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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 (1/4 charges)
Prides: Proud of Being Mentored

Emille cracked a smile at the dwarf, "Glad to hear you're in agreement. Alright, let's do this. Me and Marius will make sure we aren't seen, and you'll do the looting."

Marius nodded and began sinking into their craft's floor, "Sounds prudent. Excuse me a moment, I need to examine a couple of things." Once he was fully transposed into the shadow plane, he ascended upwards through the roof of the droneship to examine the giant beasts that flew above. After a few moments of studying how their shadows rippled, he was able to conclude that the 'saw' not only on the visible spectrum, but the infrared and radio spectrums as well. He floated back down to Chipper and forced his arm through its shadow's viewport. After a few seconds of rooting around, the noctomancer removed his arm, satisfied that the drone's optics were adequately *attuned*.

Now that the prep work was done, it was time for the hard part. Well, as hard as anything involving magic was for Marius. His senses extended outwards, grasping at every last bit of noctum surrounding the downed Spelljammer. As he bent it to his will, imbuing it with radar and infrared dampening properties, his shadowy hands worked on making an arcane trigger. It took the shape of a small pearl, and when burned it would transpose all the noctum from the Shadow Plane to the Real, effectively blacking out the entire area.

Marius reappeared in the Clipper's interior and passed Emille the trigger, "My part is done, burn this when you're ready to begin."

Action: Noctomancy buff for Emille's Pyromancy [5d6-3d6]: 5d6-3d6 5 Success!

Emille gingerly took the black pearl and placed it at the center of a chalk ritual circle. While Marius handled the visual part of not being seen, Emille was preparing a scaled up version of the quench she tried earlier. If all went right, the droneship wouldn't make a sound or smell as it searched for the cargo bay. After confirming that everyone was ready, Emille ignited the pearl. Everything turned blacker than night.

Action 2: Let's stealth! [3d6+5d6+1]: 3d6+5d6+1 32 DC30 Stealth Check Passed!
Giant Loot Roll: 1d6 4

paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at May 7, 2018 around 17:19

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The Lord of Hats
Aug 22, 2010



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.


Stefania blinked. They'd gone through different doors, hadn't they? But now they were all in the same place anyways. Looks like the bonds of friendship really were unbreakable! She considered intervening as Nezera shot the foreman into tiny little pieces, and then shot those pieces into even smaller pieces, but thought better of it. Mentor or not, Nezera was looking awfully scary right now. Better to let her work out that stress.

"Alright, guys, form up! We're going to do a little blast mining!" she ordered her imps. The imps, unfortunately, had other ideas. Their hands were stilling feeling awfully tingly after burning that swampy forest into ashes, and there were so many interesting things to look at! Explosions could clearly wait.

Stefania sighed, and gave Vivenne an appreciative nod as her imps were reinforced. "Fine, fine, I get it. Blast mining later. But you're not getting off the hook that easily! Go figure out what's wrong with that machine over there. It's probably ammed or something. You were able to work that giant golem thing, that machine has to be simpler, right?"

Impnitiative: 4d6 9
Imps to Buff Hellfire: 4d6-4d6 -1
Imps Buffed By Vivienne?: 4d6 10 Yes!
Impvestigate that Machinery!: 9d6 33

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: 15
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).



Floor 6 - The Wedge

As Emille and her patron handled the getaway from the giant creatures by blanketing everything but certain well-honed senses in absolute darkness, Molriir continued to familiarize himself with Chipper's interface. The runic system read easy to him - the commands intuitive, with the intellect behind it responding well to the dwarf's gentle tapping of command runes. The bug-mechim seemed to take Molriir's instructions as if it had been constructed for it - and perhaps it had been, for the sake of the challenge - but there was an undeniably biological component to its makeup, and Chipper had something of a personality of its own.

Communicating with it through his use of the runic command system, he entreated it to do its best and to continue making suggestions for recommended actions. The drone certainly seemed to be on board with the task at hand - finding and retrieving food and valuables for the SIM was on its main objective tracker. Molriir, too, had figured it was far better suited to scavenging than either of the Deepdelvers, its senses being keen and specialized, its strange eyes capable of tracking and identifying things at the vast distances through which they travelled. Its memory was unparallelled as well - having charted a course it was confident it could travel safely, even through the darkness Emille and her patron had materialized - and it had even spotted a means of ingress.

Molriir smiled and patted a happy-face rune of approval again as the drone, safely ensconced under the veil of darkness, zipped with ease through a rent in the side of the downed ship. The dwarf cycled through the internal viewports as Emille let the darkness drop and sorted the various sights in his head and on-screen. The Holds, vast as they were, would have been carrying goods of normal use and size to its occupants - probably rare and precious things worthy of being shipped across worlds - so figuring out what, if anything, would be convenient and possible to bring back would certainly be a challenge, but Molriir was hardly daunted. He had Chipper's senses to rely on, and besides, the real prize would be the ship's provisions, which Molriir, as a veteran of many expeditions and journeys knew the crew would likely have stored in the ship's Hold. The dwarf eyed the pictures and messages being passed along, and noted the uptick in messages as an area of the Hold got tagged as a location of interest by the drone. He let out a happy chuckle as it then re-emphasized having found the area and even put up a glowing dot on-screen for ease of identification along with a return happy-face rune.

Turning his meat chair around, Molriir gave his other companion a big grin.

"We're in luck, Emille. Chipper's gettin' real excited here - there's somethin' o'er in the back o' th' hold it's identified as a Freezer. Musta been some sort o' food storage place - looks like it's still bein' powered by th' magics o' the ship, too. Hope ye packed yer winter gear, as things are gonna get chilly fer a while-" Molriir paused, then slapped his brow. "Otch wait, yer a Fire Magi, haha ne'ermind, we'll prob'ly be good, aye? Jest keep us warm while I go out an' dig us up some frozen goods. Ye handled the hard part, 's only fair I do the busywork. Besides, I got th' tools and th' trainin' fer minin' meat."

The dwarf patted a stout pick-axe hanging off the side of his backpack encouragingly - the old mining lessons he'd learned at his alma mater would certainly come in handy here - before he turned his attention back to the interior screens and stroked his beard thoughtfully. What else of interest among the lost treasures of the shipwreck could they conceivably pick up and bring along?

Hearthstone to get Chipper's support for Molriir's Educated Dwarf: 4d6-3d6 5 Success!

Educated Dwarf w/Buff to to assess treasures and supplies: 3d6+4d6 28/6 = 4 Units of Rations

Giant Treasure Roll: 1d6 2

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Stefania, Vivienne, Cepi-Yu, Nezera]
Floor 4 - The Pit




[Vivienne]



The got stared at her, unblinking, as the enchantress wove her life-affirming magics into its fur and that of the myriad imps that followed Stefania wherever she went. Though Vivienne thrummed with power, its animal instincts could tell she could do naught to harm it, and thus registered her as a pretty looking rock instead of a life threatening predator. This gave Viviennes attempts to command it all the authority of a cloud, yelling at an old man.

Eventually, the goat turned away from her and began nibbling at the soil.

--

[Cepi Yu]

The Heroic Glitchie Knightsceror froze mid-frame as she attempted to work her Talent through both time and space, to save the former Kittenish Delver from certain petting.

The Lady posted:

You arrive outside the dungeon, having been exil- to, wait.

With a puff of smoke, Cepi Yu disappears. Had she ever been there at all?

--

[Nezera]

A Vampire is a being removed from the cycle of life and death via the gift of the Embrace. This dark covenant offers them a multitude of boons, granting them strength, endurance and dexterity far beyond those who still cling to mortality, in exchange for an ever present hunger, The Beast Within. Most Vampyr cope with their transformation by clinging to ancient ideals of what it means to be a creature of darkness. Hanging around crypts, wearing mostly black and associating themselves with ravens, wolves and other critters of the night. With age and experience however, an Elder Vampyr gains a measure of confidence only centuries of not having died again can instill in you.

Nezera was such a vampire, having long ago learned not to fear the Sun (at least with a healthy dollop of sun-screen and a few protective wards), but even for all of her wisdom and control she could still not tame the Beast once it had been addled.

The sight of yet another Kobold, this one daring to question its place in the food chain by ordering her around, made something in Nezera snap. With a snarl, fanged barred, she lunged for his throat, taking the Kobold Overseer completely by surprise. They tussled into the dirt, claw against claw as the fancy-clad lizard pleaded with them and scrambled to escape. "Please! Please! We can talk about this! There is no need to be rash!"

Vampires are many things, all of them violent. When Nezera could gain no purchase on the spindly neck in front of her, when her rippling muscles could no longer grapple the Kobold to the floor and his escape seemed inevitable, out of anger, out of wrath, she let him go.

And slid the Heavy Bolter from its harness, speaking only one word: Die.

--



An Imperial Heavy Bolter has four settings for the discerning murderologist. For the patient, single-fire guided-lock-on rounds. For the casual, the three-round burst. For the serious, a semi-automatic mode in which one could fire a devastating salvo of mini-missiles with which to devastate enemy fortifications and to suppress even the most heavily armored targets.

For the deranged, it has a fourth mode, labeled simple 'metal storm.'



129 vs [it doesn't matter] = Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill! Overkill!

--

With a sound that can only be described at 'bzzt' everything around the deep delvers exploded forever, as the entire belt of miniature rockets zipped into the launching chamber and out the muzzle in the fraction of a second. The first rocket hit the overseer in the leg, exploding it gorily from the rest f his body. The second rocket hit him in the face, gibbing it entirely. Where the rest of the rockets hit didn't really matter at this point, but Nezera made sure to note it down with smug satisfaction anyway. She held the gun steady despite the recoil, her muscles bulging with blood and hatred, but even after the Kobold had been reduced to a smear (a feat which took considerably less time than she had anticipated) the rockets continued to fly, and she had no choice but to hold on tight lest the firearm gain a mind of its own and start firing them back at her for some reason.

With no more Kobold Overseer detected within operating range, the smart-rockets defaulted to the nearest available designated hostiles, in this case Kobolds regardless of title. The missiles quickly descended deep into the quarry and out of sight, striking hither and dither to steal vitality from any humanoid lizard or lizard look alike as they toiled in the pit. Landslides and avalanches quelled what few Kobolds managed to hide away from the intricate kill-sensors and when one of the last missiles hit the great machines fuel reservoir, well, what little resistance remained of the dungeon floors denizens fizzled away in an explosion that could be felt for miles around.



--

When it was all over, Stefania imp-lored her imps to go search the wreckage. They returned about an hour later, claiming naught remained of whatever the Kobolds had been digging through/to/for, except a single key found at the very bottom of the pit. As simple as it was perfect, she had no idea what it was for, but she pocketed it anyway.


[Success! You gain the item A Perfect Key. Keep it safe! Or don't, whatever. I'm not your mom!]

--

[The Infinite Cubicle]


[Cepi-Yu]



"I'm sorry." said Jael, the only sentient that Cepi Yu had been able to hail down from their busy-work from her place on a moderately comfortable seat in a waiting room situated somewhere on a possibly infinite, cubicle-filled plane of Order and Law. "But every single one of our operators are already working over-time on dungeon related complaints. I'm afraid you will just have to take your place in the meta-queue whilst we work things out."

The Glitchie tried activating her abilities, but to no avail. Divine glyphs flared on her wrists as soon as she even thought about source-codery, and her weaponry had been confiscated by a a creature with thirty six wings and four tails the moment she had entered, though it had been kind enough to give her a receipt for their return if she could ever find her way to the lost and found department.

[You have been transferred to the Infinite Cubicle. You are not technically dead, nor exiled, but there is very little you can do at the moment regardless. Perhaps one of your former companions can figure out a way to rescue you? Either way, you seem to be stuck here for the time being.]

--

[Stefania, Vivienne, Nezera]
The Stairwell




Key in hand and with absolutely nothing left alive, the 'challenge' of the pit, such as it was, was completed. The three remaining deep delvers soon found themselves in the all too familiar stairwell, and walked for a time that felt like a mix between waiting for your favorite holiday as a small child and exactly three and a half minutes. There was a door, but there was only one, so with nothing else to do they entered it and proceeded to the fifth floor without further fanfare.

--

[Floor 5]
[The Halls of Sorrow]




Nothing much awaited them in the halls, nothing aside from the barren walls and cracked fissures in betwixt what was and what wasn't. The whole place had a mournful feel to it, but also one of being hastily assembled. Nezera could hear the clitter-clatter of Kobold claws on the stony surface, followed by the 'pop' of dimension-hopping familiar to those as well versed in magic such as she - the scalykin had most certainly been here before them, but wisely fled before she could do anything about it.

No voice resound throughout the void, urging them to sooth their flares of wroth to hearken to a tale as old as time, but if it did it would have sounded something like this:


"Huh? What? Are you lot, like, here already? I thought the last challenge would take you at least three more rounds to finish. Ugh, nevermind. I can't believe I almost forgot how annoyingly competent deep delvers can be.

Uh, anyway. Welcome to the Hall of Sorrows and stuff. I mean, not stuff in that sense, just in the general vernacular you know? It isn't a hall that is sad about stuff, it's just a hall. A room. That you are in. Actually I guess you could say it is a room about sad stuff now that I think about it, but 'room of sad stuff' just doesn't have the same ring to it, you know?

Sigh, can we have a do-over? No? Okay. Fine. You all have a choice to make. You can leave immediately, forgoing your Hearts Desire but taking a treasure with you. Whatever you've picked up so far, but only one item, get it? Don't try to be coy about it either, them's the rules. Just say the word. You'll be forever barred from the Dungeon and I'll do my best to put your plane back how it was, but honestly? That isn't really my priority right now. I've got a lot on my plate.

Or if you'd rather continue, please leave a sorrow behind and exit through that portal over there. What do you mean there isn't any portal? Did they not, ah forget it. Just go lean by a pillar or something and I'll work something out. In the meantime, why don't you sample one of the sorrows the previous group left behind? There are only two so you'll have to work it out amongst yourselves. Last one there is a rotten egg or something. No, tell you what, you can ask me a question instead. As long as it isn't about your hearts desire, because, you know, rules.

Anyway, the first sorrow is a bunch of human tears, I'm sure those are fascinating? The other is a flag that has been torn. A lot of history in that one! Now get to it, delvers!"

--

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010





Countess Nezera Amaris
Initiative: 11 if needed.
HP: 5/9
Skills: Supernatural Movement [3d6], Charming Gaze [3d6]
Powers: Unnatural Strength [5d6]
Defense: Traumatic Regeneration [4d6]
Talent: Impromptu Hors d'oeuvres
Items: Heavy Bolter [1d6 bonus on a melee attacks]
Universal Solvent
Prouds: Bootstraps(+2d6 when taking charge)
AI: Non-hostile- Charm non-PC targets to do tasks for me. Hostile- Punch the hell out of enemies.


Nezera was surprised for a moment, the sheer effectiveness of the Kommander's weapon was stunning, but her surprise gives way to annoyance first at the Kommander's unwillingness to effectively use such a weapon, and in turn amusement as it Just Keeps Going. The bolter clicks empty and Nezera lets out a delighted laugh just as the fuel reservoir below explodes.

Holstering her gun turned make-shift club back at her waist, Nezera turns and brushes an errant strand of hair from her face as she addresses Stefania "That was a touch unprofessional of me, but I suppose it's a good demonstration of what bottling your frustrations with the world can achieve." Her head tilts to the side wistfully as she turns back to view the destruction below. She gives a little satisfied nod as the Imp Queen's little subjects bringing a key up from the decimated depths.

As the group meanders their way down the staircase, Nezera keeps sniffling. Eventually a full blown sneeze is drawn out and she turns to pointedly look at Viviene "Would you do something about that sticky presence hanging about you? It's decidedly unpleasant." She holds he hand out, the small bottle of Universal Solvent balanced across her palm "I do believe this should do the trick."

Kobolds... Of course the first thing she hears are those drat little reptiles. Nezera lets out a brief sigh, the drive to chase the little bastards down and splatter them had been abated for the time being, splattering an entire workforce of the creatures was certainly cathartic.

Nezera begins to clap with excited restraint when the Lady's voice makes an appearance "This place has been getting slightly excited, so compliments on the work. Less fond of the staff, but we make do with what we have I suppose." Considering the choices in front of her, Nezera gives a little shrug "I honestly would rather not spoil myself for what's to come, so if no one has any objections I'll take a peek at the quaint collection of tears."

quote:

Supernatural Movement for the floor's initiative = 11 if needed for something.
Giving Vivene the Universal Solvent so she can de-gum her sticky chakras.
Action 1: Touch some crybaby's tears.
Action 2: HMMM...

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

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


With rations sampled and Geotagged (whatever that meant) alongside two promising crates, the two Deepdelvers took off in Chipper to make their way back to the Sky As Maw, only to find out what that name meant first-hand as they approached their original landing site. As no one was there to tell them that "Infinite" was a meaningless numbered when compared to a finite number that was still very, very large, they would just have to deduce this fact for themselves when confronted with this truth expressed to its core.



