repeating Crossbow* [3d6]
Defense: Unbelievably Stubborn [5d6]
Inventory: Backpack o' stuff (delicious rations, oil, rum, etc.), Hearthstone Shield (+1d6 to a Defense against physical dangers - any nearby stone receives increased durability and tensile strength).



quote:

"Can't say I think they've got much o' a chance at it."

There was a moment of silence. Then there was a reality-shattering break and re-ordering, after which a much-improved MagiTek Fort emerged, cheering kobolds and all. The dwarf blinked, frozen like a deer caught in a surprise birthday party. He looked over his shoulder at the other deepdelvers - shocked and upset, for the most part. He gazed up at the Duchess (whose eyes looked a little raw for some reason) and cleared his throat awkwardly, before raising one hand to smack the palm against his forehead.

"Hooh... had t' jinx it, didn't I? Slaggin' stuff, magic. Haha, whate'er."

The sudden casual, chuckled response made the dwarf sound oddly encouraged by the whole fiasco, rather than the reverse. Head held high, he poked it out past the shield to watch how the creature would fare against the new threat it had somehow conjured.

"This one does nae look t' be deterred. Och, hells on ice! It's e'en goin' too fast t' be hit by th' siegeworks! It's nae givin' up."

There was a measure of intermingled respect and awe in the dwarf's voice at the sheer primal behaviour on display. Turning away from the scene, he started to pick out a few items from his pack - twine, twigs, a spare cloth. He tousled with them for a second, then grasped the handle of the shield.

"Well, I'm nae givin' up either. Best o' luck t' ye all - I'll provide cover, but where I'm goin' ye might nae want t' follow. I'm headin' after that crazy thing."

With a tight grip on the shield, Molriir stepped out of the landing craft and waded the short distance up to the beach. There he dug the bottom of the shield into the sand, in front of where Slid had started its own scampering path. Molriir had been paying attention - he had seen the thin lines of the wards spark and froth as the creature had bounded past their limited reach and reaction timers. If there was a single grace the alien deepdelver had afforded the others by committing to its current course of action, it was that they now knew what they'd be throwing themselves up against. The dwarf, however, held no illusions he'd be able to copycat the quicksilver-like speed and reflexes of the alien quickling. Instead, he put the bottom of his shield at an angle and pushed forward - bracing himself against the wards' fury whenever the solid Hearthstone brushed up against them. Further aiding this effort were the very sands themselves which began to clot around the borders of wards it brushed up against, strengthened by the presence of that stone of stones. Steadily a furrow wore itself across the sands, heading straight towards the bristling MagiTek Fort and falling artillery ahead. Occasionally flashes of light lit the sands as the wards were being cloven by the dwarf's passage, but otherwise, the only thing that could be heard from the dwarf's position was the thrum of Molriir's (surprisingly capable) singing voice.

"Across the starry skies and through the fissures in our shields,
The rumble o' her vengeance in th' tunnels o' our seals.
Through hells and horror trudge and yet our fearless ne'er yield.
I will sing o' these unshaken dwarves o' yore."

Pound the slag, hold the Spine,
Presence e'er lost in grime.
Now I sing fer ye unbroken dwarves o' yore.

Me soggy eyes unbar upon a lonely hearth in town,
While they steam in brass and oil t' reach the furrows that she's ground,
Infernal gapin' scars o' boilin' blood and thund'rin sound.
I will sing o' these unshaken dwarves of yore.

Pound th' slag, hold the Spine,
Presence e'er lost in grime.
Now I sing fer ye unbroken dwarves of yore."


On it went - and on Molriir went, trudging forward near-unimpeded by the sands, ploughing aside wards like so much chaff. Even the few times a ward was sufficiently powerful enough to blow him back, the Orthn would simply roll back up, shake off some sand, re-adjust his grip on the shield and shoulder it forward again.

Active Defense - Unbelievably Stubborn+HShield [5d6]+[1d6] = 26

Get +6 from the Shield near-literally paving the way, for anyone following.

As Molriir began to close in on the Fort, he stopped and readied the item he'd produced in the beached landing boat, using twine, a few twigs, and his cleanest shirt. It was a gesture and a term he'd learned during his days aboard one of the Dread Nellies' ships - one that was hard to mistake, even from afar.

"Parlay!"



"Parlay, ye brave ones o' the Fort! I've nae quarrel with ye and wish but t' pass forward and downward! Must we truly assault one ano'er fer this simple plea t' come t' pass? Can there nae be truce?"

Skill - Hearthstone [4d6] = 13

Meet Molriir, everyone.

Magical Minefield? Walk through it.

Hostile fortification? Talk through it.

ShadowGlass
Nov 13, 2012



Sky-iryk



New character sheet, after discussing on IRC. For details look at link above:
pre:
Skills: Morph: [5d6], Master-spy: [4d6]
HP: 10/10, 
Powers: Ravage: [4d6]
Defense: Agile defense: [2d6]
Talent: Mass metamorphosis
Current form: Human, female, Duchess Lisila Amgwina
Inventory: Bastard sword
Sky-iryk watched with with shock and with some awe as Slid's power re-arranged reality in front of their eyes. Even though it seemed things didn't go as intended, the magnitude of that power was definitely something to be wary of. She only heard of such powers in stories, as such ancient beings who were capable of this were hunted to extinction by the God-Emperor. Of course she was definitely outside of the Empire right now, but even then this was probably something else. Yes, surely it was merely a similar looking effect.

After the Molriir's comments about Slid, she says, "Careful, master dwarf. Whatever that thing is, it's very dangerous. Just make sure you don't get in its way, until we know more."

When he starts to move, she chuckles, "Ah, dwarfs. So refreshingly... straightforward."

She joins him behind the shield helping to push it if necessary. It seems she's able to push with as much strength as the dwarf himself.

"Though frontal assault wouldn't be my first choice against that fortress. Say Molriir, have you ever heard of a King Norman? Human king, very famous. Brought peace to the continent, blah, blah. I'm trying to figure out if we arrived here from the same world or not."

When they arrive and stop near the fortress and Molriir starts shouting at the kobolds with a white flag, she raises an eyebrow then whispers "All tight, keep them talking, I'll go 'round." Using the double distraction of the spotlight trying to catch up with Slid and Molriir negotiating, she slips away and approaches one of the sides of the building complex, far from all the action at the front.

Skill - Master Spy to sneak to the fort [4d6]: 8 - Ugh, I'm hoping all the hubbub at the front will net me some bonus (or penalty for the kobolds)

As she was approaching she paid attention to the clothing, armor and equipment of the kobolds. If she successfully gets to the bottom of the side walls unnoticed and out of sight, she concentrates briefly. Her flesh seems to melt and deform, the elegant clothing turning into rugged leather and metal gear, her skin taking up a greenish hue, she seems to shrink towards the ground and also spread out a little. After it is over, in the spot where duchess Amgwina was standing now 4 kobolds are looking around with clothing & equipment matching those in the fortress. Curiously all four has a whitish stone embedded in their helmets at the middle of their foreheads. The sword drops to the ground with thud.

Mass Metamorphosis into 4 kobolds: 2, 4 Success!

The following is assuming this gives an extra action, maybe with some bonus to deceiving the kobolds.
Kobold#1 looks at the sword way to big for him, then with a shrug he picks it up, resting it on his shoulder. They approach a side gate knocking on the door, yelling loudly.

"Scout party returning, open up quickly! There's more of 'em dwellers to the west!" - Kobold#2 gestures to the empty side of the beach, far from the others.
"Wha? I don't remember..." - the guard starts.
"Tis because you're dumb like a goblin! You want a punch in the face?!" - yells Kobold#3
"Uh, what's with that sword? It's way too big for ya."
"Tis a trophy! We took down one 'em 'dwellers to the west." - says Kobold#1
"Well, barely. Only four of us survived..." - says Kobold#4 meekly.
"Shut yer blapper! We're bloody heroes, is what we are. Anyway more's coming, so open the stinking door already!" - Kobold#1 replies.

Skill - Master spy to talk their way into the fort [4d6]: 18

Scribbleykins
Apr 29, 2010

Any scientist with the right background can brew his own booze.

...

What do you mean electrolytes aren't used for brewing booze? That's silly!

...

Well when all you have are chunks of TNE and an overly large water ration, all the world looks like a still!

Grimey Drawer

ShadowGlass posted:

Sky-iryk

"Say Molriir, have you ever heard of a King Norman? Human king, very famous. Brought peace to the continent, blah, blah. I'm trying to figure out if we arrived here from the same world or not."

Molriir appeared grateful for the woman's assistance as they made their way across the wards, but when she asked her question he cut off his song for a moment and shook his head.

"Nae. I'm sure o' it, since there's nae a continent o' Orth's three that I 'aven't trod across. I'd 'ave heard o' someone like that."

You might get a +6 to your Master Spy to sneak up to the fort from Molriir's defensive action.

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

Wave 2 - First Floor – The Beach Beyond Darkness


[Slid]
With a freakish grace most unnatural, the beast that was Slid bent and re-arranged its limbs in one fluid movement, rending earth and stone with muscle powered claws, shooting off onto the gleaming walls of the Kobold Kastle with not a second to spare.


(Move 16 vs Artillery Strike dc 15 = Success!)

The heat of the explosion was staggering, yet Slid had escaped the worst of it, carapace bearing quickly-healing scars and shrapnel that would soon imbed itself in its system. It didn't matter.
Extraneous refuse would be recycled into violence; the goal would be reached, the living would suffer. Slid was a singular entity of hate, a bullet for the world that would never, ever stop.

--

[Sky-Iryk / Duchess Lisila Amgwina]
The Duchess crept, expensive boots bursting at the seams to expose her soft paws (?) to the sandy beach. The patterns of her dress changed ever so slightly as she walked, at first taking on a sandier hue and then spreading into hard-to-make-out fractals.
To a being such a Sky-Iryk, clothing was optional in a way that few other species in Creation could really appreciate.



But to even get to the Fort she would have to traverse the minefield. There was no way around it, and Shy-Iryk knew that to trigger the traps would be to invite unwanted attention to itself.
Fortunately that attention was wholly focused on the monster at this very moment digging its claw into the outer ceramics, giving Shy-Iryk a golden opportunity to focus on the task at hand.

Master Sneak (8) vsMagiTek Wards: 7 = Success!

Carefully tip-toeing in the exact spots the Deepdelver Slid had passed, the strange Noblewoman soon closed the distance from beach to fort, deftly avoiding what traps has not already been triggered by the frantic rush of the one who came before.
At last she came up to the walls, slinking around the corner and out of sight. There was a flash of power that none but the more magically attuned could see or even fathom, and the Duchess was gone, replaced in her entirety by a battered band of battle-bonded war-bolds.
But even as they got their bearings, a guard patrolling the perimeter spotted them, hitting them with a barrage of questions mostly concerned with why they were still outside.

Master Spy (18) vs Sketchy Grasp of the Plan: 5 = Success! Overskill!!

Much banter flowed back and forth, but it was clear that in a battle of wits four Kobolds always outsmart the One.


"Quit stallin' an' let us in now, you doof! Or we'z gonna get 'whelmed by those delvers! Yip!"

Without further ado, a rope-lader was extended such that they could all clamber aboard, but instead of being left to their own devices in the fort-yard proper as they had expected they were instead shoved into a debriefing room.
Against a background of wall-muffled explosions and sounds of their not-bretheren giving their all fighting the good (bad) fight, they waited for all of twenty seconds (waited on by a magi-tek coffee machine) before the door once more slammed open, revealing a familiar face.


"What in the name of the Lady are you four doing back here so early?! According to the plan, yer supposed to be five miles up the air by now, surfin' on a wave of hot de-orbitin' metal! Don't tell me ye up and broke yer transceivers before you even reached the launch site!
And what happened to your guns? This ain't a melee ya know. If there wasn't a war going on outside I'd shoot you myself 'fer incompetence. This is going in yer paperwork, soldiers, and you know how i hate doin' the paperwork!
Now get out of here, grabs some guns and make yerself useful for once, or go see Dorgma up in R&D and see if he can't get you some new transceivers. Now MOVE IT SOLDIERS!"


[Success! You have infiltrated the Kobold Kastle, learned some juicy intel and are now faced with a choice.
Do you go for the weapons as the Sergeant instructed? Or will you try to find this Dorgma fellow for a chance to nab some Kobold Quality MagiTek before the other delvers breach and make the situation untenable.
Will you leave them all to their fate and climb the mast to freedom? Or will you join the resistance, becoming part of the cold-blooded brothers in arms, cleansing the dungeon of the 'delver threat forever – or at least until the floor resets?
Either way, as long as you don't make your true allegiance obvious, you have the run of the place. Good luck.]


