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WereGoat
Apr 28, 2017




Cat

AI action: Claim things as your own. If it is unsafe, stalk from the shadows.
HP: 6/10 (1/1HP, 5/9 lives)
Skills: Feline instincts 5D6, Haughty disdain 3D6
Powers: Stalking 2D6
Defences: Cat reflexes 5D6
Initiative: 18
Vanilla Talent: I meant to do that.

Cat stood aloof from the goings on. She had been totally missed by the silly light beams and unscathed by the dangers so far (some ghostly cat spirits wailed nearby in anger, unseen, unheard).

Ignoring the adulation and appreciation of the delivers who- Hey! Cat's feline instincts detected- someone was disinterested in Cat! Vivienne! Too wrapped up in some spell or other. That won't do. Cat approached Vivienne, mewed for attention, and leaped onto her shoulder, nuzzling her face in a display of affection (and utter disrespect for boundaries).

Vivienne was filled with warmth for this friendly feline, instinctually extending her aegis's power.
Cat senses-detect person disinterested in cats. Bother them! (Buff aegis): 5d6-4d6 6- success!

Of course, the second she paid any attention to Cat, Cat leaped from her shoulder, escaping to the opposite shore.

Leap to safety!: 5d6 22

WereGoat fucked around with this message at Feb 9, 2018 around 12:27

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Prince of Space
Apr 17, 2016




Name: Vivien Lumière
Initiative: 16
Health: 7/10 HP
Background: Vivien is a high disciple of the Divine Order of the Pristine Depths, a healing-based faith devoted to Morgan Le Fey, the Lady in the Lake and High Enchantress of Arthurian Legend.
AI Actions: Heal allies, Defend weaker creatures, Cure the sick and maimed, Enchant party's weapons and defenses, Eliminate dangers
Skills: Enchantment:5d6, Curative Magic: 4d6 Powers: Holy Smite: 2d6 Defenses: Aegis of Camelot: 4d6 Talent: Prismatic Refraction: Vanilla Max Targets: 1

Vivien found herself in the middle of an impromptu swamp that had spontaneously arrived beneath her feet. The illusion felt all too real - it was complete with looming trees with clinging branches that were thick with hanging moss, their rotted trunks mired in the murky black muck that extended all directions. Was that a floating log drifting her way, or something far more nefarious? Best not to find out - the only way out of this place seemed to be forward. Vivien gingerly stepped upon the rocks and roots and partially-overgrown pathways that brought her closer to her destination.

There was a rope bridge that overlooked the deepest point of the swamp, and waiting for them all at the end of that bridge was a hydra. Vivien consulted her arcane knowledge of hydras from ancient lore and legend, and she knew of their mythic weakness: fire applied to its wounds. Vivien realized far too late that Stefania (the imp-witch with all the fire powers) should be the one here for this challenge, not her. If anyone could survive being submerged in a vat of corrosive acids, it would be Vivien, and if anyone could defeat the Hydra with fire, it would be Stefania! It stood to reason that this setup was completely unsuited to Vivien's talents... Nonetheless, she had to try or Stefania would die.

Just as soon as Vivien had closed her eyes and extended her arms to begin her incantations, the Cat jumped from a height and onto her shoulder and mewed in her ear. Aw, poor kitty! Vivien couldn't help but be completely distracted by the thing. We're those las-gun scorch marks on its dusty, furry flank, or was she just imagining things? The cat seemed none too worse for the wear, but she extended the bubble of her Aegis around the small companion just the same.

Vivien protects Cat this round!

That sorted, Vivien realized with sudden clarity that the shades and spirits that had been lurking in the shadows all this time were none other than Stefania's imps! The realization was immediately reassuring to her. Suddenly she had cat to protect and an entourage of expendable allies to bolster her offenses against the hideous hydra!

Vivien tapped into her impish compatriot's connection to their master. There was a hidden trick to them of course - Vivien couldn't control them, but just as she could banish them back to the hellplane they came from she could also bolster them from the hellplane they came from. It was a matter of activating their innate potential, as determined by their creator's mana sources. Casting this enchantment from Stefania's mana pool was the closest Vivien would ever bring herself to casting a "hell"-class spell, and deep down she relished the opportunity.