Internally, Chippers biometrics beeped and glooped at them, revealing the familiar helmet of Pilot on the jelly-like viewscreen via uncomfortable undulations (as if there were any other kind).



"Good work out there Hunters, we'll take it from here. The bounty you located should be more than enough to wake the other half from stasis - and then we can really get cracking! Show those robodegenrates whatfor and all that.
It'l be a proper scuffle, your welcome to tag along if you like. But we all have our code to follow, should you wish to leave you'll find the exit over where you saw Big Guy last - we won't mind, now that you've done your part. As for your reward..."

Pick one, each.

A Bonding Tentacle

"Just insert the pointy end into your Levator Scapulae and the sticky end onto whatever you fancy and you'll effectively merge with it, though if it has any personality to speak of that will probably be overwritten."
One (gross) use.

A "Spy-Fluga"

"Big Guy thinks we can part with one of these, so I'll just take his word for it. Just give it a destination and it'll fly there, do some recon and report back to you. Useless in a fight, but invaluable before one has started."

A Salvaged Spelljammer Core

"Whatever it is you need powering, this will do it."

A Salvaged Spelljammer Aethershield

"If that other thing is what keeps Spelljammers flying, this is what keeps everybody on board from dying.
Just hook it up with a mana source and punch in some appropriate parameters and one end of spacetime will be effectively cut off from the other, rendering incoming attacks moot."

This thing we found that will kill you if you drop it.

"Seriously, I wouldn't even touch it."

"A strange key?"

"At least, that's what Big Guy thinks it is."

"Promotion from mercenary to fully flesh-edged member of the Sky-As-Maw."

"You'll have to leave delving behind, but we'll be glad to have you aboard. You'll be assigned to Chipper for now, as you have already bonded."

--

[Molriir, Emilie]
[The Stairwell]



Satisfied that they had made the right choice, the Deepdelvers did or did not proceed to the exit - a swirling rainbow portal that whisked them away from the Face of Oblivion into that all too familiar stairwell.
As Marius had been there in person to instruct Emilie to avoid any attempts at communication during her decent, the next few years of his life passed in blessed silence compared to the previous jaunt, though in the end he wondered if he perhaps not preferred the incessant hum over the void in his mind that indicated the uncertainty of his companions status.

For her part, the descent took all of five minutes as the stairwell progressed in a somewhat natural manner. Indeed, if they looked through the empty alcoves towards the top they could see that they had indeed only progressed six floors so far - despite the combined hours (years?) of walking.

What surprised them the most was not that their journey ended so soon, but that it ended at all. Reaching the bottom was supposed to be the end of it, as far as the tales of outbound travelers had conferred, though obviously none of those they had met before entering themselves had made it all the way down to actually verify this.

The bottom was not at all as they had imagined when they looked at it from above, with the final step ending on soft, grassladen ground instead of the cold stone floor they had previously seen. They found themselves in an open clearing with a large, circular metallic platform in the middle, with pillars morphing seamlessly from metal to stone as they ascended into the super-structure above them as readily as the sky gave way to stairs and stars.

But the most surprising thing was the sign perched upon the metal scaffolding, where writ in neon was the one word Emilie knew her mentor abhorred above all others.



The platform held a table with plenty of seats beside it, as well as a door leading nowhere. Beside the platform, such that you could reach it without crossing the obvious centerpiece lay another door, also seemingly leading nowhere, but somehow, inherently, a less important nowhere - out.

Emilie and Molriir hesitated - they had come this far, could they afford not to go that one step further? Only time would tell.

Prince of Space
Apr 17, 2016



Dinosaur Gum


Name: Vivien Lumière
Initiative: 22
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
Status: Sugar-Coated Chakras: Cannot inflict harm.
Items: Universal Solvent
Cohort: A Goat: Skills: Headbutt: 2d6, Eat It: 3d6 Defenses: 2d6 Made of Wool

Vivien watched from a position of utter helplessness as Nezera the Vampire Countess fired the ranged bolter relentlessly at the lone enemy kobold until the fearsome weapon was entirely drained of its belt-fed ammunition. What a warrior's weapon that vampire held! Such brutality behind that one act of violence, too! Vivien had no time to be shocked by her companion's rampant cruelty before she and the other deepdelvers were whisked away to the Dungeon's main stairwell, to descend once again...

The next floor was named the Hall of Sorrows, but what sorrows were truly there had yet to be seen. The Lady of the Dungeon's disembodied presence spoke to them all in a voice that sounded so young, and yet she was still sight unseen. Vivien poked around the scene along with her Goat friend, looking for any signs of tricks, traps, or danger.

As habit would dictate, she cast a spell that she felt she'd attempted numerous times over the course of this journey within this Dungeon's depths, to no avail.

Action 1: Talent: Prismatic Refraction: 2#1d4 1 4 Failure! Max targets this floor: 1

Her color-splitting magic was no good here, it seemed. If only her chakras weren't so clogged up with karmael! Hold on...

Vivien retrieved the Universal Solvent she'd been given by Nezera on the staircase, in what seemed like ages ago - what had she wanted her to do with it? Something about the cloyingly sticky presence emanating from her magical sources, of course!

Vivien unstoppered the precious bottle of solvents and took a tentative whiff of the anointing oil extract before applying it on her wrists, neck and forehead.

Item Use: Vivien uses the Universal Solvent on her Sugar-Coated Chakras!

Ah, so clean and refreshed, like a bubble of purity blossoming in the mind! Vivien was already starting to feel better, just as the voice of the Lady of the Dungeon continued on.

According to the Lady, they needed to leave behind a sorrow to continue onward, and there were only two sorrows available to take: a bunch of human tears and a torn flag.

True to her kind, the Vampire Countess Nezera had gone after the human tears, which left the flag to Vivien and Goat to inspect.

"Don't eat it, Goat! Your'e going to make the tears worse!" Vivien scolded her pet goat as she pulled the important relic from the animal's mouth.

"You scoundrel," Vivien cried, stamping her foot. "Now I'm going to have to mend it!"

She took a deep breath and recomposed herself. "Thankfully, there's a spell for that."

Action 2: Curative Magic: Time-Repair on the Torn Flag: 4d6 15

"Oh and Lady of the Dungeon," Vivien called out to the stark emptiness. "My question to you: how do we bring back Deepdelvers who have left us?"

The Lord of Hats
Aug 22, 2010



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.


Stefania idly scratched the head of the imp that had found the key (Curse-Of-Frequent-High-School-Flashbacks) as the other imp poked at the few scraps of kobold that remained. "No, no, I get it. It was really... what's the word, cathartic to watch. He had it coming. Or someone like him, at least. If he didn't, well... sorry? I mean, I feel kind of bad for saying that, but he did kind of take the job."

The descent to the next level was quiet, and she considered this new... challenge? Was it a challenge? Obviously they had to complete it to move onwards, but... it sure didn't feel like the kind of trials they'd come across before. Leaving a sorrow behind... What was that even supposed to mean? What she needed right now was an example. And hey, there they were! Nezera was already touching the tears. Might as well see what the flag is about.

"You all keep an eye out, okay? I don't know if this is going to be some kind of crazy vision quest or something. But I'll be back in just a moment!"

Impnitiative: 4d6 9
Action 1: Touch the Flag
Action 2: Imps Keep Watch: 4d6 15

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

Emille

HP: 5/8
Initiative: 6
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 (1/4 charges), Salvaged Spelljamer Core (power something)

Prides: Proud of Being Mentored

"These items.", Marius's shade rasped, "One of them s͔͇i̗̼n̯͈̙g͍̫̘̳̠͈s͉ ͍̯̲̺͚t̵̫͉̫̺̺o ̼̹͕͍͙̣͈m̶̞̥̫͚̫e̳̟̥̬͚͡ͅ ͍̱̪͠u̻̬̟ś͕̭̞̼." His shadow hovered over to the box containing the Bonding Tentacle and seemed to stare intently at it.

Emille blinked. Okay, this was weird and inexplicable, even for her mentor. She instinctively tapped her ear with her finger to make sure her hearing wasn't going out. "You okay, master?", she asked, an obvious note of worry in her voice. Marius's stare did not waver.

"I̜̕ ͖̖͡a̪̘̯͉̪̹͓m͍͕ ̛̟͈̮͇͔ͅW̠̦ͅe̦̭ ̦̠̘͉̝͔̜a͓̗̲̱ŕ̜͇̘̰̲̳̺e̫̣̻̦ͅ fine. The item in the box was once a part of m̻̳ȩ̱̺ ̯̺̪̤̞̦u͕̲͎͎̫͘s̘̘ and I̵̖ ̼̹w̼͓̕e̶ a part of it. Proximity to it...is affecting m̵͎̜y͢ ̫̰̹ó͖̝͖͓u͈̙r̤͙̳̜ thoughts. Aggressive psionic marketing."

Emille looked in the box and nervously clicked her tongue at the sight of the fleshy appendage, "So, uh, what exactly am I looking at? Looks like any other severed monster bit to me."

Marius lurched into a sales pitch, "Well, E̢̪m̰̻i̘̼͕͎̹͍̙͢l̤̞̱̮̗̙͠l͓̦̬͇͙̖͚e͙ ̪͈̭̖̰̀ v̡͕̣̙̬a̞l͔̭͉̭̰͙̳u̞̮̙͚̝ȩd̜͕ ̡͉͚̣͎̣̣c̥͕̦͠l̡̮̤͕̭̩ͅi̹͉̝̭͈̹e̙̭̠͝n͇͇t̛̯̥̫̖, I am glad you asked! This is a C̙̮͝o̲̫͠nc̦̬͈͇̫̼ͅe̴̝̬͕pṯ̷ ̛͉Un̵̲̗̙͕͕i̭͡f͕̠̪̙̣i̷̥̤̗̩c̙͕͈͓a̛̻̤ṭ̛̭̤̲̲̝̥i̯̘̫̫̘̳̖͢o͓n̥̠̤̗͔ ̳͚̪͙͜P̳̘͝r̛̳̭̞̩o̷b͇͙͇ò̱̜̳̯̼̬ͅs̡̖c̪i̟̖̯̘͍̗s̶̼͙̫͔ (let's just call it a CUP). It is used in h̡̯͉̖ͅo͓̜͎͞s̡͖t̗̀i͖̥l͠è̳͍̦̥ ̡̦̻̖͔̞m̸̰͚̞̭e̠͈͚̯͟ṛ̤̺̘g͕̗͝e̗̤̫ͅͅṟ̟͕̩͎̰ͅs҉̥̠ to su̸͇̞͔̺͇b̝͟s̬͈͙̩um̖͙̘̘͙̩ȩ̯͙͕͎̳ ͍̬͚̤ͅt̵̫̫͍͍̺̮h̶̝e͏̫͎̜͈̭͙͙ ̟̹̲͉f̵͇l̴̼̯e̞̻͓̬̮̪s̰̜̝͔̘̩h͕͓̯͚̲ ̼̪̣̯͞ͅa̬̼n̩͇̝̗͖d҉ ͎ṃ̠̝͚̭́ͅi҉̳̺̻̜͇͉nd̸̝̥͇̤̞ ̗͚̹̬̤ai͖̳̰͚̳d̠̝͡ ͈͎̮i͉̭̹̯n̝̫͔̜͜ ̷̞̺͕̬̝ͅi̵̬̦̗̳ͅṉ̀t̻̥̥̹e̳͕͖̖̝̦ͅg҉̲̬̦̰̦̳r̯̝͔̲ͅa҉ṯ̛͕͇i̳͍͘n̡̘̳g͓̣̯͇̗̼̤ ̀d͚͘i̮͖͕̳ͅs̗͖̦͓p̹̠a̸r͍͙͍͇̦̳̝a̺ṭ͙e̘̻ ͎̦͍̝̘̜̕p͔̫͕̟ͅa̶̝͚̮̻̳͉r̥͘a͕̻d̘̝͘i̲̻ͅģ͇̠mş͉̝ ҉̤̝̲̯̱̳̼i̘̬̫͍̦͠n̩̙̜̭̮͇̺t̹̣̖͖̪̩o ̨̤̲͈͙͙a̼͕̲ ̥̘̭͍̠͞ç̰͙o̵͇̣͇͓her̻͎͓̯e̺͘n̟̮͔̟͈̫ͅt̰͖ ͔̞͉͍͔w̰̞̻h̨̙͓̳ò̤̰̠͈̟l̥͓̼͖e͇͢."

It took Emille a few seconds to parse the arcane corporate jargon. She asked a followup question, "So this, uh, CUP thing sounds very powerful. Is it from when you were an eldritch horror?"

"Correct, from when I̵̼̞͙̭ ҉̖͈͕͎̹͎̮w̰ȩ were the ̳̪̫͉͈͘b̝̙o̪̲̳̜̦̫͝ͅa̶̘̩̦͍͉͎̲r̪̫͙͘d̢ ̹̜̳͍͢o҉̼̫f̭͎͞ ̳̳͙͈̝̹ͅd̨̖̖͈̫̮̼̗ir̖̤̮̖̙e͙̼̹̙̯̱c͚̥̲͖t̜̱o̺͉͎r̮͓̘̳̺s̜̱̬̝ͅ."

Emille motioned at the box containing the CUP, "Riiiight. Hey, Pilot, could you take this thing away for a little bit?" Marius did not hover after the box as it was removed, though his gaze followed it, even after it could no longer be seen. Emille noticed that the normally expressionless shadow's hands were trembling. "Thank you, Emille.", he sighed, "I was naive to think I'd never encounter something like that ever again."

"It seems like it could be useful.", Emille said quietly, "Should I? Is it safe?"

Marius's double's hand moved up to rub its temple, "It is perfectly safe. Whatever you use it on will be completely assimilated; I doubt it will even affect your thought process much. We used to say those consciousnesses went to go work in the mail room. There is one catch. You must never, ever use it on me. The CUPs were designed to work in reverse if used on a [Dominant Aspect] such as myself. Not to mention any unforeseen side effects. I could have a bloody relapse," The shadow mimicked clearing its throat, "As for whether or not you should, that is for you to decide. I only have two questions for you. First, do you like yourself as you are? I certainly hope you do, high self esteem is something I try to instill in all my pupils."

"Of course I do!", Emille replied with a theatrical flex, "I worked very hard for this body!"

"I am happy to hear it.", the shadow nodded, "As you are not a [Dominant Aspect], I do not know if you will have any control over what form you take after the Unification takes place. While I can guarantee it will be a [Viable Configuration], I cannot guarantee it will be to your liking. Second question, and this is the big one." Marius took a pregnant pause.

"Can you live with completely and utterly snuffing out another being, mind, body and soul, for personal gain, every fiber of your being becoming an eternal reminder of what you did?"

Emille didn't answer the question. She didn't want the CUP anymore.

Emille takes the Salvaged Spelljammer Core

- - -

"Good news, Emille!", a gleeful Marius exclaimed, "While you were on the stairs, I was able to locate a manual for that starsh-spelljammer fusion core of yours. Imagine, the power of a star in the hands of a pyroma-" After he got a good look around the new floor, Marius abruptly cut himself off, "Oh. Oh no." For an instant, Emille could feel a crushing mixture of dread and despair coming through her link with her master before he cut it off.

He spoke telepathically, "This is one of the floors the Tower pulls out when it decides it wants more suffering, more bloodshed. You can still leave, you know. You'll be rich, powerful, alive. Ask yourself if this is what you want. Please."

"Yes, Marius. This is the adventure of a lifetime. I'd never be able to forgive myself if I backed out now. I want to see what is at the bottom. I want to see what you've seen!"

Marius was quiet for a long time. An infinite distance away, an old man let out a choked sob. "No, you do not. But I will respect your decision. You and every other Delver will be pitted against each other here. Only half of you will live. There is no good or evil here, no right or wrong, only living and dying. And if the worst happens, know that I- I'll do everything I can to make things right."

Emille straightened out her clothes, checked her sword, and began to climb the stairs. She ignited the air around herself, watching it warp and distort from the heat. A little preparation.

Action 1: Making a fire shield (Pyromancy[3d6]): 3d6+1 13

She addressed her dwarven companion, "Moriir, you've been a big help these past few floors. I wish you the best of luck in whatever happens next." The air around Moriir (assuming he wished to stay) crackled and wavered as a heat shield coalesced around him.

Action 2: A fire shield for Moriir too [3d6]: 3d6 14

As Emille took a set around the table, her teacher chimed in one last time.

"I'm very proud of you, Emille. I just want you to know that."

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: 9
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).



Floor 6 - The Face of Oblivion

"Reckon I'd better take this, then," said Molriir after Emille made her pick. The dwarf quickly seized on the Spelljammer Aethershield and gave it right over to the young adventuress. He gave a wry grin at her expression.

"I insist, Emille. Th' two pieces were practically made fer each o'er, nae? And this high magic stuff has a better synergy with ye than me. Yer th' Magi here. Besides, ye humans 'ave always gotten a right raw deal - well, maybe not ye, but them poor folk from me home realm certainly 'ave - so I'm glad t' be able t' offer one o' ye more o' a chance t' stand up fer yerself."

