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HiHo ChiRho
Oct 23, 2010

Then you remember. You have a message to send.

Something everyone must know.

You have the power. You have the means.

Let it be known.




Potrait:


Naim: Mason
Skillz: Mason Hootin' an' Hollerin' +35 Mason MasonryMason'Splosions
HeeP: Mason Mason Mason
Glury: Masonx32 -> 33

Quick roll - will maybe flesh out the action better later, but hell yeah lets seege tame sex

Mason Hoots and Hollurs at the TÖBUCHET: 1d100+68 88 +10 ST6 action = 98

Claiming Shouting Core!: 1d100 4 Just remember we are on the boat and Mason knows where you sleep should you think stealing the shouting core is ez

HiHo ChiRho fucked around with this message at Jun 16, 2018 around 12:38

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AJ_Impy
Jun 17, 2007



Yam Slacker

//
HP:3/3
Glory: 17
Bluffing +25
Charm +25
Camouflage +15
Planning +10 (Unused and uninstalled)
Ritual Glory: 0
Infiltrator Captain
Ascended

A wendigo, and a big one at that, one of the true horrors of the world. Nothing for it, they'd have to fight their way through.

"Waesh, you're doing a magnificent job, keep it up. Infiltrators, protect the ship, either against this thing or by keeping lookout." He instructed his Töans, as he hefted his hammer and strode towards the main body of the beastie. He span up his Charm core as he went, raising his voice for the benefit of the hordelings.

"Unexpectable Horde! Form up and drive it back! This is nothing we haven't seen before, and bested before! Keep your heads about you, and focus on hurting it every way you can! For Reina! For Tö! For the Warlord! Repel the boarder!"

Charm to inspire and lead the Horde against the main body of the Wendigo: 2d100+45 96
Hammer time!: 1d100 87: 183 total



INFILTRATOR STASH
From Splut:

From Humbug:

From Waesh:
(Filling someone elses' unfilled slot)
From Gigs:

From Marra:

From Hat:

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...



Name: Stårn
Skills: Siege Weapons +20, Butterfly Beastmaster +15, Timing +25
HP: 3/3
Glory: 3->4

Ahh, so exciting! Stårn's hands almost trembled with it.

No wait, that was just the Breaker power.

"Siege Team Six", he hollered again, "I've got further schematics I need your help with to turn the tide against this monster! We'll need some incidental scrap, anti-wendigo poisons and materials for a sabot..."

Breaker's Hands: Siege Weapons to craft an Anti-Wendigo Harpoon to use during this Töbuchet use: 2d100+24=96
If somebody wants to pitch glory for those Anti-Wendigo meds to give this crafting roll a bit more oomph, that would be nice. I can give 3 of mine if somebody pitches the rest.

Theantero fucked around with this message at Jun 16, 2018 around 15:46

Bee Bonk
Feb 19, 2011




Cosmetics:

Skill 2: Amputation+20
Skill 3: Spinning+30
HP: 1/1
Glory 36


When she returned from the Zahn raid, Qwäg claimed the Risk Assessment core, carefully wrapping and tuckingit away; she wasn't confident she could join it with her corrupt core, and if a cure was possible, she might want a "clean" copy of her primary skill on-hand.
With that in mind, she approached Sucy and Portha.

"I hav͠e ̸a̶ ͠cle̴a̧n ̨d̕u̧p͟licate̷ ţơ my̛ cor̢rup͠t͢ ͠c̢ore̸ h̛e̸r̕e," she muttered, patting the pouch in question and looking to the Cleaner. "I͞ ҉k̡n̕ow yòu'́r͟e̵ wo̴rki̛ng o̴n ͘clea̕ni̢n̨g ͠c̕òres͞...Th̶i̧s i̧s̕n̷'͏t͘ ̨my ̴f̷ie̵l͞d o͟f̧ ͏exp͡erti͝se, bu̶t̨ I had̵ a͝n͠ i͞dl̶e̶ ̸t͜h͘oųgh̶t. Per͠h̶aps ҉y͞ou ̕c͏an Imag͡i͘ne ͞som̡e̡t͢hi҉n͞g͢ b͏e͏t́t̸e͠r. ͡.̨.̀if̸ ̷w̴e w͠e͢r̀e̶ to͢ ͏tręat t̛h͏i̶s c҉o͜r̨e̸ wi͘t̛h̛ ̢de̕fra̕gm͜e̛n̶t̴ary comp͟oun͟ds,̕ th͢en ͟fus̡e̢ ̀it wit҉h͝ my̴ ͟corrup̴t çore,͏ what̢ d̨o̴ ỳou͘ th̡i͏nk wo̧uld͢ ͘happ͞e͞n?"
Qwäg shrugs, corrupt veins pulsing, and turns to the Mycologist.
"͞J͟usţ a ͝th̷ou͢g̀h̴t. A̡s͢ I ̷hav̷e͘ said,͘ I̷ ̴am͞ ͜av͟ailab̵le̵ ̨t͝o ͞as͘s͞i̧s͡t y̵our effor̴t̢s."

Claiming Risk Assessment core: 1d100 30



The wendigo's presence sent sharp spikes along Qwäg's nerves, her diseased carapace burning as if tearing free of her body. This was an unwelcome addition to...

She stopped cold.

She saw the Portha deploying the Madmist, and the threads of Risk screamed in her mind with such a strident drone that she was unable to mount a protest in time. The horrific possibilities of an enraged wendigo tearing into this ship and its crew brought maddening visions to her eyes and a wash of magenta-black gorge to her throat. In far too many outcomes, this chain of events broke the back of the horde, and the aftermath was untenable even in victory.

Unless...A rampaging wendigo would serve to destroy any pursuers even more readily...they simply had to gain some distance.

Voting to Flee

In the meantime, she hung back to defend the artillery crew, unwilling to risk destroying her hordemates in a Madmist frenzy, but ready to intercept attacks where the concentration of Risk seemed most dangerous to the horde.

Deal with the Drenched Wendigo: 1d500+36+50+2 153

Bee Bonk fucked around with this message at Jun 18, 2018 around 16:43

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010




Gado!!!

Gado was more than happy to give up his foolhardy stand at the front when Captain Stårn had started hollering. He was prepared to fight if he had to, but firing a giant harpoon, like the one the Captain had started working on, seemed like a good idea too.

Gado frowned as he looked over the ammunition to be built, he didn't regret his curing one bit, but this had been so much easier with a crafting core humming away in his chest.

Reaching into his bags, Gado drew out the OG Coolant from the Administrator vault and began to slathet ot all over the makeshift ammo. It wouldn't do for the wood to burst into flame at the friction of being fired by the mighty Töbuchet, and every time an OG piece of tech had interacted with a Wendigo it hadn't gone particularly well, so it couldn't hurt!


quote:

Stårn's ordered me to fire the Töbuchet so action changed to

Fire The Tobuchet: 119

Breaker's Hand Action: Craft Wendigoad Ammo: 57. Adding the OG coolant I have on the grounds that nothing OG we've run onto before has interacted with Wendigo well before

Green Intern
Dec 29, 2008

Secret Art: Toxic Crotch Whirlwind!

Ringo is happy to hand his Wendigoad over as ammo for the anti-Wendigo payload, FYI. I’ll post later

Prince of Space
Apr 17, 2016



Hell Gem



Name: Verika
HP: 2/2
Skills: Perception +40 (using), Smithing +55, Understanding +15
Equipment: Knight's Plate (+3), Ruddy Charger, Blixthäst (+5), Tap Root, Proof-Scraper (+5), Noostran Shield
Cosmetics: Nail and Fist Token (Breaker's Guard), Agenou's Cape Sash, Sikatris Scarf, Basker Cloak, Slightly-Cracked Telescope, Jaune's Broken Nails
Glory: 2 -> 3 (Gado's gift) -> 4
Ritual Chits: 6 (artwork bonus)

The Queen Reina's Revenge (part 5): From her lofty perch atop the Reina's crow's nest, Verika scanned the foreboding, fog-shrouded town with her Slightly-Cracked Telescope. Vague, misshapen figures in the town's central square lurched and squirmed and shambled about in the fog-wreathed darkness, making moaning, keening cries as they limped and dragged themselves toward the ramshackle fencing blocking off the marshy riverbank. A lone wooden sign bearing a bloody handprint and the name 'YADOL' swung lazily upon rusted chain links in the distance.

"A entire town turned Wendigo..." Verika muttered under her frost-tinged breath. "How could they let Rampancy get so far out of hand..?" She sneered in disgust, barely able to contain her horrified displeasure.

She brought up the Tap Root's infravision scope to her eye in order to view the Lesser Wendigos of Yadol in greater detail. What she saw behind the ruined village's walls made her instantly sick to her stomach. Warped, twisted bodies lay scattered across the frozen ground, so broken by their monstrous transformations that they were unable to function and yet so Rampantly Monsterized that they were made unable to die. Still breathing, still moaning in a chorus of the undying, the broken figures writhed in pain and coiled their worthless limbs and rolled their many eyes and gnashed their extra sets of teeth at the Queen Reina's passing. Transfixed, Verika's Understanding skillcore was nearly undone by the sight.

Before Verika could know what signs to look for, there was a faint susurrus of swishing reeds and the sound of a muffled splash, and then suddenly the Drenched Wendigo was upon the Queen Reina's Revenge like a creature possessed with pure Wendigo madness.

"Thar she blows!" Verika shouted as the Drenched Wendigo surfaced to attack. She saw Portha the Rummager unload her Madmist canister into the colossal monster's mighty maw and prepared for the worst.

Verika is ready to Fight!

Verika Perceives the Drenched Wendigo's Weak Spots: Deal With It!: 2d100+63 167 - Tap Root used!

Skillcore Roll: Surveying: 1d100 80

WereGoat
Apr 28, 2017



Cosmetic:

Name: Hob

HP 2/2

Glory: 3≥4

Skill: Singing+20, Contortion+15, Butterfly Riding+20(using)

Notes: Innoculated vs. Monsterism. Rolls 1d4 when exposed to monsterism. On a 1, infection remains.

Oh, yodelling? That sounds cool!

skillcore -yodelling: 1d100 30

Umm, hey Flitter, would you be able to grab me that chanting core?

Asking nailbound to get chanting core also.

Try to resonate singing and yodelling, then singing and chanting if obtained.

---

Perched on the top of sail, Hob kept his eyes fixed on the shore, on the figures wailing in the distance. Poor folk. Best not to think about them too much.

In the water...

On Grimpers shout, Gawp took off from the perch. Hob kept shooting. Fire, reload, repeat. Could they kill something this big? But what if they didn't? Wouldn't it continue to spread it's corruption? Why didn't it leave this place? How did it get so big?

He looked over to the other fliers, did Snodis have any insights here?

"Capture... this Wendigo?" Could you even brand someone once they turned? Running seemed the safer option.

Either way, of Snodis was going to enact her plan she needed support, so she wouldn't be eaten by the drenched beast. And as always, Hob had offered up his blood for any branding that was going on (1hp)(especially since he was otherwise pretty safe on his butterfly).

shoot at the Drenched Wendigo, fly about to get better angles, try and herd it into the Wendigo trap: 1d100+43 52

On one pass, he died back past the boat where he spied Slipknot, the Töan who can climb anything. "Hey, remember you said you would help out with a branding a while back when I passed you that climbing core? Snodis needs help now. Please."

WereGoat fucked around with this message at Jun 17, 2018 around 17:24

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

Grimey Drawer




Skillcores: D͜i͢s̷͢a̢ppŗo̸͘͏v̢̛í̢n̸͡g͞ ̷͜͏P͢͜o̢et̴̢̀r̡y̕ ̧͢+̴5̸͟͝0҉͟ , Fashion +30, Secretly Murdering Innocents + 10
HP: 3/3 (3 wire)
Glory: 2->3
Ignomity: -18
Ritual Glory: 1
Banner Bonus: ??

Snödis listened to the song of her People, lapping it in with the gentle rolling of the waves. She saw the various and sundry Unexpectables clamoring to bludgeon the natural wonder of evolution into so many gibs, and held out a hand in warning, in protest..


"Please, don't kill it. It might be maddened and hungry, but I believe we can save it. That I can save it. Give it purpose once more.
If any of you truly want for change, then change begins here, not with the slaughter of my species, but with its salvation. Fight it, distract it, knock it out if you must... but leave the rest to me, and mine."

Off-Brand Ritual Bonus: 1d4 2
Disapproving Poetry to Off-Brand the Greater Whaledingo: 1d500+50+4-18 133


"Hush little Monster, don't say a wörd,
for our little warband is quiet disturbed
we've got some doctors who'll work on a cure
for everything we are, for the life we adore

they'll come to your home,
catch you when your asleep
and with rusty nails
take your zest and your zeal

but you've got one chance
to avoid this cruel fate
take me up on my offer
and their anger'll abate

I will carve quiet deep into your flesh
runes and sigils, the way I know best
and from that day until when you die
you'll be my monster, my sweet butterfly."


--

Her wings flashed with Espiritual energy as she dove onto the belly of the beast, claws enshrouded in Binding Sigils that moved of their own accord. When the Madmist spread, courtesy of Portha and her canister, she closed her mouths tightly and was duly thankful to her past self for ensuring her 'shell' was airtight.

--

Neötype Orders: Capture and Contain, or find 'willing subjects' to donate blood for the ritual off-branding.
Preferably from half-dead boarders or seamaws etc.

Odd Role! Wing Power Activate! Add 1159 / 91 = 12 for a total of 133+12= 145
Madmist Encounter! Item Instant Interupt! Air-Tight mask protects against airborne pathogens!

Swedish Thaumocracy fucked around with this message at Jun 17, 2018 around 18:15

sheep-dodger
Feb 21, 2013






Sucy
HP: 3/3
Glory: 7 -> 8
Skills: Mushrooms +25
Kicking +45
Calculation +20
Aspiring Nailsmith: Every Downtime, Sucy can roll 1d10 and spend the result in any combination to reduce the cost of the Ritual(s) of her choice.
Breaker’s Hands: Once per conflict, each individual Sieger can make an additional roll towards building fortifications or other sieging gear tailored towards the conflict. Additionally, double the bonus on consumables used for violent combat use.

Sucy watched the other horde members cut the chains that were inhibiting their progress while working on more nails for the ritual. Ignoring these repeated warnings was likely not the best idea, but they had chosen to go down the tributary, so it's not like they could turn back now. Work on the nails was slow going, but she did make some progress.
Work on Bound to Us, All of Us: 1d10 5
As she was working, both Portha and Qwäg approached her to talk about the possibility of repairing corrupted cores:

Bee Bonk posted:

"I hav͠e ̸a̶ ͠cle̴a̧n ̨d̕u̧p͟licate̷ ţơ my̛ cor̢rup͠t͢ ͠c̢ore̸ h̛e̸r̕e," she muttered, patting the pouch in question and looking to the Cleaner. "I͞ ҉k̡n̕ow yòu'́r͟e̵ wo̴rki̛ng o̴n ͘clea̕ni̢n̨g ͠c̕òres͞...Th̶i̧s i̧s̕n̷'͏t͘ ̨my ̴f̷ie̵l͞d o͟f̧ ͏exp͡erti͝se, bu̶t̨ I had̵ a͝n͠ i͞dl̶e̶ ̸t͜h͘oųgh̶t. Per͠h̶aps ҉y͞ou ̕c͏an Imag͡i͘ne ͞som̡e̡t͢hi҉n͞g͢ b͏e͏t́t̸e͠r. ͡.̨.̀if̸ ̷w̴e w͠e͢r̀e̶ to͢ ͏tręat t̛h͏i̶s c҉o͜r̨e̸ wi͘t̛h̛ ̢de̕fra̕gm͜e̛n̶t̴ary comp͟oun͟ds,̕ th͢en ͟fus̡e̢ ̀it wit҉h͝ my̴ ͟corrup̴t çore,͏ what̢ d̨o̴ ỳou͘ th̡i͏nk wo̧uld͢ ͘happ͞e͞n?"
Qwäg shrugs, corrupt veins pulsing, and turns to the Mycologist.
"͞J͟usţ a ͝th̷ou͢g̀h̴t. A̡s͢ I ̷hav̷e͘ said,͘ I̷ ̴am͞ ͜av͟ailab̵le̵ ̨t͝o ͞as͘s͞i̧s͡t y̵our effor̴t̢s."
Huh, that is an intriguing proposal. As with Gado's surgery I must stress beforehand, that everything we're doing here is extremely experimental and correspondingly risky, but I'm sure you of all people are aware of that.
I see two ways we could go about it, I think the safer option would be to perform a corendectomy on your corrupted core, perform the experimental core cleaning and then replace it, that way we could figure out if the procedure works at all and perform a second operation to remove the monsterism later. However there is a chance that the core gets corrupted again after we re-insert it, and we need a clean core for the procedure to work. I also can't promise that trying to restore you from a cleaned merged core will work and if it does that you will be 100% the same as you were before the infection.
Alternatively we could try to do it in one go and perform the cleaning procedure without removing the core, but it should be obvious that this is riskier in several ways. What do you think?