Source-Buffing Hellfire Aura on Stefania's Imptourage: 5d6-4d6 5 - Success!

Hellfire was just so much better at burning things than regular fire, and they were in a swamp...

Vivien looked down and realized that the floating log she'd seen earlier just winked at her. It was closer, too.

Casting Levitate on Self (and Cat on shoulder): 5d6 20

"Better yet, lets just walk over and around this muck, Cat. Let's keep our little boots dry."

Vivien's Actions posted:

Action 1:
Buffing Hellfire Aura on Stefania's Imptourage: 5d6-4d6 5 - Success!

Action 2:
Casting Levitate on Self (and Cat): 5d6 20

Vivien protects Cat this round!

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: 6/10
Initiative: 7
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).



As the last pieces of reality clicked together, obscuring and locking away the Drone, Molriir fell to his bum and let out a gasping breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding in. He'd thought himself done for, the moment the Drone shrugged off his blow. Now, instead, he found himself in the same spot he'd been prior to breaking reality, in the middle of trying to set up a camp. Vividly, he remembered struggling and fighting and dying in infinitesimal fractions, but the only evidence of it ever having taken place was the Lady's words and the pile of... the devil's Tools? What had even happened there, at the end? His burdens had been strangely, and unaccountably, shed after the Drone had leveled its leveler against him. It had seemed confused by the result, so perhaps nothing of the sort had been intended. Molriir nodded to himself. That was good. The bound thing had failed to capitalize on the damage left over from his time in the long and lonely Path.

The dwarf looked at the Hearthstone shield, still hot, but cooling fast, and glanced around. With reality re-asserted he didn't feel too good - it seemed as if he'd been further bled of his meagre energies - but even so he felt more like himself than he had in a... long while? Molriir wasn't sure how long it'd been, in actuality, since he entered the Dungeon. The Path and the interminable, damnable stairways had made his sense of time's passing horribly twisted, and although it felt as if he'd entered the Dungeon years ago, he'd checked and double-checked his supplies and rations and nary an item had gone to rot or wear as of yet, nor had hunger ever been an issue. The Dungeon seemed to work in mysterious ways, either preserving them, and him, or stretching out time's passing... or some other such fanciful Magi-born solution.

Molriir picked himself up from the floor just as Emille reappared. She came in oddly, a little after he had, like something had made her flicker in late. The dwarf wasn't sure what that was about, but he let out a sigh of relief at the sight and rushed over to the woman's side.

"Emille! I'm sorry fer pullin' ye into tha' mess! I was tryin' some mental trick t' draw th' veil offa th' Lady - but tha' veil was... everythin'? I would nae have done this if I knew it'd collapse th' realm about us and summon some bound devil o' the Tower Magi. Leastwise we know th' Lady's an actual bein' now, and a couple o'er things besides - like th' fact the Dungeon be tied t' a Tower, if the yellow-helmed devil spoke true - and a damaged one at that - though it was a stiff prize t' pay fer such simple ken."

The dwarf eyed the Drone's tools on the floor, and eyed the Lady, as best he still could, curious as to her sudden generosity. Looking back to Emille, he took the opportunity to point out a few of his hard-earned lessons.

"Right, well... th' Leveler there appears t' do things t' one's state o' bein'. Th' Helm's got some manner o' incredible defence. Th' Hammer applied enough force t' disable me shield, which makes it one o' th' more dangerous things o' th' lot, in me humble opinion. Th' Measurin' Tape appears t' aid in whate'er ye want t' do. Th' Saw... well, th' Saw just bleedin' hurts. That's th' best I can figure o' these tools. Yer welcome t' have yer pick."

He smiled at Emille and turned to the Lady.

"Since I don't want any o' these, and ye ken yer Ticket's more o' an insult unless ye return me clan and home as well, I'll 'ave th' Question. I'd still like t' know more about ye, after all. 'twas th' whole point o' puttin' eyes on ye in th' first place! Unless ye truly want t' sit down and answer such things in plain, I'll spend me boon on a straight answer."

The dwarf stroked his beard. The boons were an interesting twist on the Lady's style of... 'play' so far. The more useful ones were, for survival's sake, at least, likely to be the Tools. Meanwhile, freedom or a question answered were rare gifts, to be spent well. Both could tempt, in this situation. Those who were in over their heads and whose desires were not worth the pain they'd gone through would take the ticket.