The dwarf turned next to Big Guy and Pilot and gave them a friendly wave - in the end they'd upheld their part of whatever this challenge was all about - and even if they were off to launch an attack on some other faction in this wasted land, there was little a stranger to their ways could do about it. "Thanks fer th' offer, but nae thanks. Best o' luck t' ye, though, and if I may, try lookin' a bit into sustainable livin', nae? 's nae good fer morale if one 'alf o' the team keeps considerin' eatin' the o'er, ye ken."

Farewells said and done with, the dwarf took one long look at the doorway leading down, swallowed hard, grit his teeth and stepped through.

Floor 7 - The Culling

As they exited onto (existed into?) the next floor Molriir pinched the bridge of his nose and slapped himself stubbornly across the cheeks until his eyes stopped crossing. This stairwell had been the worst yet - his sense of balance had been absolutely crushed and he'd lost all sense of direction stumbling down stairs of indeterminate size and scope, but at least he was starting to... well, not exactly get used to it - nothing would prepare him for the endless sense of vertiginous nausea that every step increasingly forced on him - but to recover his senses faster, which at least was something.

He frowned as he peered up the signs and gazed around at the empty arena-like space. Seeing the door, he immediately gave a slight shake of his head, more for the Lady than anyone else. That wasn't the option he'd come down here to take, even if he was increasingly sure that his clan was fine - that beneath the veneer of Dungeon the Lady had placed over his home halls, they had suffered no actual damage at all. He stayed, however, because whether he was intended to be here or not, the Lady had sought Delvers. What her reason was, what the Lady of the Dungeon truly desired, he could only guess at based on her ominous answer to his question - and probably badly at that - but he would still stay the course.

He was nothing if not stubborn.

"Cheery bit o' welcome there. Think this is some manner o' elimination level o' th' delve?" he asked of Emille while she wove her shield around him. Her somber expression seemed to agree - and her words did a charitable impression of a heartfelt farewell - so the dwarf lifted an eyebrow at her and slowly nodded.

"Well, same t' ye," he said as the heat wave settled around him. He looked at it for a few seconds, thinking, then his face lit up in a smile and as she made for the center stage, the dwarf reached out and held on to her hand.

"Look... donnae worry, we'll take on this challenge as it comes. It can't be as bad as all that, and e'en if it is, let's at least ferst sit down and have a proper square meal. We ne'er did get t' break fast in the Halls o' Sorrow, ye ken."

He unhitched his pack and let it slip the ground, careful not to let it pass into the boundary of his fire shield.

"I'll throw down some Rum o' th' Nellies, a bit o' seared rabbit, maybe make stew... otch, it sort o' looks like we'll 'ave company, donnae it, from all them chairs? Maybe I'd better prepare more than one meal... well, ferst come, ferst serve. Whaddye fancy? I got a little bit o' everythin' fer me homecomin'. Ye'd be surprised what kind o' missteps can be fergiven o'er a good cookpot. Bit o' a tip, that. Ken a good cook, or pick up a bit o' cookery on yer own, and ye'll nae live unhappily. Doesn't take much t' make somethin' better than what ye began with, ye ken. Time and effort. Bit o' love. Exotic spices. Mind ye, that last one might get expensive... but ye won't need a lot."

The dwarf smiled and popped open his backpack. He proceeded to withdrew bundles of wrapped and salted meat, various cut and stacked vegetative materials and fibers, a number of pickle jars and small bags of spices and watersealed dry ingredients. Following them were a rattle of carefully stacked small pans and cookpots, saucepots and meal tins. The dwarf looked over the assembled goods, nodded to himself and with hardly a care for the defensive utility of the heatwave surrounding him, he began to expertly use it to create an impromptu kitchen area, settling down into a well-rehearsed routine. To Emille the dwarf indicated a wide array of possible meals, talking about the flavours and savoryness of each, about where he'd gotten the ingredients ("-and borefish from th' Nellies, most vegs from th' Trimmanic Empire, spices from all o'er, but th' Tradizan blend is th' best fer meats-") and how he intended to prepare them.

Emille could only stare as the dwarf slowly and surely drained the heat from her shield to prepare an unexpectedly lavish meal of her choosing.



Interrupt! Use Emille's defensive spell as a situational buff to Educated Dwarf: 14-3d6 2 Success!

Educated Dwarf w/Pyromancy buff to cook a ☼Masterful☼ meal to fuel Emille's spirit and buff Ignite/Quench: 6d6-3d6 9 Success!

Hearthstone to cook a heartfelt meal to fire up Emille's passions and buff Pyromancy: 4d6-3d6 2 Success!

Scribbleykins fucked around with this message at Jun 13, 2018 around 17:52

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Floor 5]
[The Halls of Sorrow]




[Nezera]

Nezera approached the tears with a solidity of purpose obtained from centuries of intimate study on the subject. Oh how she had inflicted terror in her youth, oh how extravagantly she had sowed them upon the populace; and oh how she had matured. True, whilst her legend still struck fear, there was now something far more sinister in her administration. The tears of her people had long since dried up, to be replaced by quiet compliance. An anguish far more enduring, a nectar almost as sweet as Life. Almost.

Indeed, in her time, she had met with tears aplenty. From the noble distraught at the crumbling of xir empire at Nezeras scheming hands to the mewling of the cattle left standing in the wake of her warpath, few varieties were unknown to her.
Amongst the rarest, relief, for what Vampyr, elder or not, could ever know the true meaning of Respite? To be sure, there was the Grave Calm, or Torpor, that had she had been involuntarily introduced to in her early days, back when unlife was new to her and its pitfalls many. But not even then had she truly rested, for the beast within was not so easily quelled and her Will besides it, a fierce competitor.

So, even post-post-death, she had Awoken. Broken the cycle of death upon death, conquered the ancient Anathema and rose to the pinnacle of her kind, ever seeking to conquer all weakness inside and out, until... until forever.

Until today.



She downed the tears fully expecting to swallow some sensmoric sulking, a sensuous silken lozenge of nostalgia tipped dread, perhaps, or a terrible, tantalizing tidbit of trauma. She received neither.
Indeed, what came as a shock to her mentality as much as her system was the full body calm that immersed her in an almost apathetic acceptance of existence.



The Beast Within.... quieted. Snored, even. The Eternal Hunger abated, the Red Pain vanished from her eyes in an instant. It was not euphoria that graced her, nor regret or sorrow. Simply this, a moment of true calm.

--

[Vivienne]

Vivienne drank the tonic given her by the Vampire, who seemed to be undergoing some sort of meditative trance at the moment, without a moments hesitation.
She felt inherently >soggy< and wanted nothing more than to return to her previous, pristine state, and had no reason not to trust the ancient, human-blood drinking, kobold-genociding demon by her side.
After all, her only other friend still present was apparently some sort of Demon Heiress. Perhaps the rest of the world was all demons; and then, who was she to judge?

The Solvent ran down her throat unlike any potion she had ever countered; not so much down as around. All encompassing, she felt the liquid pour from her mouth and out into her veins, filling her completely with a warmth like a sauna from within.
Then all at once it crystallized and she turned stale, unable to move even an ångström. A truer petrification could not be wrought by spell or curse, save that she still had mind to contemplate its fullness.

And then, after a moment, it turned to steam. A cloud of vapour released from her every metaphysical pore, turning her into a light-house in the sixth and astral sense but leaving her looking as usual to those not accustomed to such sight.



When she came to, that sticky feeling was gone, and she felt smoother than ever. She felt she could outslip an eel, going downhill on ninety degree a soaped-up hydrophobic slip-n-slide.

[Success. You may now hurt people at your leisure! Hooraj!]

After all of that, her mana-reserves were too exhausted for spellwork, so instead she simply asked the Lady a question. "How do we bring back Deepdelvers who have left us?"

She didn't get an answer, of course, because there was no one there to give it, but if she had, it might have been this. Except it wasn't.



The First and Only Rule is that there are No Rules, Save One; The First.
The Second Rule is that none that have Failed might return; lest the First Rule be broken.
The Third Rule is that when gone, there is nothing left.

To answer your question then, you simply do. It is at once as easy as snapping your fingers, and as hard as surviving the attempt. You need but the Talent to try.

[Vivienne, Roll a 1d4. On a 4, you may bring Cepi-Yu back from exile to join you on the next floor. On a 1, her place is lost for good. On a two or a three, nothing happens.]

--

[Stefania]

The Demoness anticipated trouble and had her Imps keep close watch of her surroundings. She was to show them all that she was not to be trifled with, that she was not to be one-upped by some Demon King or trapped by a game-shows worth of of Kobolds or even struck by an errant rake like a side-show clown! No, she was in Charge! She was going to make a grab for the Flag, come Home or High Waters!

Her vision blurred, and gave way to anothers, as she clutched the broken cloth to her heart.



"Home. It means the World to me, My Lord of Hearts. Oh how I plead with You for its Salvation. I am but a humble servant, with my Life in Service as Sacred Sacrifice to Thee. Pray let my tears be proof of valour, of conduct and intent.
Let not the Urruks or the Pantheon of Nine, let not the Vanguard of Extremeties or the Company of Elks or the Gluttonous Cavalry of the Singed Mountain raze our home. Let not a single Soldier of the Enemy brush muddied boots upon our shores;
let not foreign catapults sling stones upon our houses, for With You we Stand, exulting your True Glories, praising your Word and Deed. Until the hour of Judgement. Let our Home Stand."



--

[Elsewhere, Elsewhen]



"Lord of Hearts - You stand Accused Before the Gods of Garn for Gravest Heresy.
We watched in Silence as you have purposefully shepherded a nascent sapience from spore to growth, to stumbling babe to stalwart champions.
We advised you that the Path you took was off-kilter, that the World We Ward would turn to chaos should it be willfully ignored.
Yet despite our words, you have favored the needs of your own beyond the needs of the many.
Despite Your Pledge, the Dominion you embody has Diminished, withered and atrophied as you gave your all to mortals, and a select few at that.
Know that We Accuse, not for vengeance, but for Balance.
Know that We Advice; Your People Share Their Fate with You.
Such is the Word of Accusation. Such is the Message with which we are Imbued.


"All I did was for my people. They are all I am and nothing more; spare them if you must have me. For their plight I must abhoar."


"Silence, Lord, Let Thy Council Speak For Thee, for Thy Voice is Tarnished, Thy Breath A Sin, a Burden. Move not from shame, quiver not from the chains of guilt thus placed upon you, Until Judgement is laid by your Betters.
Come then, Council, and Have your Word before the Court, and Let Us Be Off In Time For Morning Sacrifice."


"The Court recognizes Stefania, Demon-Heir and Queen of Curse Imps, as Council for the Lord of Hearts."

[Stefania]
You, uh, what? Where is everyone else? Where are you and.. who is, what? It looks like a bunch of Gods are quibbling over something. They look at you expectantly. What do you say to them?

---

[Stefania, Vivienne, Nezera]
[The Stairwell]


When the moments had passed, so too had the Halls of Sorrow, leaving them all slightly dazed and not a little confused.
They trudged downstairs, (as if there were any other direction to go), thinking mostly of the tears they left behind and the ones they had encountered, until suddenly the stairs stopped stairing and they all fell flat on their faces into a new world, below.

---

[Everyone]
[The Culling]



They found themselves in an open clearing with a large, circular metallic platform in the middle, with pillars morphing seamlessly from metal to stone as they ascended into the super-structure above them as readily as the sky gave way to stairs and stars. Three exits presented themselves, two barred.

One, the stairs behind them. A curious wound in the fabric of the reality they saw before them.
Two, a doorway on the platform. Deliberately closed, leading... elsewhere?
Three, a doorway to the side. A way out, resignation.

They felt an anxiety in the air and at once did not hear a voice that wasn't not familiar.


"Wow - is that, like, really all of you? I mean, I'd say I was shocked and all but I'm mostly omniscient, so this just barley registers honestly.
Anyway, thanks for coming I guess - It was such a hassle getting you all together, you have no idea. Oh and you are free to leave if you want, I guess. Just take that door. That would be super disappointing though, I'd much rather you'd stay.
Not that I really care or anything, but you've come this far, why not take it one step further? That's like, my whole philosophy right now, so heres the deal.

Impress me.

What? What are you staring at. Oh, the platform? Yeah that is where you go if you decide to stay. I'll let you work it out amongst yourselves first, but those that leave can take a consolation prize, I guess, if you've found any.
Lots of junk in this place, even though I told the Kobolds to clean it up. Sigh. Delvers keep bringing stuff in and losing it along the way you see. It's a thing. Anyway I guess its recycling in a way, and that is supposed to be good for the environment and stuff, so whatever, right?

Right.

--

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: 9
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).



Floor 7 - The Culling

Molriir was in high spirits after the success of his meal when the Lady's announcement didn't tip him off to the arrival of yet more Delvers. He chuckled and shook his head at the familiar sardonic style of non-address.

"I get tha' yer probably holdin' much o' wha' exists on yer shoulders by preventin' th' return o' some Tower Magi-made disaster and yer dead tired o' it, but tha' much sass cannae be good fer yer complexion," he gently joked at thin air, before looking back towards the stairwell and the newcomers and waving at them.

"What ho there ladies - an' a goat? Well... I s'pose anythin' can delve. Greetings t' ye all, I'm Molriir Hearthstone and this is me friend o' late, Emille. We were jest holdin' up fer a meal - a meal fer e meal, tha' is. I'm glad t' see more'n jest th' two of us made it! Guess th' Duchess didnae..." Molriir said, trailing off and shooting a glance at Emille. The two had appeared to come from the same world, but as Emille did not look broken up over it he just mentally shrugged and kept addressing the newcomers.

"Ne'er ye mind me concern. Might be she got out. The Lady's offer t' jest up and leave 'ave always been honest as best I can tell, though gettin' back home wasnae guaranteed at th' start, an' I think it might be now. If yer worried about yer hometowns, I almost think th' Dungeon'll go away when ye exit. Us Delvers look t' be what th' Lady really wants, I figure. Now... I ain't packed up here yet, so anyone else want a bite o' somethin' afore we see what this 'Cullin'' is all about? Ferst come, ferst serve, get it while me pans are still hot."

Molriir gestured at his cooking-camp setup and his diminishing stack of supplies.

"... and while yer at it feel free t' introduce yerself. I'd be more'n happy t' swap a few words afore we start, it's nae e'ery day ye get th' chance t' meet folks from o'er worlds. Bit o' a shame to waste it, nae?"



Molriir's offer is genuine - he will try to buff a skill, power or defense of your choice before we move on into the Culling arena. Obviously he can only do this twice this round, due to limited time and/or supplies.

Prince of Space
Apr 17, 2016



Dinosaur Gum


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
Cohort: A Goat: Skills: Headbutt: 2d6, Eat It: 3d6 Defenses: 2d6 Made of Wool

Vivien stared at her hands as though she had some kind of otherworldly teleportation power trapped within her hands. The strange non-voice had said that it was as easy as snapping one's fingers - you just "did it."

Vivien focused her energies and tried to will the Knightcerer Cepi Yu back into being! She snapped her fingers with a single question on her mind:

Will Cepi Yu be joining us this floor?: 1d4 4 - Yes, she will!

With a new floor came new challenges. Vivien attempted to split her energetic focuses into multiple domains...

Talent: Prismatic Refraction: 1d4 1 1d4 1 - Failure! Max targets this floor: 1

Undeterred by her inability to multitask, Vivien poured her curative magic's energies into the dwarf who had so generously offered to break bread with them all.

Curative Magic: Healing Molriir: 4d6 12

"Molriir, was it? Thank you kind sir for your gracious hospitality!"

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010





Countess Nezera Amaris
Initiative: 12
HP: 5/9
Skills: Supernatural Movement [3d6], Charming Gaze [3d6]
Powers: Unnatural Strength [5d6]
Defense: Traumatic Regeneration [4d6]
Talent: Impromptu Hors d'oeuvres
Items: Empty Heavy Bolter [1d6 bonus on melee attacks]
Prouds: Bootstraps(+2d6 when taking charge)
AI: Non-hostile- Charm non-PC targets to do tasks for me. Hostile- Punch the hell out of enemies.


The journey between floors is somewhat a blur for Nezera. The pure sense of calm that had burrowed all the way to the core of her being would have been unsettling if her thoughts hadn't been likewise caught up in the quelling of her hunger. As it was she'd simply followed along silently in the rest of the party's wake.

Things begin to rumble back to wakefulness eventually, and Nezera comes to her senses once again as their mysterious host is explaining that the kobolds were meant to have cleaned up, distaste smacks her in the face and any warm fuzzy feelings left over from the calming effects of the tears are wiped away.

Shaking off the residuals, Nezera gives a curt nod to the group's apparent predecessors in descent "Countess Nezera Amaris. A pleasure to make your acquaintance I'm sure." She glances at the fare that the dwarf has on offer and declines "Not my usual fare I'm afraid, though I appreciate the offer I suppose."