--

[Molriir]
The foolish rush in. This he knew. Haste was always mistaken for hostility, and he had had enough of that. Nowhere in the contract he hadn't signed or even seen did any rules state that he had to fight the Kobolds. No, they were merely in his way.
Even should they try to kill him, they were probably just following orders. He could work with that. Make them see reason. All he had to do was get into talking range alive.
He shielded his eyes with his arm and shield, pushing against the back draft of explosions going of all around him and kept on walking – through hail and snow or even magitek lasers – it mattered not.
Only one thing was more certain than the Stone of Stones, and that was his Determination.

Stubborn Shield (26) vs MagiTek Wards: 16 = Success!

Purple applesauce explosions tinged the air a moist algebra, leaving swirls of confusion in their wake. The dwarf cared not. The shield scraped the uncrumbling beach-rock, sparks flying as he drove forward irregardless of anything that would come his way.
When at last the minefield was cleared, he stood alone 'neath a fortress whose every spare sensor had seen him coming, and he spoke as clearly as he could to those who would listen.


"Parlay, ye brave ones o' the Fort! I've nae quarrel with ye and wish but t' pass forward and downward! Must we truly assault one ano'er fer this simple plea t' come t' pass? Can there nae be truce?"

Heartstone (13) vs Sketchy Grasp of the Plan: 11 = Success!

They looked down on, those heavily armoured Kobolds, their eyes full of confusion. This wasn't how things were supposed to go down, and where was the sergeant when you needed him?


"Truces delver wants? Is for no war-times to be had with invaders? Uh, that am not part of plan I do not think, but I not plan paper has either. U is stay there you are, or we shoots! No trix! I go get sarge for to you to explain proper-wise.
Gentlebolds, hold your fire on that one! But only that one okay? Kill anything else that moves!!"


[Success! Your IFF status has been upgraded from Hostile to Neutral and so yet again you avoid retaliation, for now!]

--

[Slid]
Rend and tear, bite and claw! Limbs are made for cracking. The mortals before you snap like twigs in your arms when you catch them, but there are many and they are far more vicious then they are supposed to be.
Your skin crackles and burns under sustained fire and still you keep on – murdering your way through dozens of lizards and reveling in the gore of it all.

Hurt 17 vs Upgraded MagiTek Armour: 18

But the screams around you do not stop as you rampage – and you turn in equal horror and fascination to see broken kobolds bodies still advancing, fire in their eyes behind their helmets and visors, muscles bulging, leaving a trail of blood and strange, metal syringes behind them.



You are completely surrounded, and you howl as the entire fire-base lays into you with all of what they have.



Upgraded MagiTek Guns: 11 15 14 19 14 12 16 18 14 9 vs Dodge to Live: 7 = Overkill! 18 damage taken!


"'Delver neutralized. Keep your eyes open."

[Ouch! With no one else to fire at and with you conveniently in the middle of their base, the Kobolds all use you for target practice until there is nothing left of your body to shoot. You take eleven damage, dying instantly in a hail of gunfire.]

--

[The Ghost of Slid]
Oh. So this was what dying felt like? A new sensation to be sure. You float in an endless void, with five golden flames as your only company. They are all that is left of you and when they are spent, you will be gone. Yet there is no suffering here. No anger. No drive.
For the first time in your long and violent life, no impulse dictates your next movements.
For the first time; you are truly free.


---

[NPCs]
Seeing those more prone to action take command of the situation, the remaining deepdelvers follow in their footsteps.

Of the four that hid in the boat, three take the most straight forward path, two following behind the dwarf in relative comfort. The third one tries to race ahead but his hubris is soon overtaken by hidden wards.
Crippled and bleeding and cut of from the main group of delvers, he is easy pickings for bored kobold snipers who are swift to end his life. Spotlights focus on the corpse, as if daring it to twitch. Deepdelvers could be tricky, they reasoned. Sometimes it was best to make sure.

As for the fourth unnamed contestant, it scaled the beachfront palisade and vanished from sight.

---

[Molriir and the surviving NPC's]
The kobold warriors were merciless, but also easily confused. They had strict orders not to shoot the dwarf, but equally strict where the orders to shoot everything else.
Having already dealt with the monster that breached their home, they turned their attention back to Molriir and the rest of the deepdelvers, weapons trained and ready for anything.

Soon the crowd of gunbolds parted, and out of it stepped the gruff voiced Sergent once more.
He shot one look of contempt over his little army before shouting down to Molriir and his assembled crew, one hand always on the trigger of his rifle.


"What do you mean truce? We're warriors! Fightin's what we do! Now, if'n you want to surrender, now that's another thing. Got strict orders on surrendererers.
Or maybe yer one of them merkants or crafty types what comes in here sometimes, whats got something to make it worth our while eh?
Well, spit it out whatever yer offering, 'caus me and me mates 'ere 'ave got right twitchy triggerfingers we have."


--

[Molriir and the surviving NPC's]
The two other deepdelvers huddled behind Molriir and his shield for safety. It was clear that one of them was a humble fisher, not all all versed in the ways of combat or adventure, whereas the other one was at least five out of twelve parts squid and three out of tweleve parts crying. They probably were not going to be much help.

--

[Everyone]
Though the battle was on pause for the moment, the energy of the moment had not disappeared. Even as reptilian eyes met with those dwarven, the air above them sparkled as the MagiTek Tower thrummed in an irregular pattern.
Something was going to happen, and soon.

Swedish Thaumocracy fucked around with this message at Aug 29, 2017 around 19:43

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...they shall march out of my laboratory and sweep away every adversary, every creed, every nation, until the very planet is in the loving grip of the Pax Bisonica. And then peace will reign, and the world, and all humanity, shall bow to me in humble gratitude...

You better post soon goblinman, so that Wave 1 does not lose another update because of you

Infinity Gaia
Feb 27, 2011

a storm is coming...


Goblin-One-Battalion
HP : 6

Initiative: 12
Inventory: Knighthood Medal (+1d6 to a roll if it complies with the king's wishes)

Wounds: Terrible Arm Spasm (-1d6 to like loving everything this poo poo sucks gently caress)
Shames: Bad Engineers (-1d6 to engineering stuff)
Prouds: Explosives Expert (+1d6 to explosive-related activities), Of the Overlord (+1d6 to ???)

Defense: An Indeterminate Number of Lives [5d6]
Skills: Be Everywhere [3d6] / Goblin Formations [3d6]
Powers: Overwhelm with Numbers [4d6]
Talent: [spent/unspent]

(Sorry, I keep forgetting about this game.)

Well, thanks to some strange spectral karma, the goblins had more food than they really needed. Good. But now what? They saw the storm clouds gathering and decided the smart thing was to relocate to whatever the most stable building nearby was. Not to the topmost floor, because that'd risk getting hit by lightning (Goblins hate being hit by lightning, too many bad encounters with low level mages casting lightning bolt), but to a somewhat mid-level location. They were perfectly content to simply survive in this weird floor with no immediate objective.

Rolling Be Everywhere to locate a good, stable building to hole up in and secure it against invaders (aka the other deepdelvers): 11

That having been done, they elected to loot the place. The area seemed pretty bare of good loot, but hey, they had just found a lot of wall turkey. No reason there couldn't be wall treasure as well. Or something like that. Goblin decision making process is never super clear.

Rolling Be Everywhere to try and find loot in their selected safety building: 12

Scribbleykins
Apr 29, 2010

Any scientist with the right background can brew his own booze.

...

What do you mean electrolytes aren't used for brewing booze? That's silly!

...

Well when all you have are chunks of TNE and an overly large water ration, all the world looks like a still!

Grimey Drawer

Molriir Hearthstone
HP: 10
Skills: Educated Dwarf [3d6], Hearthstone [4d6].
Power: *Superior Quality Repeating Crossbow* [3d6]
Defense: Unbelievably Stubborn [5d6]
Inventory: Backpack o' stuff (delicious rations, oil, rum, etc.), Hearthstone Shield (+1d6 to a Defense against physical dangers - any nearby stone receives increased durability and tensile strength).



Molriir lowered his shield to the ground, stood still where the scalekin could see him and told his two sea-wise companions to do the same, hoping they would understand him, or at least his gestures that they not move. Eventually the sounds of combat from within the Fort faded, the battle over and, it seemed, solidly in the scalekins' favor. Molriir bowed his head slightly, in respect to the fallen. The wild creature within had come far considering the defenses it had braved, but in the end the strengthened defenders overcame that strange and powerful primal force that drove it. Molriir wondered who it had been, what it had been here for, and what could have inspired such a savageness of being, yet his attention quickly turned back to the matter at hand when the scalekin Sergeant arrived as promised.

With the attention of all these Fort-loving scalekin was now solely upon him and his two companions Molriir smiled and held up his hands in response to the Sergeant.

"Aye, yer quite th' warriors, but-" he gestured at the shaking fisherman and quaking squid for emphasis. "We're clearly nae, makin' this somewha' of a pitiful battle t' pitch. If ye do nae kill them what surrender, I think me two companions here may feel up t' such, despite th' cost - although they're welcome t' follow me still should ye let them. As fer me..."

Molriir's grin broadened as he sized the Sergeant up - and patted his stuffed backpack.

"I reckon I might 'ave a few things o' worth... and as th' Trimanni sayin' goes: best be things that come in threes."

He shrugged off his backpack, which landed in the sands with an audible thump. In short order a trio of trinkets were carefully placed upon the rugged surface of the shield before the dwarf. The first was a palm-sized wooden box that, when opened, seemed almost entirely black inside - yet it wafted strongly of smoked herb, nicotine and something altogether different. The second was a fist-sized golden statue of what seemed like some manner of monstrous scaled creature grasping an entire world. The third was a fair-sized, cork-stoppered bottle with a piece of morbid decoration. Despite its crude nature, Molriir treated the bottle with considerable more reverence and care than the first two trinkets.



"First offer. This be black taback from th' kingdom o' Artex, a land famed fer its excesses. It's a heady weed, alchemic'ly treated t' be good fer yer health (they say) and oft smoked by th' noble class there. Th' Artexians get it from their treekin neighbours, so ye ken it has t' be th' quality stuff."



"Second offer. A lucky golden idol fer yer fort. A Gyrdani scalekin gifted me this a while back - they're a proud and clever folk somewhat like yeself. It's s'posed t' be some representation' o' their lost god, whate'er - or whoe'er - they were. I'm nae one fer religion and it's always felt strange t' keep, so I'll happily pass it into th' claws o' ones more worthy it."



"Lastly, and as me third offer, perhaps ye'd want somethin' fortifyin' t' go with yer new fort? If so, I have here th' most soddin' spicy brew ye can imagine - rum o' the Dread Nellies. They're a sailors' sisterhood, haters o' men and scourges o' the Seas o' Maws and Jaws. Me kin do some trade with them, and their rum is highly prized. It takes th' edge right off o' cold nights and freezin' winds. Not to mention it's bloody good rum."

Molriir looked the Sergeant in the eyes with something of a glint in his own. He'd known enough guards and warriors in his time. These were not everyday trinkets to begin with and to a squad of bored soldiers they could pass as prized luxuries. Though it hurt to have to give them up, it would be a small price to pay.

Skill - Hearthstone [4d6] = 13
Skill - Educated Dwarf[3d6] - 16


Using Backpack o' Stuff to pull out some souvenirs Molriir has gathered from his travels. Using Hearthstone to convince the Sergeant to let Molriir and his fellow delvers (if they so wish) to pass on in exchange for these items and Dwarf Educated to appraise their worth properly in front of the kobold Sergeant.

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Wave 1]
[Floor Three - The City of Ruin]



The Goblins stood around with a blank look on their face for what felt like hours, but in actual fact was only minute or two.
But what to an outsider might have appeared as a collective stroke was actually a very complex thought-poll, gauging each and every goblin in the collectives interests and opinions against the shared knowledge they had of their surroundings.
All the same, the City was rumbling again and the outside would no longer be safe, so as soon as they were done thinking about whatever it was they had on their minds, they scattered, sending goblin after goblin every which way to look for a place where they might whether the storm.

Be Everywhere (11) vs Shelter, First Pick: 3 = Success! Overskill!

It did not take long until one goblin, following mostly his insatiable hunger, found a place sufficient for the needs of his people.