Later on Sucy sifted through the pile of skill cores the horde had gathered and grabbed the horticulture core, as that likely contained knowledge that was compatible with her mushroom core
Claim Horticulture core: 1d100 71

During the ambush by the feral wendigo, Sucy advocated that despite the difficulty inherent in it, the horde should work to Capture the wendigo, as they would need a test-subject for the cure of wendigoism they were working on.
She joined the rest of the Siege Team in creating an anti-Wendigo bolt and then entered the fray in the fight against the wendigo proper, as always feet first:
Calculate how to create a Wendibolt: 1d100+20+7 40 Wendibolt 2nd d100: 1d100 60
Total: 100
Deal with Drenched Wendigo by kicking some aquatic rear end: 2d100+45+10+7+3 149

sheep-dodger fucked around with this message at Jun 17, 2018 around 13:18

bonus hole boy
Aug 28, 2011


Nana the Elder

Cores: Mothering(using), First Aid, Baking
HP: 3/3
Glory: 6 -> 2 -> 3
Medic Squad


Nana sat belowdecks on the Revenge, the gentle motion of the ship in the stream serving to calm the active Bäbi almost as well as her old rocking chair back home might have. Nana's core was whizzing in her chest, grinding against the problem of protecting a precious gift in the middle of a warzone. She knew the trip ahead of them was one-way, there were no safe places to retreat to and hide Bäbi. Her only option was to make being with her as safe a place as possible.

She stopped, her core slowing as an idea started to bubble up in her mind. She had to find Magda.

---

Nana found her in one of the few private cabins on the ship, her large frame nearly filling the room by itself. As Magda played with little Babi, Nana began to sketch down her idea. It was a means to seamlessly bring Bäbi into the protection of Nana's own armor. She called it the Battlebjörn.

"I think you know where the proper priorities lie on this darling, I hope these will help you out."

Nana hands over 4 glory for +1 armor

---
Nana grabs the Cooking skillcore and attempts to resonate Loot - Cooking SC: 1d100 88
---

*THUMP scrraaaaaaaape*

Nana snapped awake, blinking around at the hold of the ship. 'Oh right, sometimes my rocker has that effect on me, too.' She thought to herself before shaking her head, clearing the sleep from her mind. She turned to look at a nearby hordemate, "Dear, would you mind going up there and finding out if there's any trou-"

Dog Kisser posted:


it began to speak, in a dozen disturbingly husky voices. “C̀̀͠O̧͝͝M̀̀͏E̡͡ ͟͏̴̛͠S̀W̵̶̴̧I̸Ḿ̸̕͜͡ ͠͡͞W̛Ì͢͡͠͠T̸̵̨̀́H́ ̡͏̧͡M̵͡͞Ę̧ ͏̷͠T͏̸͢͞͡H̡҉̶҉E͘͏̀ ͏͟͜W̡̢À҉̨T͏̸̨͜͏E͜͟͞҉̷Ŕ̨̡̡ ̵̵̢̛͘Ì̢S̶̷̡͝ ͜҉F̸̧͠I̡̛̕N̡͘͢E̵̕ ̵̕H҉҉̴̛Ớ̛͟W͏ ̵͘҉͝L̀͡O̕͏̨͟͞V̴̛͟͜E̵̵̢̛͠L͢͏̡Ỳ͢͞ ̷̴̧̕͡Á̕N̴̕D̴̨̕ ̴͟͝D͢͢҉̀Ą̧̡̧́M̷͞P҉͝҉ ̴̀͟͡A̴̡͟͡Ń̸҉̸D̀͜ ̶͘͘͢͝Ć̶̛̀͝H̵͟͡͝I̴͠҉̴L̴̷̀L̢͘̕ ̴̡̧M̵̵Y̡ ̡L̛͠͡͏O҉̴҉͟V̢́͢͠È̵͘͞L҉̵҉I͏͟E҉̀S̢̛̕͜͢ ̷͠J̡̛̀̕Ơ̛͡I͏͘҉̸N͏͜ ̀͢͠M̨͘҉̡E̷̵ ̶̶̢À́͠N͜D̷͜҉ ̴̡̕͜͟S̴̢̕͡͠E̵̡͜͜͠E͘͞ ҉͟M͏̴͝Ỳ̧̧͘ ̴̸̨T̨́͝Ŗ͜E̢̧À̷̡́̀S̵̕͞͞Ù̵͞R̡͠Ȩ̨̨S̸̸͜͟͝” “Don’t listen! Keep your drat eyes forward, you bastards!” ”S͏̢͜U̧͠Ć̨H̷̛͏ ͜͜҉̧P̴̨̀͡Ȩ̷̸͟҉A̸͢R͜͞͏L͟Ş҉̧̕ ̷̨̡͢͠Í͘ ̸̛͟͟H̀̕͠͞Á̛͡͠V͞͝҉͠͝E̶̷͞ ̷͘̕͠A͘҉̴Ǹ̡͜͢D̀́̕ ́͠L̵͜O̷͘͡V̧̡E͏̶̶L̷̨Y̧̧̧̡͟ ̵҉̛̛͡S̴͟͜͏H̸̡͏Í̢͝N҉͜Y̴̛͜͡͝ ͜B̢̕O̡͠N̵̛͟E̶͞Ś͡͏ ́C͠ÒM̵̀E̷͞͞ ̕҉̴̧A҉̛͏N̸͜͡͡D̷́ ̶͝S҉̕҉E̵͞E̵̸ ̶̡̧C̡͘͞Ǫ̴̸̸͡M͘͟҉͢Ȩ̡͏ ͜҉̕͜À͠͠N̡͜͜͞͠D̶̛ ̵̨̡̨̛S̛̛E̷͢͡È̷̢̕!҉́”

Oh My.

Nana stood quickly, nearly kicking her neatly bundled armor. A small note was placed on top; 'I'm gonna watch the squirt for a bit longer. -M'

Magda was a sweetheart through and through, and Nana couldn't help but be fond of the gruff woman. It seemed that she had become quite taken with Bäbi as well, for which Nana suddenly found herself quite grateful. She donned the armor hastily before making her way topside. If this was what she feared it was, they needed to Flee as soon as possible.

---

Nana found herself near the aft of the ship, attempting to calm the poor dear with a motherly tone: 1d100+10+2 36, while staying clear of its mouth and uh... appendages. She hoped they could do something to help this poor creature, but they would have to Capture it first.

bonus hole boy fucked around with this message at Jun 20, 2018 around 14:51

Green Intern
Dec 29, 2008

Secret Art: Toxic Crotch Whirlwind!


Name: Ringo!
HP: 4/4
Glory: 10>11
Skill: Accuracy, Whistling+30 (Using), Surgery
Hotswap Skillcores: Firestarting, Pigilante Justice, Cross Stitching, Bee Keeping, Lifting +15, Lockpicking, Kissing, Weaving +15, Avoiding Notice
Other: Rolls 10d100, may optionally reroll lowest. May either roll an additional 1d100, or grant a reroll to an Ally.
Medic Squad.

Ringo felt bile rise in his throat as the leviathan's eerie calls drifted over the water. They'd come so far. It couldn't end like this!..

He ran by Starn and the siegers. They were cooking something up, and Starn was calling for supplies. Ringo unslung his wendigoad and tossed it over to the captain. "Here. If there's any way you can use this thing to send this monster to hell, you can have it. It's served me well, and now it's time to send it off with a bang." Ringo's eyes widened, and he spun around to one of the cannons. "You using this?" He didn't wait for a reply.

Wrenching it out of its moorings, Ringo braced the cannon under his arm, feverishly cramming powder and shot into its maw. He stepped up beside Portha, and waited for it to circle the ship once more. As it made its approach, he whistled enticingly, inviting it to try and take a piece out of him. And as it opened its horrible jaws, he ignited ignited the charge with a burst of Esprit Flame from his hand.

"Smile you son of a bitch."

Shoot the Wendigo in the Mouth (Whistling, Cannon): 11d100+30+10 586 [11d100=17, 8, 24, 99, 76, 39, 87, 14, 90, 49, 43] (idk if the cannon needs reload/maintenance now. I'm calling the final die there the cannon)
Reroll 8: 1d100 27 +15
Free Extra Roll: 1d100 13

Total: 614

OOC: Giving Starn my wendigoad to shoot at the Wendigo. Using a cannon myself.

Cloud Potato
Jan 8, 2011

"I'm... happy!"



:;
Name: Hat
Skills: Millinery (+15), Backflips (+25)
Squad: Infiltrator (Shares items with other squadmembers, gets double bonuses from consumables used outside combat)
HP: 3/3
Equipment: Knightly Spear (+3), String-Slayer Armour (+2), Tuned Shield, Lucky Pearl; Sikatris Scarf, Wagnag Jerky[?], ThumbsCrew Mug
Glory: 17 -> 18

The Klopian attackers seen to, Hat had a quick look at the Skillcores on offer. Sadly, still no hat-making cores were available - was she the only Milliner in either army? - so she tried to grab one of the Sailing skillcores, to give to Waesh as thanks for the excellent service he'd given the Horde so far.

Rolling for a Sailing skillcore (to give to Waesh): 1d100 7 Womp womp! Might still happen though!

Later, Hat had been looking at the destroyed town of Yadol when the Voice started to speak. She froze solid. Oh piss. In her mind's eye she was back in the tunnels of Nägel, the Ugly Wendigo lashing out at her once more. The scars had mostly faded to thin lines, and Ascendancy had rendered them rather abstract across her body, but her brain still recalled the intense pain one of these creatures had caused her. Thankfully, there was only the one Wendigo this time. She looked to her right, and saw the rest of the Horde rising up to stop the monster by any and all means possible, using cannon, siege engine, Madmist canister - poo poo, is that wise? - and even Monsterist branding. Hat grabbed her spear and shield and, avoiding the melee surrounding the creature's head, backflipped away and aimed for its Appendage with only one thought in her mind: Fight!

Attacking the Drenched Wendigo's Appendage: 2d100+18+25+3 105

Jvie
Aug 10, 2012



||
Name: Trinh
Skills: Taxidermy(+50, corrupted), Jumping(+40, using), Engineering(+50, corrupted)
Extra::
HP: 1/1
Glory: 30 -> 31
Ritual Glory: 1


Back before the fish wendigo showed up:

Looting the Dodging core: 1d100 15
Yoink

---

quote:



♬ "think of me as your own portable friend
whom can offer advice and sing in t̛͜h̛͜e͘͡ ̨̛e̕n҉d̡
whom'st voice you may throw to confuse and confuzzle
whose sick burns will caus your enemies hassle
whose spirit lingers in a mönsterist half a dozen klörfs tall
who can fly and wave flags to cheer for us all
whom fights for whats right - for vengeance, for justice,
Whom speaks for all Neötypes, when she says to "Just trust us."

quote:

"Hat, Gigs, Humbug, Marra: It's past time the warlord got some more armor. I'll rally our people, at least those that can make, we'll shape something useful, whate'er it may take. You may help with that or elsewise you see fit, I trust to your judgement, your guile and your wit."

quote:

Oh we're a band of vicious Tömen
A sailin' down this river
If you saw our crew
You couldn't help but shiver

Watch your children and your wives
The Unexpectables are a-prowl
Without a drop of mercy
There's naught to do but howl

You've only got one chance
When you hear me lovely rhyme
If ye don't surrender
You're in for bloody warcrime!

If one trusted their ears they might think that the Captain ran half the ship now. What with her mouth always speaking on the shoulder of who knows who. She was so impressive, and popular. Trinh sighed. She held the Stuffed Thing in front of her in outstreched arms.



"Why can't you be more like the captain's f͉͈͓̼̳̩̙r̥̬͊ͣͬị̊̓͑͌̈̌͋ẻͮͧͤ̿n̦̲͈̞̱̦̍͞d̺̘͈̝͖ͥ̏͂̎̄?"

---

Having a piece of you able to do it's thing independently of your own presence seemed awfully useful. Trinh couldn't help but to wonder why she'd never seen anyone do it before joining the army. Well, it was a monsterist trait... Maybe successful people were too embarrassed to show their f̡͉̤̙͈̞̗̥̘͍͛̏͑͐́́͑̈́̇̉ŗ̨͖̯͎̼̞̻̻͈͐̓̅͒̅̈̐̀͂̇ä̛͍̼̠͔̜̪͇̰́͂̀̆̇̈͝͝͠ͅͅg̡̳̹̭̫̹̹̟̳̑̿̓̈́̓̀̿̑̌͠ͅḿ̡̳̳̹͉̮̬̥͇̥͒̓̒́̋͒̑̃̑e̱͈͇̩̳̟̫̱͐́̾̄͊͊̈́͘͜͜͠͠n̢̧̰͙͍̭͈̗͓̑́͌͐̆̈́̋͂͜͝͝ṱ̡̲͍̳̘̪̫̉̌̾̓̾̓̍̈́̊͘͜ͅs̡̧͍͔̜̻̘̹̟͉͆͗́̈́͐́̓͘͠͝ in public? They must keep them hidden at home. Y-y-yes, that was it. H̡̖͙̭̗̻̦̙̼̒̽́̈́̀̆̿̑̐͑ͅä̢̢̡̜͕̞̤̩̳́̅̽̿͑͒̈̄̉͘ͅh̼͓̣̠̫͍͙͖̱͚̄̓̊̽͂̔̌̅̄͠a̼̳͖͉̝̲̙̼̫̅̿̿́́͊͑̄̕͜͝.̢̘͍̺̤͈̼̪̫̣̏̽͌̀̿͂̾̚̚͝ Y̝͎̠͕̟̋͋̉̚͠-̛͎̠̯͈̗̀̔͠͝y̯̣̬̺͉̓̒͊̊͘-̡͈̗͓̲̽̋̂̒͝ȳ̘̠̥͇̝̊̅̈̐e̜̱͈̹̲͂̄́̃̊š̛̥͉̜̝͚̋̿̚,̼̻̬͓͉̃̌̒͋̈ ̣̞̹̝͙͋̈́͊̽̀t̥͙͉͉͓͆͋̈́͂͝ḧ͚̳̲͚́̏͑̃͠ͅä̛͇̘͚̙̋̀̾ͅt͔͈͇̜̺̉͆̃̌̽ ͇̤̹͈̩̐̄̆̈́̚w̢͙͖͈̟̔͛̈́͘͝aa̢̨̺̩̩̺̝̭̜̮͚̝̙̣̺̠̜̥̯̯̙͋̓̈́͌̔̈́̃̒̀̌͋̐̿́̈̀̊̋͆̕͠͠ͅs̡̧̩̰͖̳̖̞̝̺̤̥̺̝̹͚͎͈̹̱͕͐̾͂̆̓̋̈́̌̈́̂̀̆̂̐͛͒͑͌̐͘͘͜͝ ̡̡̥͓̙̫̰̫͕͎̞̞̟͚̙̝̖̤̳̝̳̫̜͐̅̆̐̇̃̊̐̇͑́̐̐͑̀̓͘̕͘͝͝ȋ̢̢̜̱͓̜̣̤͚̰͙̞̦̖̺̭͙͕̬͔͕́͗̿͛̐͊̉̂̏̽̾͌͛͑̀̑͐̕̕͜͝͠͝.̧̢̢̺̳̺͎̞̣̰͈̗͕̬̤͙͕͓̝̳͎̏̐̓̆̆͛̄̎̈̈̽̏̏̔̈́̃̾̊͛̈́̚͜͠ ̢̪̣̦̩͙̖̼͉̝̻̗̰̜̰̪͚̫̤͚̮̼̅̃͛̍̔͊̑͋̍͒̏͒̀̈́̀͆̇͗̾̑́̚͜ẃ̢̟͓̳̹̻̥̬͖̠̱̜͚͈̣̝̪͇͔̬̥̳͆̌̏̔̔̀͊̈̈́̈́͑̀͛̀̀̋̍͒͘̕͜aş̡̢̡̡̣̝͕͈̮̮̱̫̪̼̥̖͉͈͓͕͍̦̯̠̖̮̘̲̪͍̦̗̹̆̎͂̿͋̂̈́̌̋̑̍͊̍͋͂̍͐̿̔̔͒̂̎̾͗͋̾̄̚̕̚̚͘͘͝͝ͅ ̨̢̛͖͎̲̝͎̩̮̰̯͓̖̟͈͖̝̲͇̜̳͎̲̤̮̣͚̲̼̟̱̌͂͂̋̾̏̾̆̆͛̽̂͐͊̀̄̐̀̊̌̋̿͊̽̌͑̾͛̔͊̓̈́̚͘̚͠͝ͅͅį̧̧̡̢̛̛͙̞̞̬̖̥̭̲̯̹͓͓̞̯̞̱͍͚͔̖͓̲͓̖͎͉̤̤̯͍͔͉̭̟̑̾́̍́̑͐̊͛̉͐̑̾̽͆̈́͗͐̓̿͗̃̌̔̑̕͘̕̕̚̕͘͝͠t̨̨̢̨̪̠͍͔͖̗̭̥̘͕͔̘̫̤̳̝͙̜̭̞̝͉͉̬̫͓͖̬̏̃̓̋̉̒̂̍̽̀͌̂̈͂̒̂̄̎̀̄̂͑̂̽̏̔̃̈́̑̌̋̇̑̈́͘̚͘̕͜͠ͅ ̛̣̱͖͉̤̰̦͓̫̳̦̼̪̼͖͖͓̼͔̦̯̝̟̪͈̝͉̬͖̪͈͖̻̊̐͑͒͊̍̔̌̑̆̄̆̌͂͆̍̓̋̑̓̑̔͐̋̆̎̀͛̾̐̈̒̔̄̕͝͝͠ͅw̡̨̨̛̖̻̺̳̠̲̙̹̻̠̝̞͙̗͔̘͙͖̘̪͕͎̭͎̝͓̬̳͎̺̯̘̓̔̏͆̂̂̂̋̓̿͛̈́͐̉̓̅̌̊͌̓̒̓͛̈̏̇̏̑͋̓͑͐̚̚̕͝͝͠â̡̛͉̝͈͇͇̹̯̼̱͚̬̤̹͕̘̠̲̭̺̥̱͇͚͉̪͔̗͈̪̫̫̤̹͊͐́̈́̀̋̍͂̀̍̂̅̿̂̆̀̓̎̈́̈͛͊̂́̐͒̿̎̓̋̃͘͜͝͝ͅ