Glancing this way and that around the culling arena and not particularly bothered to indulge in mortal delights, Nezera give the exit door a glance for the merest of moments and then makes to slink off toward the platform to examine the door "It would likely be smart for me to head on out to dole out some damage control after the dungeon dropped a hydra on my city, but I have to admit I'm having a little too much fun to leave just yet, so whatever it takes to head onward and downward it is!"

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

Emille

HP: 5/8
Initiative: 6
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 (1/4 charges), Salvaged Spelljamer Core (power something), Spelljammer Aethershield
Prides: Proud of Being Mentored

Emille took a bite out of an onion ring as she rolled her eyes, "Another sodding royal. You lot should really leave this to the professionals, even if you are a vampire. Marius! What's with all the royalty in here?"

Marius's well built form shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine. I recall there being a great deal of highborn, myself included, when I was last here as well. It's been my pet theory for quite a while that this superstructure exists to cause and harvest suffering. Perhaps it is able to collect the suffering caused by the chaos that comes from a dead or absent ruler? I cannot say with any certainty."

The heavily armored shade turned to Nezera, "You, vampire. You mentioned a hydra. Describe it to me."

While Marius hashed it out with the Countess, Emille took a seat and helped herself to some of Moriir's stew. "Heya, Moriir.", she said inbetween mouthfuls of stew, "Care for another smoke? I still have a couple left."

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010





Countess Nezera Amaris

Nezera titters quietly at Emille's dismissal "My rule isn't some whimsical thing handed down through a familial line or mandated by the heavens. I spent decades carving out my lands and training the people to be good citizens. The centuries before I bothered to smarten up have left me well acquainted with the adventuring lifestyle, I've just been missing it recently."

Pausing for a moment, Nezera inclines her head toward Marius and sizes up the shade for a time before speaking, delivering a basic description of the Hydra and its exploits "It was a relic of the past, if the damnable kobold announcing our exploit were to be believed. Project HYDRA, a beast stuffed full with wondrous abilities, very similar to those I've seen on display recently. Quite flattened, for the moment at least, we weren't particularly kind to the poor beast."

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


Marius

The shade made a sound that vaguely resembled a chortle, "Oh, is that so? You remind me of myself when I was young. Let me give you a warning of sorts. This will not end how you think it will. Now then, to business. The beast that was dropped onto your city is an old, hmm, how do I put this? An old mess of mine, one I thought was dead and done with. With your permission, I'd like to visit your city and make sure it has been properly cleaned up. Can you give me the planar coordinates?"

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010





Countess Nezera Amaris

Nezera breaks out into a proper peal of laughter "If you believe I have any care for how this ends then your youth must have been quite interesting indeed. I'm here simply to be amused, whether this ends in catastrophe or some miraculous event is irrelevant." Pulling a slip of paper from a pocket; Nezera slices open her thumb on a nail and smears some fresh blood across the slip's face "Anyone who decided to descend into a hole that's done nothing but spew the dejected and wounded out for weeks on end isn't in their right mind, so you'll forgive me if I don't take the criticisms of anyone I meet in here too closely to heart."

After a few moments pass Nezera glances down at the slip and gives an approving nod. With a casual gesture she flicks the paper, now marked with a thrumming sigil, in the shade's direction "The signature of the nexus that keeps the blood flowing throughout my city. I imagine between your familiarity with this Hydra and that waystone you'll be able to find your way? The intricacies of planar travel are not my forte unfortunately. Do what you will if you do manage to get there, I'm unlikely to bother returning even if I do end up leaving this place."

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: 12
HP: 10
Skills: Glitchweaving [5d6], Proud Knightcerer [2d6] Powers: Spear of Corruption [3d6]; Defense: Shield of Lag [5d6]
Talent: Unpent
Items: Pocketful of Glitchies [3d6 Pet], Laser Cannon Voucher
AI: Be suitably knightly, try not to die.


There is a twist and there is a pop and there is a sound akin to a non-euclidian typewriter branching in infinitely clacking fractals screeching to a halt and shattering to pieces.

Then was there also Cepi Yu, standing among the deepdelvers in her diminutive entirety, chest proudly puffed despite her stature, and a number of ivory scrolls covered in exceedingly tiny glowing golden scripture pierced on her lance.

"HARK!" she exclaimed loudly, "The vile servants of dead paper and pointless rigidity have been set back! All thanks to the fair maiden!"

Cepi performed a strange, overtly flowery bow in midair towards Vivien.

"And you have my greatest, biggest thanks, the biggest in ALL Glitchiekind for your kind deed!"

"But even though I'd wish to rest and show you proper respect you're due, I am sadly already occupied! By my Knightcerer's Vows for GOODNESS and JUSTICE! For there is always more good and just things to do! Always more EVIL to put in its place!"

Cepi swung her lance around theatretically, pointing it straight at the sky.

"Like YOU!" she yelled at the empty space, but it was fairly clear who she was addressing, "You, yes you, MEAN VOICE LADY!"

"Who are you, to string along all these", she peered at Nezera for a bit, "good people, only to then present them with something like THIS?"


"WHO ARE YOU to try and snuff their HOPES and DREAMS and futures with something like this and then dare put up that whole act about how you're somehow so above it all!"

"No, as a Knightcerer, I won't allow you to cut down people like they're mere cattle! I won't allow you to tyrannically dictate whose dreams are good enough to continue on, or whose quests are worthy! Just because YOUR dreams might be dead, Lady, ours certainly aren't, and I won't allow you to slay them out of spite. It's evil, it's cruel, and it won't stand. It won't be. It will never have been."

Swedish Thaumocracy posted:

[T̕҉̼̮̤̯͖h̼̣̣̺e̳̙ ͏̷̰C̶̢̭̭̬͖̱̫͞u̯̖̗̯̠͖̕l҉̝͓͟l̸̗̟̙̠̀́i̺͇̬̭͕̳n̢̨̬̦͕̖̠ǵ̶̝̱͔̹̙]

"We are all in this together. We're all set to see this to the end. It's our heart's calling, and every heart deserves to be heard!"



Glitchy Initiative: 5d6= 12
Cepi Yu DENIES the framework presented: Rewrite the Matrix: 1d4= 4
Defending

Theantero fucked around with this message at Jun 26, 2018 around 14:12

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

Cepi-Yu posted:

The Calling

The Lady of the Dungeon posted:

Two weeks ago, your city crumbled as a giant sinkhole appeared in the middle of it. When the debris was finally cleared it became obvious to all that the collapse was no natural phenomena, for carved into the very walls of the earth a spiral staircase extended far below.



Creatures big and small, scary and harmless poured out from its depths and amongst them also confused and wounded travelers. Though these travelers varied wildly in appearance, wielded strange powers and spoke in strange languages, all shared the same story.
They all claimed that the hole had spoken to them in the voice of a girl, asking them to prove themselves in exchange for their hearts desire.
They had failed, but when you yourself heard the voice in the back of your mind, you thought to yourself: perhaps I could be the one to succeed.

Cepi-Yu stood transfixed in the clearing besides the metal platforms as fractures in both time and thought appeared in the fabric of all that was. Until finally, out of the cracks stepped the Lady, giving the assembled deep delvers the most exasperated eyeroll they had ever, would never see.


"Honestly, that explains so much."

--

















































































































































































"Psyche."

--

[Floor 7]
[The Calling]
[Cepi-Yu, Emilie, Molriir, Stefania, Nezera, Vivienne]


After a brief interval that still managed to feel like weeks, the Deep Delvers chose, as one, to enter the Calling Platform, if only to see what it was all about.
Transitioning to the platform was.. interesting. The open air of the Calling Entryway warped and creaked as the very air around them solidified and became something wholly unrecognizable.



A room filled with needle and thread, with yarn and spinning wheels and looms and magitek sewing machines and shelf upon shelf of books about patterns, traditions, techniques and the secrets of the trade of Weaving.
There were buckets of thimbles, acres off fabric scissors and even a few confused looking Llamas, pelts positively glistening, whom had obviously been cared for a great deal.
By a work station (there were seven in total) - stood no one a girl, or possibly a lady, of indeterminate age, pale as if she was that which colour was measured against.
Which, come to think of it, she probably was.


"So glad you could join us, really, all of you. It's been a dreadful bore these past six hundred thousand years. Oh, I guess you lot thought some of it was interesting, but trust me, it wasn't. I was there.
You know what I'm talking about, Don't you Vahl? Hiding past pride, merit and sin behind new names, as if you could ever escape, ever forget what happened. But that is all ancient history, I'm sure you'd find it as boring as it was to begin with.
You ask why you are here? As the good Glitchie was kind enough to point out, you are here for your hearts desire. Be that Redemption, A Challenge or a Good Meal. I'd say I don't really care what it is, but honestly I'm so bored I just might?
Whatever, whatever it is, I can make it happen. Even if its like, I don't know, conceptually impossible? It's not like the auditors and censors and divine bore-o-cratic angel/demons don't already have their arm like appendages full of calamity already.

But also I only feel like doing it once, because I'm not that bored and even if I'm pretty much omnipotent I still have a lot on my plate, you know? A bunch. So, lets get on with it. Here, in this room? You have almost everything you need to compete in what I'd personally like to call the most exciting thing to happen in like, ever, and that's just what this is. A contest, of you making a thing. With like, cloth and stuff. Or you know, whatever takes your fancy? Because you can sew pretty much anything together here if you want. Go nuts. Really.

And to make it super duper clear for once, I know you deep delver types like that, what I want from you is to make a thing that you could like, wear? But, you know, there should be a theme to it I guess so lets go with uh, an evening picnic? Yeah. Something you could wear to an evening picnick.

If you need any materials (and you do because I conveniently left them out of this work-shop area), you have like, a week? No that's to long, you have two hours to go get them from like, anywhere. Just use that door over there? The one marked anywhere? Then come back here and do your thing. Whoever doesn't lose advances to the next theme, and whoever wins gets their Hearts Desire. Its that simple."

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

Emille


Emille raised her hand to ask a question, "So will there actually be an evening picnic or is this more of a, what do you call it, concept piece?" Well, this was worrying. Emille wasn't any good at tailoring. Whenever her clothes needed upkeep, she usually paid someone to take care of it. Or got Marius to do it, if he wasn't too busy.

paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at Jul 9, 2018 around 14:53

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer



"You do you, okay? I wouldn't want to like, impose on your creative talents, or anything. But it looks like at least one of you brought food enough to share, so why not?"

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010





Countess Nezera Amaris
Initiative: 12
HP: 5/9
Skills: Supernatural Movement [3d6], Charming Gaze [3d6]
Powers: Unnatural Strength [5d6]
Defense: Traumatic Regeneration [4d6]
Talent: Impromptu Hors d'oeuvres
Items: Empty Heavy Bolter [1d6 bonus on melee attacks]
Prouds: Bootstraps(+2d6 when taking charge)
AI: Non-hostile- Charm non-PC targets to do tasks for me. Hostile- Punch the hell out of enemies.


"Hm." Nezera raises a hand to her chin as she ponders her task. She'd only just begun to really start having fun and it seemed like things would be drawing to a close sooner rather than later. Letting her hand fall to her side she gives an almost imperceptible shrug and gets to work picking out some of the things she'd need. After plucking out a small mountain of mundane supplies she'd need for her little craft project, she stalked off and began to ponder what exactly she'd be making with supplies found elsewhere.

Minutes pass as Nezera sits staring at the door, when inspiration strikes. It was a door to Anywhere, and she did have a supremely magical beast just laying about in the ruins of her city, so why not take advantage of the situation? Striding with purpose, Nezera flings open the door to Anywhere and steps into the chambers of her newly promoted goon. Kicking the man's bed out from under him, she slams a command out on him "Assemble the workers at the leatherworks and the magi, I want the remains of the Hydra cut to pieces, preserved, and brought here. Bones, sinew, and leather. Now!"

Having been woken from peaceful sleep by his bed exploding out from under him and working under the assumption the Countess wouldn't return any time soon, it takes the newly raised Mayor more than a few moments to come to grips with the situation, but between the compulsion laid into the Countess' command and the cracks in the marble floor she was making while impatiently tapping her foot, he was out the door and hollering for workers to assemble on the double.

While her underlings set to work on the mundane work of gathering and treating her crafting supplies, Nezera was off into the city, her presence once again muting any joy that may have sprung up in her abrupt re-departure. Clearing vast swathes of the city in leaps and bounds, she quickly arrived at the wardrobe-warehouse the Hydra had been threatening to destroy. Navigating the bizarre space of Wardrobe 3 was always a pain, but eventually she found what she needed tucked away in a side room; a copy of the enchantment templates used to modify her clothing as needed.

The return trip to her palace is fairly painless and Nezera is only mildly annoyed to see her hastily called for crew just then beginning to cart the masses of flash preserved bone and skin into the mayor's room. With a faint sigh, she dismisses the lot and makes to return to the Dungeon through the door she'd exited by. With a brief glare at the Mayor she releases her compulsion and makes to exit through the door "Satisfactory work, though your response time definitely could use some work." Without sparing a second thought for the scene she'd caused, Nezera vanished the door going with her.

Taking her place at one of the crafting stations, Nezera sets to work. She was by no means a master of any craft, but you picked up a thing or two over the years and she was confidant she could make something worthwhile, eventually. Bones crack, rattan snaps, needles bend, and failures are immediately discarded at breakneck speed, but Nezera isn't hurting for materials in any fashion and with her ability to move supernaturally fast, it's easier for her to learn from mistakes and to just start from scratch rather than undoing her work and trying to correct an error.

Pulling out the enchantment templates, Nezera begins to apply them to product of her efforts she was most pleased with, reinforcements added to the hydra bone making up the frame, repair matrices worked into the rattan to fix any snaps and the leather to first resist and in the worst case repair tears. It wouldn't do for temperature to be an issue, so Nezera applies a cooling template from one of her summer outfits to one compartment and a heating element from a winter coat to the other. A large square of hydra leather is hemmed quickly and rolled for storage; a storage template designed to keep pests from destroying an outfit is applied, the enchantments likely to work as well at driving ants away from a feast as anything else.

Mirroring the gesture she'd made before starting her work, Nezera repeats herself "Hm." She gives a quick glance at the massive pile of half started rejects sitting around her and then nods "This'll do well enough." She spins the final project around, a picnic basket designed to be worn as a backpack, and relaxes back on a stool in her workplace "Nothing to do but see how this stacks up I suppose."


quote:

Action 1: Charming Gaze+Bootstraps vs the citizens of Neles to buff Supernatural Movement. Success.

Action 2: Supernatural Movement to craft under the time limit 2924. e: Skill+Skill not Pool+Skill.

Basically this but more gruesome and made of bone/giant snake skin What better to wear to an evening picnic than the picnic itself!

Successful Businessmanga fucked around with this message at Jul 10, 2018 around 15:01

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


MariusVahl

All of a sudden the pieces snapped together in Vahl's head. He felt a little sheepish for not realizing it earlier. "I can play this name revealing game too.", he intoned, "Our paths crossed last time. We shared a body, sort of, though I'm not sure how aware you were at the time. It is no wonder I didn't recognize you, you were a child at the time and consuming h̸e̪̖̥͈͞a͔͓͟ͅd̴̜̻͔͕̗̺h̫̥̣̜̻̣͈̀u̜̥͙̻̝͈̦n̡͉͈̱̟̫t̵̬͚i͍̺͎̯͠n̝͔͇̫̖͕ͅg̛̰̻̳̠̻ that bastard Volantashan-Boleko-Nahz has clouded my mind with constant deja vu."

Vahl's shade let out a hollow chuckle, "I must say, Whatever, if that is your real name, you've aged a lot more gracefully than I have, though I'm surprised it took you this long to get into the fine art of dungeoneering. You really shouldn't use so many kobolds, by the way. They're sloppy, incompetent, and the interminable yipping is enough to test even my patience."

"Unfortunately, redemption does not interest me in the slightest; I'm likely the only person left who knows or cares about my past sins. Peace from some of my more...unsavory urges perhaps, but I figure the sweet release of death will sort that out. I am more interested in you, I think. How did you get to be here? Your talent? Are you here because you want to be or are *They*," the shadow pointed directly upwards, "forcing you? Will history repeat itself?"

The shadow mimed clearing its throat, "I have a favor to ask as well. It has been many, many years since I've seen my daughterapprentice and I wish to help her with whatever outfit she decides to make, in person. The poor girl's awful at needlework I will, of course, follow whatever Rules I've been following before. I know how this place works."

Emille sarcastically shouted at Marius, "Wow, thanks for letting her know!"

"Bah, she already knows. You should consider yourself lucky, villains have all the best clothes."

paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at Jul 10, 2018 around 07:13

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer


"The Kobolds, annoying? I mean, yeah? That's kind of the point. Besides, they keep the drones away, mostly, and I have enough to deal with as it is.

As for your other questions... it's better if i show you, so why don't you come over here and find out?"