"Yer toyin' with th' lives o' an uncountable number o' beings, most o' them helpless t' understand what yer doin'. I reckon ye must 'ave a reason, so... What is yer Heart's Desire, Lady?"

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

"So I'm t' offer Tears, and I can do whate'er about it?"

Molriir spent a minute or so thinking, then retrieved a few pieces of colorful fabric from his pack, before proceeding to tear them up.

SHRIIIIIIIIP



The dwarf seemed quite serious about his sudden crafts project as he set about grabbing a spare tent pole and some string.

"Honestly, while it's stupid bein' so literal," he began, by way of explanation, "I 'ave a hard time feelin' old hurts or tearin' up in the first place. Ribbons with tears will jest have t' do instead. Nae that I'm bein' original. Th' idea's from me journeys through th' Trimannic city-states, where th' humans tend t' put up these high stakes along th' slopes o' the Cresting Wastes, all colorful pieces o' cloths dancin' in th' wind. They're s'posed t' be warnings to travellers and memorials t' all them what don't come back from travellin' the snowy valleys and peaks. Also s'posed t' ward off evil from comin' down th' high plateus, but that's jest local superstitions far as I ever could figure - go far enough up and plain ol' nothin' lives there. Anyways, it seemed a fittin' enough tradition t' copy. Fer those hopeless, hapless folks what die goin' down here, I'll make a little memorial full o' tears."



"Now, I'm goin' t' pack up me stash, and then... I 'ave t' go down ano'er damned set o' stairs where I lose all sense o' what's up down or rightways again, don't I?"

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

Arriving before the new doors, the dwarf paused, swaying and sweating. He looked cross-eyed over at Emille, opened his mouth, clamped it shut again, then slowly sank to his knees and hugged the floor.

"Signs can mean anythin' at this point," he groaned from his prone position. "'s all th' same t' me. I had th' pick o' the last floor. Ye choose this time. I'll follow. Jest give me five minutes' t' savor this solid feckin' ground."

Bit of a cop-out on the tears bit, but I didn't want to write a big thing for it. Molriir's still having a tough go going down the stairs.

If Emille just wants to chat for a bit, Molriir's in the mood to go nowhere for a while.

Scribbleykins fucked around with this message at Feb 13, 2018 around 22:13

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

Emille

HP: 5/8
Initiative: 10
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), Miniature Planet (Plop a full sized planet somewhere)
Prides: Proud of Being Mentored

The body of Marius awoke with a start, noting with some annoyance that the bloody manticore decided to have a go at his unconscious flesh. After shouting a few choice words at it, he retrieved the feed bucket and left the beast's chambers. He climbed the stairs back to his home proper, yanking the barbed spines from his skin and removing the empty phial of manticore antidote from his auto-injector. A few hundred thousand years ago, he had no need for such things.

Hell, the manticore would've been lucky if even one needle pierced his hide.

- - -

"Take a deep breath and clench your toes. On the count of 3, unclench them. Hold perfectly still otherwise" Emille did as her master ordered. Apparently, reattaching shadows to the Unaware was harder than it looked. She stared at the floor and watched Marius's silhouette poke and prod at her shadow. It turned to look at her, "Can you do a jumping jack or something? I need to make sure everything's properly tethered." Emille obliged him and performed a full twisting layout, noting with some relief that her shadow didn't seem to do anything out of the ordinary.

"Excellent. Everything is in order. How is your head?"

"Much better, thanks.", she replied, "I think seeing that whole mess like you do helped me sort it out."

"Good, good."

With the matter of her lost shadow resolved, it was time for the best part of any adventurer's day: loot time. She briefly considered ways to subvert the Lady's demands, like poking herself in the eye or choosing to hear the wrong word, but screw it. Real tears came easily enough. She took a moment to weep tears of relief. The relief that came from dodging being permanently bonded to her adopted grandfather, the relief that came from narrowly avoiding being trapped in the Void like The Falling Man, the relief that came from having something that was lost returned.

Things were looking up, so tears quickly turned to laughter. The toll paid, she looked carefully over the drone's leftover tools. "Marius.", Emille whispered, "What should I get?"