W̧̡̤̖͉̲̥̹͍̩̜̯̥̟̺̖̻̳̘̫̠͚͎̼͇͇̮͓̙͙̘̠̣̑̎̽͂́͐̍̄̈̌̎̊͑͒̀́͗̀͂̀̿̽̑̽̇̋̈́̔͗͗̃̽̽̂͘͘ͅͅA̢̡̢̢͕̺̯̥̝̫̮̜̟͓̩̫̳͓͉̗̼̬̰̰͉̳̣̼̫͉̦̩̩̯̒̂͐̒̆͂͆͊̔̇̎̿̏̃̀̂̈́̓̑͛̏́̈́̃͂̅̇̍̐̒̈̋̂͘̕͠͝ͅŞ̧̛̛̛̮̻̲̖̥̞̺̳̘͇̘̙̲̹̞̼̙̥̟͔̠̫̰͕͍͓͍͈̘͚̟̝͈̭̦̈̐̆̉͂̄̂̈́͌̃̀́́́̈́͑̇̽́̄̽̀̌́̚͘͘͜͝͠͝S̢̡̢̢̨̡̛̖̘͔̮̲̦̬̙̫̞̞̗̲̤̠͖̣͎̲̦͓͍͇̦͖̜̟̟̪̤̠̋̈̍̊̀̃̇̆̑̈͒̂̈́̿͐̓͛͌͐͐̈́͂̒̓̍̿̍̃͐̄̕̕͝͝ͅͅS̨̢̨̛̛̺̤̼͉̜͕̠͈̤̹͓̗̦̟͓͚̦̭̲̝͍͈̮͚̲̮̞̙̹̠̽̃̾̒̆͐̇͋͐̃̃͊̃̅̅̾͋̌͂̊̌̏̓͆͐̃͊̅̆͋͌͗̐͋͆̕͘Ş̧̛̛͍̺̜͖̰̳̘̪̲̙̫̫̳͓̰͙̹̱̯͙̲͉̖̦͚̣̹̳̣̤̜͈̤̫̄̃̿̊͒̊̌́̌̐͋̊͊̿͂̈́̉̆̄́̊͌̀͋̑͗̉̕̕͘͠͝͝͝ͅ☡̢̡̨̢̪̜͓̯̦̮̻͍̞̮̻͇͓͓̱̺̱̜͖̰̻̳̳̖̟̹͉̹͌̅̾̌͂̾̓́͗͊͛̎̑̆͑̽̂̎͆̍̓̍͊̊͌͗̄̇̅̆̂̽͊̏͜͜͝͠ͅ☡̢̢̨̧̡̝͕̙̗͍͚̺̦̜̻͕̰̟̗̗͚̻͕̺͈͎̹̙̺̼̦͎̖̓͑̈̿̔͂̾̿͒̏̈̒͋͂̉̉̏̏͒̈́͌̔̓̏̅̎̓͊̏̽̌̔̄͝͠ͅ☡̢̧̨̗̖͈͔̝̻̖̗̥͈̺͓͓̮̠̣̪̪̮̮̪̯̗͖̮̲̥̦̙̬̖̋̎̓̍̓̈́́̓̅͊͂̀̈̃̅̓̈́̈̊̒̀͋̔͗̌̈́͛͌̃̉͗̚͘̕͘͝͝☡̧̡̨̨̡̧̯͍͇̮͓͉͕̗̘̼̯̖̰̱̦̗͈̣͕͚̮̞̗̰̭̠̝̙̘̌̈́́͛̀̽̃̌̀̑̉̍͊͂̓̉̍̔̾̊̿͗̿̌̇̎̈́͑̆͋̈́̌͋̈́̔͒͑̀̕ͅͅ☡̡̢̡̛̯̗̺͓̟̟̪͚̣̘͉̟̹̲̼̰̲͙͕̬̜͈̜̙̝̭͕͈̱͔͍̮̪͌͂̇̇̍̂͗͛̓̑͌̾̈̈̇̌̇́̾̍͗͛̐̅͑̀̃͑͒̍̕͘͜͝ͅ☷̢̡̨̢̢̛̘͇͖̭̬̟̦̦̜̠̞̠̘̳͖̱͎͕͔̖̖̼̹̱̙̪͈̳͎̝̲̫̰͕͊̔͊̈̋͐̂͐̇́̉̔̾͒͐̃̆͌͗̿̎̄̏̾̈́̂̾͐͒̔̕͝͝͝☷̡̡̨̢̨̛̛̳͓̼̖̪͔̤̘̱̬̝̦͔̘͖̲̜͍̥̮͔̣̻̺͓̫͈͖̪̖͙̼͒͊̀̋̄̈́͒̎̑̀͊̊̆̑̅̅͆̅̆̀́̈́̆͐̀̎̏̚̕͘͜͠͠͝͝☱̢̡̨̛̠̖̜̺̠̘̰̱̫͉͎͖͖͕̯͕͍͍̙̦̝̼̘̖̤̝̭͉̱̤͙̹̣̣̲͌̍̿͐̌̂̇̿̈́̂̃̔̑̈́͋̽̽̽̌̈͒̃̄͗͂̆͂̅̒̇͘͝͝ͅ☱̛̞̪͎͉̪̮͎͈̟͈͈̻̣̗̣͔͓̙̲̰͔̻̪̟͓͖̼̫̣̰͔̯̩̀̆̍̌̆̏̽̓̐̽͛̎̆͐̈͌̆͂́̓̒̀̏͗͂͋̒̔͌̍̏̅̈́̃͘̚͘͜ͅ☷̢̡̦̤͖̖͙̗͉̫͇̠̻͖̭̦̼͙̻͇̼͙̩͎̦͕̬̼̖̺̹͍̘̫̜̾͒͋͛̎͒͒͛̂̐̄̓̓͗̅̐͆͆̾̄͋͂̈́̈̊̓͌͑̕͘̕͜͜͝͠͝☱̡̨̢̢̧̛̭̙̘̠͕̯̤̘̞̰̖̼̟̣̟̱͇͖̮̜̻̲̫̳͈͇͕̤̣̓̾̓͒͌̄̆̿̐́̃̐́̑̓̆̅̈́͌͗̀͊͗̀̂̿̈́̐̚͠͝͝ͅ-̢̡̨̢̛̛̰̠̱̪͎͈̝͚̺̝̻͈͙̥̭͈̭̺̮̼̼̹̹̳̜͚̻̠̗̹̹͗͌̇̾̍͂̒̿̊͐̈̉̒́̓̌̓̏̍́͑̿̓̀̏͐̃͊̊̚̕̕͜͜͠͝-̨̢̰̙͚̞̞͉͍̪̣̫̭͇̫̯̼̮̦̮̼̼͕̣̱̭͎̝̝͓͕̱͉̳̥̝̠͋͑̃͛̈́̀̽͒̍̃̏̑̑͋́̍́̅̒͐͋̓̾̈̀̀̄̔̀̽̎͊̓̏̄͝͝-̨̡̡̡̨̨̩̮̙͇̫͙̤̘͎̮̖̪͔̗̲͉̭͉͉̖̮̮͖̤̣͓̦͕̙̬͉͆͊̀͐́͊̈́̃͛̐͊̂̿́̽͌͐́̑͊̋̈́͌͂̌̾̆̈́͛͐̀͐̈́̂̚̕̚̕͝ͅͅ-̢̧̧̢̧̡̨̞͇̰̳͖̠͙̥̱̱̙̠̱̤͙̗̼͉̥̟̩͈̫̺̩̱͙̫̦̖͌͑͆̈́͛́͗͑́̀̌̀̾̅͂̀̋͗͛͒̾̇̿̀̈́̌̍͌̃̄̏̒̇̕̚͠͝͠-̢̢̨̛͈̹̼̘̝̼̙̩͉̱̦̻̭̤͇̠͍̝͍̱̘̙̥̝̯͇̜̟̫͚̼̖̫͎̜̝͂̀̋̈͐̾̈́̅̉̄͒͒̈̑̌͊̄̓̿͆͂͊͑̅͒̂̋̀̾̏̒̄̐̾̾͝͝-̢̧̛̛̲̖̳̜͍̼̯̣̦̰̳̱̲̱̰̺̱̥͇͈̻͚͕̪͎̩̠͈͔̠̭͇̤̈͆̓̋͊͌̍͗̽͌̐͒̆̌̑̋̿̽̒̋̽͂̓͒̉͗̅͊̀͘͘̚͝-̢̢̡̡̬͈͇͈̲͕͍̺̪̼̩̼̱̝̻̘͈̹̘̗̯̣̟̮̝̥͇̲̬͕̗̗͒͗̑͌̂̑͂̈́͋̆̓̀̏̓̎̎͑͋̐̌̂͗͆̋̈̎̇̈́̇͊͗̈̆̈̔̚͠-̢̧̧̨̡̛̤̱̪̭̭̲̗̖̩̭̗̜͕͍̖͎̪͖̩̫̫̙̜̤̜̯͉͎̝̞̓͛̿̐̌͒̊̄͑̔͋̌́́̍̏̎̋́̔̋̐́͆̒̔̎͒͘̕̚͘͝͝-̧̡̡̢̠͙͚̙̝̫͉͕̙̹̜͔̞͉̫̥͉̰͚̗͉̖͚̘̩̣͇͔͈̝̖̾͐̎̅͊̈́̄͐̄̾͒̄̓̅͗́̎̉̔̇̿͛̈̂͋͒̆͆̿̚̕̚͜͝͠ͅ-̛͓̯͍̭̜̙͚̱͔͍̣̝̦͎̖̻̱̹͕̥̜̮̩̭̝͇̯̥̳̝͉̙̫̦̗͗̀̔̇̅̈́͊́̾̀̉̔̐̏̃̏͂̀͂͆̀͂͗͗̎͊̋̄̓̈́̕͘̕͠͝ͅͅ-̡̧̨̱͎̱̟̬̟̱̖͓̝͖̰̦̜͕̞̼̼̫̫̯̦̗̘͇͍͖͚̙͇̮͋̏̉̎̂̑̔̈͛͆̽̿̽͊̽̑̍̂̿̇͒͑̄͊̅̀͌́̾̈́̑̓͌̈́͛͝ͅͅ---------- -- - Th̤ͅey ̻a̞̖re ̮̙͈g̼̝̹oin̲g̻ to ̝k̠il̦͓̝ḷ̖͕ ̪y̙̼͙ou.

---

Trinh sought out her captain and grabbed her by the shoulders quite bit harder than intended.
"Y-y-you are right! About everything! L-l-listen... I... I..."
The words escaped her.
"The- the- you... youneverseeso̻m̹͇eo̩͍̙newithmonsterismrunabusinesslikewith- with- wit͇̼h... A̸r͙̹̘͖̫͓͜g̷̻̰͖h̯!"
There were millions of things that needed to be said, but she only had one mouth for them.
"I think I overheard someone- that- that... something a̲̰͙b̘ͅo͈̫uṯ End of Service. I- I mean, the Brand! The- the warlords and..."
Ordering her thoughts was a hopeless task. Therefore she said the words in random order. After what felt like hours of incoherent ranting she'd cooled down enough to get to the core of the matter.

"I... I mean T̷͇̜̮͖̘̝̋͂ͨ̋̋̐h͉ͥe̵̼͕̱̒̍̀y̹̒ aren't going to want us around once the war is over. Th̴̞̮e̸͕y̓ͯͧ are out for innocent Monsterists, just like you always said, Snödis!"

"I'm with you one hundred percent! One thousand! T̼͓̳͚͛ͫ̉͛h̡̽̉͛ͮ̓̾̾e̒̅ͬ̉҉͔̣̲ͅy̼̙̻̫̘̜̰ͩ̃̀͑̓ͦ́ hate us for our looks! We have to stick together! We've got to get away before T̶h̵ey͍̼͕̼̺͋ͨ͋͒ͣ get us!"

"I̴ ͏C͜A҉̟N̞̙̂̾ ̍͑ͩH̻͔̲ͫ̅̋͘E͞A̘̫̦ͨ̉̓R̐̍ ̺̚T̾H̳̩ͫ̍Ĕ̿͜M ̂͆ͯC̲ͨͣͅȎ̦̭ͣM͕͂͡I͝N̴̬͙̍̀̇ͅG͔͙̣ ̤͆F̧O̜̻͎͂̈̽R M̦̐͘E̖̼̾̀.̢̬͈̱̔̀̈́"

---


The panic had subsided. The emotion had been washed away, leaving Trinh with only grim determination to stay alive no matter the cost. She wandered in stupor. The ship was colorless. The crew washed out ghosts in the edge of her vision. She had confided to Snödis and any others the captain had trusted to be present, but still couldn't help but to feel she needed to talk to someone. But who? After brief contemplation she was forced to admit that aside from the captain she didn't really have anyone she could call a friend in the horde. Now that she thought about it she was really bummed ou- Gado! That's it! She snapped her fingers with a sharp, bone-clacking noise. She'd never checked up on how the... uh... operation(?) had turned out. Time for a follow up visit!

She eventually found Gado hanging out with Gryph, Sucy and the... who wã̠̖͑s̮̗̄̅ ̙̱̐͝t̹̦̀̚h̟̝̊͆à̧̝̒t̺̟̐̐ ̖͇̆̕ aḡ̬̬̠̳͙̩͔͔̣͎̳͎̬ͦ̃͛̓̅͂̊̄̉̒ͣ͗͆ͅa̤̯͔͚͈͍̹̳̝̓̔͐ͧ̅̂ͯ̓̐i͔͖̠͐̃̅n?-̲̥̬ͧ̃ͤ-̝̘̙̮̙̫̰̜̻̣͉̺͈ͮ̐̇̑̓ͬ̽̀͛͊ͪ̓̉ͫ͜͝ͅ-̬̣̬̰̍̌̈́ͯ--̉̌̉҉̷̛-̶̨͎̹̗̳̞͙̮̮̩͓̺̔̓ͯ͊̓ͤ͆ͦ̍̆͛͢-͖̣̭̺̞̗̖̙̖̟͉̫̻ͅ-͗̌͋ͯ̍̕͏̴͔̖͎͔̥-̵ͫͣ̐̒ͧ͂͊̚-̠̩̭̟̭̟̦̫̅̓̓̆̆̓̌͂̚ͅ-͚̞ͣ̍́͠͝-̷̨͍͓̤̼̳̯̗̥̖̣̹̮̼͚ͫͪ͋ͯ̎̉̋̎͂ͥ̎ͤ̋ͦ ucy and the good doctor, Zapanda. Oh the doctor! It felt like a lifetime away when Trinh had pleaded for Grimper to save her life. She wondered if the doctor remembered that. Hah! She practically owed Trinh a favor for that! Not that she wanted anything from her anymore. Earlier she had been interested in Zapanda's search for the Cure, but now, after the administrator vault, things were different. The OG relic had been powerless to stop her. Well, not powerless to kill her, but powerless to command her! She now knew for certain that monsterism had made her free. There was no need for a cure, and she kind of pitied the people who wished for one. But perhaps that was natural impulse for them? To stay as they were designed to be, to fear freedom from the OGs. They all had after all been created to be tools for them. The OGs must have put in failsafes to keep Tö and Frö from freeing themselves.