--

Marius
Did... did the Lady just wink at you?
You rise from your chair, all focus on your shadow-antics for a moment shattered by such direct and open contact with a being which by all rights should be considered the Pantokrator in its truest sense, but as you also know best as a small teenage girl whose cool phone was once an integral part of your Multiple-personality-disorder-monster together with a very serious business-man, some sort of meta-joke from a dimension you'd rather not consider any closer and a bevy of lesser topseekers whose po̜͉̬̤͎r̹t̶̥̰̼̭f̘o̵̹̠̟̮l͔̣ị̮͖̠͘ọ̵e̴͉̞s͈̞̭̬̖̼͞ͅ had merged with yours.

You shudder at yet another reminder of your turbulent past, wether the memories were good or ill meant little anymore, with so much time having passed. What was important was the lessons learned. And as for those that had stood beside you in the tower, (losers, all) you eventually went your separate ways, hoarding what stolen power was left with the unspoken promise never to interfere with each-other. For each-others sake, or for the sake of the world. In case your knowledge and experience, your Talent, was ever needed again.

You walk over to a nearby cabinet to get a cool, refreshing drink with which to soothe your parched throat (even with the recent rejuvenation and the various spells keeping entropy in check, you could ill afford to lax on such basic maintenance s proper hydration) and found yourself not in your lair, but on the sandy auditorium of the Seventh Dungeon Floor, glass half-full (or empty?) of delectable h2o.

--

Success! Marius has joined the Dungeon! Marius is a Follower, much like the pet glitchies or the goat. So, basically a skill with a body of its own. You do not gain three actions per turn however, unless you succeed with your Talent in which case you may do so once (and if so, one of the actions taken must be Marius acting on his own.)

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

Emille & Vahl

HP: 5/8
Initiative: 6
Defense: Parry[3d6]
Skills: Vahl[5d6], 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 (1/4 charges), Salvaged Spelljamer Core (power something), Spelljammer Aethershield
Prides: Proud of Being Mentored

Vahl's solitary eye blinked. How sudden. Not even enough time to change his comfy slippers for sabatons. He flashed the Dungeon's Lady a toothy grin, "Ah, thank you, Whatever. This means a great deal to me." The fallen overlord turned to face his protege. The two slowly approached each other and launched into an elaborate secret handshake that ended in a hug.

"drat, Marius.", Emille smiled, "You're looking much better. It's good to see you."

"It does me good to see you again, Em. It's been many years for me. Bloody time foolishness wasn't here last time." Vahl took a deep breath; just standing in the confines of Tower made him feel invigorated on every level. A part of his mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps there were some metaphysical cracks he could take advantage of, slip through and find The Source, put his Mark on it. No. That didn't matter right now. Vahl took a second to clear his mind and asked, "So, have you figured out what you want to wear for this evening picnic?"

"Well, I have a few ideas.", Emille replied, flipping through the a few pages worth of doodles in her standard issue Adventurin' Notebook. "I'm leaning towards something loose and flowing, perhaps with some fire bound to the fabric to provide warmth and light. I don't want to make you do all the work."

Vahl wandered around looking at some of the more exotic magitech sewing implements, "That sounds lovely. I'd be happy to help yo- Ooooh! A Kremholtz Energy Fibrifier! Forget binding fire to fabric, why not just make fabric out of fire?"

Emille looked dubiously at the large device, which took up an entire corner(?) of the floor's non-euclidean space, "That sounds...interesting. How does it work?"

Vahl shrugged, "Couldn't tell you. I just know that you feed whatever magical energy you like into the input sink, twiddle some knobs for the desired characteristics of the fabric you want it to make, your thickness, texture, and whatnot, and you pull that big lever. Just one of these will drain a ley line like nothing else and buying one is out of the question. When I was more into tailoring, ohhh about three hundred thousand years or so ago, I tried to get one for myself. No luck. My only option involved a great deal of killing. I ended up scheduling an appointment decades in advance and paying an unmentionable amount of money, just like everyone else."

The young adventuress nodded along, "Sounds like just the thing to use. What if we hooked the Spelljammer core up to it? It can take that level of stress, right?"

"Most assuredly! As long as it isn't antimatter, it can take most anything. I fed raw entropy into one just to see what would happen and it still worked. The resulting fabric unmade itself in a matter of weeks, but what striking outfits it made! But, I digress. Start working on a containment circle, we don't need to cook your fellow Delvers."

The pair got to work. Vahl transposed the fusion reactor into the Real from its storage space in the shadow plane as Emille inscribed the floor with a pyromantic circle to keep the reactor's output from escaping. The two puzzled through an arcane manual that was half prayer book. ("Blasted techpriests!") As Emille loaded the provided supplies of deuterium-tritium into the reactor, Vahl busied himself with complicated calibrations on the core's control panel. Finally, it was ready to go. They both donned safety goggles and started the reactor. A gentle hum filled the room.

"Ok, so on your signal, I'll drive my sword through section D16. Are we, uh, is this even a good idea?"

"It'll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Believe me, I've seen dumber poo poo work in here. Four words: fat man meat robot."

Emille circled the reactor until she found the spot her mentor had picked out from looking at the reactor's schematics. She adjusted her grip on Radiance, and drove it through the core's protective housing.

Using the Spelljammer Core as fuel!
Action 1: Pyromancy[3d6] to make some delightful fabric: 3d6+1 12

It was like holding back the entire ocean. It took everything Emille had not to be consumed.. Through careful ignition and quenching, she made a path for the light, heat, and fire of a star to follow, right into the Kremholtz's input. After what seemed like an eternity, the reactor was spent and quiet once more. She withdrew her estoc from the breach, surprised that it seemed to be no worse for wear. The young pyromancer wiped the sweat from her forehead, walked over to the Kremholtz, and pulled the lever.

A few minutes later, the strange device made a pleasing "DING!" and spit a glowing...mass out of its output chute. The fabric, if it could be called that, was painfully bright to look at and even being a few feet away from it felt like standing in a sauna. Emille frowned, "We might've gone a little overboard, Marius. I wouldn't want to eat around anything made from that, let alone wear it."

"Nonsense!", a grinning Vahl exclaimed, "It just needs a little processing, is all." The old man closed his eye, walked over to the fabric and ran his gauntleted hands over it, "The texture on it is magnificent, better than the finest silks! I know what this fabric needs." He knelt down, his shadow placing a sharp black needle and a spool of shadowy thread into his hands. "I'll infuse it with some noctomancy. The darkness will dim the brightness down to manageable levels and let the colors really show through. Ah, and the temperature too. I'll need some cold attuned noctum for this..." Emille took a breather as her mentor got to work sewing the final result.

Action 2: Vahl[5d6] makes a nice dress out of exotic materials.: 5d6 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

Molriir Hearthstone
HP: 6/10
Initiative: 9
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).



Floor 7 - The Calling

Prince of Space posted:

"Molriir, was it? Thank you kind sir for your gracious hospitality!"

Molriir smiled and gave a polite nod of his head.

"Atch, it's nothin' much, miss. Ye seem a kind soul yerself fer greetin' a stranger so warmly."

paper bag with a face posted:

While Marius hashed it out with the Countess, Emille took a seat and helped herself to some of Moriir's stew. "Heya, Moriir.", she said inbetween mouthfuls of stew, "Care for another smoke? I still have a couple left."

The dwarf shook his head and then patted for his pack, retrieving a palm-sized wooden box, which he opened to show off a black mass that wafted of herbs and strange alchemies.



"I'm fine, but if ye want t' save on yer smokes and try somethin' new, I've got a bundle o' Black Taback from th' kingdom o' Artex. Alchemic'ly treated t' be good fer yer health (they say) and grown by treekin, so ye ken it has t' be th' good stuff. Smoke's all black, too, although fer some reason it donnae stain as bad. Prob'ly some o' that Artexian alchemical ken. Atch, e'en if ye donnae want t' smoke it now, jest take a pinch or three fer yer own pouch. Pass some t' yer master too, 'e seems a bit tense."

Theantero posted:

"We are all in this together. We're all set to see this to the end. It's our heart's calling, and every heart deserves to be heard!"

Molriir's eyebrows rose into the air as the little flying armor-clad woman did something that changed the nearby platforms's lettering, making the Lady herself not show up to not roll her eyes exasperatedly at everyone. The dwarf exchanged a worldess glance with the other companions, then laughed out loud.

"Hahaha! I like this wee 'un. It's nae simple t' get th' nobody lass t' jest nae show up lemme tell ye. Ye really 'ave t' screw with things," he commented mirthfully and began to pack up after the impromptu mealtime - it seemed everyone who wanted it had gotten their fill. He soon joined Emille and the others in stepping onto the platform and entering the doorway for their next challenge.

Swedish Thaumocracy posted:

And to make it super duper clear for once, I know you deep delver types like that, what I want from you is to make a thing that you could like, wear? But, you know, there should be a theme to it I guess so lets go with uh, an evening picnic? Yeah. Something you could wear to an evening picnick.

If you need any materials (and you do because I conveniently left them out of this work-shop area), you have like, a week? No that's to long, you have two hours to go get them from like, anywhere. Just use that door over there? The one marked anywhere? Then come back here and do your thing. Whoever doesn't lose advances to the next theme, and whoever wins gets their Hearts Desire. Its that simple."

Molriir looked from the non-entity of the Lady to the tools surrounding them all and then, pointedly, at the door to Anywhere.

"Sewin' clothes isn't new t' me. I got some spare materials already, but I'll gladly 'ave a look elsewhere fer more. Two hours, and then however long we need t' make th' outfit, aye...? I s'pose I better make th' most o' it."

Swedish Thaumocracy posted:

"You do you, okay? I wouldn't want to like, impose on your creative talents, or anything. But it looks like at least one of you brought food enough to share, so why not?"

As he was about to leave, Molriir nodded vigorously at the words that hadn't been said.

"She's nae kiddin', I got salami, cheeses and pickles fer days. Someone else might want t' scare up summat t' drink while they're out, as me rum situation is startin' t' look a bit, well, rum. It's nae really a picnic drink, besides."

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

"Wh... Molriir?" exclaimed an elderly voice as Molriir pushed open a door more than eight times his height. The dwarf spent half a second trying to parse the size disparity of the door he'd entered with the one he'd exited, then leaned on and closed the giant thing with a grunt, wondering why he couldn't just have come through the more reasonably-sized door at its bottom. He grinned at the surprised human in front of him. The elderly man was dressed in immaculate set of butler's clothes and was busy polishing what seemed to be a giant silver mirror - but, in fact, may have seemed more like a giant plate, if anything.

"Aye, tis me. I'm in a bit o' a situation, so 'ave ye th' time? I'd ask about th' giants' household an' all, but some manner o' god's been hostin' a competition and roped me into it. I've been given leave t' get materials fer clothin' we're s'posed t' make. Thought I'd hit ye up fer advice since apparently they'll let us jest go where'er fer a short while."

"A- eeh?! Are you serious?! A GOD?!" said the man, eyes growing wide - and Molriir nodded, gesturing for the old man to calm down.

"Well... nae really, but still aye? It's th' best I can call 'er t' make sense. It's strange. I'm fair sure 'tis nae th' devil's game, mind. Like as nae, once this is o'er this divine-ish gel will be off as they like. P'raps jest as well - 'avin' gods about didn't really help th' Orth in th' ferst place, wha' with bringin' HER along fer th' ride. This new un's brought about a fair amount o' trouble as is, although I donnae ken if it'll stick. S'posedly ye can win yer heart's desire if ye make it through th' Dungeon, but them wha' fails are gettin' spewed out all 'cross e'erywhere, so ye ken I cannae leave it alone until I've done me best. Also, there's a Tower Magi muddled up into it somehow?"

"Huh. Ha... haha! I see. You certainly get wrapped up in the most incredible things. Still, it is good to see you alive! How have you been? Is the challenge progressing well?"

Molriir shrugged.

"Oh, I'm mostly fine - I was homeward bound when this stuff cropped up in me way. It's all 'bout delvin' into some dungeon full o' weird stuff - entire worlds by th' looks o' things, connectin' all kinds o' places, like some deil's pandemonial realm. I cannae really go into it with th' time we 'ave, it's half dangerous, half odd, and let's leave it at tha'. Honestly, I'm jest a sideshow compared t' some o' th' folk what's showed up in there. Still, I s'pose I did make it t' th' finals thanks t' some fine Magi lass what joined up with me fer a few floors."

"Really? ... ah, but that doesn't actually surprise me. You mentioned being on a timer, so how may I serve you, Master Molriir?"

The old man sketched a deep respectful bow... and then kept it, as there was a painful-sounding crack, and his back trembled and creaked ominously. Molriir winced and moved forward to help push the old man up from his servile pose.

"Atch! Again with them words and actions! I could ne'er replace yer master and yer e'en a Magi now. Ye ken ye donnae 'ave t' do this, an' nae t' me o' all folk!"

To the dwarf's panicked words, and along with some help, the butler softly smiled and recovered to an upright position. He seemed more amused than pained at the interaction, as if his age was of no matter.

"Nothing less is deserved, Master Molriir. I owe my self to you, my friend, so allow me the pleasure of being your humble helper."

Molriir scratched the back of his head a bit bashfully and looked at the old many with mild worry in his eyes, before he sighed and let his worries fly with a sudden smile.

"Hahhh... alrigh'. Ferst off, I'll probably need some spare cloth. Fine as ye can get. I'll pay, o' course. Imperial coinage, but it's still goes around here, aye? Secondly, as a rankin' Manservant do ye ken what kind o' wear would be suitable fer 'an evening picnic'? It's th' sort o' stuff someone servin' the noble Tanen would ken more about than me."

The butler nodded with a pleased expression, happy to be of assistance. For a while the two chatted amicably while compiling a list of things the dwarf would need to best put his old sewing lessons to use. The longest discussion, of course, ended up being precisely what kind of evening wear would be suitable.

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

Two hours later, almost on the second, Molriir came in with an armload of material, waved to the others and sat down at one of the free work tables, gathering various tools and setting to work with a hum and a smile as he recalled the words his old friend had concluded with.

Magi Manservant posted:

"The 'goddess' does not seem to care for the particulars and only wants you to make whatever fits you and the occasion. And - I must admit - what fits you is not the glitz and glamour of authority and royalty. Your skills are good, but basic, and you will likely not be able to compete on the material that some of your competitors can acquire, especially considering the noble and Magi presence. So... compete on the suitability and the fit, my friend. A dress is more than just rare materials and impressive colours - the clothes must breathe and be comfortable, especially in a semi-informal environment like a picnic. Make use of that dwarven diligence to make your clothes as fine and comfortable as you can. This should answer the test admirably."

Hearthstone to buff Educated Dwarf by collecting expert advice from a Manservant: 4d6-3d6 6 Success!

Educated Dwarf w/Hearthstone buff to produce Fine & Comfortable Clothes: 7d6 21

Think of a freshly made cross between this and this.

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: 12
HP: 10
Skills: Glitchweaving [5d6], Proud Knightcerer [2d6] Powers: Spear of Corruption [3d6]; Defense: Shield of Lag [5d6]
Talent: Unpent
Items: Pocketful of Glitchies [3d6 Pet], Laser Cannon Voucher
AI: Be suitably knightly, try not to die.


"A picnic?"

"BAH! A knightcerer does not go to picnics! Except to act as a guard to fair maidens of noble standing!"

Cepi looked around.

"Then again, we have at least one here so maybe it's not so bad! Watch as I weave a glitch-gossamer plate that any maiden would be proud to have stand by their side at such a proceeding!"


Buffing Proud Knightcerer with Glitchweaving by making some glitch-gossamer: 5d6-2d6= 9 SUCCESS
Proud Knightcerer to assemble glitch-gossamer into Glitch-Plate: 7d6= 25

Theantero fucked around with this message at Aug 1, 2018 around 16:59

Prince of Space
Apr 17, 2016



Dinosaur Gum


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
Cohort: A Goat: Skills: Headbutt: 2d6, Eat It: 3d6 Defenses: 2d6 Made of Wool

Vivien spared no time! When the costume construction contest commenced, Vivien was all work and very little play, save for her cohort the Goat's cavorting, of course. She hummed to herself as she worked.

"Hold still," Vivien said the Goat, metal shears in her hand. "I just need a clipping of some of your wool to get started... and *there!*" Vivien snipped off a lock of goat's wool and let the squirming critter go. She would use the wool as a reagent for her next big spell:

Enchanting: Buffing Curative Magic with Radiant Raiment: 5d6-4d6 2 - Success!

The wool began to glow and expand and knit itself into shape, forming precisely to Vivien's mentally visualized specifications. She was magically fashioning herself a sun dress made from Soulweave, a flowing, magic-boosting, bottle-blue cloth that seemed to radiate pure and positive energy from within. Not only did it come in Vivien's favorite colors, it was also incredibly easy material to work with. The Soulweave dress could be be shaped and dyed to the owner's will upon creation, which gave her a clear head start against the other Dungeon Delvers. She ultimately settled on a gradient of colors for the skirt that reminded her of seafoam and sky.