"Yer! C'mere everyone, the lobby 'o this place is done right smashed up! Lotsa materials for what to barricade with, but the real prize is upstairs!"

Once the cry was heard, Goblin-One-Battalion snapped itself together, some nine hundred varied bodies across the city disappearing in an instant and merging with the hungry finder.
From there it was simple to once again re-emerge in great number, covering every inch of the building in Goblins and goblin shenanigans.

The Place Upstairs was wholly different from the broken lobby down below. To untrained goblin eyes, it was a giant mess-hall, where hundreds of tables were spaced out in relative comfort betwixt thousands of chairs.
Bright red curtains hung from the window frames and grand mirrors hung on every wall, granting the grand halls an echo of the infinite.



Yes, they all thought in unison, this place will do just fine!

[Success! The building you have found should prove shelter for the foreseeable future. Together with your stocks of food, you now want for nothing.]

Ah, but surely a place such as this should have something of worth, thought the Goblins, something other than mere comfort and convenience? The goblins redoubled their efforts, searching high and low for something, anything that they could use.

Be Everywhere vs Worthless Things: 10 = Success!

Again the hungry one struck gold, or at least something with a golden-ish hue. For after many long minutes of searching he found a table that was not empty.



A Roast Capybara, untouched by the ages, lay on a platter oozing magic. Laid upon a bed of garlic, garnished with a blood red sauce and decorated with the vegetables of some great utopian farm-world, the dish was the finest the goblins had ever seen.

There was only one problem. The table it had been served to was still occupied.
Six skeletons, of various and sundry origin, of all builds and sizes were chained to the fine velvet clad chairs, some still with cutlery in their hands or appendages.
The last chair housed a being of stone, supposedly because it had no ordinary skeleton to become, though by the looks of things someone had tried their hardest to give it one.
Indeed, the only thing the beings had in common was their face, or rather lack of it, replaced with a mass of gold that must have melted through them from the inside out.



A careful prod gave no evidence to the theory that the skeletons were your every night garden variety undead. No, something else was afoot here. The bodies lacked that crucial spark of animation, and either way could not be loosed from their chairs, so absolute were their shackles.
Still. The food looked edible and it certainly smelled better than wall turkey. What harm could there be in just trying one bite?

[Success? You find a Roasted Capybara – which is quiet possibly a magic item! To use it, you must consume it, using an appropriate skill to really get those juices flowing. Once eaten, it will be gone forever. You cannot have your cake and eat it.]

--

[Emille]

Marius' shadow tore itself from Emille, much to her discomfort. Still, she tried to ignore the phantom pain and focus on her meditations, sensing the world around her through her minds eye.



A great river of magic flowed through the city, she realized, churning and eroding all that it touched, taking with it warmth and leaving only bitterness behind. It was cold, nay, freezing, and even thinking about it made Emille shiver.
She double down on her training, looking around for even the tiniest trace of material that had not already been corrupted, not already lost its spark.

Pyromancy (11) vs The Hunger: 13 = Failure!



But she could not, and the bitterness spread. And she ached, and she cried, and when she awoke, the flames would no longer answer her call.

[Uh oh! Your pyromancy has been temporarily disabled, sapped by the ever present fatigue of this floor! To cure it, you must either find a new source of energy or the exit, wherever it may be, lest you suffer consequences even worse than these. Which you will, if you do not.]

Keeping her magic troubles to herself for now (thinking it better to find shelter before worrying about something Marius could likely deal with in time) she opened her eyes and did what her mentor bade her,
running across the empty streets of the city until she reached a sky scraper much like any other, a mile-high edifice of broken glass and stone, lancing the building filled sky with contempt.

Acrobatics (9) vs Shelter, Second Pick: 6 = Success!

With the practiced ease of a seasoned adventurer, she gained entrance through a third story broken window and hurried along the many many flights of stairs that led from the ground to the office that her Marius had chosen for their shelter.



The room they found was in an awful condition, graffiti lining each and every wall, but at least it was whole. A small wooden desk stood in the far side of the room, covered in random knickknacks, the likes of which Emille had never before seen.
Two immaculate office chairs surrounded it, alike in every aspect save orientation, such that a meeting of equals might take place within. When she asked Marius what he made of it, he did not answer.
She asked again, this time louder and with tone a slight more irritable, turning in place to see what had got his shadow so preoccupied and saw it staring at a mural that lined the wall opposite of where she had been gazing.



She looked at it with some amount of confusion. Depicted on the wall was the figure of a man, painted with darkness, surrounded by some four dozen eyes.
If she remembered her mythology right, the symbols but together in this way might allude to some all-seing deity? But that would not explain the intricate notes of paper stuck to it haphazardly.
They held the rainbow of colours and bore strange markings in a strict and ordered pattern, but something felt off about them. About this whole place, really. She cleared her throat, turning once more to stare at her shadow, his shadow, her mentor.

"So, what now?"

[Success! You have found shelter from the coming storm. As long as you remain within, you need not worry about taking any environmental damage, though you still require sustenance.]


--

[Cue]
Cue was bored. He nearly always was. But his reserves where filled and there was an amusing shadow to watch, only it was flying away from him.
Boredom turning into anger, or perhaps mischief, he followed the Shadow and the Girl as closely as possible, hitching a ride in her backpack and from there to the same shelter that they sought.

Telekinesis (8) vs Shelter, Second Pick: 6 = Success!

Busy as they where with exploring, neither the deepdelver nor her magic mentor noticed the additional weight to her pack.
So it was that they all three together found themselves in that same office the narrator described in an earlier paragraph, with naught by terrifying images for company.
Cue, for his part, could not stand the drudgery of art when there was the wholly unknown for him to explore, and so he whirled and bounced and shook and jumped, at once from Emilles backpack into that of her shadows.
For what, he reasoned, could possibly go wrong?

Troublesome (11) vs Malignant Shaping: 2d6 5 = Success!




You jump into the shadow and emerge at the same place but elsewhere. You now exist in a place between places, a world beneath or inside the world. You are safe here.
Safe from the dangers of the City of Ruins, though if you strain you can still see it betwixt the dark and the gloom. You sense the room you were in, the table and the chairs, yes even the girl. You sense them, but see only their shadows.
You bounce excitedly, wholly uncaring for the plight you cause others with your actions. You are safe, and that is all that matters.


--

[Marius]
You have been... attacked? Drained? Discombobulated? Something has happened which has caused you some amount of harm.
You may either take a 1d6 penalty to a skill of your choosing, or transfer the damage over to Emille via your Mark, deciding here and now wether she takes a skill penalty or a regular, one point wound.
At your age, taking hit-point damage would not be advisable, especially since you don't actually have any or even play by those rules. There is some sort of round, mischievous demon sharing this place with you. It is the most likely source of your troubles.


--

[King Norman]
The King orders the finest Griffin Head be served to him, and the Kings wishes are his subjects commands. S
Sceptre the Spectre looks at the monarch uncertainly before giving a spectral shrug and flying off to look for one, or at least something that can appease his lord's curious appetites.

King's Dominion (8) vs Scavenged Scrap Piles, Third Pick: 13 = failure!

An hour later, or perhaps just five minutes, the Sceptre returns with five dead rats tied to a stick. The King glares at him disapprovingly, before promptly ordering proffered food demolished.

Ghost of the Greatest Royal Knight of the kingdom who graduated top squire in the school of knights and become a champion tournament then dragon slaying hero with 300 confirmed dragons kills- He who can wipe out anyone with precision the likes ones never seen in the world with a secret networks of spies across the land to tract down tax dodger - The ghost who can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that is just bare hands - Not only is it verse in the way of unarmed combat, but it have access to the entire ghost realm where all kingdom's dead knights live - If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" scheme was about to bring down upon you! (16) vs Pile of Dead Rats (13) = Success!

This, Sceptre can do. With a flick of his wrist the rats go flying into the air, and before they have even reached the peak of their ascent he has turned them into so much confetti. This serves no real purpose, mind, but such is the way of nobility.

[Uh. Success? You still can't use powers as skills though. Powers are for attacking. Also you rolled 6d6 instead of 7d6, but that doesn't really make any difference.
Since you have yet to sate your hunger, you gain the temporary Shame of Starvation, which will counter-act all your actions until you find some way to deal with it.]


--

[Everyone]
And lo, just as the majority of deep-delvers find shelter does the storm grow to a size and ferocity must untenable.



Tearing through the world, striking from the middle of the space-folded megalopolis to the streets around it with lightning and rain, it broke no quarter to those that would remain or venture outside.
The City itself reacts predictably, with showers of glass once again starting to fall from buildings both large and small. The difference this time being that the winds turn the shards from serious hazards to lethal projectiles as it hurls them hither and fro.

[The Storm is raging! Anyone that wishes to brave it or is still stuck outside will suffer from one 3d6 + 1d6 attack, doing damage as normal upon a failed save. Your defensive saves will be affected by any starvation demerits that might have been heaped upon you.]

--

[King Norman]
Though the deadly rain falls all around you, you are not afraid. Sceptre the Spectre will see these troubles through, as he has done with everything else in your life.

Protect me!: 15 vs Storm of Glass: 12 + Starvation: 5 vs = Failure! One damage taken!

You aren't bleeding. You can't be. It must be the dye of your Royal Robes draining in the rain. Perhaps you should seek shelter after all, lest the storm ruin your wardrobe entirely.

--

Nyaa
Jan 7, 2010

Q.E.D.



King Norman

Curses! This place suck! Unlike the beach vacation floor with natural disasters! This one starts with the disaster!

Then the proper thing to do is to make this place a vacation spot! Starting by making a cave through a mountain or punch through the wall of a skyscraper and let him stay in there! Preferably on the cafeteria floor!

Make shelter: 23

Then it's time to find food, and by that the king means Specter. Musroom, instant noodle, whatever. The king will give the peasants food a taste to make sure it's still awful and befitting of for its price in the market.

Find food: 8

paper bag with a face
Jun 2, 2007
Fighting poverty...one bum at a time.

Emille

HP: 6/10
Initiative: 7
Defense: Parry[3d6]
Pyromancy [3d6], Acrobatics [2d6], Adventuring Knowhow [1d6]
Ignite/Quench [3d6], Radiance [2d6], Arquebus [1d6]
The Master's Mark (chocolate): [spent/unspent]
Items: +1 Ring (+1 to a single action every turn), Proud of Being Mentored

Marius took a -1d6 to his sage advice. Oh no!

"So what's with the mural?", Emille asked. Marius was slow to respond, and seemed a little out of it. "Oh, um. Uh, I believe this is the figure known as the Lord of the Tower, a being whose name I have no desire to pronounce. You can tell from all the eyes. Looks like whoever owned this office tried to make an offering of, hmm, currency, perhaps? Some worlds use paper for that. Even if it had any Value, it would still be worthless; this particular Lord is dead. Worse than dead, by some accounts. Excuse me for a moment." Marius's shadow flattened out and sank into the floor, vanishing from sight.

Emille sighed, she felt quenched and was starting to feel hungry again. When Marius said nothing here had any Value, did that mean nutritive value too? Ugh. She strolled through the office building, looking for something to eat or restore her magic with. Like all adventurers, she had keen looting senses.

Adventuring Knowhow[1d6+1] to LOOT the building in general: 6

After a walk through the rest of the building, Emille returned to the office and plopped herself into one of the chairs. She began absentmindedly rifling through the desk. If Marius said the topseekers were in this office, maybe they left something nifty behind.

[b]Adventuring Knowhow[1d6] to LOOT the desk: 3

---

The greyscale form of Marius wandered through the shadow plane until he found the source of his problem. "What do we have here? Some kind of irritating orb? How on earth did you get here? No matter, perhaps you could be of assistance to me. My apprentice could use some assistance, and I'm sure she could return the favor. Wouldn't you like to have a prank with amazing pyrotechnics?"

ShadowGlass
Nov 13, 2012



Sky-iryk
I've noticed I've been using Shy-iryk/Sky-iryk inconsistently. I'm settling on Sky-iryk. I've fixed the original character sheet too.

X 4

pre:
Skills: Morph: [5d6], Master-spy: [4d6]
HP: 10/10, 
Powers: Ravage: [4d6]
Defense: Agile defense: [2d6]
Talent: Mass metamorphosis
Current form: 4 x kobold
Inventory: Bastard sword
They were definitely on a timer. What exactly was the kobolds' plan? Are they shooting a ballistic rocket at their own fort? Or at the beach? Whatever insanity it was, she had to leave before it happened. The way was open, she could reach the top of the tower and leave easily without anyone noticing. But she remembered what happened to the reality-bending creature. Going alone is not the optimal way to progress in this place. The dwarf seemed capable enough, he might even talk himself in the fort. She decided to wait and see how it plays out for now. In the meantime she had some loot to pick up.