It was a curious line of thought to follow. If baseline people were under Scripted commandment to not accept monsterism, then how many other such limits existed? It suddenly dawned on Trinh that everyone was staring at her. She must have been talking with her hands again.

"Ahaha... Gado, there you are! You are, uh, looking good? How are your fingers? Honestly I just thought I'd ask when are you going to get your Brand? You know captain Snödis can do that now? I hear you are still with the siege team? Its your choice but know that theres always room in the Neötypes for you!"
Now that the ice was broken her speech picked up speed. She gestured at everyone present.
"In fact you should all join us! I did and it was the best decision I've made! I feel so Ģ̨̯͙̲͕Ǫ̴̢͖̝̝̣̘̹̫̙ͅO̢ͤ͗́̽̈̃ͩ͌̒ͥ̿̾̾͆͗D̬̻͚͕̘̭̰͚͙̰̠ͥ̓ͩ̋ͦͭ̇͂ͨͥ̇͟ and F̞̘̲̼̹̖̲̻͍̮͔̳͚̰̐͌̈́͗̽̑̃͌̄͐̄͂̌͗̚͡ͅR͛̀͋͒E̶̷̡̩͖̬̻̼̖͕̓̊͐̍͐ͫͣ̿͒ͅͅȨ͔͈̝̼͓̭̾̀̇ͩ̐́̀̚ͅ nowadays! There's nothing I can't do now that the old guys aren't keeping me down!"
"A-actually! Gryph, Zapanda! I've wanted to ask something from a medical professional! See, I have been thinking, you know how people sometimes Ascend? And they get bigger just like that? I didn't use to really think about it, but it has kind of bothered me that, like..."

"Don't people need to eat to grow? I mean, children need to eat lots to grow up properly? But then people just have it in them what they need to get bigger once they've proved themselves in a crisis? And also! You know about wendigos? Aren't they usually a lot bigger than people? And they don't grow gradually, Snödis described Jö getting huge all at once! Do you get it? DO YOU GET IT!"

Gado & Co might have thrown Trinh out of the room by now but she wasn't about to stop ranting.

"All people have the power to G̰E͔̟T̺͙ HU̻͈̩G͇̙E, but their Script won't allow them to! Glory is nothing but a number!! A GA̺̠̥̜͕ME̹̪͇̟̻̟̦ RULE! An arbitary limit for the entertainment of the old guys!!!! MONSTERISM SETS US FREE! Wend͎̖͓̳̟͍͚i̠̭̩͈go͍͈̦͙̘s GET HUGE because they are abandoning pointless limits! They are taking control of their own potential! BͅA̗SELINE̘͓R̺̦S̙̲̪ ̟̮͔AR͇̳͕E͕̖̭ PR̙Ị̳SONERS! Wake up! Do you see? Do you see that I'm right?"

---

Whatever the reaction was to Trinh's screed, later on she tried to meet up with Sucy and Gryph in private, to hopefully present them an offer. Perhaps even Zapanda might be present?

"...Listen. I lost my train of thought back there earlier. If you don't agree with me, then fine. Just forget I said anything. What matters now is what we are doing if we survive this war."

"You both wish to see monsterism cured, right? I don't mind. I think its impossible, but feel free to try. And if you are trying, you'll need Zapanda."

"What do you think will happen to her after the war? I'll tell you. Grimper will hand her over to the crown, he gets a medal, she works for the Tö state for the rest of her life, all labours of her work falling into the hands of the elite. There's no way the regency council or whoever wins their power struggle is going to be the kind of person to share the cure with the whole world. There'd be too much power in being the only ones able to prevent monsterism!"

"That's it. There's no future for the cure in the horde. And as it happens, there's no future for the Neötypes in the horde."

"Its obvious the high command doesn't want people with rampant monsterism returning from the front lines. We will have to slip away from Grimper sooner or later."

"Just like Zapanda's research."

Trinh extends an open palm to the others present.

"So won't you help us? If we survive we can get Zapanda away from Grimper's grasp, and back to her countrymen."



---

Afterwards the wendigo was upon the horde. Well, below the horde. There was no time to think. Snödis' orders were to Capture and Contain, so that Trinh would do. Except... What was that red stuff near Portha, madmist?? Oh.

DK said that he intended to madmist Snödis if it weren't for her mask, so I'm assuming that engaging the wendigo carries the risk of:

quote:

If you are a Wendigo: Whether using corrupted Core or not, danger range increases from a roll of 1 to a roll of <=100! A roll in this range will lead to either instant death or an attack on a nearby ally for 2 Damage!

...those are not good odds in this situation. I'm staying out unless it turns out I'm misinterpreting DK.

I'm marking my action as watching for now to get this post finished, but I'm open to switching it to fighting or wrangling volunteers if DK allows.


Action, probably First Watch?: 1d500+30+40 215

super sweet best pal
Nov 18, 2009

No need to sign, we'll take care of that.


Lipstick Apathy



Portha thought about Trinh's rant.

"She has a point. Why does the infection jump the Ascendancy process? More importantly, how? We have something of that knowledge, the monsterist rituals. We took a nail, it lets a regular soldier at their fighting at their full strength fight with the strength of an ascended. Look at the power it's giving Waesh. I'm not a doctor but I think the Wendigo transformation might be a corruption of the Ascendancy script.

"Look what happened to Snödis when she ascended. Something entirely new. The flag to activate the corrupted script triggered when its conditions were met but since it's broken it worked with what it had and... it's like the intended extra action her Ascendancy was supposed to give couldn't survive inside her and split off, like a newborn child. A weird, gross mouth babby."

"Trinh's wrong about one thing, the script isn't holding us down, the script is what holds us together. We were free the moment the OGs got bored and left us to our own devices, free to interpret the rules of their twisted game in our own way. That Wendigo out there in the water, it's just a shadow of the person it was. That's not freedom, its mind is drowning in its monsterism, a cage of broken thought preventing it from being who it should be. Our only hope for them is to understand them"

"Now, look at what the madmist is doing to the Wendigo. What it tried to do to me but I resisted thanks to my immunity, and before through sheer luck when I collected it. It's like esprit for the infection, an airborne, transmittable esprit that can affect even the most minuscule potential for monsterism."

"drat, I need a drink. Not this good stuff," she tapped the Mushbrëwm in her bag, "I'm saving it for when I get hurt, when the pain gets too much."

Torchlighter
Jan 15, 2012

I Got Kids. I need this.



Name: Gryph
HP: 3/3
Glory: 6 => 7
Skill: Medicine (20), Wrestling (20)

Gryph awoke to a somewhat quieter Ship. Pursuit had been curbed a little: Noggins had seen to that and Snodis had flown off, cackling, into the air. Gryph was worried about the fellow Captain's glee, but she was already gone, and Gryph pitied the people who would end up in her path. Accepting a hot beverage, Gryph looked over the cores gained from their recent sorties.

Claiming a Grappling Skillcore!: 1d100 65

Grappling cores were close, and would probably resonate well with his Wrestling core. Gryph figured if it didn't stick it would resonate soon enough.Otherwise time was spent treating minor injuries, taking stock, checking for enemies. Time spent with Sucy, Zapanda and Gado was spent discussing the operation and how the Monsterism reacted. New ideas and research into a plague that had all people, not just To, worried. It was here that Trinh found them.

Trinh posted:

"Ahaha... Gado, there you are! You are, uh, looking good? How are your fingers? Honestly I just thought I'd ask when are you going to get your Brand? You know captain Snödis can do that now? I hear you are still with the siege team? Its your choice but know that theres always room in the Neötypes for you!"
Now that the ice was broken her speech picked up speed. She gestured at everyone present.
"In fact you should all join us! I did and it was the best decision I've made! I feel so Ģ̨̯͙̲͕Ǫ̴̢͖̝̝̣̘̹̫̙ͅO̢ͤ͗́̽̈̃ͩ͌̒ͥ̿̾̾͆͗D̬̻͚͕̘̭̰͚͙̰̠ͥ̓ͩ̋ͦͭ̇͂ͨͥ̇͟ and F̞̘̲̼̹̖̲̻͍̮͔̳͚̰̐͌̈́͗̽̑̃͌̄͐̄͂̌͗̚͡ͅR͛̀͋͒E̶̷̡̩͖̬̻̼̖͕̓̊͐̍͐ͫͣ̿͒ͅͅȨ͔͈̝̼͓̭̾̀̇ͩ̐́̀̚ͅ nowadays! There's nothing I can't do now that the old guys aren't keeping me down!"
"A-actually! Gryph, Zapanda! I've wanted to ask something from a medical professional! See, I have been thinking, you know how people sometimes Ascend? And they get bigger just like that? I didn't use to really think about it, but it has kind of bothered me that, like..."

"Don't people need to eat to grow? I mean, children need to eat lots to grow up properly? But then people just have it in them what they need to get bigger once they've proved themselves in a crisis? And also! You know about wendigos? Aren't they usually a lot bigger than people? And they don't grow gradually, Snödis described Jö getting huge all at once! Do you get it? DO YOU GET IT!"

Gado & Co might have thrown Trinh out of the room by now but she wasn't about to stop ranting.

"All people have the power to G̰E͔̟T̺͙ HU̻͈̩G͇̙E, but their Script won't allow them to! Glory is nothing but a number!! A GA̺̠̥̜͕ME̹̪͇̟̻̟̦ RULE! An arbitary limit for the entertainment of the old guys!!!! MONSTERISM SETS US FREE! Wend͎̖͓̳̟͍͚i̠̭̩͈go͍͈̦͙̘s GET HUGE because they are abandoning pointless limits! They are taking control of their own potential! BͅA̗SELINE̘͓R̺̦S̙̲̪ ̟̮͔AR͇̳͕E͕̖̭ PR̙Ị̳SONERS! Wake up! Do you see? Do you see that I'm right?"

Gryph kept himself from replying to the ranting Neotype. Trinh had been a serious concern for a long time; One of the first to be infected and branded, her transformation had led her into the first squad of the Horde. But unlike Hob and Qwag, both of whom had maintained their personality, Trinh had rapidly taken to evangelising the infection of anyone who would listen. Gryph suspected that her circumstances had led to her exhortations: she needed Monsterism to be a good, nay, the Right Path, to avoid anguish. Gryph wondered sadly if she had family, someone close that she was afraid of losing to her new form, and so had cut ties from her old life to try and avoid the pain. Or perhaps the Monsterism drove her mad, and sh'es insane. No use speculating. She has her life, and seems to enjoy it. there are many who don't. Still, he was glad she was on his side.

---

Later still, he and Sucy were approached by Trinh again.

Trinh posted:

"...Listen. I lost my train of thought back there earlier. If you don't agree with me, then fine. Just forget I said anything. What matters now is what we are doing if we survive this war."

"You both wish to see monsterism cured, right? I don't mind. I think its impossible, but feel free to try. And if you are trying, you'll need Zapanda."

"What do you think will happen to her after the war? I'll tell you. Grimper will hand her over to the crown, he gets a medal, she works for the Tö state for the rest of her life, all labours of her work falling into the hands of the elite. There's no way the regency council or whoever wins their power struggle is going to be the kind of person to share the cure with the whole world. There'd be too much power in being the only ones able to prevent monsterism!"

"That's it. There's no future for the cure in the horde. And as it happens, there's no future for the Neötypes in the horde."

"Its obvious the high command doesn't want people with rampant monsterism returning from the front lines. We will have to slip away from Grimper sooner or later."

"Just like Zapanda's research."

Trinh extends an open palm to the others present.

"So won't you help us? If we survive we can get Zapanda away from Grimper's grasp, and back to her countrymen."

Gryph carefully kept his features still. How much does she know? Trinh was certifiably insane, and Gryph had little to no reason to take her at her word. Snodis probably wouldn't mind if Zapanda went missing... but he was willing to let the Wendigo talk." I don't want Monsterism cured as in eradicated Trinh. But you and I both know what happens in towns. Being infected means you're out, forced to roam the wastes until you go feral or die. For a lot of people..."

He was cut off by the roaring of a Wendigo. And not a member of Neotype Squad. Something large passed the boat, and then Gryph was, like all the others, preparing for a face eff with probably the largest Wendigo they had ever seen.

"We shouldn't pick a fight with it. If we can get away, I'd take that path.

Grpy fell in close to Waesh, currently on the deck.,wheel pitching as he fought the currents The Wendigo was causing. Gryph nodded to the shanty singing pirate and pulled out his bow, ready to defend the deck.

Let's see if I can hit a nerve..: Ranged attack!: 2d100+20+6 105

Astus
Nov 11, 2008




Name: Dack
Skills: A̵̕t̷͢͡͏̡h̷͟͡͏ļ̵̶̧̀ę̷̢͡t̨̧͘i̵̕҉̴͡c̢͘͜͠s͏̨́̕ (Using), Ą̀͠c̵̢͡͠͏r̴̸̛͝͡o͘͢͜͡b͜à̵̡̕t̷̢̀͜i̸̸͞c͘͟s̀͜͟, Laughing +25
HP: 1
Glory: 32>33

Swedish Thaumocracy posted:


"Please, don't kill it. It might be maddened and hungry, but I believe we can save it. That I can save it. Give it purpose once more.
If any of you truly want for change, then change begins here, not with the slaughter of my species, but with its salvation. Fight it, distract it, knock it out if you must... but leave the rest to me, and mine."

Dack wasn't happy about his Captain's orders to take the river wendigo alive. The last time Snödis had tried to off-Brand someone beside herself, she had been torn apart and crudely stitched back together again by that strange wire. But this was too important for Dack's fear to get in the way. Gado had been cured, but no one knew if that would work on an actual wendigo. If things were left the way they were, then the Neötypes likely wouldn't have much of a future after the war. But Dack didn't want to be cured, he had a different idea in mind, although who knows if Sucy and the others would go along with his plan. Before that, though, they needed to deal with the angry river wendigo before it tore the ship apart, and keeping it alive would probably help with Dack's alternative to a cure. Well, maybe, he didn't have a science core or anything like that, so it's not like he's an expert in this field.

Following Ringo's lead, Dack picked up a cannonball slowly rolling across the deck and tossed it straight at (one of) the creature's jaw(s).

Tossing a cannonball at the river wendigo's Drenched Jaw: 1d500+50+32 135

Unfortunately, the un-Branded wendigo chose that moment to cough up some Madmist, obscuring Dack's sight as it collected on the eyes of his mask. Well, at least he knew now that the mask actually worked. After finding a piece of cloth to wipe the Madmist away, Dack turned around and gestured at Portha. That was incredibly inconsiderate to just fire off Madmist with no warning, especially since Dack and Snödis were the only wendigoes that had protective masks. It was like she had completely forgotten the Neötypes even existed!

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

p
Skills:Spreading Disease (+25), Cursing, Patience(+25)
HP: 3/3
Glory: 6

Grumbus let out a distressed wail/hacking cough. Not this again! Fortunately, Cap'n Stårn had a really good idea! Grumbus helped put the harpoon together, adding some of his Patented Plague Slop to it as a final touch.

Breaker's Hands: Spreading Disease to make a harpoon: 1d100+6+5+25+10 144

Now to fire it! The plaguebearer patiently instructed the new people on how to properly fire the Töbuchet. Apparently they had hosed it up something fierce last time, so Grumbus tried his best to make sure there wouldn't be a repeat.

Patiently fire the Tobuchet!: 1d100+6+5+25+10 58

The Lord of Hats
Aug 22, 2010





Noggins
Skillcores: Carpentry +35, Precision +30, Leadership
HP: 3/3
Glory: 20->21

Noggins awoke with a start in the night, her muscles still aching with exertion. It didn't take her long to armor up and get on deck, but by the time she did she was greeted with a scene of chaos. They were under attack by some... monstrosity, and there was Madmist everywhere. What had even happened?