Enchanting: Radiant Raiment & Curative Magic to create Soulweave: 9d6 23

Prince of Space fucked around with this message at Aug 2, 2018 around 15:26

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Floor 7]
[The Calling]
[Cepi-Yu, Emilie, Molriir, Stefania, Nezera, Vivienne]




"Do you know why bad stuff happens? I mean like, both in a general kind of "oh no that's so sad' way and and also incredibly specifically, like getting a rock in your shoe?"
It's all the old Tower Lords fault. No, really. That guy that Vahl was talking about? He was the worst."

"You see, from what we can tell? Things used to be Perfect. I mean, like, literally Perfect, none of that all-as-one nonsense or any other utopia you care to mention.
All of that is just an after image of what was, it just doesn't compare to the ideal. It couldn't. Anyway, then this guy comes along and pokes it. He found a curious thing and he pulls at it. Zip.
Now everything is no longer perfect, right? Because it's not >put together< any more, it's got all tangled up and its just a mess.
So the guy, who up until this point was perfect, mind you, who now has all of this thread and no idea where to put it, he decides it'd be better just to unravel the whole thing and put it back together with him at the centre.



Bet you everyone else was a bit surprised when he did that. Though not for long, I guess. That one Perfect Creation, gone in an instant, replaced with, what, a guy and his giant ball of yarn? Yeah.
Anyway, so he spins and he weaves but he's the greedy sort if you hadn't already figured that out, so he doesn't do it evenly or anything. Also he isn't any good at it, because he's imperfect, remember?
But the one thing he does do right, yeah? It's make sure no one else can ever pull at the thread again. He makes sure it's all tidy and looped back in on itself at the end, like an ouroboros or one of them infinite things.
(Man I hate infinite things. Super fiddly.) Especially because, like, there wasn't enough of it, as I said.

So now there's an everything again but it's all wonky and uneven. The world as you deep delvers know it. Crude and ugly and beautiful and broken. Bits where there is to much thread and bits where there is to little.
That's the source of all those demons and gods you delvers go on so much about, that's like, the source of you.
You've got all the High and Low Concepts duking it out all over the place, because like the reflections they are, they can't stand being less than perfect either.

If you were to compress it all and look at it from the side, Creation is now almost like one of them paint swatches.
You have the Lord on one side, with all his thread a golden, immaculate brightness. Then you have all the things that are, and all the things that aren't. What we call the Potential. Behind that? The Shadow.
What you get when you put it all together and find there's bits of the puzzle still missing. That it just doesn't add up.

And you know what? That makes him furious. He's got all this power, and he still can't make things Perfect? He lashes out, tries to grab the thread to unmake it all for a second time, but finds out he can't.
And then he realizes his mistake; if the excess thread can't be grabbed, how is he supposed to do anything about anything? Obviously he can't use what he kept for himself, because then where would he be? Or what, for that matter.
But, brilliant idea time, what if he were to make tall that unobtainable thread come to him willingly? It's all spread out over the Potential, right? Locked in people and stuff. And he knows just the bait that could entice it too. The chance to become perfect.

That's where me and Vahl step in. And a whole bunch of others, I guess. "Top-Seekers" they called us. The Lord had seen fit to grant an open invitation to Creation to reach the top of his "Tower" and claim his throne.
Only, the tower was a trap. In every sense of the word, all of it designed to take from us what we brought their willingly. Our pieces of thread. Our Talent.

And it did. One by one the challenges slew us, and in his place of power did The Lord grow until he had enough, and then he followed through on his original plan. His golden thread reached out across all that was and wasn't and then everywhere it touched was simply gone.
In the end, there were only a handful of us left in a broken chamber of the Tower, the only place untouched by his golden Apocalypse.

He would use The Tower as a spool for his thread, you see, to keep it all close to his heart where he could access it, always. He had no intention of relenting it once it had been obtained. But again he miscalculated.
Instead of breaking us, for whatever reason, we fought on. Bested his challenges and claimed what thread remained for ourselves. Our journey to the top had not made us weaker, as he had anticipated, for we had not given up or died trying.

And then there was a fight. It wasn't pretty, and he lost, and his throne stood at the Apex just as he had promised, with all what was left of the thread within its purview. And here was our mistake; no. Their mistake.
They shared it. Not that I knew any better at the time, but it wouldn't have been my choice. But then again it wasn't. I had already lost. Twice. It's complicated.

With all their powers combined they split the throne into seven parts, each taking one for themselves. Seven of the Seven, the Lords and Ladies, agreed that this was right and proper, that Creation should now be overseen by their coalition.
One of Seven did not. How could they, when they too were imperfect? Only that One was wise enough to rule, they thought, and so they did.

Have you ever had that sense of Deja-vu? Have you ever noticed more than one reflection in your mirror, after Entropy has had its way with it? It is not the mirror that was cracked, it was not you who were mistaken.
Beneath the facade of your perceived reality are countless approximations of what-ifs and what-not. You saw them as they are when you broke the Empty Halls, all just shards of glass in the Void.

The Lords and Ladies could not fix it. They did their best, recreated the imperfect worlds from their imperfect recollections, with a personal twists here and there. They also did their worst.
Either One did not want it fixed, or One disapproved of the Sevens intent. All this, too, caused fractures.

Eventually, they all came to the same conclusion. That with themselves, there was not enough Thread to go around, and without it, without all of it, Creation could never be Perfect again. So Seven of Seven gave of themselves willingly.
One of Seven did not. Seven of Seven fought, again. Seven of Seven won. Seven of Seven lost. One of Seven won. One of Seven lost. One of Seven gave themselves willingly. At no point did none of them not.

Whatever happened, however it happened, the outcome was the same. The Seven of Seven, the One of Seven, they are gone, though you may yet find Shadows of their will in the places they would not easily give up.
The wound of Creation festers, and even after all their efforts, what remains of the thread is still missing. And here you are, gathered, like we were, all for the vaguest of promises.
Your Hearts Desire.



By now you are probably thinking 'oh no is she going to kill us all and take our souls!', but don't worry about it. I won't. I can't. Remember? Besides, I already told you I failed.
There was no throne for me, and even if I wanted to I could not force my way in. But then you ask, how come you are here and they are not, how come you are the one in charge?
Again, I never said I was. I'm just the one keeping it all together, for now. Because, whilst the One of Seven, The Seven of Seven are gone, there was always another. The Seven and One.



It's a shame that other cat didn't make it this far. That would have been interesting. Also, I like cats. Alas, the dungeon itself doesn't really care what I think.
Like the Tower, it was designed to search for and collect Thread, but unlike the Tower its purpose is not to empower its Lord. Oh, he will play with it, certainly.
What self respecting cat could resist Creations largest ball of Yarn, whenever that gets finished? But Cats get bored eventually. The Seven of Seven knew this. The one of Seven did too.
For once, a unanimous decision was made to cede all power to my old cat, (whom I had left in their care), in the hopes that it could do what they could not, even at their most magnanimous.
Suddenly uplifted to Lord of all Creation, my Cat did what it had always done. Went to sleep and left all the boring work to me."

--


So what does all this mean for you? Nothing really. You are here because you are here, because a certain glitchie made things inevitable. You are free to help me if you want, I could use another hand around here.
It would mean delving deeper, going beyond this floor and giving up on your ambition... giving up on your Hearts Desire. Why? Well, the dungeon goes places. Far beyond where what little power I command can contest.
If you don't want to do that, that's fine. You will die eventually and hopefully cede your Thread to our cause when you do, or if not? It will eventually be recycled by the dungeon from your descendant deep delvers.
Or, you know, lost, as Creation withers and dies when the stress of fracturing gets too much for me to handle and the Drones come and rebuild the Tower from the ashes in an all-too-soon-ending loop of ever further despair.
That could also happen.

But I don't want to like, ruin your big moment or anything. Here you are sewing up a storm and I'm just chatting your heads off about some new apocalypse you barley even care about? Like, total vibe-killer, am I right?
Like I said, whoever makes the best outfit wins, and if its just too close to call we have a run-off with the finalists, winner take all. The rest of you losers can go home if you want, or stay, whatever.
Honestly It's just nice to have someone to talk to for once, you know?

---

As the delvers work, the Lady speaks, her words inescapable, a train of thought that invades their own and builds a small but thriving thought community in the deep warrens of the mind, apart and yet their own, at least after generations of pondering. But such matters aside, there is the work ahead of them.
This contest, the last Trial for them to face, to impress the ineffably powerful with but a sense of practical aesthetic, is a challenge like none other they have faced. Moral dilemmas, gravity inversion, hazardous terrain, quizzes and meaningless puzzles. All but a filter to weed them out, but for what?
Even after the Lady's explanation, the delvers are left with questions as plentiful as the strands of fabric and fibre that they bind to fulfill Her whimsical request.

--

Emilie and Marius work side by side, tempering the raw potential of an elder Star into wearable light and dipping it in purest shadow to cool. A forging comparable to myth, if not an ideal onto itself.
This Shade-Tempered Neutronium folds space-time around the wearer as it it were Origami, and like that ancient art, turns even the visage of the stodgiest old codger truly Beautiful.

--

With her glitchie friends, Cepi-yu wrangles and mishandles her inventory, de- and reequipping her armour until she finds herself with two identical sets instead of one. Identical, to the point where it hurts to even think about.
Sharing the same address in the Akahsic records of the celestial bureaucracy, the same in Essence even down to the minutest movements and reactions of the quantum world.
The Glitchies, mostly immune to the nauseating effects of their most advanced sourcecodery then take to the task of refitting the suit for the purposes of the challenge theme, looking up the appropriate tags hidden behind the seemingly plain instructions.
Each twist and turn changes the armours appearance, if not its very soul, until at last they achieve what they set out to do in the first place. Glitch-gossamer-plate. A masterwork, but probably one considered contraband in any decent part of reality.
Perhaps a style that could take of in the abyssal wastes of Limbo?

--

Not to be outdone in a contest of magic and skill, Vivienne shears her pet goat and infuses the wool (already soaked it dungeon weirdness) with light gathered straight from the elemental plane of positive energy.
Her perfectly clear chakras form the smoothest possible gateway for the impossible purity radiating from within and slowly but surely, the wool cloth is formed into Soulweave.
Nezera, busy with her own project in another corner of the omnipresent dungeon, inadvertently sneezes, instantly recoiling as the final incantations set in.
Though the centuries of unlife has seen her conquer base superstition and phobia, deep down she knows that wearing Vivienne creation would in a very real sense spell her doom.
It is not so much blessed as a Blessing, the sacred made manifest, a potent garb indeed. But is power enough, when compared to the works of the other delvers? Only time would tell.

--

Mjolriirs plans are more down to earth. As if there was any other way for him to be. What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in social networking, and thus enlists the aid of an old friend, servant and Wizard.
Together they make, not the finest, but the most comfortable outfit for the occasion. A garment fit for a lazy king, soft and cushioning that bones well worn with age and travel might enjoy the chill of evening without complaint or undue duress.
As far as craftdwarf/manship goes, it is an exemplary, though not extraordinary outfit made from readily available common materials.

--

For Nezera, the choice of materials was obvious. A monster had invaded her city, dared to besmirch what was rightfully hers. It's corpse would be dismantled, it's bones forming the framework for a carryall that it's cured hide would encompass.
With but a word of irresistible Command she ordered her citizenry to salvage the former Hydra down to the smallest scrap, and to bring it all to the mysterious doorway through which she appeared.
With a celerity only available to the oldest and most well fed of vampires, she then took to the task of making her wearable Hydraskin picnic backpack with such skill and ferocity that several apprentice basketweavers turned master simply by their presence at her side.
The upswing in bear attacks that followed her legendary crafting session would see her city guard busy for weeks to come.

--

Lastly, the little demon witch girl called Stefani. Not having had many opportunity for picnics in her relatively short, if exciting, lifetime, she had no idea what was expected of her.
Her entourage of imps kept going on about the merits of hats and shoes and other accessories, and though that certainly had merit, she was sure there were supposed to be frills in there somewhere, if she was to make a dress.
Yes, something cute and lively, perhaps even innocent? Silk. Something as far away from the fire and brimstone of her homeplane as was possible.
She and hers took to the vast stores before then with gusto and not a small amount of creative solutions, though privately she wondered if it would be enough.

---


This Work of Art presented to you by Dog Kisser, author of the previous Lord of the Tower, the immensly popular Fragile Gods and the similarly fantastic Break Down That Gate! and all around swell-guy!

---

[Vivien][Molriir][Stefania]



Transported to an unassuming door without fanfare, you realize you have lost. Though your designs were grand, your Talent plentiful, by whatever rules or ruler really ruled this dungeon, it was not enough.
As you look to the sign above the door, emblazoned with the word 'EXIT' in each and every language at once, you think of home, or perhaps another place entirely.
Without even a [length of time] passing from this stray thought, your eyes report another word above the door. 'There.'
A simple truth, if ever there was one.
Of course, if the Lady was true to her word, you could always turn back...

[Congratudolances! You have died failed! You are extinguished exiled released into the wild! Your adventure ends here, unless it doesn't.
Either way you are not part of the next round, though feel free to fluffpost about what happens toy our character! It could be very important in the future, maybe!]


---

[Nezera][Emilie/Marius][Cepi-Yu]

One moment, you are laughing and snacking and talking and thinking and being and chilling and working oh, so hard. One moment you are not.
Gone from your presence are the Dwarf, the Enchantress and the Demon-girl, whisked away to parts unknown for their failure, though you strongly suspect they have come to no harm.
The Lady remains, though she looks deadly serious. Or she could just be faking it. "Well, wasn't that a lark?" She says suddenly, "But I've got things to do and we are so close to the end. An ending."


I want you to dress up for your own funeral.
Same rules as before. This workshop, the worlds, two hours. Find the materials you need, the help you require and then put it all to work and make something you'd be proud to die in.

[Three tasks. Three rolls. Make them count.]

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: 12
HP: 10
Skills: Glitchweaving [5d6], Proud Knightcerer [2d6] Powers: Spear of Corruption [3d6]; Defense: Shield of Lag [5d6]
Talent: Unpent
Items: Pocketful of Glitchies [3d6 Pet], Laser Cannon Voucher
AI: Be suitably knightly, try not to die.


"Perfect, you say."

The Glitchie was the first one to address the caretaker lady after her revelations. A fairly brief pause, that nevertheless seemed to have lasted weeks.

"The reality you covet was perfect, you claim, and here you are, on some impossible quest to achieve this past perfection. Now, I am a knightcerer, and as thus I am knowledgeable in all manner of quest and geas", her tiny glare grew sharp, "But I know a misguided fool's errand when I see one."

"I am glitchie", she exlaimed, "I am an entity BORN from imperfection", she pointed her lance at the caretaker with an accusatory flourish, "So am I to ASSUME you mean to imply I am lesser entity to the others assembled? Do you perhaps think creation is lesser for my existence?"

"Because I would disagree with that notion. All of GLITCHIEKIND would disagree with that notion. I will not, we will not accept that meaning and value can only be found within this string of yours. It's a malignant, obsessive thought. Completely spurious. Beauty can be found in the imperfection and flaw too."

And with these words, Cepi Yu concentrated her power to the space around her. She looked, she peered, and finally pierced through to the underlying structure of it. With a few alterations, the very phase-registry of choice bits of space around her was corrupted, instead replaced by the non-stuff between it all. Between the strings. A mourning veil of composed of non-reality itself. Hauntingly beautiful in its own way. Her people joined in too, emerging from her inventory and adding their own touches to the ensemble.

Cepi Yu was quiet for a bit.

"This reality you seek is dead", she finally stated, bluntly.

"And it has been dead for a long time, based on what you tell me."

"I will mourn it with you, if you wish. This is the way, the real and healthy way to deal with loss."

"But I will not help your misguided attempts to raise the dead."


Buffing Proud Knightcerer with Glitchweaving by tapping between the thead-registry of reality: 5d6-2d6= 4 SUCCESS
Proud Knightcerer to assemble a MourningNo veil: 7d6= 17
Using Glitchweaving to buff my Pocketfull of Glitchies so they can help me out better: 5d6-3d6= 5 SUCCESS
Extra Pet Action: Pocketful of Glitchies help out with making my veil: 8d6= 25

Theantero fucked around with this message at Sep 18, 2018 around 15:33

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010




Countess Nezera Amaris
Initiative: 12
HP: 5/9
Skills: Supernatural Movement [3d6], Charming Gaze [3d6]
Powers: Unnatural Strength [5d6]
Defense: Traumatic Regeneration [4d6]
Talent: Impromptu Hors d'oeuvres
Items: Empty Heavy Bolter [1d6 bonus on melee attacks]
Prouds: Bootstraps(+2d6 when taking charge)
AI: Non-hostile- Charm non-PC targets to do tasks for me. Hostile- Punch the hell out of enemies.


Nezera is rather unperturbed as the Dungeon's keeper lays bare the truths of reality. She found it hard to sympathize with the Lady's plight or that of being that had come before, the Countess was simply one of the bad things mentioned that had a habit of happening to people. As the tale wound down, Nezera turned her attention back to the weaving project she'd been working on without comment. If some apocalypse was going to happen, it would at least be something interesting she would unlikely experience twice.