"Get what you please, you did all the work. I'm not going to tell you what treasure to get." A pause. "And to head a potential hypothetical question off, I would get answers, but I doubt my questions would be answered."

Hmm. Emille didn't really have any questions, and she could tell Marius wasn't interested in relaying his. The ticket to any plane was tempting, but she wasn't done here yet and she was pretty sure Marius could somehow set that up himself. The Vacation Beach Plane would have to wait. Eventually, the swordswoman's eyes settled on the automatic drill. When she first saw it in the drone's hands, it took her a second to figure out what it was. The drill bit was there, but where was the crank? Inside the device's housing, perhaps? She gingerly picked it up and pressed the button on it, the bit span wildly. Neat!

There was something else, something she forgot to follow up on. "Master, when I first entered the floor, you said we both went through some strangeness. Are you alright?", she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, right. I intended to wait until you were feeling better before I told you. On the Path, the thing I did, I think I somehow touched the *Source*. I've been getting younger by the day!"

Emille blinked in disbelief; it was kind of hard to imagine Marius as looking anything other an almost completely desiccated husk, "That's incredible! So, how young are we talkin'?"

"Still an old man, but at least a normal one. You have no idea how much I missed being able to eat regular food." Oh thank the gods. During her training, Emille always made sure to give the part of Marius's home that contained the nutrient solution vat a wide berth.

"Now, is there anything else? I have a massive venom headache and I would like to lay down."

"I'm not even going to ask. Those are the worst. Hope you rest well."

"Before I do, I have one last thing to do." Marius's shadow peeled itself from the floor. It leveled a mailed finger at the spot he saw Her true face. It spoke calmly, with barely disguised contempt, "You. It seems my attempts to avoid your notice were futile, I shall hide no longer. I have a great many questions to ask when we next meet. I hope you are prepared for an accounting. But for now, I have only one question. Have we met before? When I saw your face, you seemed familiar to me. But everything feels familiar to me, in one way or another, so I will ask. If it aids your memory, you might remember my rather...distinct appearance. Such as having a massive scar down the right side of my face, like someone tried to cut me in half. My remaining eye is black as pitch. My skin is solid white, like paper. Some would say I have a few too many teeth. Does that ring any bells?"

- - -

Emille stumbled out onto the staircase after Molriir. She had to agree with the dwarf, walking around on solid ground was much less confusing than walking on nothing. "Don't worry about it. Messing with dungeons and turning their logic and devices against them is half the fun. Sometimes it turns out great and sometimes it turns out weird and you just sorta roll with it. What's this about Tower Magi?"

She considered the signs in front of them carefully. "Well, I don't think I want anything to do with this one.", she motioned at the drowning sign, "Water makes it really hard for me to do any magic. And this one? I'm not sure if we'll have to save a baby from a monster or feed it to the monster. I want nothing to do with the latter. What do you think of the one with the giant bug?"

tl;dr: looting the automatic drill

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: 6/10
Initiative: 7
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 rolled over and gazed blearily up at Emille.

"Ye ken nae of Tower Magi? I suppose yer from some world where ye donnae have t' be frugal with yer powers. Or ye got yerself a right powerful patron. I'd quite like t' ken what's up with That Shadow what jumped out o' ye an spoke t' th' Lady - I sure hope ye 'aven't... atch, actually, I'll answer yer question afore we discuss that. Nae need t' be rude."

Molriir propped himself up on his elbows and shuffled over to sit with his back against the wall with the doors.

"Me homeworld - th' Orth - has got its ambient essences, much as yer place must. But they take stupid amounts o' effort fer most t' grasp. Outsiders t' our world like ye humans have it e'en harder. Ye'd have t' spend years practicin' jest t' see if ye got th' potential, and then decades more t' be able t' do more than conjure parlor tricks if ye don't specialize in particular ways. Them what manage t' successfully train themselves past that stage become Magi. Of these Magi, there's some what go farther and specialize in buildin' these Towers ta gather and channel essential energies, harvesting an' harnessing 'em. Th' Towers be a sort o' cheat. They act as a shortcut, or booster, or somethin' th' like, and lets Magi train Magi faster, empowers their spells, lets 'em pull off all sorts o' unusual and powerful castings that ordinary Magi would ne'er be able to pull off in a hunnerd lifetimes. It gets e'en more ridiculous if several Towers cooperate."