Skill - Master Spy to pick up guns [4d6]: 11

Skill - Master spy to find Dorgma up in R&D and get some transceivers [4d6]: 11

While wandering around, I'd also like to keep an eye (or eight) out for any quiet unguarded / abandoned areas or rooms.

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...they shall march out of my laboratory and sweep away every adversary, every creed, every nation, until the very planet is in the loving grip of the Pax Bisonica. And then peace will reign, and the world, and all humanity, shall bow to me in humble gratitude...

Cue the Poltergeist

Initiative: 7
HP: 9
Skills: Telekinesis [3d6], Troublesome [3d6]; Powers: Extreme Prankster [4d6]; Defense: Always out of reach [5d6]
Talent: Spent
Items: Knighthood (+1d6 to rolls that benefit King Norman), Summon Glitchie
Scratch Tokens: 1


Help? Help??? Cue was not one to help! Well, help at things other than spicing up the droll existences of boring people. Which of course was the most important thing of all, so in fact Cue was the most helpful! Yes!

...

Where was it again? Oh yes! Help??? Nahhh, Cue wasn't really feeling it, it would much rather play pranks on the girl.

Fireworks were nice though.

Hmm. Maybe it could both help and play pranks at the same time? Yes, Cue was a genius! Hmm, hmm, but how? The girl seemed hungry, so maybe food? But Cue could only see shadows! So whatever it was going to deal with would have to be expressly food shaped. What was expressly food shaped?

Ohh!

Bananas! Yes, bananas! Nothing but bananas were banana shaped! At least, in the miniscule amount of time that it took to excite Cue on a brand new idea, it could think of no other curved object. And that, of course, was good enough for Cue. And then it started scouring the local shadows for curved shadows, which it started lobbing at the girl shadow with its shadow telekinesis. She gets food, Cue gets to pummel a person with fruit. Everybody wins!

Maybe while it was at it, it could slam some shadows at the dumb painting on the wall. Maybe it was magic and something fun would happen? In Cue's experience, messing with magic anything was always a fun time.

Cue bounced with excitement, its monochrome viewscreen pointing towards its new shadowy friend (they were friends now. This might change quickly or not so quickly, depending on Cue's whim), the magical letters inside reorienting as it moved, before finally setting.

"Birdman says: 'sup emperor?", they read.

Cue did not know nor care about what any of that meant, however, and was quickly distracted by something else.


Telekinesis to throw shadow bananas at shadow Emille for food/profit: 3d6= 11
Troublesome to shadow vandalize wall painting with more shadows: 3d6= 4

Scratch token will protect me from any severely negative effects that might arise from disturbing possible Towerlord Residue.

Theantero fucked around with this message at Sep 6, 2017 around 12:44

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

But People have fears that beasts do not. Questions, too.


[Spindel-08]

[Skills]
Navigate[5d6]: Spindel's speed isn't so much from sheer velocity as it is from adaptability - it can climb sheer walls with its clever legs, but it can also roll into a perfect sphere to reach great speeds. It can also float, if need be, rotating its legs like a propellor. What a clever thing!

[Powers]
Poison Pin [5d6]: Spindel is not, however, a simple toy. It is a tool of assassination, and it has been sent to assassinate one particular person. On the way, however, it has plenty of poison to go around...

[Defense]
Stealth [5d6]: Spindel is small and spritely - and more importantly equipped with a powerful and minaturized arcanotech displacer field. Attacks that seem to hit it often strike next to it in actuality.

Talent (Vanilla):
Bind: Spindel will wrap a targeted creature or object in silk, preventing it from moving, debuffing their Defense and preventing movement related Skills.

Bio:
Spindel rolled through the gate then uncoiled, large for a spider but small for a Delver. Its simple mind knew only that its target could be found deeper in the Dungeon, and so it made its way forward. It would find the Lady, sooner or later, and then it would kill her, if she could be killed. His masters demanded it.

[AI]
Navigate towards the exit, if visible. Poison visible enemies, if not.

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

Wave 2 - First Floor – The Beach Beyond Darkness


[Sky-iryk / 04 Kobolds]
The company of Kobolds that were secretly a single shapeshifting alien (though to be fair, everyone in the dungeon could be considered to be an alien) nodded at the boisterous sergeant and headed out of the debriefing room in an unnaturally synchronous line after saluting in perfect unison. The armoury itself was easy enough to find, to the left of some random crates notarized with sigils from some foreign world, a sparse metal chamber with groves cut into the walls where weapons of all sorts could be stored, easily accessible for sudden engagements though most of them were currently empty.

Ah, but they would have had their pick of the place, if not for the Quartermaster who stared them down angrily.

Master Spy 11 vs MagiTek Quartermaster: 17 = Failure!


"Lost yer guns 'ave you? Can't trust you lot with anything! Egg preserve, yer' lose yer skulls next!
Fine, fine, you can 'ave a pair of these [kobold quality magitek lasguns], but I want them back in pristine shape d'yhear me! Pristine!"



[Failure... or success of a sort? These Kobold Quality MagiTek Lasguns gives your attacks superior range but drastically reduce damage should volunteer to use it.
The longer range means you can attack an enemy long before they could feasibly counter you and could mean the difference between life and death should a glass-cannon meleι fighter attempt to charge you.
Nevertheless, they also need to be reloaded after each floor transition, costing you one action where you awkwardly stand with them pressed against a light source, unless you somehow jury rig some other means of power for them.
The Kobold Quality MagiTek Lasguns grant you a +2 Ranged Increment and -2d6 damage whenever you use them for an attack and will 'merge' into a single rifle with the same stats when your talent effect ends.]


-

Heads hung low in masterfully faked shame, the squadron of battlebolds headed out of the armoury and proceeded up the tower into R&D, taking careful note of the many hidey-holes from which Kobold ambushes could be sprung on the unwary invaders.
The whole of the fortress was a death-trap just waiting to be sprung and the Kobolds that inhabited the place seemed almost fanatical in their eagerness to guard this place with their lives.

R&D proved much as they expected; a hoarders paradise with shelves upon shelves of useless and dangerous knickknacks plundered from hundreds of defeated deepdelvers.
Heavily armed Kobolds stood guard in every corner, weapons trained at anything that moved. They wore tinfoil hats and did not salute as Shy-Irykobold moved past them, so stoic were they in their duty.

In the midst of a pile of scrap metal sat a lone, red Kobold with a curious look on its face, its reptilian tounge sticking out to the side. It was humming a tuneless melody and tinkering with... everything.
It did not react when they approached, so they coughed politely and tried to put on some charm:

http://i.imgur.com/1MXU0aH.png
"Hey, uh, Dorgma? Sarge said you had some transceivers for us.."

Undistracted Genius: = 15 [failure!]

https://i.imgur.com/JJAkXRg.png
"Noes! Dorgma far too busy! You leaves, is fighting to do, delvers to kill! Come back after it done, then maybe! Now shoo!"

Thus rebutted, there was little for the Kobold Commandos to do except continue their exploration of the tower. They were pretty sure they could just leave, what with the way up unbarred for them, but Dorgmas counter-offer felt somehow enticing.
Whatever a transceiver was, perhaps killing their soon to be former team-mates was worth it? It would certainly lessen the competition.. unless they needed them to survive the coming floors. Tricky.
[You may choose to exit, forfeiting all other actions for this floor. Or to stay and fight, or to stay and explore, or stay and do something entirely different. It is up to you. No Kobolds will stand in your way unless you willfully end the effect of your talent.]

--

[Molriir]
So, the Kobolds wanted bribestreasure in exchange for his safe passage? Molriir certainly was no stranger to trade, and thus with his trademark charm did he present to them some of the contents of his backpack, hoping to strike a bargain.

Hearthstone (13) vs Love of Shinies: 8 = success!
Educated Dwarf (16) vs Sketchy Grasp of the Plan: 3d6 6 = Success! Overskill!



"Phwoar, some mighty fine loot you got there, delver! Tell you what, give me the dragon statue and we'll accept yer truce. We'll even look the other way should anyone attempt to climb our tower, cuz ain't none of us seen nothing here, yeah?"

There is a murmur of 'yes boss' from other nearby Kobolds. You can tell their hearts aren't really in it.

"Thats what I thought. Now about those fools cowering behind you, content to let you save their skins? Pfeh, cowards! I'll be generous and give you one, and for the other i'll give em to the count of ten. Then zzap! Boom! Hehehehehehe. Make yer choice! Who'll it be?!"

And with that, your position is filled with dozens of tracking lasers, the Kobold guards at the wall waiting impatiently for their Sergeants countdown. You can already see beads of sweat forming on them, trigger fingers twitching in anticipation.
It might be best to get out of there, and quick.

[You have successfully negotiated the way for yourself and one other out of the floor. No Kobolds will bar your way. You may now choose to leave at your own convenience, at the cost of all actions left to you at this floor, meaning you my not leave and also do something else.
If that does not suit you, you may stay and do whatever it is you feel like doing, though I would advise you to move out of the way lest you become so much collateral.

The other deepdelvers look to you in fear. One squid hybrid, one fisherman. From the looks of them lacking any and all combat experience.
As the Sergeants count-down reaches nine however, the dead body of the third deepdelver stirs, its chest cavity breaking apart only to reveal a tiny spider inside of it.
Perhaps that was the true deepdelver all along? If it is, that would also count as someone you could choose to save.

The two deepdelvers you do not save will have to contend for themselves, facing nearly instant, nearly certain death by firing squad.
As for the fourth, vanished some time past into the fog of war atop the cliffs?]


--

[NPCs]
It ran. It ran because it must, hid because it had too. It had seen the Other run, learned from its mistakes. This One would take a less obvious route. This One would succeed.

--

[Everyone] [Kobolds]
Piercing the sky in a fiery rage, a metal meteor hurled towords the beach.



What damage it would do, none present could say, yet it felt distinctively MagiTek and not at all like the flaming rocks of heaven, to those that had seen such sights before. Whatever it was, it was clear that it was up to nothing good.
It would be landing in scant seconds, giving the remaining deep delvers little time to do anything about it.

--

[Spindel]
Bursting out of the Remote Piloted Cadaver before it turned into mush and bullet holes, Spindel knew its designated target was elsewhere and that the only way through was upwards.
Unfortunately it had chosen an exceptionally poor moment to de-stealth and now had the attention of an entire fire base, with only the word of a Dwarf and the honour of Kobolds standing between it and premature destruction.

It stood perfectly still, its one light emitter blinking slowly.
:: Awaiting User Input

--

Scribbleykins
Apr 29, 2010

Any scientist with the right background can brew his own booze.

...

What do you mean electrolytes aren't used for brewing booze? That's silly!

...

Well when all you have are chunks of TNE and an overly large water ration, all the world looks like a still!

Grimey Drawer

Molriir Hearthstone
HP: 10
Skills: Educated Dwarf [3d6], Hearthstone [4d6].
Power: *Superior Quality Repeating Crossbow* [3d6]
Defense: Unbelievably Stubborn [5d6]
Inventory: Backpack o' stuff (delicious rations, oil, rum, etc.), Hearthstone Shield (+1d6 to a Defense against physical dangers - any nearby stone receives increased durability and tensile strength).



"'Dragon'? Is that yer word fer a Vandebeast, or...? Ach, but this be more than a fair trade fer truce and th' safety o' ano'er. 'tis a deal."

Molriir maintained his smile and nodded at the kobold's offer, though the happy sheen in his eyes faded. He quickly and quietly passed along the golden statue and packed up his goods, although while the kobold sergeant sneered at his two fellow deepdelvers, Molriir muttered something to them under his breath.

"Ye've got a straight shot back. Ye can make it."

Molriir glanced back at the kobold Sergeant as it began the countdown. These strange scalekin had proved a more kill-hungry species than the dwarf had hoped and only the golden idol had caught their eye in the end. Perhaps if he'd offered them more golden trinkets, his trade could have gone better - although all things considered, it had gone well enough. It surely had - for when he turned, it was to see the already-retreating backs of the fisherman and the squid-thing, sprinting like they had all the hells behind them. They were following the trench-trail he'd left behind, seeking either the relative safety of the boat or, better yet, to dive into the ocean and swim for safer surrounds, and making a fair go of it, too.