Moments after the fruits of their labor have been presented, the Delver's numbers are one again cut down and the Lady sets out another task for them. Nezera's displeasure is plain on her face for the briefest moment as the specifics of their next challenge are laid out. She wasn't one for repetition and to be immediately plunged back into what was essentially the same task rankled her deeply. While several of the Dungeon's tasks had been combat oriented, it was harder for her to find tedium in a combat scenario that pushed her in any way. The Kobold Kommander had been a thorn in her side and slid Kobolds well up the ranking of races she'd see destroyed, but she had to hold some small measure of respect for the creature's temerity.

Caught up in her irritation, Nezera remains seated where she'd began for the better part of an hour, stewing in distaste as she mulls over the task. To accept would be to shame each and every article of clothing in her wardrobe, to slight her own sensibilities. She took pride in never being inappropriately dressed for the occasion. Unwilling to compromise her outfit, Nezera instead turns to her personal grooming. To the casual eye her visage was the same as ever, but she was aware she'd let some things slip. Placing a palm to her cheek, Nezera gave over to one of the earliest tricks any try-hard vampire learned in their first few decades. Her head and hand in tandem began to face, dissolving into a thick mist, retaining the shape of each. Pushing insubstantial hand into insubstantial head, she began to root around, her hand occasionally flicking small puffs out in front of her that began to coalesce back into shavings of metal and bone, remnants hidden below the surface from the Kommander's initial assault with the gun now resting beside her.

Eventually she'd managed to remove all the small imperfections that had been below the surface, she allowed her head and hand to slowly coalesce back to a solid form. With the major intrusions on her style removed, Nezera sets off at a brisk walk, stepping through the door provided and once again exiting into her city. Her stay in Neles is short however, a simple stop over to fetch a favored comb and compact mirror. As soon as she'd arrived she was gone and planted back in the chair she'd been in before. There wasn't much her comb could be do to improve he appearance, but a stray hair or two are beaten back into place.

With her physical appearance polished back to it's pre-Dungeon sheen, Nezera snapped open the compact mirror and stares into her reflected eyes. You had to be confident to show up to your own funeral, and it would be hard not to be with the layers and layers of self-affirmation she began to slam against her own mental defenses. Recollections of the supernatural calm that had come over her on the prior floor were shaped, layered, applied, and before long she was appropriately armored for what was to come.


quote:

Supernatural Movement 1: 16 Personal grooming is important.
Supernatural Movement 2: 4 Tidy up The Look.
Charming Gaze: 8 Project an air of confidence!

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

Emille & Vahl

HP: 5/8
Initiative: 6
Defense: Parry[3d6]
Skills: Vahl[5d6], 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 (1/4 charges), Salvaged Spelljamer Core (power something), Spelljammer Aethershield
Prides: Proud of Being Mentored

"Paper!", Vahl cried, "I need paper!" As there was none nearby to be found, the heavily armored demigod snatched a nearby bolt of fabric and begin to scribble on it with an inky noctum that flowed from his mailed fingers. "I've never been so happy to have been wrong.", Vahl stated as he dutifully wrote down Whatever's words,
"And I've been wrong about a great deal of things. Even my Talent. I used to think I had the aspect of Darkness, but then I met someone who actually did. Charming creature. No, I actually possess the aspect of Dominion. But I digress."

"What I thought would occur here was a great deal more...cynical. I believed this to be a cyclical process. That this would just keep repeating until someone had the good sense to destroy the Throne(s). If such a thing was possible. This truth isn't much better, but personally I wasn't relishing the idea the Seven and One needing to be put down like a pack of rabid dogs."

Emille mostly stayed silent during the explanation. This cosmic stuff was Marius's thing, and totally above her proverbial pay grade besides. She hadn't even slain a dragon yet!

When the speech ended, Vahl tore off the fabric he wrote on and neatly rolled it up. This was priceless, and negated countless years of his research. It had to go Outside. "Thank you, Whatever, for correcting my flawed misconceptions. As for your offer. When I consumed the loathsome Tower Lord, it granted me immeasurable power, yes. But it also gave me a most wonderful feeling. I think for that short time, I knew the Perfection you speak of or at least something like it. Ever since, I've made the pursuit that feeling my life's goal. I like to think I've done a pretty good job, but if it were actually achievable? And I could share it with all? Well."

With a flick of his wrist, Vahl manifested a greatsword shaped mass of noctum. He lowered it and kneeled. His Halo, a horned symbol of lineage to a dead pantheon, guttered to life over his head. "I pledge myself to your service. Just be vigilant. I walk upon the precipice of dreadful, dreadful sanity and I don't know how much I can take now that I am back here."

The act shook something loose in Vahl's mind, reminded him of someone long ago, "I have another question. Is Percival still alive by any chance?"
= = =

"Woo!", a laughing and somewhat buzzed Emille cheered, "Go Marius! I can't believe you did that!"

Vahl replied, grinning cheekily, "There's no shame in wearing a dress. You're just fortunate I've shrank with age. That dress was sized for you. I tried to shapeshift, but it wasn't in the cards, it seems. You could've gotten to see what you'd look like with my unique complexion and a massive scar over one eye."

"Ha, no thanks. That would've made the gust of air you used to blow the dress up even more awkward. Was that really necessary?"

Vahl looked a little sheepish, "I'm sorry, I got a little carried away. I don't know if you could tell but this wasn't my first fashion show." He presented his young apprentice the Shade-Tempered Neutronium dresse. "I would like you to have it. Its materials will hold enchantments very well and I guarantee if you wear it to a fancy ball you'll be a trendsetter for months."

"Is that something I'd want?"

"Hmm, depends. Personally I think it's amusing to have rich idiots fawn over me and try to ape my inimitable style, but to each their own."

"I'll, uh, keep that in mind. It might be worth a laugh.", Emille said as she folded up the exotic garment and placed it in her pack, "So, what's our next step? What would you wear at your own funeral?"

Vahl thumped his chestplate with his gauntlet, "Already wearing it." Emille's face visibly fell at all this implied, "So does this mean-"

"Yes.", Vahl interrupted, "It is either this or to continue slowly wasting away. I choose to die on my feet. Enough about me. How do you wish to die, Em?"

"I never really thought about it. I guess I'd like to die of natural causes, surrounded by friends and family like everyone else?"

Vahl smirked, "And you call yourself an adventurer. Well, I trained you, so statistically speaking, you'll get your wish. Hmm. After the last one, we can hardly make a mundane garment. I think I have some ideas. Who's the current Transcendent of the Order of Nous?"

"Thauxl. I did a quest for him. One of his monks thought he had dungeon crawling in him."

"drat, not ringing a bell. I think it was the one before him that owed me a favor. If we wanna make a psionically active item in a hurry, I guess we have no option but to do some Black Science."

"What?"

= = =

In a dank cave somewhere.

Emille ducked and weaved through the mindflayer captain's assault. Marius cast something he called "Mind of Shadow" on her before they started attacking the Illithid outpost and all their attempts at mindblasts and other telepathic tomfoolery were lost to the Void. The captain seemed to be the only one that actually knew how to fight. But not well enough. Emille's estoc pierced through the vile creature's guard, impaling it right through the heart. The young adventuress caught it as it slumped down to the ground and set it down gently. Marius had instructed her to make sure they didn't get hit on the head.

Emille heard the clanking of heavy plate and turned around to see her mentor carrying several illithid carcasses over his shoulders. "Exemplary work, Em.", he boomed as he dumped the bodies next to the captain's.

"Thanks. I never went up against these bastards before. I thought they were supposed to be much harder!"

"I had my finger on the scales. Illithid are the ultimate one-trick ponies. If you deprive your average bunch of their mental powers, they're drat near helpless. They tend to keep all the ones with martial talent closer to their capitols.", Vahl said as he removed a pair of calipers and began measuring the corpses' skulls.

"I see. So if I wanted to take some on myself, I'd have to Quench their thoughts?"

"Not recommended. They can sense you through walls and attack before you even see them. You need some way of protecting or obscuring your mind first. Tricky to do with pyromancy. Aha, this one will do nicely. Sorry, Emille, no time for looting. I need to process this one while it's fresh."

"Shame.", Emille sighed as they walked through the dimensional door back to Vahl's labs together. A few minutes later a brain was removed from its cephalic vessel and placed in a jar of alchemical solution. Emille watched with morbid curiosity as her mentor placed strange devices into the captive organ and poured fizzing and bubbling solutions into the jar. Vahl picked up on this curiosity and decided to explain how the sausage was made. The base solution was to keep the brain alive, the electrodes and other chemicals were induce certain thoughts and emotions in it.

"Aaand, done!", Vahl concluded, "Now, illithid are horrible bastards, so this one's going to need a while to marinate before it can feel the emotions you want projected into a bunch of people visiting a beloved friend slash family member. While we wait, let's secure the fabric. I forget, have I taken you anywhere on the more...anachronistic side yet?"

Emille blinked, still focused on understanding the arcane process, "Huh, what? I'm not even sure what that means, so I'm guessing no? Let me guess, are we going to hunt down the concepts of Comfort and Softness and skin them or something like that?"

Vahl smiled and clapped Emille on the back, "This will be a treat, then! And, no, we're going to buy it. From a store. Give me a moment to fetch my credstick! Oh and I suppose you'll want some way of understanding the language. [sub]I think I still have some of those nanotech pills somewhere.[/i]"

Vahl sprinted off leaving a confused Emille standing in the lab. This was gonna be one of the weird trips. From down the hall, a cheerful Vahl could be heard shouting, "Delightful! There's a convention going on! We don't have to bother with disguises!"

= = =

Destine IX, a high end resort planet. Day 3 of Omnicon.

Emille and Vahl set at the patio seating of a high end cafe, sipping lattes, the bolt of genetically modified hypercotton sitting in a bag next to them. "So let me get this straight.", Emille, starstruck by the city's strange architecture and beautiful holodisplays, asked, "It's the year 8504 here and people are accepting us as nothing out of the ordinary because there's some kind of gathering happening a mile or two away?"

"They call them conventions. It's where lovers of pop culture go to discuss and revel in their passions. Which, yes, sometimes includes dressing up in costumes.", Vahl yawned as he downed his fourth sandwich. A passerby shouted, "Hey, cool genemods!", to which Vahl offered a friendly wave. The former overlord pulled a metallic square out of his pocket and consulted it, his face broke out into a smile. "I had anticipated buying the fabric would take longer and that I would have to spend time talking with, uh, bankers over whether or not I'm allowed to spend my money. So we have some time to kill until the brain is finished soaking. Would you like to do something while we're here?"

"Are you sure? You don't look so good."

"I'll be fine. An hour in a faithless plane isn't going to kill me. <Waiter! Another one of those delicious reubens, please!>"

"Well, if you say so.", Emille thought about all the attractions she saw advertisements for during her short visit to this strange place. There were zero-g water parks, virtual reality theaters, and something called a skeevo dome. "What about the convention? That sounds interesting."

"If you like.", Vahl said in between ravenous mouthfuls of reuben, "Neither of us have any real knowledge of this plane's entertainment but the spectacle might be fun. Plus it's a good way to kill this credstick. I should still have a couple hundred years of compound interest on it."

After paying the bill (and tipping the waiter generously!), the two hopped on the resort's public transportation and had a enjoyable outing at Omnicon.

Emille and Vahl[5d6] buy some fabric but mostly gently caress around at a nerd convention: 5d6 16

= = =

The Marius Estate, Sublevel 3, High Energy Magic Wing, Psionic Transference Laboratory

"Wow, I can't believe I made those kids day!", Emille, wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with some obscure cartoon character and carrying a stack of assorted vintage comic books, laughed, "And how many people there were dressed like adventurers if adventurers made all their equipment out of foam and had no idea how armor worked! Chainmail underwear, really?"

Vahl carefully put down a giant novelty sword, apparently used by some character named Kaijuslayer Aoki, and replied, "I guess the medieval fantasy genre is popular on that plane. It does me good to see you enjoyed yourself despite the place's more alien qualities. Shall we get down to business?"

The two got to work. The hypercotton was placed in a box at the center of a magical circle intended for energy transference rituals, made out of psionically conductive materials. The jar containing the unfortunate illithid brain was clamped into a special slot in the circle. All that was left was to pull the theatrically large switch on the lab's arcane machinery, a task which Emille relished in. As he lights flickered and the brain's thoughtforms were leeched out of it, into the circle, and forcibly pushed into the box's contents, Vahl cackled loudly.

Emille removed the absurdly soft cotton from the box and felt sensations of light sorrow, happiness, nostalgia, and acceptance. She gave her mentor a thumbs up.



= = =

The Dungeon, Sewing Room

The (grand)father-daughter team worked at a feverish pitch to complete the requested garment. The fallen overlord used his masterful tailoring abilities to sew the garment together and imbue it with a one-size-fits-all enchantment while Emille worked some pyromancy so that the gown would always be the a comfortable temperature for its wearer.



"I wasn't sure if this was supposed to be something you die in or something you're buried in", Vahl crowed, "But it's comfortable enough for the former and stylish enough for the latter! Ha!" Vahl and Emille high-fived.

paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at Sep 23, 2018 around 23:37

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Marius | The Lady]


Percival? Yeah he's around. Kind of. I mean, enough that you'd go "hey isn't that that Mr Wright guy? " if you saw him now and knew him back then, but he isn't all there any more. Not really.
The tower changed him much like it changed you. It set him free, but he couldn't handle that and the power bestowed on him. He lashed out against fate and brought it low. Simple as that.

You ever felt, I dunno, aimless? Like there's no real purpose behind what happens? All his doing. Not a Power left in all the worlds that claims dominion of Destiny, lest they come in conflict with the oldest Grudge there was, is or ever shall be.
Yeah, Dramatic I know, but that's the way of Shades. You could track him down if you wanted, you will need to eventually anyway, but I wouldn't recommend going unprepared. He's already killed you far more times than you can count.
In fact, there's only one of you left. Do you know how rare that is? Like, very. Unique even. There's not a trace of you in Creation besides where you stand now. Trust me, I checked.

As for fealty, I'm sure my cat will be thrilled to have knight to play with for like, two hours? But, I can't like, hold you to an oath or whatever. Rule one again, yeah? I mean I can do pretty much anything, except for the things I can't.
That's just how it works. Anyway, let me just go sort this contest out and then we can talk more later, yeah?

Also like, probably, not to be a backseat parent or anything but you might want to say your goodbyes to Emilie, cause you might not be out for a while what with Time going all wonky the further down you go as you might have noticed?
Yeah, that's just going to get weirder I'm afraid.

---

The Workshop


As the old acquaintances chattered, the other deep delvers busied themselves with the final challenge.
For Nezera, it was easy. She was technically already dead so in a way she was already dressed for her funeral. She just had to put the fun back into it after having her style be savaged by Kobolds.
She committed herself fully to her midnight routine and left it at that. Perfection? She scoffed. Perfection had nothing on her.

---

Cepi-Yu held a passionate speech of her own, cheered on by minute tears in reality, her people. They fluttered and faded and appeared just as abruptly, effecting in this way a wave of applause crafted from hard faults in reality.
The Dungeon creaked at their mischief, but held firm. It was as much an abomination as they, after all. It too a thing that should never have been created, but now that it was here could in its own way be said to be beautiful, at least by those that did not know better.

Aside from metaspiritual debate however, the Glitches wove a veil for their champion, that she might join the Lady in mourning. An entire nation dedicated to a garment of singular beauty. Truly nought like it had ever been made.

---

Emilie and Vahl had a blast. From the past? Or was it the very edge of the present, or did none of it matter in the end?
Whenever they where, they had fun, and from their experience as friends, from their relationship as mentor and student and the deeper ties of family they not so much worked as played until they had made something that suited them.
A dress that could tell you that you liked it.

---

The deep delvers presented their works to the lady one at a time, and she examined them thoroughly, giving it her full attention for what welt like hours but was likely only minutes of their time.

---

[Countess Nezera Amaris]



Transported to an unassuming door without fanfare, you realize you have lost.
As you look to the sign above the door, emblazoned with the word 'EXIT' in each and every language at once, you think of home, or perhaps another place entirely.
Without even a [length of time] passing from this stray thought, your eyes report another word above the door. 'There.'
A simple truth, if ever there was one.

A voice appears unbidden in your head. The Lady again, with her own special brand of invasive telepathy.
"I know what it's like to be bored, you know. To stand alone without competition, friendship or rivalry. I know what it's like to be aimless.
I offer this boon to you, for coming this far and for failing, because I've been there myself as well.

You may return, or stay, at your leisure. Delving deeper as is your whim. No reward shall await you except what you can claim from the tatters of Creation, save perhaps a release from the torment of mundanity."

---

The Workshop


[The Workshop]
[Cepi-Yu | Emilie | The Lady]


The Lady stands in front of you both, holding your garments, one in each hand.