The dwarf retrieved a flask from his hip and took a deep draught, then offered it to Emille - if she accepted it, she might be disappointed to find it mere spring water.

"There's a land on Orth that's jest lousy with Tower Magi - they're pretty much in charge o'er there. Other than that, they're mostly a non-entity. Oh sure, some can be found in scattered settlements here an' there across th' three continents, but for the most part they tend t' stick to their main realm. Losin' most o' yer power and influence when away from home will do that to ye. Most of th' Tower Magi I e'er met in me travels jest kept t' schoolin' and book learnin', or researchin' magical matters both practical and theoretical t' become better Magi. They're a mixed-bag lot. Not bad or threatenin' fer th' most part, but a tad arrogant as they ken themselves t' be th' most powerful Magi on th' Orth, at least in their element. Some are fool enough t' still, say, experiment with exceptionally poor ideas, thinkin' themselves wise an' powerful enough fer it. Somethin' th' like must've happened here, with th' creation o' this Dungeon - only on a far larger scale, given th' way it seems t' be piercin' a thousand thousand realms and have excessively powerful bound devils servicin' it."

A bit unsteadily, the dwarf climbed to his feet and turned around. He frowned at the signs, then shrugged and turned back to Emille.

"I've still nae preference fer one or th' other, t' be frank. Th' signs be nae worthy clues t' the challenges within, and I feel we're gamblin' on assumptions either way. I will only say tha' bugs don't bother me, big or small."

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006
Jinat Ulukaï, hâ oagé.

[Emille, Molriir, Marius]
Floor 5 - The (repaired) Halls of Sorrow




[Molriir]
Molriir, emphatic to a fault, when granted a boon from a wealth of treasure both mundane and mystical, enlightening and cosmic in its span, chose instead of self-utility an answer.
Not to mysteries arcane or personal, no, but to the nature of the The Lady and her motivations.

A question to which, to the surprise of none, the reply was nothing, but this nothing held his grain of truth inside.



He faced nothing, saw nothing, was... something. A voice, his own, echoed his question though naught was there to echo it off. What was her hearts desire? What did she truly want?


"I don't want this."

<Her words vibrated in nothing and the vibration took colour as it moved. Blue and red as the waves drifted apart, returning to the not-light as the words faded.>



"I'm tired, and it's all too much of a bother."

<The thread of colour shook and spun into an impossible shape with far too many angles, every part of it shifting in hue and intensity with a palette beyond comprehension.>



"But I don't have a choice, now do I?"

<Molriir, helplessly, paralyzed, existing, looked upon the least unpleasant facet of phenomena and felt undue familiarity. His gaze was drawn inward until the surface expanded to encompass the everything that he had ever known, in colours he had only dreamed of imagining, every moment of his life happening at once every decision ever taken leading up to the moment he entered the dungeon and then nothing, the vision fading back to the dark and the light and the pattern, in rhythm with his breath and heartbeat.>



"Because I can."

<The shape of shapes exploded into shards of glass, each a fractal of the whole, each a puzzle piece fitting nowhere, containing one of everything, slightly different.>



"I also must."



"Lest what is missing be returned."

---

[Emile]
Emilie picked up the drill and as she waved it about was filled with certainty; that what she held was but was not what it had been; the memory of an ideal. The Drill That Would Pierce the Heavens.

[Success! You have obtained the memory of an artifact. When in the future you decide you want to attack something, roll a 1d4. On a 1, it loses a charge without any benefit to you.
On a 2-3, you deal one unavoidable damage together with whatever your attack does, even if it fails, and you lose a charge. On a 4, you deal one unavoidable damage in addition to your attack, even if it fails, and instead gain a charge.
The memory has two charges. If at any point you should reach four charges, the piecing effect will instead become permanent, negating the need for rolls or charges. If at any point the charges reach 0, the memory will fade away.]

--

[Marius]


"I mean, yeah, obviously, haven't you been paying attention? I'm like, omnipotent and stuff? Why wouldn't I know who you are? The real question is, do y-- No wait that's dumb, the real question is why should I care?"