"What the hell is that thing?" She cried as she ducked a swinging tentacle. "Knights, hold it back!"

She charged forward, swinging at the beast as best as she was able. She wasn't in the right frame of mind to get Nailbreaker going, but that didn't mean she was ineffective. Far from it.

Confront the Kraken: 2d100+35+20+5 145 Also apparently there's a Precision core? Grabbing that if so.

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


Sleuth-Off-Hand:

(The Makeshift Sacrifire may freely be spent on Portha experiments.)
Squad: Infiltration? (it's complicated)
Skill: Sleuthing +40 (using), Submission Holds ().
HP: 3/3
Clues: 16/50 -> 17/50 (Gado's gift) -> 18/50

Dog Kisser posted:

Humbug the Sleuth spent the night flicking ice off the railings on the ship, watching them spin away into the water. He felt himself spinning along with them. This war was more than a war. Or maybe it was less? One thing was certain - it was not by any means what it appeared to be. It was either a bungled assassination, a frame job, or… what? It was difficult to think that the Frömen, that their Commanders were so incompetent that they would have allowed themselves to be present (and therefore the most suspicious party) during the Queen’s murder… but was it any easier to think that the corruption within his own kingdom’s leadership was so acute as to include the murder of their Queen as a ploy to sink both countries into war? And just where the hell did the Queen’s Relic come into this?

Humbug put a hand to his brow after the close call of the battle, heart pumping hard. The sweat and heat told him he was working himself into a fever from all the speculative pondering he'd been doing lately, that he'd need to take a break to cool down - or perhaps that was just the backwash from Grimper's cannons. Still, a break would be nice. Leaving his shift, he went to grab a Guarding core from the heap gathered by his fellow hordemates. Its previous owner would have no use for it any longer and whether it would synch up with his Sleuthing or just fill his final slot, the Sleuth no longer relied on the Horde's Nail Rituals and had to make up for the disadvantage somehow. Skulking off to a corner of the ship he looked the core over for a long while, listening to the hustle and bustle of the ship, before finally swallowing it like a bitter pill.

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

Dog Kisser posted:

She poured her tea over the edge and looked at the icebergs wheeling around the ship as it navigated towards its violent destiny. “Please. You need to get this public. We can’t have this be political, we can’t have it made into a weapon or leverage. I’ve talked to Gryph about this, too. Work on him, work with him, I beg you. Figure out how to spread this information, figure out how to make it free. You’ve all taken so much from me, this is the least you can do.”

What else was there to say?

Humbug sighed unhappily as Zapanda left, leaning against the railing further down the deck. Listening in on other people's conversations wasn't nice, but it was a classic go-to Sleuthing move and though he was on a self-declared 'break' he had a nasty tendency to poke his nose into others' business. Sometimes people held their secrets a little too close to their chests, after all. Not that Zapanda's secrets had proven to be the dark and dirty stuff he'd once expected. It even stung him a little bit that Zapanda wasn't coming to him to plead for her life's work continuation, but then... what could he do? He was a sleuth, not a scientist, and he had his own cause to distract him. He did not have Sucy's understanding of Script, Gryph's medical credentials or even Portha's cleaning sensibilities. Nor did he have the best track record, what with having cost her friends and countrymen their lives - or teeth and freedom - and having questioned and yelled at her all those times. She might appreciate his low-key efforts on her behalf, but she'd probably never Respect him. He wasn't the kind of go-getter that could give her what she truly desired, after all.

But Respect didn't have to be a two-way street. It could run deep like the river, draining in one direction or branching out into smaller tributaries, bringing with it something fresh and vital - purpose. Zapanda expected Grimper to end her. Humbug wasn't so sure, but if he did - if he dared - Humbug wouldn't take it lying down.

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

Jvie posted:

"A-actually! Gryph, Zapanda! I've wanted to ask something from a medical professional! See, I have been thinking, you know how people sometimes Ascend? And they get bigger just like that? I didn't use to really think about it, but it has kind of bothered me that, like..."

"Hum," tsked Humbug, at the close of Trinh's conversations. Eavesdropping was getting to be a habit with so much going on in close quarters. This ship had a surprising number of eaves or eave-like areas, really! Guilt suppressed, he considered what he'd overheard, tapping his cheek thoughtfully. Snödis and at least some of her Neö-Types were, it seemed obvious, trying to establish an exceptionalist credo, for good and bad reasons both - but he was not ungrateful to them. As brutal, psychotic and scary as they could seem, he knew they had soft spots and sensibilities, off-kilter, but there. It was certainly true that the Horde would've been far worse off if not for them. Trinh's motivations weren't all that difficult to decrypt either. She was grasping for safety and surety in a world and body gone mad, be it by way of Snödis' extremist agenda or from some hopeful chance for an escape from what she deep down expected at the end of the war. She wanted to live and not in some glorified jail cell slash as an experiment subject, either. Humbug could sympathize - branded wendigoes were still fölk - or remnants thereof (ascendants thereof, according to Snödis' creed). Seeing no reason to beat around the bush, he approached the Taxidërmist after her second, calmer spiel. Honestly, he was kind of hoping her more collected state of mind had persisted.

"Hm. Hello Trinh. Couldn't help but overhear you earlier. I wanted to share with you something - namely that if Grimper or High Command calls for your death, it's gonna leave a bunch of extremely angry and upset heroes on their hands. Noggins won't stand it. Doubt Splut would, either. Or Gryph, bless him. Offer Engineering services to Stårn once and he'll want you alive for imagined future siege applications alone. The rest of the Captains know you, they know they can trust you. That matters, they'd stand up for you if you let them. Grimper can be stubborn, but as long as the Horde says you're OUR problem, not his, I bet he couldn't care less - and I say that as someone with no love lost for the fool... and what do I know? He didn't stomp me to paste, so maybe there's more to him and we're both wrong that he'd even consider letting you down."

The detective gave a non-committal shrug, doubting that being the case, but Grimper's mercy or lack thereof wasn't exactly the thrust of his argument.

"Executing branded wendigoes after the war might've happened in the old days, but that was then. If we pull this off, I think you can expect clemency. If you've never seen branded wendigoes around, hum, I'm pretty sure that's because you've never had to look. There's some in Old Tö-Town. There's ways to make it work, see? We'll make it a sticking point, hum. Abandoning you... no, I don't see that happening. Just keep hope, hm? Even if you don't want or need a Cure, there's ways. You don't have to go on and say everyone's crap just to justify having your own best interests. What Snödis is saying," the Sleuth paused and grimaced at having to try to parse Snödis' twisted logic. "Look, I think Snödis just had a bad childhood or something. Don't follow her words slavishly. She's right, she's wrong, she's gloriously insane and also a bit of a butterfly."

Humbug waved his hand dismissively, then pointed to the strange taxidermist project she was always holding - and occasionally talked to. "Snödis or not, come the end of this, you could, for example, make a mint selling weird little creatures like that. Plenty of Tö's richest, old and fat as they are, like collecting interesting curios and you certainly have that down pat - never seen the like before. 'course, there's the chance your rampancy kicks up, but if you do your work in a confined, sturdy workshop, set some locks, put up safety measures... I mean, that's possible. Heck, Noggins would probably construct whatever wendi-proof working room specs Jaune's Engineering core could come up with. Old Tö-Town lets branded wendigoes do whatever - long as you pay rent and don't infect others or start trouble - don't do that and you're fine. I'm not saying it'd be an easy life - rent's gonna be high - but, again, it's possible. One of my better neighbours was a branded Wendigo, y'know. You might get looks and it might get harder the more you say you're better than anyone else, but it's not as if things can't go your way. That's all. Just... a baseliner's perspective."

He doffed his hat, let her respond as she wanted, then left, hoping she'd been in a receptive state of mind. If not... at least he'd tried. Finding the answers to give peace of mind to others wasn't exactly his speci-oh wait. It kind of was, wasn't it?

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

Dog Kisser posted:

What had happened there? Was there any sense in checking? Natural Madmist outbreak, or even a rogue infected animal could have cascaded easily out in this wilderness. And what could their neighbours really do besides just seal them up and hope the cold killed them? Good Reina…

"Hmm!?" Humbug exclaimed in trademark style, gripping the sides of the Revenge and staring somberly at the terrifying sight before them. Rampant Monsterism's true face - the results of a Wendigo Cascade in full bloom. The Sleuth had seen the sight before... almost. The Outbreak in Old Tö-Town had been contained before it got anywhere near this bad. It had still been plenty bad, even just the aftermath. Especially the aftermath.

Five Years Ago - posted:

Humbug numbly picked at the blood-spattered wreckage collapsed on top of the gigantic deformed body. The buildings and tenements lining Old Tö-Town's cramped streets hadn't been among the city's best or sturdiest and one of the more maddened Wendigoes had done quite the number on Torpstreet in its attempts to escape the barricades. Thankfully, the constant pelting of projectiles and stabbing of their citizen defenders had taken it down before it could crush through into a wider alley. This particular wreck told a story, Humbug's core insisted. It told the story of the fury and fear with which the inhabitants had bitterly fought and died using pans and pots and sharp kitchen utensils. It was a heroic story. A glorious story of a last stand no-one had expected or seen coming, the place where the impromptu citizen milita had brought down one of the rampantly rampaging wendigoes that had suddenly been unleashed in their midst.

Not the story one wished to learn in the ruins of one's former home.

Once more Humbug cursed the duty roster that had seen him far and away when this disaster had gone down and how slowly word had trickled down the chain of command. He should have been here. He should have done... something. This should have been him. He, at least, had... had gear, leather, sharp weapons, not... pots and pans. He kicked one of the dead Wendigo's massive jowls in mute fury while the rest of his squad on clean-up duty discussed how to best dispose of the giant, tainted thing. This caused a part of the creature to slough away from the corner of a malformed, toothy mouth.

The mass twitched, then groaned.

"It's alive!" the detective screamed, startled and stumbling to the ground backwards, grief-stricken mind suddenly awash in panic. Others in the clean-up crew recoiled and scampered away, leaving him alone. Pikes came down, crossbows were raised at a safe distance, whistles raised - but the moving part only wobbled and flopped and... raised a gloved hand and waved? A large, gas-masked head, visor cracked and foggy, rose above the rest of what was becoming obvious was just a blood-drenched body. This, and the voice that issued from it, was enough to halt the squad from exceeding their daily allowance of friendly fire (Humbug insisted on 'none', much to their grumbling).

"Oy oy... hello t'yer toOooOOoooO, watchies. Well. Well well. Well and come at last, in't ye. 'Better late' - new motto of little watchies, is it?" it said, its voice strange and bemused, before bending itself awkwardly up with a painful skeletal crackle and a more satisfied-sounding groan. The thing's entire shape was bent awkward and wrong, but it was still giant - Ascended? - and so covered in gore and gear that it was hard to pin down exactly what was wrong with it. It at least had a general humanoid shape, but one leg was decidedly bulkier than another and there was definitely something odd about its protected, mittened hands.

"You're..." began a different Watchtö, then trailed off in confusion. What they'd all thought was a curious canvassed outgrowth of the dead wendigo was clearly a Tö who'd just been stuck in its teeth, the Wendigo's jaw bent around the malformed suit it wore. Looking closer, the remnants of a giant cleaver caked with gore was held in its - cloven? - hand and it was dressed entirely in baskerskin, fluid-resistant butcher's garments much like a sailor's bad-weather gear. Now that Humbug looked, he could see the suit covered it entirely, only the odd puncture torn by tooth revealed traces of blue skin - and something moving - beneath.

"Wha'? Alive? Mad? 'course I am. Went after this piss-off huge 'un din't IIiiiIiiiiIii? Gwehehe... not rampant, though. Can't ramp the already infecteeeeEEeeEEEEd," it said, certain words modulating up and down its vocal range - probably unconsciously. Several of the Watchmen immediately swore, spat and muttered. Branded Wendigo. They were a rarity, but not unheard of in the slums of Old Tö-Town where the worst of the monsterized tended to gather to take advantage of cheap rent and owners who didn't bother asking questions. This one sounded oddly normalized, though. Almost sane.

"... you fought this thing?" asked Humbug, shocked and surprised.

"YehehehEEEEeeeEEe," it laugh-ululated proudly. "Same as eeEeEEEEeveryone else. Was gathering fölk at my meatplant at QueEEeeeEEEeeEEEensburg when we got word blighty 'ere was moving up Torpstreet. Couldn't let it infect meat or föÖööÖÖÖöölk, so I took my lads on down. Bad for business, see? Fun fun, being on the 'go, but it's not for all, oh no noOoOOoOoo. Not letting a madbad get away with destroying my customers and neighbourhOoOoOood!"

Humbug blinked and inspected it even more closely. Its armored baskercloth was liberally decked in guts and gore - enough that it seemed as if the oldies themselves had been trying to drag it to one of their many hells and had come off worse for it. If it was lying, it was a hell of a method actor. The Sleuth glanced down at his near-pristine uniform and his brass badge and felt small and awkward. The suspicious glares his squadron was giving the giant kept up and the branded person, one of the saviors of Old Tö-Town, somehow miraculously alive, seemed about to be peppered with crossbow bolts - 'just to be sure', probably. Humbug grimaced as he felt some of that urge himself, mostly, mostly, because this twisted creature had somehow survived the outbreak. How dare it, when so many others he knew had not.

He had the decency to look ashamed, both for his emotional turmoil and the shameful reactions of his squadmates, and scrambled to his feet. Trying to recover some dignity he gestured for the others to lower their weapons, trying desperately to think of something, anything, to say, but drew a blank, mouth half agape. The thing simply towered over him, representative of the terror that had struck - but... didn't it deserve thanks? How many more would that thing had slain and infected if this other thing hadn't been here?

"Don't worry 'bout it," it said all of a sudden, as if noticing Humbug's distressed expression. "'s our duty, yeh? Real civic, meeEEeEeEEEe. Anyway, not gonna butcher this 'un, gwehehe. You can have IiiIIiIiiiit. I need go tell my boys old Eddy's still kickin'... kickin' rear end!" it declared, laughing in its strange, ululating lilt. Shrugging off the watchtö's suspicious looks, it turned around and began a loping limp back up the demolished street towards the Queensburg meat-packing plant. An idle part of Humbug wondered whether he was ever going to buy food from there again, before he remembered how cheap and reasonably priced their tins were and how his father always swore by getting the 'local product' whenever he could. While there were regulations against the Branded working with food, sometimes... sometimes, it was better not to ask questions. At least, questions could be asked later. Today was not a good day for questions.

You weren't supposed to grieve the dead for long - if at all - and there were no days off for silly outdated traditions like funerals in the modern Watch. Humbug played it cool when they dug out his parents, then went and drank himself under a table once his shift ended, hoping to forget. He was thoroughly unsuccessful.

The detective bit down hard and swallowed bile as he stared over the water. Terrible-looking shapes lay scattered across the abandoned streets of Yadol. Something felt off about the sight and not just because of his past trauma. How had it gotten this bad? Why hadn't the Frömen dealt with the place? The older chain boom had seemed rusted from years of weather and disuse. Why had not Yadol been scoured from the map - from air if need be - to extinguish the misery of the infected lying where they'd fallen - or grown into - the streets? Hadn't Frö presented itself as a nation where these things were treated and dealt with? For mercy's sake, or just for the threat having an overrun settlement nearby, something like this should have been dealt with! There was even a military installation not far from here! You couldn't just quarantine the place and hope the cold would be enough... could you?

Angry and sick to the core, Humbug gripped the railing and wondered with what terrible excuse this place had been allowed to continue existing - until the Drenched Wendigo made its apperance, to everyone's shock and dismay. Snödis and her Neö-Types took the lead, while others prepared to fight or flee.

"It seems crazed and hungry! If Snödis can't work her magic, it needs to be fought off!" yelled the detective - staunchly in favor of fighting this monstrosity - then blanched in shock as Portha unleashed her canister of madmist on the creature. That... was not likely to end well! Seeing the scientist of Nägel standing around, he addressed them and pointed at the surfacing - terrifying - head. They were the wendigo experts, weren't they?