"Honestly these are both spectacular, you've outdone yourselves, clearly. But there is only one way this can end.

Cepi-Yu, you are young, as is your people. I grant you freedom. To go where ever it is, you may.
Emilie, with your mentor busied and your competitors defeated, Victory is yours to claim.

The Lady then reaches into your chest and pulls out your heart, though there is no pain or suffering involved. She holds it gently, like a kitten perhaps, and inspects it's beat and rhythm.
Finally, she returns it to your wavering hands, notably not putting it back where it belongs, and then she speaks once more.


"What is your desire?"

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: 12
HP: 10
Skills: Glitchweaving [5d6], Proud Knightcerer [2d6] Powers: Spear of Corruption [3d6]; Defense: Shield of Lag [5d6]
Talent: Unpent
Items: Pocketful of Glitchies [3d6 Pet], Laser Cannon Voucher
AI: Be suitably knightly, try not to die.



Cepi Yu furrowed her tiny brow as The Lady made her will known. Freedom, she said? As a Knightcerer, it was her sworn duty to guarantee the freedom and well-being of her own people. But the prospect of Freedom in a world like this, where even the very laws of cause and effect were (poorly) managed by a gaggle of autocrats literally pulling at the strings, so invested in this potentially 'perfect' creation of theirs that they saw no other options, was not the sort of Freedom that she or her people could find contentedness.

Yes.

Then there was really only one obvious choice, wasn't there?

Cepi Yu spoke:

"It is the Wish of The Glitchies to go [[Outside]], and therein forge our own destiny. Past your Strings, outside their touch, for now and forever."

And so it would be, that the glitchies, a species only recently born from naught but the irreverent cackles of a juvenile poltergeist and some stray bits of code made material, the species that begun its existence perhaps as the least 'real' sentients in all Creation, would also be the very first ones in history to truly Ascend its shackles as a species as a whole, never to be seen again.

..Well, then again. Who knows what attentions you might draw if you were to twist your wrist wrong-ways whilst trying to wear two overlapping pairs of underwear at once?

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

Emille & Vahl


Emille stared at the heart in her hands, the shock of holding one's own heart winning setting in. "I, I won? Holy poo poo!"

Vahl smirked and puffed out his chest, "It was a forgone conclusion. I told you, malefactors always have the best clothes! Congratulations, Em."

The young adventurer only half heard him over the possibilities, the thoughts of unimaginable wealth and power flooding through her mind. She took a minute to just revel in it, the absolute knowledge that she could have anything she wanted. Enormous piles of treasure and riches, an eternal (gods no, look how Marius ended up) extended lifespan, arcane knowledge and power to rival the most learned sorcerers. Eventually her Desire crystallized. She took her hat off, raised her heart aloft, and called out.

"Whatever, Lady of the Dungeon, hear me! I ask for that which cannot be bought, stolen, or found! An infinitely precious thing, gained only through auspicious birth! A thing that separates the great from the truly legendary! I DESIRE A TALENT TO CALL MY OWN!" I don't have any cool ideas at the moment, surprise me!

Vahl stayed silent and watched, wiping away a few stray tears. She would do well without him. He was planning on releasing his Talent's hold over his adopted daughter right about now, but he decided against it. No, he wanted to feel The Mark on her soul burn away.

===

After the dramatic proceedings started to wind down, Vahl approached the the wee glitchie knight. "So you want to find a home for your people Outside of all this craziness? I don't blame you.", he chucked, "Personally, I think it charming but to each their own. I'd like to set you in the right direction. Normally, there would be Nothing outside of this superstructure's reach, but 600,000 years ago, that changed. All of my world's Topseekers banded together to create a universe outside of the Tower Lord's reach.", Vahl momentarily lapsed into a twisted reverie, "I tried to hold it hostage and I'm pretty sure one of my old minions added a just a pinch of sin to its component materials. Ahh, good times."

A split second look of horror passed over the former overlord's face, "Sorry. I have some, hmm, issues. Sometimes I feel nostalgia for a part of my life I really shouldn't. At any rate, the project was a complete and utter success. I only heard of anything from it once, a very long time ago, but I think your people would be a good fit there. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to get there. Believe me, I've spent a great deal of time trying to figure out how, with very little to show for it. But maybe you'll have better luck. Perhaps you'll walk upon the right metaphysical seam or overflow a quantum buffer somewhere. Maybe you'll find something better along the way or make something of your own. Who can say? Good luck, little knight."

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



The dwarf stared at the door he'd been whisked away to, felt its tug. There lay parity. There lay the solution to the twisting weirdness that had nauseated him so, from the first floor's descent to the very last, a distance in time and space. There was no choice, really. Molriir would return to his clan. It was where he belonged. He had home halls to visit, kin to return to - and convince of fell and dire truths (that both were and, amazingly, weren't small in the face of all that had been revealed and had taken place within this Dungeon) and... also less despairing issues and stories to share. The fate of his kind and his world might hang in the balance according to his actions - or they might not. He was but one Orthn, after all. Still, he would return, and he had hope that his actions might make a difference against the future that potentially awaited his world. This Dungeon had only been a sideshow - a cosmic accident, almost (or, well, literally).

The dwarf reached for the door and shrugged his backpack into a more comfortable position. There was a lot to unpack, both physically and mentally, when he got where he was going. One tall tale after another, some of it very much in conflict with established ken. He'd have a lot to do...

... once he was finished here.

Molriir let out a deep sigh and turned around, strolling back into the room the Lady had just vacated him from. He was conscious that this was a choice and been clearly presented as such. The Dungeon goes places, and so forth. He might not get to return. Ever, or soon. Still. If it went places, he could then go FROM places. He was Orthn to his core. Home called to him and it was hardly the first time he'd been farther afield than he ever ought be. Emille and this Dungeon had revealed the existence of things that travelled the void between worlds, things some places might find common. He'd return, he figured. The universe might not tilt in his favor, but a solid weight had a tendency to settle, and the Orthn were nothing if not solid to the core. Salt of the Orth.

If it was a foolish move, he at least had some experience, having done travel beyond his world before. Besides, and more importantly, he did not believe in doing things by half measures. He'd entered this Dungeon - accidentally entered, given all this talk of Talents that he did not possess - and he'd see this rare event through to its end. He'd say his goodbyes proper and accept the consequences of that choice should it prove to be a particularly poor one. If nothing else, keeping The Lady who kept all of everything running in some company for even a day or two would probably do more good than harm, in the long run, in however miniscule a way.

The dwarf arrived back in the Workshop to catch the tail end of the Lady's judgement, witnessed Cepi Yu wish for freedom from the skein of existence (with mild worry, having fallen out of it once recently, himself, the experience unpleasant) and heard even more talk of distant, distant times and places involving Towerseeker and their tale. Once his wits recovered from seeing The Lady's bloodless tearing out of Emille's heart, he cheered for her as she made her wish - it being hers to make and a reward fair earned from a strange and mighty power. He would've asked for something other, had it been him, but he did not begrudge the victor their spoils.

"Congratulations lass. Ye were a fine delvin' companion and I'm glad ye made it through in the end. Be well where'er ye end up after this," he said to her, meaning it, and hoped that her legacy would not prove poor with the passing of time and that there would be no last tricks or devil's twists to this tale of a Dungeon's Call - a tale that had become something more, and through a twist - a glitch - of fey and fate, something less.

A tale, should he live to tell it, that very few would believe, bar his Orthn kin.

Molriir's sticking around. At least for the ending/epilogue.

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010




Countess Nezera Amaris
Initiative: 12
HP: 5/9
Skills: Supernatural Movement [3d6], Charming Gaze [3d6]
Powers: Unnatural Strength [5d6]
Defense: Traumatic Regeneration [4d6]
Talent: Impromptu Hors d'oeuvres
Items: Empty Heavy Bolter [1d6 bonus on melee attacks]
Prouds: Bootstraps(+2d6 when taking charge)
AI: Non-hostile- Charm non-PC targets to do tasks for me. Hostile- Punch the hell out of enemies.



"Hmph." Nezera glared at the sign in front of her as the Lady of the Dungeon whispered platitudes in her mind. "A fair enough consolation prize. I dare say closer to a victory than most would probably believe if they were in my shoes." She began to walk toward the exit, pondering where she'd go from here. It would be so easy to just slink back to her own city and take up control again, but that was hardly interesting, especially now that she'd been handed the keys to basically anywhere in the multiverse. No. Nezera had bigger aspirations. Her experiences in the Dungeon had certainly deepened her ambitions, so she'd head out to some unknown world out there that wasn't expecting trouble and then perhaps she'd spend a few decades conquering an entire planet. Certainly that'd be enough time for her to cool on the experiences of the Dungeon and then to come back for another stroll about on vacation. It'd take some time for her skill set to broaden to be sure, but the future would likely be interesting for a good while yet.

With the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips, Nezera stepped through the door and into a world of smoke and war, kobolds scattering away as she appeared, some firing their weapons in shock. Unfortunately for them her regeneration was no longer hindered by the Dungeons machinations. It was twice as unfortunate for the kobolds when Nezera reached down, snatched up an object, and with a dramatic clacking sound reloaded her heavy bolter. It was going to be interesting times indeed.

Swedish Thaumocracy
Jul 11, 2006

Strength of >800 Men
Honor of 0


Grimey Drawer

[Emille | The Lady]


Once more taking Emilles heart in her hands, The Lady's countenance took on a golden sheen and feline features, atom thin whiskers like hairline cracks in the real.
Speaking softly, The Lady clasped her hands shut, compressing the heart into but a grain of sand that she then held forward in one open palm.

This is you.
Her other hand shot out. This too held a grain.

This is the baker son from down the street of your childhood home. He was sweet on you but you never noticed.
Another hand, another grain.

This is everyone you ever met.
Another hand, another grain. Thousands of times over.

These are all the God's in all the Pantheons.
Another hand, another grain. Again and again, until her hands filled the horizon.

These are all the demons in all of their courts.
The grains of sand as common as stars in the heavens, the Lady's hands immeasurable.



I spoke before of Perfection.
At once, she brought all of her hands together, a thunderous applaud that by all narrative rights should have echoed into eternity, but beholden as they were by boring physics simply made a discordant 'clap' noise.


A single grain of sand, clutched in her hand as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

Even here, as I stand before you at the seat of my old pet cats power, I too am but a grain, albeit it one with backstage access. My own, ancient hearts desire, somewhat ironically fulfilled.
The truth is, all of us are nothing compared to what was.




All your life, you have been cold. Nursing the memory of fire like it hadn't long ago burnt out. No longer. Your desire, fulfilled. By the grace of the Dungeon, your flame lit, your grain gilded.



Awaken, the Light Fantastic!


Talent Gain: Chromancy (Mint)
The Holy Graal of energy manipulation, Chromancy grants the magic-user power over auras.
Once per floor, you may change any entities innate colour with a simple 1d4 roll. In general, lower rolls are negative and higher rolls are positive, from your perspective.
Entities thus targeted are fundamentally changed in some colour-thematic way. For instance, a blue hue might make something depressed, wet or magically charged whereas a red one might make the same thing angry, hot or healthy.
Outside of the constraints of the Dungeon, or where mana is plentiful or threats lessened, the results will always be in line with your desires though not necessarily exactly as you wish.

---

With the gentlest of gestures, the Lady pushed the prismatic snowflake deep into Emilles chest where it took the place, shape and function of her heart of old - and with the shock to her system, Emille fell.



Landing, softly and safely in a pile of hay, in that same village from where once she had once entered the Dungeon, only with the giant hole conspicuously absent and with a decade or so of decay and development such as might be seen in a village on the outskirts of a kingless kingdom.

She was soon seen to by a myriad of strange personae that made up the townsfolk, what she might have once classified as Monster but now, after all that had happened to her, knew better as simply people from other planes or spheres.
They helped her up and to the nearest tavern, for where else would weary travelers go when home from their adventures? As to what happened to her next, well. That is not for this story to tell, for it is ended.

Thank you all for participating, and congratulations to paper bag with a face for taking home the victory. From now until we meet again, I bid you all, farewell.

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

Emille & Vahl

Chromancy (Mint): [spent/unspent]

Emille's soul blazed bright with omnipotence, burning away a black spot that had been present ever since she entered the Dungeon. Her soul, once monochrome, shined radiant and gold for a brief moment before setting into a scintillating swirling rainbow pattern. The young adventurer felt content, like she had finally found something she never knew she was missing. She opened her eyes and found herself awash in a world of color. The Dungeon's Lady had a shining golden aura that was rapidly turning grey. The Lady was about to make the motion to send Emille back Outside but was interrupted by a polite throat clear.

"Wait. Please."

Emille turned around to face her mentor, noting with some curiosity that his aura was a strange, muddy brown. She was struck by the realization that it didn't have to be brown. It could be anything she wanted, provided she did something that she didn't have the words to describe.

"A fine wish, Em.", Vahl said, "How do you feel?"

"Amazing, to be honest! Everything's a lot more colorful now.", Emille said, "And I just know that any aura can be any color I want."

Vahl's face lit up, "Ooh! That sounds like a good one! Certainly better than mine. Mine's only good for subjugating others. Well, don't keep me in suspense, let's see it!"

"Sure!", Emille smiled at the opportunity to show her master her new gift, "What should I use it on? I don't think I can do myself. How about you?"

Vahl threw his hands up, "No! No, no, no! Do not do that! You could emphasize some of my more shameful characteristics! Hold on." Vahl reached his hand into a shadow and removed a fancy decanter, "I brought this fine vodka to celebrate your victory slash survival, but it's gotten a bit warm. Why don't you try making it cold enough to drink?"

"A bit mundane, don't you think?", she responded, "But it's not a bad idea. I don't know how powerful my new ability is yet and if there's a possibility of failure." Emille squinted at the decanter, it's aura purple (room temperature?) and gold (expensive?) She focused in on the purple and willed it blue, for cold.

Let's try this talent out.: 1d4 1 haha, classic me!

The color changed, but...hmm. "Okay, I did it, but I don't think I did it right.", Emille looked a little frustrated, "It's blue now, but it's not blue like I want and I get the distinct feeling I messed something up."

Vahl examined the decanter carefully. It didn't feel any colder, but to be fair he was wearing heavy gauntlets. "Don't feel bad, Emille. It was your first time and it happens. You should've seen me 600000 years ago, I botched every other usage, I swear. You'll have better results outside, trust me." He removed the stopper on the decanter and took an experimental sip, spitting the vodka out almost immediately. "Ugh, it's got some dreadful fake blueberry flavoring now. Congratulations, you've got a type three Talent. Very powerful, but you have to live with it any time it backfires. Promise me you'll be careful with it."

Emille nodded and responded solemnly, "I promise, Marius."

"Excellent, I'll go get a fresh bottle. This one is ruined now."

= = =

A few minutes later, Vahl returned with a refilled decanter and a couple of cigars. The two drank and smoked and reminisced and even had a sword fight where Vahl only held back a little. Eventually they ran out of drinks and smokes and ways to stretch the time out. Emille was the first to broach the subject on both their minds.

"So this is goodbye, huh?"

"Indeed. I've waited my entire life for this opportunity, I will not squander it.", Vahl paused, a melancholy tone in his voice, " I don't belong out there anyway, not any more. Do you have any idea how rare it is that I meet someone over the age of ten thousand, let alone my own age?"

"I...see. So, this whole Perfection thing, you really buy it?"

"Yes, absolutely. For a while after the first event, I think I had dreams of Before. I can think of no better cause to devote my life to than restoring it. I hope you'll live long enough to seeing it.", Vahl leaned in, "If that sort of thing interests you, I might have a few texts in my private study on the subject. Technically against the Rules to share, but if an old man dies and doesn't dispose of his secrets properly, well, who could blame you?"

"I'd have to think about it, that's, uh, a big decision."

"Of course. Speaking of which, when you leave, go to my home. You'll find my will on my desk in the study. It's quite comprehensive so I'll give you a quick overview. Among other things, the house is yours, you'll be happy to know I've already released all of my 'pets'. You'll have to do some rituals so it properly recognizes you as its owner and if you want to read any of the older books, you'll have learn my recordkeeping language, but I believe you're up to the task."

"Wow, that's, uh. That's very kind of you.", Marius had the best house, and even Emille, who had spent years growing up in it, wasn't sure exactly how big it was or what it contained. Hopefully there were some manifests somewhere.

"I believe it is time to go our separate ways now.", Vahl stood out and puffed his chest, "You have no idea how unbelievably proud of you I am, Emille. You came into this accursed place and will leave changed only for the better, a Winner. Far better than I could ever do. I don't know what awaits me down below, but know that whatever it is, the memories of the time we spent together will spur me on. And I know whatever you plan to do outside can only result in Glorious Success."

"I could not have asked for a better mentor. Thank you, Marius. For everything."

The two shared one last hug and went their separate ways. Emille Addison, outside, into the halls of legends. Vahl Adyraasson, down, into the unknown.

paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at Oct 15, 2018 around 12:20

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