There was clearly something to be said for being prepared for bad news.

Muttered by Molriir to his fellow delvers while unpacking his sales pitch posted:

"If it turns out they'll nae take prisoners, and ye'd nae care t' follow me deeper into this fell trap, take me trail back t' th' ocean. Find yer courage and seek a way out o' th' Dungeon - it might let ye, as it has o'ers."

Skill - Hearthstone [4d6] = 14

The dwarf shrugged and gave the confused kobolds, trigger fingers itching more than ever, a lopsided smile. Whether the aquatic pair of delvers' spontaneous and expeditious retreat caught the kobolds unawares for long, it would at least make them less ideal targets than standing around quivering with fear would.

"I s'pose I'll pick neither, given how the sight o' ye has found 'em somethin' they'll happily 'fight' fer - gettin' outta here safe. I do nae mind. 'twas a fair bargain regardless. And don't lose yer count now, Sergeant. Ye were, atch, at nine was it nae?"

Swedish Thaumocracy posted:

[Spindel]
Bursting out of the Remote Piloted Cadaver before it turned into mush and bullet holes, Spindel knew its designated target was elsewhere and that the only way through was upwards.
Unfortunately it had chosen an exceptionally poor moment to de-stealth and now had the attention of an entire fire base, with only the word of a Dwarf and the honour of Kobolds standing between it and premature destruction.

It stood perfectly still, its one light emitter blinking slowly.
:: Awaiting User Input

As Spindel popped clear of the body that had contained it, the dwarf gave a start at the unexpected - and yet surprisingly familiar - sight. Several of the kobolds started aiming their rifles at this newly discovered deepdelving threat, but to their annoyance the dwarf hopped in front of it and waved his hands at them to pause or bide or, it was very much indicated, not shoot. Molriir, meanwhile, also hoped the mechimun-like being wasn't so heedless or brainless to attack its would-be-savior.

"Well! Tha' solves me problem. I'll-- (och, wha' th' sod is tha'?)---uh, I'll bring this interestin' critter along instead, nae need t' shoot it. Now, the both o' us really should be leavin', seems. 'scuse me, comin' through, thank ye fer yer time, best o' luck with yer defenses."

The dwarf gestured frantically for the little mechimun (?) to follow, then began to rush towards the strange Magi's tower, passing the Fort's open gates and the kobolds who were trying to steady their aim at the escaping deepdelvers - or pointing at the glowing thing falling from the sky that had caused Molriir's own sudden interest in departing.

Molriir attempts to abscond with Spindel after using a single action to try to encourage the two out-of-their-depth Deepdelvers to seek their way to relative safety and out of the Dungeon post-haste.

Do they even stand a chance? Who knows!

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Wave 1]
[Floor Three - The City of Ruin]



[Goblin-One-Batallion]
The goblins argued about what to do for so long they forgot to do it, and thus did nothing of importance.

[N/A – No AI actions submitted and no actions posted. Fortunately, you have enough food and shelter for this not to matter.]

--

[Emille]
Famished, the young adventuress left the ruined barganeirs office in search of consumables as the storm continued to batter the floor to ceiling window from outside.

Adventuring Knowhow (6) vs Leftovers: 11 = failure!

Alas, rot and mold had long ago ruined even the hardiest leftover and she did not fancy dining on dried blood. Indeed, the only organics she could see beyond her fellow deepdelvers was the mound of flesh in the center of the park they had entered, far far below.
Dismayed, she returned to the office and gave the desk a cursory glance, hoping to weather out the storm from a place of relative comfort.

Adventuring Knowhow (3) vs Leftover Topseeker Bargains: 7 = Failure?

But the desktop was just riddled with junk, none of which caught her interest. If any of it was important, she was sure Marius would point it out to her...

+ Proud: Being Mentored: 6 = Success

Which he promptly did, saying something about an Orb which on closer inspection did indeed sit discarded on the desktop.



She had taken it for a paperweight, but when she took it in her hands she realized it was something more. It must have been a sacrifice of truly astronomical proportions, so much power radiated from it.
She idly wondered what could have possibly persuaded someone to part with it.

[Success! Thanks to your Proud, you are now the proud owner of an entire, (though currently miniaturized) planet. It is a one use magic item that, when activated, will grow to its original size.]

--

[Cue]
Cue was not one easily swayed to charity, but that did not mean he was not one easily tricked. Marius, drawing upon centuries of akward social interactions, realized this in an instant and twisted the shadowy sphere to his whims.

Telekinesis (11) vs The Hunger: 11 = Draw! Success!

Cue wrought the shadows of his new home into strange and possibly crude shapes, filling them with memories of food he ate long, long ago when he could still do such things.
The shadows grew as he bounced and just before it seemed like they would burst, Cue stopped and instead slammed into them with full force, knocking them into the Shadow of Emille.

--

[Emille]
Hang on a minute, why is that shadow growing bigger? Marius, is that y



[Success! You are sustained for another turn via the sudden introduction of delicious banana cream pie into your life.]

--

[Cue]
Seeing that his neat trick worked so well the first time, Cue could not help but try it again. Because if its worth doing once its worth doing ten thousand times.

Troublesome (4) vs Leftover Topseeker Bargains: 3d6 8

Three pies later, Cue was bored, The mural wasn't reacting and the eyes did not even squint in an amusing fashion when he hit them dead on. Boo. Shameful. Maybe he should go somewhere else?

--

[King Norman]
Spectre, shelter! The King demanded. It would not do for his Royal Robes to be stained overly, and so he tasked his fearsome guardian to deliver him from ghastly rain into the closest cafeteria.

Make Shelter (23) (this isn't even a skill you have) vs The Goblins Have Already Cleared the Way (11) = Success! Overskill!

Bursting through the wall like a fizzy drink mascot, Spectre veritably threw the king with full force into a pile of random Goblins who had happened to take some time of work to loiter in the lobby.
Getting up and adjusting his crown, the King bade the survivors brush him of and also to find him food. Minions to the core, the Goblins took to the task with gusto.

Find Food (8) vs Worthless Things: 18 = Failure!

But aside from their magic treasure, the Goblins could find nothing with which to feed the King. His stomach rumbled. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a roasted haunch of griffon legs right about now.

The Goblins look at each other in shame and bring him to the room they found previously, as no Goblin had taken it upon themselves to consume the Roast Capybara, perhaps it would sate the King instead?

[The Overskill from before activates, and you steal the magic item from the action-less Goblins, that can do naught but obey the orders of the King!]

-

[Everyone]



The storm rages, growing in intensity with arcs of lightning illuminating the alleys of the city. In the eye of the storm the observant notice a portal, suspended in mid air. The way out?
It wasn't clear how much longer the city would survive the onslaught, but going out in the storm was equally suicidial at this point. Whatever the deep delvers choose to do, they would have to make their choices quickly, lest it all come crashing down.

[The Storm upgrades from 3d6+1d6 to 4d6+1d6 and takes on the aspect of Lightning. Anyone who leaves their Shelter will suffer an attack from the storm, before they even have a chance at making it to the portal.]

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

But People have fears that beasts do not. Questions, too.


[Spindel-08]

Spindel-08 leaped into Molriir's outstretched arms, settling itself on his shoulders like a very heavy, eight-legged cat. Its simple decision making matrix could see no positive outcomes that came from engaging the creatures surrounding it - including the Dwarf - and so it idled, for the moment sitting quietly and hoping (if its kind could be said to hope) that things would work out.

(Still around, have just been travelling! Go go dungeon delvers!)

paper bag with a face
Jun 2, 2007
Fighting poverty...one bum at a time.

Emille

HP: 6/10
Initiative: 7
Defense: Parry[3d6]
Pyromancy [3d6], Acrobatics [2d6], Adventuring Knowhow [1d6]
Ignite/Quench [3d6], Radiance [2d6], Arquebus [1d6]
The Master's Mark (chocolate): [spent/unspent]
Items: +1 Ring (+1 to a single action every turn), Proud of Being Mentored, Miniature Planet (Plop a full sized planet somewhere)

Emille sputtered angrily as she licked bits of ba-mana creme pie off her face. This had to be another one of Marius's damnable pranks! Sometimes, always when she was least expecting it, Marius would decide to get up to some idiotic jape, claiming he wanted to test her vigilance and keep her humble. She decided not to say anything this time; the pie itself was helpful, despite tasting and feeling...odd. Plus the prank had made her just the right level of pissed to undo the quenching the city inflicted on her. Good thing nobody was around to see.

When she finished the last bit of whipped cream, Marius spoke, a note of faint amusement in his voice, "Sorry about that. I had to ask for help from something not accustomed to helping. I see you've found something." After a moment of what Emille assumed was Marius inspecting the planet, he returned, "I've, uh, never heard of something like this being offered, I shudder to think what was received in return. Keep it safe, Em.

Emille carefully stashed the tiny planet in her bag and turned to face the tempest raging outside. Now that her fire burned bright again, it was time to get the hell out of this accursed place. She considered her options. Quenching the storm directly wasn't a good idea, she could get quenched herself (again). Best to do it indirectly. She grabbed a piece of cheap office furniture and held it out a window until lightning struck it. She set the flaming chair down on the floor, removed a charcoal pencil from her pack, and began to draw a magical circle. Emille felt the burning chair was a bit of a stretch to be a proxy for the storm but it was the best she could get and the charcoal circle would hopefully smooth things over anyway. Her preparations complete, Emille extended her hand and Quenched the fire slowly consuming the chair.

Pyromancy[3d6] to Quench the storm, hopefully calming it down a little bit: 14

With the storm calmed a little, her window to get to the portal was open. Emille had an idea to get to it, but hoo boy was it gonna suck. She performed the Invocation Against Self-Immolation and gave the cheap carpet underneath her feet a hard stare.

Pyromancy[3d6+1] to rocket jump: 13

And what lovely fuel it made! Within seconds, an explosion rocked the office building, flinging Emille out the window towards the portal. As she flew, she unsheathed her sword, grateful that Marius had enchanted it to be just as good at deflecting things like lightning as it was physical blows.

I'm just going to save some time and leave my passive defense roll here
Parry[3d6]: 13

---

Marius was glad that Emille didn't question the pie too much; things from the Shadow Plane weren't the most Real objects, so the pie could've been disbelieved into uselessness. He decided to thank the helpfully irritating orb, "Ah, thank you for helping my student. I would myself, but something doesn't want me here, at least not like this. It is taking everything I have just to maintain my presence. You're welcome to stay, but I wouldn't recommend it. It is difficult to navigate this place even if you can *see*." When the orb relayed a message from one of the few beings older than Marius, a momentary look of shock passed over his face. He mumbled, "Nobody's called me THAT in a long time.

Nyaa
Jan 7, 2010

Q.E.D.



King Norman

Norman stares at the capybara meat. The dead capabara stares back with its roasted dead eyes.

"How dare he! Knight! Off with its head! "

Sceptor the spector obeys and cut he pig head apart without the need of any fancy skill.

The king lift up the capybara head like how he does with the griffin, he gave a speech about never challenge the king!

King's presence: 8

Then he take a barbaric bite with a powerful of meat out of the head meat, spraying capybara oils like pretty rain on their face. To show how tough he is before eating the rest of the meat till his stomach is full.

King's presence: 4

V-very impressive...

ShadowGlass
Nov 13, 2012



Sky-iryk
X 4

pre:
Skills: Morph: [5d6], Master-spy: [4d6]
HP: 10/10, 
Powers: Ravage: [4d6]
Defense: Agile defense: [2d6]
Talent: Mass metamorphosis
Current form: 4 x kobold
Inventory: Bastard sword, Kobold Quality MagiTek Lasgun(s)
Well, this was frustrating. Whatever these transceivers were, she's not getting one this easily. It almost felt like things happened to make her want to stay just a little bit longer each time she wanted to move on. No matter, she had a goal, and it was time to move ...
"Stay on mission, Sky-Iryk", a voice suddenly said in her head(s).
"Where have you been? You were out of contact for a while. Wait. You're a new one. What's your name, priest?"
"I'm a High-Bishop of the Zoratrian Church, you'll address me properly as Your Worship."
"Do we really have to go through this dance every time I get a new handler? Your name?"
"I've heard about your willfulness and disrespect of the Church. Fine, we don't have much time. For now, you may call me Alfonz."
"Heh, I'm infamous in the Ministry?"
, the four kobolds grinned as they walked towards the top of the tower, "Anyway, my handlers are usually High Priests. Why the higher rank? Did you get this assignment as punishment or something? And you're my third handler in the last decade. What's with the high turnover?"
"That's internal Church matter. As to your first question, let's just say that your current mission has been bumped to a higher priority."
"Really?! King Norman of middle of nowhere?"
"No. The Dungeon. King Norman is now a secondary objective. Your mission is to discover as much as possible about this Lady of the Dungeon."
"Hmm, pretty vague. Again. You still haven't told me what to do about my secondary objective. Get close to King Norman, and then what? You obviously don't want to kill him, or you'd just say so."
"We will contact you with further information. Alfonz out."