--

[Emillie, Molriir]
The tears they shed or ripped floated away on a sudden breeze, setting themselves up solemnly around the hall. The flags of mourning silently flapping in the newly formed wind that was the adventuresses cry of of relief.
Some time later, well away from the Hall of Sorrows, they pick the door marked with the sign of a giant, flying insect and are whimsically whisked on fluffy clouds away from their makeshift camp and into the general vicinity of...

[Emillie, Molriir]
[Floor 6 - The Face of Oblivion]


>> Tiny morsels of sustenance; fuel for flight, ruined! Ruined by the teeming of impulses of thought and the vibrations emitted from various orifices. The Mandibles are stayed from their crushing force, most vexing.
Instead the offer is given; will they join the coming airing, to be one of the sky-is-maw, a chittering tooth or many-eyed vanguard? Or will they willingly submit to the Force, giving their juice to the new-spawn? <<

The message tickles in your brain, bypassing your ears entirely, but no sooner have you reeled from its delivery than you are forced into another double-take as a human-shaped figure steps out from behind it.
This new creatures head is covered by a helmet and mask combo, and his words are accompanied by static, but still they are at least understandable and not nearly as intrusive.


"Ah hey, fresh recruits! Ready to bug out? Haha! My little attempt at humour, a real ice-breaker usually! Eh? eh? Anyway, moving on-, the Big Guy - oh don't mind him, he doesn't talk to your kind much - he is organizing an outing and you are invited. We currently have openings in scouting, hunting, guarding and being a snack - which will it be?

--

Would the deepdelvers take the creatures offer, or would they resist? Only time will tell!

Swedish Thaumocracy fucked around with this message at Feb 17, 2018 around 18:11

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...

Cepi Yu, Proud Knightcerer of the Warped Table

Initiative: 13
HP: 10
Skills: Glitchweaving [5d6], Proud Knightcerer [2d6] Powers: Spear of Corruption [3d6]; Defense: Shield of Lag [5d6]
Talent: Spent
Items: Pocketful of Glitchies [3d6 Pet], Laser Cannon Voucher
AI: Be suitably knightly, try not to die.


Ah, it was SO CUTE!

"So CUTE!", Cepi Yu proclaimed, "It couldn't possibly be a creature of EVIL!"

Cepi focused hard to rectify this clear error.

Swedish Thaumocracy posted:

H̳̹̼͎͚̱̞̉͘Ả͎̣͕̬̜̗H̡̭̙͈̻̜̮ͣͤ̉̂̒͆Ạ̴͈̮̮̻͙̾͊ͪͫḢ̼ͯA̰̹̪͚ͨͬ̔̄̓̎̚͢ ̠͔̩̗͙̜͍̽ͣͭͮ̒ͥ̚N̸̪̗̳̥̣ͥ̔̓̚O̱̫͚̻ͣ͛̀͊ͯͅP͎͓͑̊̾E̝̭͔̳̞̐̆ͣ̎̔ͬ

Wait that wasn't right. The knightcerer scrunched up her face for a bit, before settling down in a defensive posture whilst summoning some of her emancipated allies to push through the bridge with.

Rewrite the Matrix: 1d4= 1
Buffing Shield of Lag with Glitchweaving to avoid a horrible fate: 5d6-5d6= 1 SUCCESS!
Pet Action: Pocketful of Glitchies will secure our advance through the bridge: 3d6= 8

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

Emille

HP: 5/8
Initiative: 14
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), Miniature Planet (Plop a full sized planet somewhere), The Drill That Would Pierce the Heavens (2/4 charges)
Prides: Proud of Being Mentored

Emille leaned against one of the stairwell's walls, taking a swig from Molriir's flask. It was just ordinary water, but that was fine; it was refreshing and friends don't let friends dungeon delve drunk anyway. "Thanks. Catch!", she tossed him the flask, "In exchange, want a smoke? You look like you could use one." Regardless of his answer, Emille took one out for herself, lighting the tip with her will.

She took a puff and explained the subject of her teacher to Molriir, "The shadow is my teacher and granddad, Marius. He knows this shadow magic that lets you be in two places at once, so he's both here and not really here. Sure, he looks and, hell, even dresses pretty sinister, but there's nothing to be worried about. He's mostly here because he's got some past history with this place and he wanted to look after me because I don't have a talent." She smirked at the last bit, "Not that I need it, but I'm not the type to refuse help if it's offered to me."