"A loose wendigo is everyone's battle - and this thing is loose in your countryside! Work whatever expertise you have and the Horde AND your country will thank you for it!" he exhorted. They stared at him like he'd grown two heads, then complained they were weakened scientists not combatants. The Sleuth shook his head in disbelief and dug in his heels. "There are dirty, starving beggars from the Capitol with more guts than you lot and I know that for a fact - just look, there's one!" he said and pointed to Grumbus, who was busily applying something vile onto the head of an improvised harpoon. Grumbus waved, then horked and spat into the tincture and went back to his handiwork. Humbug shuddered - but internally. This was a crisis, and he couldn't let TWO horrors distract him. He addressed the scientists one last time.

"Do not tell me that you, of all people, never practiced for an Outbreak! Fight like your lives and your Cure depends on it! Heck, you have a Cure! What are you afraid of?"

Wasting no more time on shaming the passives, the Sleuth darted off to seek the holds. Not long after, grim-faced and sweating with exertion and haste, he slammed down the interior stairwell to the animal pens as shouts and cannon fire echoed from above and the boat swayed against the waves of the thing's motions. The animals were skittish - Wendigos were a well-known fear of beasts, as had been proven against Frö's Knights, but at least the Unexpectables' riding animals were slightly inured thanks to prolonged proximity to Neö-Types. Against the disturbingly huge thing outside, though, even a warhorse would probably not stand its ground, but Humbug did not intend or need it to.

Ignoring his ride's nervous stamping he threw on the beast's saddle, followed by himself. He snatched his last boomstick from his coat, opened a nearby storm lantern and lit the fuse before smacking his heels into the sides of his horse. Spurred into action it crashed up the small stairwell. Up and up they went, and crashed through a pair of double doors onto the deck - where he held the sizzling boomstick up and used his best 'Tö Attention' voice.

"Halt your rampage you misshapen tüna and face Tö thunder!" he cried bombastically, then hurled the boomstick into the air at the critter's primary head as it surfaced, hoping the blast would disorient and attract its attention to him - standard City Watch procedure, get it away from soft targets - before he spurred his horse to thunder across the deck, away from the main mass of people, Recklessly trying to appear as a larger, juicier target for the hungry thing, then giving it the slip once it struck.

Humbug votes we Fight and tells the Nine Nägelites to help, dammit!

Get Guarding Core: 1d100 72

Recklessly distract the Drenched Wendigo using stick and carröt (it's the poor horse's name): 1d100+17+40+25(boomstick)+5(Carröt) 136

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

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


Update coming up, but head's up: no art once again. I'm in a real art rut for some reason. It will eventually filter in, and probably the update will suffer a bit without it, but I don't think anyone wants to wait for me to crank out twenty pieces in a couple of days, so we'll go with this.

Love and kisses,
DK

edit: Wait I didn't say this bit - don't post anything until I post the update :P

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

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



Waesh was loving this poo poo. Sure, he was about to die, they all were, but it was surely better to die here, among friends and battlebrethren than of old age after farming turnips for fifty years like his great grandpappy! What a story he would have to tell! If he survived! If not, what a story they’d have to tell about him! He ordered people here and there to help him get moving, and they moved like they were in a trance. He threw things at them (like abuse, and hammers), and eventually managed to get the lazy bastards going. Only, the Revenge wasn’t going. The damned Wendigo had choked the river with filth and tendrils, and the ship was stuck fast. Well, poo poo! Time to die! He chopped away at a questing tendril.

(More on this later!)

The thing's singing was discordant and loud as sin, issuing from the water all around them, from the tens of toothless mouths dotting its slick flesh. Grimper was howling vague commands, but it wasn't as though they weren't wildly aware of the danger they were in. The Drenched Wendigo surfaced here and there, plucking away at bits of armor and planking that it could get its hands on. It was large enough to just swamp them, but it was… toying with them. Enjoying their fear in a way that was eerily unlike the madness of the Lesser Wendigos they’re faced at Nagel. Hat the Milliner hadn't been born to fight, hadn't grown that crystallized nodule of bloodthirst that some others had, but she'd leveraged what she WAS good at to get to where she was now. For instance, this cursed creature was sorely in need of a PRETTY BOW or a DAINTY CAP… which she could only put on if she found its head! But try as she might the fragmented bits of anatomy that cleared the surface of the water did not resolve themselves into anything approaching recognizable.
[HAT GROSSED OUT]
She was distracted anyhow by the kelplike strands of ick that kept slapping their way onto the deck and tangling everything they touched. She slashed at one and it parted easily, but the severed section crawled weakly across the deck like a worm made of wet hair. Wait! Hair! The tentacles crawling over the deck were incredibly long, matted strands of hair, desperately in need of a trim or styling. Well, Hat had the perfect accessory for the Wendigo on the go!
Hat danced and flipped among the questing tendrils, luring them in a chase that brought them into a thick, squirming braid. Finally, she jabbed a key knot with her spear, pinning it to the deck. There, a beautiful style, held in place by a hair stick! Take that, you wet old freak! The Wendigo tugged and pulled and tore away strands of the stuff, but it was stuck for the moment!

(Wow, that was a terrible roll on the Wendigo’s part! Well done, hat maker!)

---
Portha the Rummager scrambled to figure out how to actually harm the thing. Everything had a weakness, she just had to find it. She was good at finding stuff, that was her whole deal! She squinted and looked at her equipment doubtfully. Except… the Madmist. It was risky as hell, but driving this thing insane could make it easier to handle. At least then it wouldn’t be systematically picking the drat boat apart! She waited for an opportune moment, found a soft looking orifice, and let loose. The bolt soared out, streaking bright, glittering crimson against the sky. The Branded Wendigos among the Horde froze, aghast at what had been unleashed, and terrified at what would happen in these close quarters should they catch a whiff of it. Grimper swore bitterly at her, calling her out specifically for her foolishness, but she only had eyes on the bolt. If it worked, she would be vindicated.
    1d100 = 73 vs. ???
The bolt sank into its gullet and vanished, leaving it to puff red smoke. The orifice vanished beneath the water, and the smoke bubbled on down below, spreading an oily red slick that looked uncomfortably like Töan blood. As for the Wendigo… it appeared wholly unaffected, or at least did not dramatically change its tactics. Portha was crestfallen, and not only because she would be punished for her failure. The loss of the Madmist canister was a tactical upset, one that would be difficult to redress. No time to pout now, she had to fight!

(Okay, so! Few things. First of all, full sized Wendigos do not react to Madmist - they’re as messed up as they’re gonna get. You weren’t expected to know that, but I also never envisioned this situation coming up! Luckily, due to the way action resolution works, your Wendigo buddies don’t actually get sprayed (which is good because two of them would have gone berserk). Unluckily, the Wendigo’s Mutation Threat gets bumped up by 5 for each of its segments. Expect Punishment, but not a Grimping.)

---
Ringo saw warning flashes and alerts pinging off most every surface as miniscule droplets of blood and Madmisted-slime flicked off the thing. If this ship wasn’t destined for sacrifice in a double handful of hours he wasn’t sure it would ever be clean. He heard screaming from elsewhere but kept his attention on the swishing tail of the monster. When it flashed out of the water for a second he was surprised to see a massive, fully formed mouth gaping out of it, trailing hair and scales some sort of freakish beard. It gargled forth a gout of steaming water that washed across the deck, scalding the poor Mooks unlucky enough to cross its path. Then it laughed, or spoke, and the sound of it tripped further alarms in his head.

Enough. He prised a cannon away from its moorings and primed it for a shot. He could feel the energy contained inside, ready to be awakened at his touch. When the luminous gullet revealed itself for another blast of stinking water, Ringo let loose.

The blast tore through a tangle of matted hair that rose up in defense of the mouth, burning them with lime green fire. The thing keened with pain for a moment - but only a moment. Ringo’s eyes widened in shock and terror as he saw the beast had caught the projectile between its teeth. It bit down, crunching through the iron like it was hard candy, then slammed down onto the deck. It was all Ringo could do to throw his hands up defensively before the wall of flesh slammed down on him. It drove his feet down through the deck, but he avoided the worst of it. His allies, however, had not. Damnit! The tail retracted into the water, laughing and gargling and trailing smears of blood from those it had wounded.

(Not good, but could be worse - let’s see… Portha, Somnö and Vist take 3 Damage (except Vist and Somnö have shields, so Vist takes 2 Damage (and her shield breaks) and Somnö takes 1 Damage AND (due to Breaker’s Guard) protects Portha, meaning she only take 1 Damage as well! Unfortunately, 3+5 people are hit with Mutation! Dack, Vist, Ringo, Somnö, and Portha, and (three lowest rollers from another section) three Mooks are hit. If you’re not immune, roll 1d6+1.)

---
The central body of the thing rose and fell like the belly of a great whale, only the underside of this one bore two great, luminous eyes, whole and perfect but enormous. From what Splut could see, the whole body of the creature was on the whole more symmetrical than the other Wendigos they’d faced. Veilpiercer spoke ceaselessly into his mind, feeding him a mental picture of the thing from the individual fragments he could spot of it at a time. It had been Töan, once, but it had grown enormous, distended, a normal body plan stretched out almost a hundred metres and repeated here and there as necesary to adapt it to the environment. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d have to assume it had once been a woman with a core like Diving or Swimming that had grown like a cancer to take over her entire being. It was beautiful and terrifying, and he couldn’t begin to know how to deal with it.

So, he’d wing it, like he always did. He rallied the others around him and they laid into it. It was harassing them, not killing them outright. Big mistake on its part - every time it raised a fin or tentacle or hand out of the water, it was set upon by axe or sword or arrow. It healed quickly, but pieces that were cut off were slow to regenerate. Veilpiercer kept him apprised of things he saw, even if he saw them only in a brief flicker of motion, and gradually he built up a database of wounds inflicted on the thing. Dimly, he noted that Madmist had been deployed to no avail (why!?) and that Ringo and his cadre had taken a savage hit. drat. They kept at it. It was that or die!
They fought and bled, were thrown overboard into churning waters, and eventually Splut had to ignore Veilpiercer’s casualty report. He’d learn about it later, no time now. No giving up! Fire the cannons! The cannons, having been repositioned as quickly as possible, barked almost a dozen sharp reports and slammed heated iron into the thing’s oily flesh.
The cannons had the thing roaring with pain, but didn’t kill it. If anything, they made it angrier. It slammed against the ship, gripping with hooked claws the armor that had been riveted into it and trying to drag the whole thing down into the depths! The whole world fell away around them as the ship was pulled sharply downwards-
-and then there was a tremendous creak and the ablative armor tore free, leaving the ship to rise under its own buoyancy. Such force was unleashed from its rise through the water that it actually cleared the surface on its way back up. For a microsecond, Splut was weightless, and Veilpiercer calculated his acceleration dropping briefly to zero… before it kicked sharply into reverse!

(Yikes, that was entirely too close! Cannons weren't enough to take it down, either. Cannons 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, and 10 need to be reloaded. You have 10 active because Grimper has 3 and Ringo borrowed one for his own attack, but t’wasn’t to be. Luckily your armor forced a reroll, which pushed her under the threshold. Of course now your armor is gone and your cannons are empty (some of them, anyhow)... Read on! As for why the armor didn’t trigger last time, I wrote this section and rolled first then reshuffled it to make it flow better.)

---
Waesh was falling! It was exciting! And so dramatic - he was clutching the wheel as he fell towards the water, billowing off it like some gaudy flag. Ha ha! He pulled himself down, pink smoke pouring out of his eyes and nose. He strained against inertia to plant his feet against the deck. When he finally managed it, he felt a sudden deep connection with the ship itself that made him gasp. He felt every gouge in the deck, every straining rope, every guest of wind in his sails… and then it was gone. He knew exactly what to do.
    1d100 = 305 vs. WHO CARES WOW
In a moment of perfect clarity, Waesh controlled every aspect of the ship. He turned and rotated it just so until… The Revenge slammed into the stunned Wendigo as it fell, eliciting a rumbling cry of pain, then slid off it like an eel off a buttered slide. The Horde was on the move - and the Wendigo was pissed! They fled, and it gave chase!

(Alright, the Wendigo had a field effect that would have rebuffed and slowed you… but then Waesh rolled double Crits. Come on, that's fate. Bad poo poo utterly bypassed! Waesh’s Piracy Self-Resonates to +25, because he’s just been killing it.)

---
It was following. Good. Stårn the Sieger and his compatriots had a devilish plan in mind for it, and Waesh’s admittedly badass escape wasn't conducive to it. He checked in with the others to confirm they were good to go, and received a scatter of tired nods. Ringo’s Wendigoad had been borrowed and transformed by their combined efforts, shaped into something that would seriously hurt the thing.

Y’know, maybe. It was all highly experimental concepts, some of which had been quickly bolted to other experimental ideas. It took a bit of refitting to get the Töbuchet to accept a harpoon as ammunition, but Stårn’s Core guided the way. Line secured, heading set, they sighted the hellbeast churning up the river behind them. Fire!
Several things happened at once. First, the impact blasted the creature against a nearby cliff face, crashing down a ton of limestone. Next, a drowned scream split the air, then a litany of “Ó̧͢͞W̷̧͢͞ ̷̷͡L̶̢͞Ę̴͏͡T̶͢͡͞ ̡͡G̵̴̷͞O̧҉͢ ̴͟͏̕͜Ś͟͝͞O͜͜͝M̶͟È̴͞T̨̨̀́H͜͢Í̡Ņ̴̶G̛͜'̛͠͞͠S̷͡ ̛͘͜Ẁ̵̨͘Ŕ̴͝O̡̨̡͢N͠Ģ̀̕͜ ̕̕͠Ì̸T̨̧̀͘͠'̴̛͡S͡ ̶͠͏͏̵Ś̷̢Ó̧͠ ̢C̸̢̕͟O͜L̶̷̡̕͞D҉̧ ̷̷L̷̶̸͟͝E͜͝T̡̛ ̷͡҉M̢͘͠É̶ ̛͡G̶̛O͏̢̀͠ ̀͞L̨͘È̵̴͘͡T͟҉̢͡ ̴̸̶͘Ḿ̴͢͜E̵̷̢ ̴̷̢͟G̸̀O̢͘ ̶̕҉҉̨L͏̢҉E͞͡Ţ̢̛͢͡M̷̡̕͘͟Ę̸̀͟G̛͏̷̡͜Ǫ̸̷̛Ĺ̶͘È̢T́͟͞҉͏M̸̕͢͜É̶̷̸͠”. When the Horde did not immediately do so, the Wendigo slammed its brakes and began to flee. The Töbuchet, firmly anchored to the Revenge, began to unwind its tether with alarming speed. “Cut the line. The fight's gone out of it anyhow.” Grimper spoke casually, leaning against the blood-slick mast, seemingly unconcerned by the deadly melee that had gone on around him. His eyes were fixed on the distantly visible Gateway. The Siegers ignored him, set on reclaiming their prize. drat him, he hadn't helped a bit! The line reached its end and the ship pitched backwards, creaking in protest… but it held. Waesh kept the ship steady as the Horde tugged, yanked… and with a simply foul sounding RRRRRIP a large section of the Wendigo just peeled off. The main body howled and fled crying back to its lair, crying ”̶̛͞A҉́͘͠͝R҉̵Ǵ̶͟H̵̵͟͝ ̴̡̡̀͘W͢͢͡H̨̧̛́͞Ý̴̵͢ ̴̡̛̛͝Ì̸̸̡̢ ́͢͜J̨͘͞Ư̴̶͜͟S҉͠T̷̷̀͜͡ ̷̴̡̕W̢̧͏̡͜Á̷̸Ņ̴͘͠T́̕͝E̡͟҉D҉ ̶̕͜T̷̶̴̶͜Ó̴̸̢͘ ̶͞S̴̷̨̡H̕҉͏͏O̷̷̧W҉̴̕͏ ̶͞͏̡͠Ỳ͜҉̡͡O̡͟U͏͞͏̴ ̢̕̕͞M̵̧Ý͡ ̸̴̡̕T̸̵̡̀͏R̛̕Ȩ́́A̶̷͘͝S̶̢͢͟͠U̷̡̕͞R̴̶̢͟͠E͏Ş̴́̕ ͘͢Ą̵̶͞N̡̛̕D̴͏͟ ͏̛͜Ć̶̛͘R̵̨̢̛͡U̷͡Ń̷͜͜C̵̨H̨͘͡ ͟T̴҉̷H͏͢E̷̷̶̡̧ ̕͠S̴̷̡W̢̡͘É͜E҉̸̧̢T̷̨͢͠͡ ̡͠S̵̶͞͞W̶̨͘Ę̵́Ę̴͘T̕͡͠ ̧́B̶̛̛͢͠O̶̷͜͡N̷͘͝E҉̡̀͏Ş͢͠͝ ̴̡͝Ą̴̷̷͞N̸̶̕͞͠D̷̶͜͞ ̢͢҉̢͜I̵̧ŅV̵̨͠I̵̡T̡̨͢͡͞È̀͢͞ ̷̧Ỳ́O̷̷͢͝͞U̧̨͘͘͏ ̧T̷̕O̷͞ ͞҉͏P̢͡L͠͏̀͘Ą͘͘͡Y̡̕͢҉ ̷̴͘͝͠Ą́͠ ̶̢͟͡B̡̡̛̕O̶O̴̡͜͝ ̀H̷̶̢̢̕O̢͟͏̷̵O͏̸̸̧͠ ͡҉̢͟H̵͘O̵҉҉Ò̕ ͠Y̧͘͜͏Ò̶͟U̶̡͞͠ ̨͞F͢͟͠͝U̧͞҉͡Ç̴͡͡K͠͞͏̵͢E̴͢͝҉̶Ŗ͟S̨͠ ́͠͏̴I̵̴̢’̶̵̶̢͜L͢͜͞͞L̴̸͢͝͝ ͏̸҉҉̛C̢Ŕ̷́̕Ư̵̡͘͡S҉̀̕H̨ ͡͞Y͝O̷͢͢͞Ų̴͟R̷̵̡̨ ́͝͡B̶̨̡͡O̡͡͏͟Ń̀͞E̷͠S̸̨͘ ̷̨͞C͏̶̀O̴̢̡M̡̛̀͡E̢̕͜ ̡͢B̸̕͡Ą̨Ç̀K͞͝ ̴͟͜͜Í̸͟͡͞’̸̧̡͟M̡̀͘͞ ̢͢͝͞S҉̀O͢҉͝R̛͟͞R̀͜͜Ý́”̡̨ and other such nonsense. The… chunks twitched and flexed and rolled their blinded eyes as the Horde reeled them onto the deck, but whatever fight their sire had had had fled from them, leaving a mass of flesh and bone that yet retained enough of a mind to look afraid. The Horde looked at each other and back to the pile, watching with mute trauma the thick, glittering red liquid that seeped out of it and onto the deck. Where it touched, the deck sprouted strange shapes, leaves and flowers assembled by a madman, with teeth and nerves in place of petals.