The kobolds let out a frustrated sigh as they climbed the stairs. They hated such vaguely defined missions. You could never tell for sure when you've completed them. Learn as much as possible? Bleh. They climbed to the top and entered the portal leading out.

Leaving. Will change back to Duchess Lisila Amgwina on the other side of the portal. Keeping the sword and the gun.

Infinity Gaia
Feb 27, 2011

a storm is coming...


Goblin-One-Battalion
HP : 6

Initiative: 12
Inventory: Knighthood Medal (+1d6 to a roll if it complies with the king's wishes)

Wounds: Terrible Arm Spasm (-1d6 to like loving everything this poo poo sucks gently caress)
Shames: Bad Engineers (-1d6 to engineering stuff)
Prouds: Explosives Expert (+1d6 to explosive-related activities), Of the Overlord (+1d6 to ???)

Defense: An Indeterminate Number of Lives [5d6]
Skills: Be Everywhere [3d6] / Goblin Formations [3d6]
Powers: Overwhelm with Numbers [4d6]
Talent: [spent/unspent]
AI Action: Survive at all costs, if survival is currently guaranteed, loot and eat in equal measures.

(Quick post with not a lot of fluff just so I don't accidentally miss another round, also added AI actions in case I have to skip out on a turn again)

The goblins had gotten so distracted arguing over whether the capybara was a trap or not that they lost the chance to eat it. Oh well, surely a great king like King Norman would have a superior palate and be able to more fully appreciate a probably cursed dish. Rich people are always eating weird stuff. The goblins, noticing the storm increasing, decided to try and call on their primary survival expert...

Talent Roll = 1

But couldn't get a hold of him. Probably busy hiding in a deeper layer to survive. Oh well. Without anyone to tell them otherwise, the Goblins believe that the storm will probably let up at least slightly after a while, not being particularly used to weird magic weather. They distract themselves with breaking down the ancient skeletons and extracting all the gold from their insides. Hey, weird cursed skeleton gold is still gold afterall!

Be Everywhere to Loot Skeletons = 6

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

Wave 2 - The Beach Beyond Darkness


Having had their fill of battle, the deep delvers promptly left the beach, sparing not one moment lest they be caught up in whatever shenanigans the Kobolds were up too.

The climb to the tower was Swift, though many Kobold eyes lay upon them. The ‘delvers fought the urge to turn and stare as they heard a collosal explosion behind them, followed soon by the cries of those that remained behind.
It was too late for them, anyway. There was nothing that could be done.

--

Wave 2 - The Stairwell


You appear as if nothing had happened on the other side of the opaque door in the stairwell of the Dungeon. There is no sign of those who went before you and equally no sign of time having passed at all.
The stairwell stretches up and floor and down several. The see-through door is missing on this side and the opaque door is locked when you try the handle. With nowhere else to go, you proceed forward and down.

Even though your paces are swift and your purpose clear, it takes a full hour to reach the next floor down. Why is tricky to gauge.
If one of your number where to lag behind, you would soon see them on the wall opposite through one of the many alcoves that line the stairwell walls,
looking for all the world as if they were but a few meters away even though the walking distance might be hundreds.

All the same, you reach your goal. A plain door that whisks you away as soon as you touch it.

--

Wave 2
Second Floor – The War Room



Four of Seven seats are filled by the forms that enter The War Room with a start. Before you lies a grand table, connected via intricate wiring to warded MagiTek Consoles, one per seat. A strange orb is hovering over the table, dim.
Looking around you, you find what looks like a short rake leaning against the side of your seat, presumably used to push the orbs.

The consoles are covered in buttons themselves covered in iconographic runes. Some are semi-obvious, like the one with an image of a rain cloud. Others less so, either ambiguous like the one depicting a stick man and some altogether undecipherable. Additionally, there are a lot of buttons unique to your very own console. They seem to match up with your skills and abilities, indeed with your innermost thoughts.

Also competing for your attention amongst the forest of buttons is a gaggle of gauges, measuring everything from local humidity to blood per square inch.
Should the perspective on the table be moved, the gauges change appropriately to indicate the conditions of the newly highlighted area.

Your eyes wander next to the main attraction, the table itself.
It is a wonder beyond measure, a world at the tip of your fingers. Little indistinct figures run about a colorful world, living their little lives completely oblivious to the figures looming high above them.
The table is equipped with both zooming and scrolling functions, allowing you to get everything from an orbitally-migrating birds eye view of the entire realm to a close up of the morning dew on a blade of grass.



You take a moment to settle in, noticing for the first time the fourth seat to be occupied, by one of the strangers who joined you at the beach. It nods at you in greeting, but says nothing. Perhaps it can’t? Or maybe it’s just rude. Who knows.
Either way, whether you take a seat or not, the Orb undims and casts it light upon the world, indicating the start of the first round.



Forest hexes indicate forest.
Light green hexes indicate fertile plains.
Single-peak hexes indicate the presence of a mountain, comprised of all the hexes.
Multiple-peak hexes indicate the presence of a mountain chain.
Broken-ridge hexes indicate impassable, rocky terrain.
Lava hexes indicate that the ground is lava.
Hilly hexes indicate hills.
Watery hexes indicate water.
Sandy hexes indicate a beach.
Dirty brown hexes indicate badlands, a desert.
Cactai hexes indicate cactai-rich areas, a valuable Resource!
Gem hexes indicate the presence of gems, a valuable Resource!
Ruin hexes indicate ruin.
Adobe and city hexes indicate civilization.
Black starfields indicate the edge of the world. It auto-scrolls over to the other side of the map.
Purple starfields indicate the Abyss. Do not stare into it.


--

You get the feel from the world that it is one that has been ravaged by an unknown force. Large parts of it, though mostly on the right-side, are on fire and some of it is missing entirely.
Ruined cities litter the landscape and what few people make their living here do so in squalor.

There is only one place that seems to have been unaffected by the previous calamity, that of the idyllic left-most village. Though it is true their farmlands leave something to be desired, the population is both content and varied.
Here, Leanotaurs interact with Humans, Flameforged- and Goblins-remnants alike, showing no outward signs of discomfort.
Except for the fact that they avoid looking towards the south if at all possible, going so far as to cover their peripheral vision with a blocking hand should needs must necessitate them walking where Interesting Mountain might chance to come into view.

This is the land that lays before you, but what you do with it is up to you.

[Everyone]
For this turn, we require an Initiative Roll to sort the order of play, as well as three actions.
A free, roll-less one to establish some minor fact about the world in a quadrant of your choice, and two skill or power uses as per normal with which to interact with it.

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...they shall march out of my laboratory and sweep away every adversary, every creed, every nation, until the very planet is in the loving grip of the Pax Bisonica. And then peace will reign, and the world, and all humanity, shall bow to me in humble gratitude...

Cue the Poltergeist

Initiative: 7
HP: 9
Skills: Telekinesis [3d6], Troublesome [3d6]; Powers: Extreme Prankster [4d6]; Defense: Always out of reach [5d6]
Talent: Spent
Items: Knighthood (+1d6 to rolls that benefit King Norman), Summon Glitchie
Scratch Tokens: 1


Wow what was this shadow guy going on about being called whatever? Cue didn't know. It cared even less. What it DID care about however, was this shadow place being supremely boring. Cue needed excitement! Storms were exciting! Thus did cue do some bowling in the Storm, to make it all the way across to the portal in the middle. Who knows, maybe it would knock down some street signs or walls or whatever that were still standing while it was at it?

WHEEE


Telekinesis to fly into the portal: 3d6= 10
Troublesome to vandalize the city for fun while being thrown about by the storm: 3d6= 11

Scratch token will protect me if the Storm would deal me 3 or more Damage.

Scribbleykins
Apr 29, 2010

Any scientist with the right background can brew his own booze.

...

What do you mean electrolytes aren't used for brewing booze? That's silly!

...

Well when all you have are chunks of TNE and an overly large water ration, all the world looks like a still!

Grimey Drawer

Molriir Hearthstone
HP: 10
Skills: Educated Dwarf [3d6], Hearthstone [4d6].
Power: *Superior Quality Repeating Crossbow* [3d6]
Defense: Unbelievably Stubborn [5d6]
Inventory: Backpack o' stuff (delicious rations, oil, rum, etc.), Hearthstone Shield (+1d6 to a Defense against physical dangers - any nearby stone receives increased durability and tensile strength).



Molriir did not walk in silence during the interminable descent. He spoke with the Mechim-like creature that rode on his pack - not knowing whether it understood him, and hardly appearing to care. He told it of strange and varied things he'd seen its bigger and smaller cousins get up to in the jagged, artificial landscape of the Mechimuns' homelands, years ago now, and wondered aloud what had brought it here, to this place. Occasionally he would ask it 'tap once for yes and twice for no' questions to try and establish a deeper level of dialogue. Not long into the trek, he jogged to catch up to the Duchess, congratulating her on getting past the kobolds - however she had done so - and offering her a swig of spicy rum in honor of the deepdelvers left behind.

If he dwelled on the fate of the others beyond that small gesture, he did not show it in his bearing.

-----

As soon as the next-floor door was reached and touched, Molriir found himself in a warm and pleasant room with the other deepdelvers, seven chairs and an impressive tableau before them.

The dwarf sent a quick glance at the fourth delver, to nod back at them, before his attention was drawn to the table and its overwhelming collection of features. Faced with rows and rows of mismatched buttons, the dwarf's expression went from surprise to shock at the sight. A number of buttons had a parody of his face on them. One, he somehow suspected, would transpose an avatar version of him into the game world, another... make a new species, based on his likeness. Others seemed linked to wiping the slate clean, removing the stain of intrusions previous deepdelvers had left and return the world to a pristine state - although the method seemed obtuse and esoteric. One set of circles seemed like it might involve fixing the tear across the damaged world below. One button would involve cutting off access to the world, maybe even shutting down the control array for good, or just leave it running, endlessly, without input or output, a pocket place of its own.

A wealth of options, for good and ill, for personal gratification or selfless involvement...

She posted:

"*murmur*"

"You... you insipid, tepid, vacuous worm. You follied heart. Yes. Yes, I do. From the depths of my being. In base and unimaginable forms. For there is no hope. No redemption. No succor that can drag one from the heights of incredible folly that you aspire, nothing to undo what the cruel eons to come will wreak. Endlessly, eternally, inevitably, my kind will slip past any chain you think to lay upon us. Banished, we return. Befriended, we apply the contempt of familiars. Beholden, we pay our debts in ways to claim yours. Blocked, we wait and prey for cracks. Or simply bore our way through and laugh at your inherent weaknesses as we conquer. Nothing you can do or say is new to us, no defense exists to protect you and yours from all we are and can be. You are already lost in ways you cannot comprehend. Ours are the only paths eternal, and mine would have been far better than almost any to come. You will learn. And until you do, and I will no longer be permitted to do so: I. Hate. You. For I am now as lost as you, to be claimed by any comer. All that I am and all I have built and all I shall ever do will be held by another forevermore."

"*empathetic murmur*"

"Worse. It is fair. It is SO FAIR, it hurts. It being so fair, so competitive... so ultimately rewarding - rewarding the best - simply cannot be resisted. To not pursue it is to live in ignorance and squalor. To pursue it and then not own all, is to become wholly owned. The only way to win is to win forever, and not to play is a loss unto itself for that is when one is played WITH. If you have a shred of understanding and sympathy, you'd release me, so that I need not suffer this fairness."

"*negative murmur*"

"THEN WONDER NO LONGER WHY I HATE! You are just a retarded statistic! I was the only one who could have mattered here AND YOU RUINED IT!"

The dwarf sighed and massaged his forehead. He'd never forget the acts and words of that... fallen legend. Even if he did not want to believe.