She nodded through the dwarf's tale of his home plane, keeping some of her lessons on metaphysics in mind. "Sounds like you come from a low magic world. I'm guessing your Magi build their towers to tap and amplify ley lines. I don't think this mess has anything to do with them; this is bigger. When the entrance appeared in my world, each and every single ley line in the area suddenly changed direction and converged here. That is something that is Not Supposed to Happen." She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "Plus, Marius claims to have come here or some place like here when he was young and that there are stakes of enormous magnitude. What exactly they are, he didn't elaborate. But, I could hear an undercurrent of dread in his voice when he spoke of them. That's...rare from him."

"That reminds me. You zoned out for a while after you asked the Lady that question. What happened?"

- - -

Emille marveled at the Big Guy. She'd never seen a bug this big! Well, there was a giant scorpion that was almost as big a few years back but it technically didn't count anyway. "Ooh, can I be a hunter?", she asked. Providing for it couldn't be too tricky; she was pretty sure giant insects ate most anything. However, whatever her quarry, it apparently would have to be enough to feed a swarm.

As she looked around the new 'floor', the first question that came to mind was one of scale. Were she and Molriir really small or was everything else really big? From what she could tell, they were on a concrete slab perched on the branch of an impossibly large tree. A staging area, perhaps? She turned around, looking for the tree's trunk. In the distance, she could see it. The swarm's hive. It looked like an amalgamation of several different kinds of bug's nest, with the occasional artificial light or addition jutting out. She could hear a faint hint of buzzing and chittering even from far away.

She took a confident look down, towards the ground. They seemed pretty high up, but since neither she nor Molriir seemed to be having problems breathing, it couldn't be THAT high up.

Emille was practically giddy with excitement; she had heard from other adventurers that getting shrunk down was quite an experience. A rare one at that, as there is almost no practical reason to do such a thing, as nobody wants tiny treasure or to be stepped on. To make the most of this, the young pyromancer decided to hunt at ground level.

She addressed both Molriir and the Big Guy's humanoid friend, "I'm going to see if there's anything on the ground. If I find something, I'll send a flare up. Got it?"

She set off towards the trunk, passing under the Hive. Although there seemed to be a lift down, she decided to do things the hard way. She slowly and carefully climbed and jumped her way down the bark of the tree.

Action 1: Acrobatics[2d6] to jump down the tree!: 2d6+1 8

Once she was at the bottom, she rested for a moment before looking for tracks. It wasn't long before Emille found some long, spindly tracks that seemed to drag along the ground in some places. A giant beetle, perhaps? She performed some pyromancy to aid her in the hunt, attuning one of her eyes to be able to see in the thermal spectrum and quenching her scents and the sound of her footsteps.

Action 2: Pyromancy[3d6] to start the hunt: 3d6 11

paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at Feb 18, 2018 around 07:53

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The Lord of Hats
Aug 22, 2010

Please... Don't read this post where other people can see...

Stefania, Queen of the Curse Imps

Initiative: 16
HP: 8/10
Skills: Imptourage [4d6], Penumbral Sorcery [2d6] Powers:Hellfire [4d6]; Defense: Demonic Destiny [5d6]
Proud: Cooperation [1d6]
Talent:Available
Items:None
AI: Solve tasks with imps, if someone tries to hurt her or a friend, use Talent to flip that.


Alright, enough was enough. There was a point where 'trusting in your friends to save you' turned into 'trying to let them do all the work", and that just wasn't going to fly if she was going to become the Demon King. She believed in her friends, but it was clearly time to show them why they needed to believe in her. The time for subtlety was over, and it looked like Viviene had the same idea. Stefania stared at the overhead view of the map that was currently displayed on the screen, small icons denoting her fellow delvers' locations close to the entrance. Sticking a tongue out in concentration, she transmitted the image, and an intense mental command, to her imps.

BURN IT ALL! BLAZE A TRAIL STRAIGHT TO THE BRIDGE! REDUCE ALL THAT WOULD OPPOSE YOU TO ASH IN YOUR WAKE!

Message sent, she exhaled. Nothing left to do but watch what came next. She had a feeling that there was going to be a lot of burning involved.

BLAZE A TRAIL: 4d6+5d6+1d6 40

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