(The Tobuchet beats the poo poo out of the thing, but the Wendigoad Harpoon was insufficient to do anything to bind it or convert it to your service. It flees back to its lair, leaving you with a horrible strip of pelt. Do something with it, or throw it away. Probably you shouldn’t eat it. Consider it like that Basker Pelt a while ago - it’s crafting material enough to do ‘enough’ of just about anything, though naturally working with Monsterist stuff is… not dangerous, maybe, but unhealthy? The Swimming Fragment works like the other Fragment you have, adding 1d100 to whoever’s holding it but imposing some kind of narrative penalty.)

---
The mood afterwards was terrible. Portha was on everyone’s shitlist - though the kinder members of the Horde pointed out her logic hadn’t been terrible, and in the end the damage from her actions had been less severe than it could have been - but no one drew as much ire as Grimper. He’d done nothing. AGAIN. Growing bold with their approaching destination, several grumblers actually confronted him. He loomed over them, drill spinning involuntarily with annoyance. “You had it well in hand. You can’t expect me to baby you through these minor trials. I need to conserve my energy for what is to come.” Bullshit.

Magda, speaking to a few of her closer confidants, agreed. “He was frightened. No Warlord has ever gone Wendigo, and the idea of what would happen if one did is unthinkable. Probably standing out there and giving orders was his way of looking like he was doing something. Cut him some slack.” Sucy and the others thought that was a cop out, and told her so. She snorted. “Maybe. It’s still true. He’s pushing himself very hard to make up for some failure in his past, some dishonour. And for all that he’s grown fond of you, you’re all so very tiny to him. You’ll die of old age before he’s out of his prime, and he probably thinks you’re going to die in the Gateway battle. Nah, I can’t spin this any better; he might just be a dick.” Mushbrewm snorted out of many noses, and laughter echoed into the night.

Later, Magda considered her books. The quiet ones, the ones who worked in the background, never drawing attention to themselves, had been chipping in. Bound to Us, All of Us had been derived from intelligence drawn from Noostra. It was a clever, vile thing, and she was proud and disgusted to have devised it. Ultimately, anything that helped her Horde was fair game. She’d always told herself that, and if what she suspected about Grimper was true, sticking to that was the only way to keep herself going.

(Mooks got off their lazy asses and started contributing. They added to A Thousand Drops of Boiling Blood, Heartwood Weathers The Toughest Storm, and completed Bound to Us, All of Us. As a reminder, the Ritual ‘combines the arcane power of the Thread with the fell knowledge of the Inhabitated and twists it. When ten or more individuals turn their powers towards it, a defeated, helpless, or captured enemy can be turned to the Horde’s side. This will effectively overwrite their former alliances, leaving them pliable and helpful. ‘ And most likely, this will be deployed ASAP against Zapanda. So…

[Horde Vote]
Do you want to forcibly convert Zapanda to be on your side? She will be 100% against this, and will probably fight back unless caught unawares. I’m not going to get into serious discussions about consent and whatnot in a game where you’ve already resorted to cannibalism, baby stealing, and assorted war crimes. It won’t be a nice thing to do, but it will absolutely be a massive tactical bonus… if not an ethical one.)


---
Trinh the Taxidermist was conflicted. That was understating it. She was CONFLICTED. She didn’t talk much, but recently she’d said too much. She longed for the simple smell of tannins and formaldehyde. She hung around Grumbus as long as she could bear it because among his various smells were ones that reminded her of home. Would she ever see home again? Would she be accepted if she was? She tapped her claws in a gouge made by much larger claws. Would she become something like that? No one seemed to know. Not a lot of long term studies on Branded Wendigos because they WERE KILLED OFF BY THEIR OWN COUNTRYMEN AFTER THEY WERE USEFUL! She took a breath, the cold air raking down her elongated windpipe. She wasn’t alone in her fear. Qwag had talked to the researchers too. That Madmist back there had spooked both of them, the one thing that could make their strength into a liability. Luckily it had all drained away into the-

Monsterist Carpentry - Difficulty 10d100 / Threat 15
Uh? Something like a wooden caterpillar crawled up and over the railing, drenched and creaking as it moved. Trinh sprinted across the deck and looked over the edge. gently caress! The Madmist had mingled with the water back then and splashed against their bow, and had evidently been busily mutating the poo poo out of it. She called out to some others to go check for leaks or contamination inside, then brought her knife down on the first of the mishapen creatures to approach.
They went down easily enough - not really a surprise given they weren’t really ‘alive’ in the first place. She could tell by looking at them. There was nothing motivating them, no blood or signals pumping through them. There were twisted and animated by what Sucy called ‘Script’, some kind of magic that awakened this mockery of life. They couldn’t really be killed for the same reason, just broken into parts. Hell, maybe someone could make something from them. Not her, though. There was no artistry in it when there wasn’t any skin to peel.

(Gross! The ship is slightly damaged, but it’s going to get MUCH MORE DAMAGED pretty soon, so it’s up to you whether you want to fix it. Monsterist stuff is an upgrade material that will make your gear stronger and weird looking, with side effects that probably won’t affect you terribly during the time we have left of the game. Win win!)

---
“Coming out of the strait, look alive!” They were back in the Fist, which means that the forces from Klop and Zahn could finally harry them. It was probably their last chance at it, and they knew it. The water was already getting choppy as the river dropped sharply in elevation. The Knuckle Falls were a scant few hours away, but if the Revenge ever saw them up close, they would already have failed! So no biggy. The first cannon shot skimmed off their battered flanks, and the others began to do some actual damage. The Horde was tired of these jokers. Waesh, nodding off from exhaustion, brought them around. One last dance, you red bastards!
Queen Reina’s Revenge must have looked a terrible fright, with sails torn and paint job spattered with blood of every colour, with a waterline covered in twisted, blinking barnacles like hungry tumours, with its crew still standing tall after facing down a Wendigo on its home turf. It was a testament to the bravery of their opponents that they didn’t just turn and run. But bravery wouldn’t save them. They were turbulence in the river, small stones that barred the path of a hungry shark. The Horde would have their revenge, and no one would stop them! Cannons blasted them apart, arrows felled them, poisons and gasses choked them to death… and then the river Fist pounded them into splinters. The Horde didn’t look back.

(Clutch roll from the cannons, even though you only had four up, is enough to kill these dudes. There’s still more of them than there are of you, but taking shortcuts (BOTH DEFINITELY ON PURPOSE) avoided prolonged chase battles with them. This is just them taking a last little swat at you before you go into more dangerous waters.)

---
The river got much narrower, and much, much faster. With the pursuers gone, the Horde focused their last few hours on getting some solid rest, repairing their wounded, and steeling themselves for their absolutely batshit plan to ram a boat into a fortress. Grimper had no idea how they’d do it, but knew that they’d sort it out. They were dashedly good at that. The Warlord was quiet, but if they wanted to ask him anything else, now would be the time to try it. Their fate was rushing towards them by the second.

(Getting close, here. Do any of the stuff you want, then separately, after all of that, give me a Break Down That Gate roll to get ready for the final fight.)
    Waesh
  • Sail The Fist [Difficulty 1+]
    “It looks tough, but it’s pretty much a straight line. You done good, matey.”
  • It’ll Be Fine [Difficulty 0]
    “Take a break. We can manage”
    Portha
  • Clean The Ship - 4 x 1d100+ Threat Grimper Yells At You Again
    “Clean up your mess, dumbass. Maybe that’ll teach you for firing off an area effect weapon with insufficient reconnaisance! Probably not, but do it anyhow.”
    Horde
  • Reload Cannons - Difficulty 11+ Threat 1 Damage 2 [Optional]
    “Cannons need fixed.” Even on a failure, you’ll fix cannons for each 100 you roll
  • Fix Armor - Difficulty 5 [Optional]
    “Armor needs work.”
  • Something Else!
    “We have a little bit of time. Go nuts.”
AND THEN
    [Break Down That Gate]
  • Break Down That Gate - Difficulty 100xxx Threat 50
    “Break Down That Gate! Or wall, whatever. Just break it. We’re gonna ram that poo poo.”

Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at Jun 22, 2018 around 15:45

Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

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


Haven't forgotten about the Skillcores and stuff, I'll address that in the post I'll do about the resolution of the Zapanda stuff I'll do on Friday.

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



As Sucy revealed which Ritual had been completed, Humbug hung his head for a moment, before he folded his arms across his chest and looked up at the hordemembers privy to the discussion

"That’s a great way of thanking her for her efforts in developing a Cure for monsterism and patching up dozens of our comrades. Make her a member of the Horde so she can start shanking her fölk, too. It’ll be a real Unexpected honor. I’m sure she’d much rather have this happen than have a Nail hammered into her skull, robbing her of almost all thought and autonomy, although... maybe not as much as practically anything else."

He shook his head and let out a quivering breath. It sort of sounded like he wasn't a huge fan of this option.

"Neebs tell me more about the Skipping Lane. Maybe if we consider our Intel we’ll find there are lengths we don’t actually need to go to, hmm?" he asked, well aware he was the only one here who didn't have detailed, if as-of-yet nonsensical, schematics of the thing in his brain.

Scribbleykins fucked around with this message at Jun 21, 2018 around 23:08

super sweet best pal
Nov 18, 2009

No need to sign, we'll take care of that.


Lipstick Apathy


Cosmetic

Name: Portha
Skills: Rummaging (20) (in use - final battle), Cleaning, Imagining (20)
HP: 2/3 3/3
Glory: 32

Ouch. That plan backfired, Portha was glad her hordemates had protected her, otherwise she'd be dead right now.

immunity roll: 1d4 3

She didn't feel infected, maybe she'd give the researchers a blood sample, see if her repeat exposure could be used to help improve the innoculant. Her armor had some on it that needed to be cleaned off anyway. That reminded her, it was time to drink the pain away. She uncorked the Mushbrëwm and, after splashing some on her wounds to disinfect them, chugged the rest.

Mushbrëwm: 1d4 4 Healing!

Good stuff. Hopefully she was right about her thrice exposed blood being a good stepping stone for immunity research, she definitely owed Sucy for that drink.

Portha did feel kind of bad about what happened, but when you gamble you sometimes lose. Time to pay her penalty.

Deck swabbing (Cleaning): 1d100+42 105 + 5 (Mushbrëwm bonus) = 110

Cleaning was taking forever. She decided to search for the ship's cleaning supplies and put them to good use.

Find the ship's cleaning supplies (Rummaging): 1d100+52 141

This was going a lot easier now. She kept on clearing the ship of debris and blood.

Keep on cleaning (Cleaning again): 1d100+42 110

The noticeable messes were cleared away, but she didn't have time to scour every section of the ship to get it spotless. Her only hope to avoid another of Grimper's famous tantrums was to stay one step ahead of him. Figure out where he'd look when inspecting her work and focus on those areas.

Think like the Warlord, clean places he'd check (Imagination): 1d100+52 117

As she was cleaning she thought about the effects of the madmist on the wendigo, or lack thereof. When she got over to the medics' section she offered an observation on her experiment.

"I was thinking, the wendigo was completely immune to madmist. What if the innoculant could be improved to make the body react like a fully grown wendigo and have no more room for infection? What I'm more interested in though, is how it brought that dead wood back to life. Maybe after you perfect the cure, madmist can be used to raise the dead into wendigos who can be turned back into normal people."

It'd be a shame to lose Zapanda's knowledge after the mission was over, Portha's entire reason for getting people to contribute to the ritual was to convert Zapanda and her team, so if they didn't actually Convert Zapanda the ritual would have been a waste of good glory.

______________________

Portha felt she needed to make up for her failure. Hadn't she spent most of her military career doing just that? Finding things that could help the horde and making them even better. She pulled out the bottle of poison she'd been saving and lobbed it at the biggest guard on the wall.

Use the Whistling Flower

She took aim and fired as soon as the bottle's arc was between her and the guard. Her natural instinct to hoard the things needed to make the poison and the crossbow somehow helped her shatter the bottle and puncture the guard's armor with the now poison-tipped bolt.

Shoot!: 1d100+53+3 89

super sweet best pal fucked around with this message at Jun 22, 2018 around 04:31

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

Grimey Drawer



"YOU." The Snödisfly landed soundlessly on the deck in front of Portha, a terrifying shadow the only early warning of her coming. "You released madmist, willing, consciously upon your comrädes-in-arms! Knowingly, with Friendingoes in the fray. Without even consulting us, without even asking if we would like to have our will stripped from our bones and your bones stripped from your flesh when the madness takes over. You traitor. You are no better than Zapanda. Worse, perhaps, for however misguided she is in her attempts to genocide our species, at least she isn't an idiot about it.

We do not have time for courts or drama, we who are the walking doomed have no such luxuries as time. You will pay in blood for the damage you have caused, by "volounteering" when the donation bucket comes around, to address the new additions to our ranks that is sure to be a real consequence of your inconceivable actions - their Ascension, like ours, will be tainted by the lack of choice they were given*. May it rest upon your brow for eternity."

Off-Branding The Infected Crew: 1d2 1 = No HP cost reduction.

She flew off in a huff, gathering the Neötypes and setting up a crude ritual-surgery station somewhere close, but no too close, to the medibay. Doubtless with the Greater Whaledingo attack and with Porthas action besides, there were some Tö amongst them that would now be infected. With the Fortress a scant few hours away, their only real hope lay with the Neötypes, and Snödis was not one to let that opportunity slip by her. No, they needed all the Power they could get.

--

* In private, the irony of her accusation of Portha juxtaposed with the countless Warcrimes she herself had committed even less than a day ago stung some hidden part of her, the part that constantly warred with itself.
She knew in her heart of hearts that Ascension was the way, inevitable as the rising sun. Yet she understood on some level that forcing it upon the baseliners would only lead to greater resistance, and most probably the eventual eradication of her people. The only way the Revölución could enact a Forced Evolution Policy without such dire consequences would be if they could somehow gain control of the Gateway Network for themselves... but with such opposition even amongst their own ranks, the best they could hope for was a swift escape, hidden behind carnage and bloodshed.

--

As for the Ritual and Zapanda, Snödis spoke up when her turn to cast the ballot was reached. "Zapanda, as vile as her agenda is, has served us willingly. Healed us, cared for us, kept her end of the bargain.
I stood for her life once and now I do so again, lest we stoop to the lows of the Fröan Tyranny. Just let her be."

HiHo ChiRho
Oct 23, 2010

Then you remember. You have a message to send.