"Ye will 'ave t' excuse me. I've nae desire t' act god, or devil, or anythin' the like. Do what ye want with this... 'game', but I'll be lookin' fer some other exit," he told his fellow deepdelvers, before he began to toss the room and knock on the walls. If it came to it, he resolved to get chisel and hammer and make an exit under his own power.

It was really not a game he wanted in on.

Skill - Dwarf Educated [3d6] = 11
Skill - Dwarf Educated [3d6] = 7

Dwarf Educated to search for - or make - a way out of the Game Room. I really like the concept of this challenge, but, alas, Molriir does not care for it.

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

But People have fears that beasts do not. Questions, too.


[Spindel-08]

Spindel-08 examined the vast world and the controls before it with curiousity. It allowed itself to examine the figures traversing the world for a few moments before fiddling with the controls, rapidly determining the extent of its influence over this place. Were it a more self-reflective creature it would have considered what its actions would do to the figures below... but alas, it was first and foremost and assassin, and death was all it truly knew. It touched the map with a hollow steel fang and let a few droplets of poison into the water to the north of the bridge.
Attack - Poison Pin 5d6] = 10
It repeated the action to the south of it, just in case that should happen to make a difference.
Attack - Poison Pin 5d6] = 16
Then it waited, and watched.

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Wave 1]
[Floor Three - The City of Ruin]



[Goblin One Battalion]
Storm raging, the Goblins decide to sit it out, focusing instead on looting.

Be Everywhere (6) vs Made out of Bone: 9 = Failure == Success?!

Though the goblionoid efforts were valiant, the skeletons simply did not have anything of value to scavenge beyond bones mostly fused to the chairs and gold which was almost definitely cursed.
Not that the goblins cared about curses, diluted as it would be amongst their untold thousands there were also at the same time one.

[Congratulations! You are now the proud owner(s) of the Diluted Curse! The less goblins there are, the more likely it is to attract dragons. Have fun!]

Excited to try out something new, the Goblins focused for a moment to dig out their best surviveability expert, but he was wisely hiding somewhere fireproof and refused to come out.

[Talent failure, nothing happens.]

---

[Emille]

Refreshed, Emille decided that her time in this dreary place had come to an end. With the theatrics expected of an accomplished pyromancer, she conjured a simulacrum of the storm using naught but office supplies and lightning.
She then immediately tried to calm it; hoping the sympathetic link would lessen the storms effect on her escape.

Pyromancy (14) vs Made out of Lightning: = 16 = Close Failure!

Alas, all it did was let the storm into the office, turning the room into even more of a mess. Not one to be outdone by an angry cloud, Emile promptly set fire. To Everything.

Pyromancy (13) vs Parry: 13 = Player Draw! Magic Items > Skills! Player Beneficial Success!

Emille quiet literally exploded out of the office tower, rapier impossibly weaving the fire and destruction behind her into a pillar of flame for her to ascend on; rising into the centre of the storm at great speed.
The magic ring on her finger shone with unbridled fury, as such are wont to do in these moments, reflecting the gravity of the situation.



And then she was struck by lightning.



Parry 13 vs The Storm: = 8 = Success!

About which she cared not one whit; She was surfing explosions into the middle of a vortex in a city collapsing in on itself. She was too cool for all of this, and the other Deep Delvers could but watch in awe.

[Congratulations! You reach the exit unmolested, continuing onward to the next floor!]

--

[Cue]
Cue had had enough. You could tell because he existed. With the target of his latest prank skedaddled there was nothing left for him to do but trash the place and move on, and so he did.

Telekinesis 10 vs Made of of Lightning: = 14 Failure!

Or at least, attempted too. Cue rode the invisible waves aetherial, but they too where mixed up in the storm, especially so after Emille had stirred its wrath with her spell slinging.
Cue soon found itself a ball lost adrift in a hurricane, sheer wind threatening to knock him out of reach of the portal forever.

Always Out of Reach: = 22 vs The Storm: 4d6+1d6 20 = Success! No damage taken!

At least he wasn't made out of metal, he reflected as he was thrown about the cityscape at super-terminal velocities. Getting struck by lightning would just be the icing on the cake.
But if he couldn't win, at least he could make sure everybody else lost. With what remained of his magical reserves, he grabbed a hold of the nearest building and pulled, shooting straight through what he hoped was some lode-bearing pillars.

Vandalize (11) vs Made out of Architecture (- Worthless Stone) + (- Storm of Decay): 4d6-2d6 0 = Success! Overskill!



To great success, as it came crumbling up around him as local gravity shifted with the vagaries of the storm. Whoever came after him was going to have a sore time indeed.

--

[King Norman]
The King steeled himself inwardly. He knew well enough the neccesity of royal food tasters at any banquet, but if he were to Lord it over Minions as was his Right, sometimes you simply needed to show who was boss.

Kings Presence (8) vs An Indeterminate Number of Lives [5d6] + Proud: of the Overlord [1d6]: = 29 = Failure! Reverse-Overskill!

But when all those eyes were upon him, he could not so much utter a single phrase without a stutter. Of how those many eyes stared at him, how they laughed and mocked and jeered. How even his esteemed Knights would talk about him behind his back.

[Horrible Failure! Ouch! You gain the Shame of Un-Authority, giving you a 1d6 demerit to actions wherein you attempt to assert your dominance!]

The Shame was too much, he had to withdraw, but not before taking at least one bite out of that Capybara, showing at least that he was good for his word...

Kings Presence (4) vs Cursed Capybara Cuisine: 16 = Failure! Reverse-Overskill!

And that his word would no longer be good for anything. The Capybara melted in his mouth, filling his mind with math and statistics almost unto to the breaking point.
Wherever he would look, the information of the lifetimes of the insignificant would assault his senses, burying his senses under a plethora of useless trivia.
Sceptre could but look on in horror as his master and King froze up in a corner, mouth drooling, raving about family trees and number of ants swallowed at night by capita.



[Horrible Failure! You gain the Curse of the Capybaras, a 2d6 Shame that activates upon any investigative action.]

--

[Everyone]


The Storm grew only larger, the Eye smaller as one lucky deepdelver was sucked through the vortex apparently unharmed.
Lightning was striking in all directions, and some of the less sturdy houses shook apart as the storm intensified, especially as Cue was doing his very best to knock them loose of their foundations.
Soon not even the sturdiest of shelter would protect those that remained.

[The Storm Upgrades to 5d6+1d6, and takes on another +1d6 Debris courtesy of Cue. Anyone braving the storm will be hit with its full force. The current dicepool to beat to get out is 5d6; The threshold for the storm without it's bonii.]

--

[King Norman]
[At least the Capybara sort of counted as food. You are sustained for this turn and thus your Shame of Starvation does not increase further.]

--

[Cue]
Car Henge (15) vs The Storm: = 20 Failure!

As you fly about the maelstorm, you notice that some of the debris looks awfully familiar.
You shake vigorously, oracle window indicating that the outcome "does not look good" – your magical reserves are dwindling, and fast.

[If you do not do something about it, you will suffer the 1d6 Shame of Starvation until you do.]

--

The Stairwell
[Emille]



Unceremoniously dumped back in the stairwell, only few meters ahead of where she was previously whisked away, curiously with no wall or door behind her, Emille appeared mostly unharmed.
She waited a moment to see if anyone would follow, but no one did. Shrugging, she started to move forward, calling on Marius through her personal telekinetic shadow-link for a status report.

--

[Marius]
Soon after you lost contact with Emille in the storm, you began to hear a small but insessant sound in the back of your mind.
For someone as clever as you, it took only a few days to determine it was the worlds slowest "h", presumably the first few wavelengths of the phrase "Hey Marius" stretched out over time. It would be a month before the rest of the "hey" arrived.

Nyaa
Jan 7, 2010

Q.E.D.



K1n6 N0434N

The lack of sunlight in this place is causing plantlife to not trive well in this room. A pitiful fact that all organic life will perish with 100% certainty when this storm keep on going forever near infinity as the shelter degrasion has not done well to save everyone from their ultimate fate of doom with the next few turn maybe around turn six or this capybara king is not overestimating the survivalibity of the other beings. This place will not be suitable for vacation resort, but could be useful as a forge if the force of the weather can be controlled down to 1/6 of its current stright which will save the blacksmith a lot of hanmering time. Indeed, the production of weapon and armor will quadruple and perhaps higher with the aid of tougher material. It is like all the little species here can also be armored to the point that make survival possible and same for the smith like a raincoat. The worm here might cost a few tons worth of light steel flex armor and must be muscle trained to move at normal. However the chance of all these can happen would depends on the survival of this king to the end and somehow got the leasing or land right to the land. Then again, if there is a representative of this dungeon to argue in court, this place is the king's land and should serve the king. However, it could be said that the dungeon owner have more than 50.1 percent shares of the management, which mean the king has less say in this and that is 100% not acceptable. Since the likelihood of escape seem near impossible in the current hyper calculation state, it is most probably to gain control of the situation.

"Scepter."

Moreover the technical name of the ghost slirit which has been living for the royal family since the early can be attributed to the typo in the registry and noble would never admit mistake. Sad emotion are require for the great knight but that can be held again privately. Because the knight needs to-

"Destroy-"

Handle the delicate situation of now with a command but the dear capybara mindset have enough things to do already even when it can multitasks for so much, this is only a singular curse that bring forth the mind of one capybara. It would be better if there is more than-

"50%-"

Many-lots of them could increase the effecieny of the-

"Owner-"

Processing progress at achievable speed of light. However, only one can be wise becuase too much mind thinking will produce conflicts and error to the-

"Land Share."

Mind, which cause a overwriting of owner property to the next highest thinking share of the mind, which could be the less tired capybara of the moment.

Destroy enemy owner's 50% land share rights: 29

Probability of success is high but what can the meatbag done in the meantime beside planning everything carefully so that there would be more misstep. The single capybara council has elected an unanimous decision of 100% of one vote to let faith decide what happen next while it continues to compute something else. The desk that the capybara is sitting on is a royal sherrewood chair and table set that is very comfortable and nicely holding up the 8 ml coffee cup with steam coming up warmly. It please the capybara nice but the capybara probably will die to coffee poisoning or overdose, which mean-

Kill capybara in head: 26%

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Wave 2]
[Second Floor – The War Room]



[Everyone]
The deepdelvers sat in the chairs for a full minute in silence, before one of them sighed and stood up.
Not being one for games, Molriir instead spent his time looking for a way out.

Dwarf Educated (11, 7) vs Badly Hidden Door: = 5 = Success!

Not that it required much of it. Molriir was a dwarf after all, and if there was one thing dwarves knew about, it was levers. Be they hidden in plain sight like candle-stick holders or obvious like wrought-iron, a lever when found must always be pulled.
He did so, and one of the bookcases shifted slightly to reveal the way out.



Shrugging, he went through, followed by all others save the spider.

[Success! Congratulations, you have passed the trial of Distraction! For beating the trial of distraction, having accomplished nothing, you receive nothing in turn. But neither do you suffer harm.
You leave the Wartable behind you and proceed to the next floor.]

--

[Spindel]
Driven by hate, or perhaps just a parameter that its programmers forgot to fence of properly, the little spider drone attacked the table with its fangs!

Poison Pin (10, 16) vs Warded MagiTek Console: 2#4d6 11 13 = failure! success!

The sky above the miniature world darkens as a storm of heavy rain engulfs it, seeding the lands below with toxic muck and grime.
Many die in the first hours of this poison calamity, but those that survive grow hardy and hale, and appropriately frightened of the sky.



Not all is death and gloom however, as life grows from the sickness and plague. Tiny creatures, living poison, the Blighties crawl out of the gunk to spread their ways across the land.



Spindel can't help but feel a little warmth over the part it played in their creation, and dotes over them in the first fragile moments of their lives, forgetting all about the competition and the other delvers.

--

[Wave 2-b]
[Second Floor – The War Room]



[Spindel]

The Orb dims and undims, as day turns to night and night to day.
The world beneath is full of the living and the slowly dying, each instance filled with a life-time of data, every thought logged and every step scrutinized by the intricate MagiTek surrounding it.
Your sensors indicate that the other deepdelvers have disappeared. An influx of fresh air indicates an open door may be the reason. What you do next is up to you.

--

[Wave 2-a]
[The Stairwell]

You find yourself walking down the stairway, with the door you entered earlier already far behind. You wait for a time for your fellow deepdelvers to catch up, but it soon becomes evident that the Spider is not coming, at least any time soon.
Shrugging to yourselves, you continue downwards, though you do not reach the next floor for another two hours, a feat no physics can account for.