Something everyone must know.

You have the power. You have the means.

Let it be known.




Potrait:


Naim: Mason
Skillz: Mason Hootin' an' Hollerin' +35 Mason MasonryMason'Splosions
HeeP: Mason Mason Mason
Glury: Masonx33 -> 34

Mason wipes his brow. The battle was over but he was locked into a new war now. Stårn gave his orders to Mason and the Jaunerfly, to utilize all of the...war spoils in the creation of something far more deadlier than anyone would have imagined. To use the FLESH MASS that the Wendigo was kind enough to leave behind, along with the parts of the ship tainted by monsterism, all on his big ol buddy: The Mason Ram.

Mason pats the head of, well, Mason. To think this all started with Mason himself ramming a gate so long ago. The start of a good siege ending with a spectacular one. This was probably one of the last acts with his Jaunerfly before the end, so Mason better make it count. He takes a swig from his bottle of hooch, and starts what he does best: Hootin' and Hollerin' at people to 'git sheet dun'.

"''Ey Pourtha, 'ey Mooks! Git dat Moonstrus sheet ovur heer! Wee nid too meke de Raam Sooper Speshul!"

Building the Monsterist Mason Ram!: 1d4 4
Mason Masons up the Monsterist Mason Ram!: 1d100+68 150

Mason looks upon the final creation with tears welling in his eyes. "Shee Shur es a Bootyfull peas off wurk, eye tail yoo wut". Creating the Ram was only part of the job, though. The Töbuchet was going to be it's true partner to Break Down That Gate!

Break Down That Gate with 'splosions!: 1d100+39 82 +10 ST6 orders = 92

HiHo ChiRho fucked around with this message at Jun 22, 2018 around 13:53

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...



Name: Stårn
Skills: Siege Weapons +20, Butterfly Beastmaster +15, Timing +25
HP: 3/3
Glory: 4->5

There was shouting onboard. People were complaining about Portha, arguing about Zapanda.

Stårn did not care at all about either issue. How could he? How could he focus on something that trivial when the SIEGING SHOWDOWN OF THE AGE was nigh???

That's right, of course he couldn't!

"Siege Team Six", he cried out, "Our hour of reckoning is soon at hand! It's do or die now, folks!" he grinned his insane little Sieging grin, "And thankfully I have just the plan for us."

Stårn took a fairly central position at the deck, and unfurled a scroll (since when did he have that?) with a three-stage Sieging plan detailed on it, complete with illustrations and Sieging Calculation charts.

"FIRST", he stated, pointing at a ball-shaped object being flung in a high arc from the Töbuchet, ""We will launch our Doomsday Weapon from the töbuchet", he then pointed at the second part of his diagram, where the sphere cracked in two, revealing a Ram-shaped object with curious little stabilizing wing-bits on the sides, "The Doomsday Weapon, of course, being a uniquely designed sabot to house our Beloved Ram!"

"But Stårn, you might ask, 'How will we launch the Ram, it's got a lot of Orichalcum in it!" Stårn snorted, "Well, I've thought of that! And my math definitely works out. The Töbutchet is powerful enough to give the Ram lots of momentum. Not enough by itself, perhaps, but enough for the third phase to get us the rest of the way", Stårn pointed at the last picture, where flames spouted from the back of the Ram, "For indeed, our Ram is no longer a mere Terrible Ram, but a Terrifying Ramjet, with a chemical booster and housed extra munitions to bring the pain at MAXIMUM POSSIBLE ORICHALCUM KINETIC YIELD right at the enemy gate, ahHAHAH!" Stårn was getting excited enough to froth a litte, "Yes, I dare say, this is the most destructive Siege Weapon ever... put on paper!"

Stårn grinned.

"But that's just the now! Where the rest of YOU come in, is in helping me make it a reality!


"But first!", Stårn made his way to Captain Splut, and wiggled his eyebrows at him knowingly, "There's some additional aid I'll have to recruit to lift your spirits and aid us in our successes."

A brief exchange, and Stårn came back with the fragment held in his hands, grin wide.

"Now it's the time for work;
And don't you shirk!"

"For our Sieging Mastery;
Will now make History!"

~~~~MONTAGE~~~~

Stårn was instructing the crews on the finer points of Ramjet construction.

"Adjust the fins;
with wide grins.
Calculate arcs;
To hit our marks!"

He patiently corrected a couple mistakes others were making on the design.

"Furthermore;
My loyal corps.
Keep your minds keen;
your ears likewise clean;
for this is but lesson one;
out of a metric ton!"

~~LATER~~

"Siegers heave;
Siegers ho!
As we reave;
lay foes low!"

Stårn pointed at the Gateway with an imperious finger, directing the Töbuchet crew.

"Keep your aim straight;
release the counterweight!
Then laugh, then cheer!
At our enemies fear!"

"Pity them not;
Rather let them rot!
For me must Siege,
To honor our liege."

~~LATER STILL~~

Stårn charged the gate with his compatriots.

"The time is nigh!
Release our Battlecry!
FOR TÖ! FOR THE QUEEN!
Rage, make a scene!"

"And make them pay!
Make them pray!"

"For mercy."

"That will never come."

ST6 Orders: Help me fire the Töbuchet and of course, BREAK DOWN THAT GATE
Breaker's Hands: Terrible Ram into the Terrifying Ramjet: 2d100+24=100, actually, with the fragment bonus it's: 1d100+100=193
This thing is going to have a bunch of parts: Mason can Monsterize it if he wants, we're hollowing it out and adding our 'Lots of Heavy Stuff' to add even more momentum on top of the orichalcum, we're using our 'Cauldron of Yuck' to craft crude chemical engines at the end to give it a second stage boost after it leaves the Töbuchet

Siege Weapons to fire the Terrifying Ramjet out of the Töbuchet at the Gate: 2d100+24=162, actually, with the fragment bonus it's: 1d100+162=240

BREAK DOWN THAT GATE: 2d100+29=64, actually, with the fragment bonus it's: 1d100+64=96

Theantero fucked around with this message at Jun 22, 2018 around 15:15

Bee Bonk
Feb 19, 2011




Cosmetics:

Skill 2: Amputation+20
Skill 3: Spinning+30
HP: 1/1
Glory 37


Picking up a loose cannonball, Qwäg deftly Spun the iron ball on the tip of one finger. With her monster hand, she dragged her talons across the surface of the whirring projectile like a carpenter working a lathe, metal screeching painfully as she etched the ball with tiny channels to let them scream through the air in a suitably horrifying fashion. Doing up a number of cannonballs in this fashion, the wendigo quickly put saw and muscle to work getting the cannons in fighting shape.

Reload Cannons: 1d500+37+30+2 203

As Gateway Fortress loomed large before the horde, Qwäg perched on the bow like a gargoyle or grotesque figurehead, peering through the mist and the shimmering veins threads of Risk, howling back directions to guide the helmstö's ramming maneuver to the weakest, most vulnerable point. Her muscles bunched, ready to leap into the fray at the most opportune moment to affect the breach.

BREAK DOWN THAT GATE: 1d500+37+50+2 479

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010






Gado!!!
Skill: Digging (+60?)
HP: 2/2
Glory: 41->42->25
Breaker's Hand Action: Once per combat can make an additional roll to build fortifications or create siege gear.
Breaker's Hand Bonus: Double the bonus on consumables used for violent combat.
Inoculated vs Monsterism: When exposed to monsterist infection, roll a d4. On a one become infected.

Gado let out a sigh of relief as the hulking beast was driven off, but his breath caught in his throat when people began to haul stripped flesh and corrupted materials on board. He kept an eye on those who plundered the newly found monsterist objects, but made no motions to stop them.

With a quiet moment to himself, Gado pondered his future. The Gate was in sight and a long term military career wasn't the kind of thing Gado had signed on for. He had a rather hefty pile of Glory and was nearing ascension, but it was hard to justify going through with it. He'd had some mad idea of becoming a wendigo to help out in Momma Gabo's quarry, but with the veil of powerful shortcuts taken off his eyes it was clear that would have just put an unfillable gulf on between him and his mother.

Gathering his bag of glory up, Gado began to wander the deck. Ascension was a powerful tool, but it felt like it would place a huge gulf in between him and his mother, wider than the one his advanced skill core had created. No, Gado wouldn't be ascending any time soon. If he wasn't going to be doing any ascending he might as well get to spending!

Wandering up to Magda, Gado went about reminding her of the mole she'd resold to him once, removing his jacket and curiass as he spoke. He'd dealt that little creature a bad hand in shoving it into a wendigo's guts, so it was time to pay it some reverence as remuneration of a sort. He told Magda about hos wishes for a set of armor, ordered a pick for old time's sake, and set off to get to work while Magda set to her crafting.

Captain Stårn had put together a nasty little number in converting the ram into some kind of terrible chemically powered projectile, but Gado had doubts the recoil caused by moving the odd gravity affecting tip at such speeds would be safe. Taking his claws to the deck, he began to dig grooves into the deck around and under the Töbuchet's wheels to keep it from over rolling and going overboard.

When The Gate loomed, Gado's training from all the way back at the start kicked in. The horde hadn't had much actual Breaking Down Gates practice during this journey and so the basic instinct to Dig kicked in just as it had before. Garbed in his new outfit and dual wielding picks, Gado took to the ground like a fosh through water, spearheading just one more avenue at bypassing the dreaded Gate.


Pretty shrug fluffs but I only have a few minutes more on this wifi haha.

Downtime: Following orders and firing the ramjet. 129

Final Fight: Back to basic training like what Grimper taught us, "Break Down That Gate" by digging under it: 179162 (adjusted for spending)

I'm assuming just a +5 boost from eating the dig core, but if I resonated my numbers need adjusting.

Buying a mining pick. -5 Glory

Upgrading my curiass to a Mad Mole +5 outfit -12 glory.

Successful Businessmanga fucked around with this message at Jun 22, 2018 around 18:44

Green Intern
Dec 29, 2008

Secret Art: Toxic Crotch Whirlwind!


Name: Ringo!
HP: 4/4
Glory: 11>12-10>2
Skill: Firestarting (Using), Whistling+30, Surgery
Hotswap Skillcores: Accuracy, Pigilante Justice, Cross Stitching, Bee Keeping, Lifting +15, Lockpicking, Kissing, Weaving +15, Avoiding Notice
Other: Rolls 10d100, may optionally reroll lowest. May either roll an additional 1d100, or grant a reroll to an Ally.
Medic Squad.
Wendigo Countdown: [][][]

Ringo stared over the side of the Revenge at the churning waters below. When the surface allowed it, he could see his own reflection.

[CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION][CORRUPTION]

On his face. His hands. His chest. A hundred flashing signs that all said one thing: He was infected, and it was coming fast. Would he turn into something like that leviathan they barely escaped from just now? How many of his friends would he kill?

"Everyone, stand back. I'm going to try something inadvisable. Sucy, if this doesn't work, then I may need your help. I'll pony up for the Anti-Mon. I just...have to try this myself."

Ringo stomped to the rear of the ship, and waited for everyone to clear away. He took a deep breath. And then another. And another. His esprit flame flared and danced, and then seemed to engulf him, seeping into and out of every pore. If the infection wanted him, it was going to have to fight for its life.

Burn out the Infection (Firestarting): 10d100+11 571 [10d100=5, 76, 51, 70, 92, 82, 92, 11, 77, 4]
Reroll 4: 1d100 20 +16
Free Extra Roll: 1d100 10
Total: 597

At the end, Ringo collapsed, exhausted. "Sucy...Gryph...watch over me. If I'm still infected, do your best." He passed into unconsciousness.

If Ringo is still infected, then I'd love to try a monsterectomy. He'll put up for the anti-mon either way. I'll roll for the Gate as well, assuming I lost the Glory.

For the Gate:
Terrify the Gate Defenders (Whistling): 10d100+2+30 537 [10d100=85, 65, 21, 54, 17, 18, 98, 47, 28, 72]
Reroll 17: 1d100 11-6
Free Extra Roll: 1d100 3
Ritual Reroll 3: 1d100 35
Total: 566

AJ_Impy
Jun 17, 2007



Yam Slacker

//
HP:3/3
Glory: 18
Bluffing +25
Charm +25
Camouflage +15
Planning +10 (Unused and uninstalled)
Ritual Glory: 0
Infiltrator Captain
Ascended

Zapanda was currently seen by the Warlord as expendable, a disposable liability once there was no further need for her services. That was wrong, the mind which had done so much to create the cure had to be preserved, whatever it took. How could she be protected from an ignominious end, how could she be kept alive to continue her great work? He saw only one realistic prospect: If she was loyal, []truly[/i] loyal, the Warlord would not end her. Given a choice between conversion and death, he would rather convert Zapanda.

That didn't mean she had to be left to her own devices. He devoted his time to one of two things: If the Horde used their new ritual, he made sure Zapanda and her crew were properly acclimated, eased into their new, lifesaving way of thinking, easing them into the transition. If the Horde forbore, he would instead seek to convince her to request it of her own volition, because the knowledge and skills she carried, the cure, the duty they had to all Tö- and Frö-kind, transcended mere national allegiance, and they could not be sacrificed on the altar of Grimper's pragmatic nihilism. Either way, his charm core went into overdrive, using Veilpiercer to help determine the potential fracture points.

Charm Zapanda: 2d100+43 144

His standing orders to the Infiltrators remained, with one addition:

"Break Down that Gate!" stated in a bluff manner: 2d100+46 138

INFILTRATOR STASH
From Splut:

From Humbug:

From Waesh:
(Filling someone elses' unfilled slot)
From Gigs:

From Marra:

From Hat:

Captainicus
Feb 22, 2013


// //

Name: Waesh
Skills: Piracy +25, Grappling +20, Romance +10
HP: 3/3
Glory: 4 -> 5 -> 1

With a stretch of calmer water ahead on the approach to Gateway Fortress, Waesh could finally take a moment to breathe. They were really coming up on the end, now. What a trip it had been, from obscurity to the Hero of the River Fist! (or at least that's what he'd think of himself). When the issue of what to do with Zapanda came up, he shook his head for a moment and said "When the time comes, Cap'n Grimper isn't going to let her go. If she's lucky, she'll be forced to continue research for us back home after the war. If she's unlucky, it's the gallöws. Twisted as it may be, her lot will at least get some semblance of happiness if we stop the press gang and convert them. One of us, for better or worse."

Sail to Gateway Fortress: 1d100+25+10+5 124

He gestured to a nearby crew member to take the wheel a moment. "Something I got to take care of, first." Acquiring another, perhaps final, ale from Magda, the pirate settles into a clear nook on deck and takes a long draught. "We've been through so much in so little time together, old girl", he whispers to the uncaring timber. "Your maiden voyage, and this is what it has to come to. Your memory will be with this old salt forever." One final pull of ale, and all that is left is duty.

With a renewed vigor in his step, he strides back across the deck and takes back the wheel. His eyes aflame, voice full of fire, his bellow rings across the deck for all to hear. "Bring her around lads! Quit slacking on that rigging! This one's for Reina!"

Crash into That Gate: 1d100+25+25+10+1 158

WereGoat
Apr 28, 2017



Cosmetic:

Name: Hob

HP 2/2

Glory: 4>5

Skill: Singing+20, Contortion+15, Butterfly Riding+20

Notes: Innoculated vs. Monsterism. Rolls 1d4 when exposed to monsterism. On a 1, infection remains.

It was hard to keep secrets in such an enclosed space. Never mind that, it was hard to keep secrets in a tight knit group like the Unexpectables.

Zapanda was getting more open in her pleas, and when Hob asked her how to make more cure, she found someone with the desire and the means to carry out her request.

He hoped she wouldn't get that ritual used on her. Vote against ritual use on Z

"Gryph". He stopped the medic captain as he passed. "I heard about what Zapanda gave you. Yeah and she said... Look I'm going scouting. And this is... One person was cured on this boat. But so many more could be cured. You can learn from Zap hands-on but other docs will never be that lucky. They'll need her notes to have a hope.

I know what it is to be infected. To turn. How you lose yourself. You seen. And if you want to prevent others from going through that, everyone needs to know.

So please.

Give me the notes."

WereGoat fucked around with this message at Jun 22, 2018 around 15:05

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Dog Kisser
Mar 30, 2005

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


Working through some art that's been missed, filtering these into earlier posts in a bit but putting them here for visibility!



edit: This is also a good time to consider if you want any new equipment, cosmetic or otherwise - the end of the game is coming up, but it's not, like the next scene. You still have a while to go!

Dog Kisser fucked around with this message at Jun 22, 2018 around 15:52

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