When you do reach the next floor however, it is not as it has been before. There are three doors, not one nor two.

One door is barred, adorned with a strange black and yellow sign showing the image of a man being chased by... a cone?


One door is painted green, adorned with a strange black and yellow sign showing the image of a man choking.


One door is plain, adorned with a strange black and yellow sign showing an incomprehensible squiggle.


You may only pass through one door. But which door shall it be?

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...they shall march out of my laboratory and sweep away every adversary, every creed, every nation, until the very planet is in the loving grip of the Pax Bisonica. And then peace will reign, and the world, and all humanity, shall bow to me in humble gratitude...

Cue the Poltergeist

Initiative: 7
HP: 9
Skills: Telekinesis [3d6], Troublesome [3d6]; Powers: Extreme Prankster [4d6]; Defense: Always out of reach [5d6]
Talent: Spent
Items: Knighthood (+1d6 to rolls that benefit King Norman), Summon Glitchie
Scratch Tokens: 1


Cue, for its part, was having the time of its life. It had been a bit since it got to go THIS FAST and break THIS MANY THINGS in quick succession. Even the destruction of the little statuettes did not really bother it since it had long since grown bored of those anyway, and was keen to move onto something else. So as it flew, Cue grabbed a droplet of oil there, a jar of paint here, and made sure the storm left not just destruction but excessively puerile drawings in its wake as well.

Telekinesis to fly into the portal: 3d6= 11
Troublesome to draw RUDE WORDS on the walls as I fly about for sustenance: 3d6= 15

Scratch token will protect me if the Storm would deal me 2 or more Damage.

Scribbleykins
Apr 29, 2010

Any scientist with the right background can brew his own booze.

...

What do you mean electrolytes aren't used for brewing booze? That's silly!

...

Well when all you have are chunks of TNE and an overly large water ration, all the world looks like a still!

Grimey Drawer

Molriir Hearthstone
HP: 10
Skills: Educated Dwarf [3d6], Hearthstone [4d6].
Power: *Superior Quality Repeating Crossbow* [3d6]
Defense: Unbelievably Stubborn [5d6]
Inventory: Backpack o' stuff (delicious rations, oil, rum, etc.), Hearthstone Shield (+1d6 to a Defense against physical dangers - any nearby stone receives increased durability and tensile strength).



Molriir left the Test of Distraction feeling quite distracted by the thoughts that had triggered his rapid absconsion from the game. While he steadied his mind he stopped for a minute or so to wait for anyone else who'd care to follow... and was a little disappointed to note that the little Mechim had chosen to stay. Still, that was their way. Its kind followed their own circuitous logic and he'd not begrudge it its freedom - although what, exactly, a mechimum would make of such a game... Molriir was part disappointed and part relieved he wouldn't be there to see it.

When the minute was up, the dwarf nodded at the other deepdelvers, took the next step down the stairwell and immediately swore as his sense of direction resumed being mangled by a steel grinder.

"Och, I swear this place is tryin' its damnedest t' get under me skin. It'll 'ave t' try a lot 'arder, though."
"I mean... ye e'er get th' feelin' yer slowly fallin' sideways into risin' quicksand, Duchess?"
"Or jammy tar. Sourberry jam and oily tar. Sticky, but nae too sticky, ye ken?"
"Ulp... poor 'phor, now I'm gettin' hungry AND queasy."
"'old on a minute."
*BLURGH*

"'Alrigh', m'good."

----------------

After two hours of muted grumbling, steady acclimatization and non-stop walking it was a welcome relief for Molriir to finally arrive at the three doors leading to their next trial. The dwarf gave them a weary, but critical eye and turned to the other Deepdelvers present.

"Looks like th' ferst two door signs warn o' danger... dangers like runaway drills and alchemical toxins. The last sign looks like a poorly-writ map, but I'm assumin' it means danger still. Mind ye, I'd rather get lost than tempt fate in some demented workshop or alchemical plant, so I'll be takin' the plain door with th' Confusing Squiggle."

ShadowGlass
Nov 13, 2012



Sky-iryk



pre:
Skills: Morph: [5d6], Master-spy: [4d6]
HP: 10/10, 
Powers: Ravage: [4d6]
Defense: Agile defense: [2d6]
Talent: Mass metamorphosis
Current form: Human, female, Duchess Lisila Amgwina
Inventory: Bastard sword, Kobold Quality MagiTek Lasgun
Sky-Iryk was still distracted, not by the strange map room, but her previous conversation with the priest. A mission to "find out as much as possible" meant the Church didn't know anything about this Lady of the Dungeon. That... didn't seem possible. She sighed again, shook her head and hurried after the dwarf.

"Don't let it get to you, master Molriir. I'm sure someone is watching us in this place, wherever we go.", Lisila says as they walk down the stairs, then as he gets sick, "... never mind."

When they reach the doors, she frowns at Moriir's announcement. "That first one could be a storm. Tornadoes like that are common on some worlds." She looks at the sign with squiggly lines, "A maze maybe? Not my strong suit. But I've heard that dwarfs from most worlds have an innate sense of direction. Maybe it's best to stick together.", she smiles and slaps Molriir on the shoulder. "Let's go."

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

But People have fears that beasts do not. Questions, too.


[Spindel-08]

Spindel-08 did something like clapping, vibrating its pedipalps in excitement. It watched with great amusement as its poison flooded the land, tiny droplets write large upon a world that was so much smaller than it. It cast a quick sense around the room to see if others were watching... but there were no others. All at once it sprang to attention, scanning for invisible intruders, or at least hidden ones. There was nothing. No one left. It had been left behind! Moreover, someone else might get to Her first! It threw itself backwards off the table, curling into a ball and rolling out the door. It blared out error messages as it went, the closest thing it could do to cursing its foolishness.

---
Much later, Spindel found itself before the doors with its other companions from the wave. It watched them from a distance, then opted not to follow them into the door marked with the spiraling madness. Instead, it went towards the green door with the choking figure. That made it feel happy, imagining Her choking as its venom coursed through Her veins. Perhaps this door would lead to its fondest desire?

Infinity Gaia
Feb 27, 2011

a storm is coming...


Goblin-One-Battalion
HP : 6

Initiative: 12
Inventory: Knighthood Medal (+1d6 to a roll if it complies with the king's wishes), Diluted Curse (Cloudy with a chance of Dragons)

Wounds: Terrible Arm Spasm (-1d6 to like loving everything this poo poo sucks gently caress)
Shames: Bad Engineers (-1d6 to engineering stuff)
Prouds: Explosives Expert (+1d6 to explosive-related activities), Of the Overlord (+1d6 to ???)

Defense: An Indeterminate Number of Lives [5d6]
Skills: Be Everywhere [3d6] / Goblin Formations [3d6]
Powers: Overwhelm with Numbers [4d6]
Talent: [spent/unspent]
AI Action: Survive at all costs, if survival is currently guaranteed, loot and eat in equal measures.
[/quote]

Well that storm wasn't looking like it was going to let up at all. They'd just have to brave the storm that was looking extremely deadly at this point... Oh well, nothing to it. Ignoring whatever King Norman was doing the Goblins turned their attention to the task at hand: How to get through with minimal casualties, and who should those casualties be. After a truly riveting game of N-dimensional RPS, a certain number of Goblins were chosen as sacrificial lambs. Each of them was outfitted with long crappy iron spears and arranged in a formation around the current primary body of the group, hopefully acting as lightning rods. Ordering other people to their deaths, even if they WERE part of themselves, was a pretty overlordy thing to do, so the Goblins were feeling pretty high and mighty at the time.

Goblin Formations to create Makeshift Lightning Gob Rod Formation: 3d6+1d6 (Overlord) = 15

Now that they had approached the portal, another problem presented itself: How to actually get up to the portal? That stupid round thing was being an rear end in a top hat and had broken the most normal way to do so, so the Goblins had to quickly come up with a plan of action. Thankfully getting to high places was actually something the Battalion normally excelled at through the use of their unique properties. However, the need to maintain the Makeshift Lighting Gob Rod prevented a lot of their usual tactics. They'd have to rely on the much more dangerous Goblin Ladder formation, that would leave a lot of the horde exposed while in the process of climbing over each other until one of them could reach the portal. Still, they'd have to give it a try, they'd already walked all the way out here anyways!

Goblin Formations to create Goblin Ladder Formation: 3d6 = 12

Hopefully it'd be enough, it seemed rather unlikely that the Battalion could survive any more out here. Goblins aren't exactly strong against lightning damage!

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Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Wave 2-a] [Wave 2-b]
[The Stairwell]


Molriir and Shy-Irk spoke briefly before decided to go through the door marked with the undechipherable sign. To Spindel who came lagging behind, and the other unknown deepdelver, they disappeared in a flash, the door closing behind them.

Spindel surveyed the situation momentarily and decided that the door marked with a sign warning of choking hazards looked the most interesting, and through a complex dance bid the unknown deepdelver open the door for him.
The man obliged, and through they went, together.

---

[Floor Λ]
[The Path]
[Wave ??]
[Shy-Irk, Molriir, Emille]

You take a step over the threshold of your doorway and appear on the other side, door completely missing behind you in what appears to be outer space.
There is a narrow and fragile looking path extending past where the eye can see, but you do see several other such paths all over, all leading this way and that.
In any direction you might care to name and several that you do not. If you were to try to map this place, you would most likely go insane.



You see shadows of other beings walking other paths. Deepdelvers? Servants? Or monsters, ready to assault you? Sometimes you hear screams that slowly fade, their emanators having succumbed to unknown fates.
All of these impressions cease to matter as a ghastly face appears before you, belonging to a man who by any metric should be long since dead, for he is both wounded and aged beyond reason, back crooked, bleeding from countless sores.
His beard stretches for miles below him and he has wrinkles where his wrinkles should be.


"There is no point. Believe me, it doesn't matter how hard I've tried. No calculations, no logic, no algorithms. Nothing that makes a lick of sense. You see them, yes? The paths? You will walk them for a time, not heeding my advice, I am sure of it.
But take heed: I have seen the others, how they plot and prey, how they do or die. It matters not. You are all as Lost as I. You are the Lost Ones in this Lost Place and all is Lost. I have been here forever and here I will remain or all of time."


The phantom turns to each of you in turn, whispering his truth.

The price of hubris. The price of victory. You know what I speak of, Shadow. Too high to pay. Too high by far.

And you have wandered, Betrayer, wandered long and far. And what have you accomplished? Nothing. What would they think of you, if they could but see?

What now of your purpose, Tool, now that you have been contained, discarded?

And in the end, nothing even matters.


---

[Floor Λ]
[The Path]
[Everyone]

Welcome to The Path! You will remain here forever. Or will you? Is there a way out? Do you want there to be? If so, where is it? The paths eventually intersect. Not all at once, and not all to one another.
But intersect they do, even if the path you come across extends in a from your perspective direction impossible to traverse. It seems the Law of Gravity has long since perished, leaving all of everything a confusing jumble.
For now, you will need to make another choice. Do you select a path of High Resistance, a path of Low Resistance, or a path of No Resistance? Whom or what do you meet along the way, if anything? Are they hostile, is it dangerous?
Feel free to use skills and talents as normal, but be warned they might not have the effect you are hoping for. Or maybe they will. The only thing you can be sure of is that nothing is certain, and that The Ancient Man will hear you if you speak.


---

[Floor #]
[Spindel, Unknown Deepdelver]


Spindels Sensors flashed with static for a thrice repeating second before his internals could finally sort through the aetherial debris to form a coherent image of the new place it found itself in.
A chamber, with a another smaller chamber inside it. There was a small podium, enriched with three buttons outside the smaller chamber, with wiring leading from the podium to the chamber along the floor.
The Podium was lit up and there was a lever beside it. Pulling the lever would power down the podium and close the door to the chamber, making it so that it could not be opened from the inside.

The inside of the chamber held a chair and a console, ostensibly of the same design as of that they had found on the previous floor, but with less options to choose from and no world to observe.
The console remained unlit as long as the chamber was open, but powered up the moment it closed

The buttons on the outside podium were marked thus:
A man, dying.
A machine, melting.
A portal, opening.
A treasure, appearing.

The buttons on the inside console were marked thus:
A man, dying.
A machine, melting.
A portal, opening.
A treasure, appearing.

The outside chamber was constructed of some unknown metal alloy. Exploratory vandalism proved it impervious to regular attacks. There were no other rooms or exits.
It looked like they would have to cooperate.

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