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      Name: Jö, the Nailed Fostis Butcher Skills: Butchery (CD), Impatience +15 (Using) , Clouting HP: 3/3 Glory: 8 > 9 Roll Modifiers: -9 all rolls Must obey all orders: Immune to orders from Hob Wife: Söndra Daughters: Ewön: Age 5, Ami: Age 3 Squad: Neötype Items: -War Drum (STOLEN, meant for Ewön  [with Grumbus atm] )-Froman Sword +1 -Belmysut Guard Uniform +1 -Killer Koffin +2 -Baby Boarlet -Fancy Medal -Sack o' Dolls (Jaune's is for Ami!) Wendigo Clock: 2 > 1 Having gathered up the dolls, Jö looked to his friend for more directions. She had asked him to bring him here, and he liked playing the tour guide. Maybe she had something in mind? Swedish Thaumocracy posted:
Oh, how terrible. Oh course Jö would help her out! Prison for no place for the boyfriend of someone as nice as Snödis; she would never do anything like kill somebody, murder innocents or embrace rampant wendigoism. She was a harmless young maiden, just wanting to settle down and start a family. A woman after his own heart. Söndra would never let him live it down if Jö didn't help her out. "Of course we can go there! I've only been there a couple times, but I think it's down on Jaune Avenue, so called because that heroic commander apparently built the entire prison complex in a single day. What a great woman! I'd love to take my little Ami to meet her someday. She does love Jaune." Jö looked into the sack and made sure there was a Jaune doll inside. "You don't mind if I keep the Jaune doll for her, do you? The rest are all yours, of course! I mean, I also don't want to presume so if you want it you can keep the Jaune doll also..." Jö trailed off. ----- As they walked Jö kept up the somewhat one-sided conversation, pointing out this street and that building and the story behind such-and-such statue. It kept his spirits up speaking about his country, even as his body kept feeling more and more weird throughout the afternoon. Man, why was he starting to sweat and heat up so much? Hopefully the prison would have a doctor that could look at him while he was there. They sometimes had them stop by to look over the drunks and fighters, to ensure they would be ok. Wait, we're going to jail?!: 1d100-9+10+8+15 40 Jö just can't roll for poo poo Slaan fucked around with this message at 14:55 on Mar 18, 2018 |
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Mar 17, 2018 01:32
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      Cosmetics:    Skill 2: Amputation+15 Skill 3: Spinning+30 HP: 1/1 Glory 25 Qwäg took the mask in a hand that might once have trembled, and perhaps should tremble, but was unfailingly steady, even the dewy, staring eye in its back unblinking. The risk filter was significant...The artifact's provenance was not entirely proven, despite Splut's use of it; they were counting on the new persona being someone with the training and access to social engineer privileged data from the gears of the Fröman war machine. They were counting on Qwäg being able to operate the complicated apparatus sight unseen. They were counting on Grimper sitting idly by and letting them potentially jeopardize his moment of glory. The last, however, Qwäg could remedy. Digging a bottle of Mushbrewm from her pack, she set it down on the desk with a glassy thunk. "Weţ ̀y̵o̷ur wh́istl͝e anḑ ̛get ̧y̸o͝u͡r ̧v̴oic̀e r͞e̵ady f̴or͢ y̡o̢u͟r mo͞me͞ntous ad̨d͞r͘es̀s, ̡W̢a͏r͜l̶o͢r͟d.͞ T͝h̷is̡ moment ͜i͞s̛ im͢por̷tąn̨t̸, an͘d ͏w̢e ͞c͟a̵n͠'t҉ ͝l̵et ̧a͞ ͘s͜cra͟t͏ch͏y̧ ͏t̨h͝r̸oat̴ ̢i̸n͟ter̴fe̛r̢e.̢ ̷Your͏ pla̛n͡ t͝o͜ ́tran̵smit t̀hę w͠r͢etch̀e͟d ̧rȩdder ín̷t̢e͠l͝ to t̶h͜e͢ Rege͏ncy͝ Co͡unciļ ẁon̴'̡t ͟be͡ s̶top͠ped, ͝a͡n̕d t̴he̛ ͠f̴oo̡l͜s̶ ev̵en҉ see̷m to h͟a̸ve̷ ̧l̀e͡ft͞ ҉a͢ ̸bit ͡of èx҉t̨ra ̢vul̕ne̵rab̶l̷e͞ ̶data ̛he̛r͘e̶ ̴wh͜e̢r̸e we can͞ ͝seize̴ i͟t͢.̶" With that, Qwäg prepared to use the Mask and Thumbscrew to phish additional enemy intelligence, Spinning it as the Warlord's idea. Anything she could peel about the Queen's Relic, or her Death. On went the mask. A unique Spin on Following Orders: 1d500+30+25+2+50(mask) 384 Bee Bonk fucked around with this message at 19:28 on Mar 17, 2018 |
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Mar 17, 2018 03:05
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           Sucy HP: 3 Glory: 35 -> 36 Skills: Mushrooms +15 Kicking +45 Fishing +10 As Qwäg began working the thumbscrew controls, Sucy approached her: That sounds like a good idea, let me help you out, I think my ring can interact with the thumbscrew controls. As Grimper began his instructions, Sucy intermittently slipped the ring off and on to keep track of what he sent through the relay. Kinda Follow instructions with a phishing attack: 1d100+35+10 110
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Mar 17, 2018 16:25
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     Squad: Infiltration Skill: Sleuthing +20 (Using), Watching +20 (), Submission Holds (Used). HP: 2/3 Glory: 8----> 9 Humbug nodded along as details for a different plan were hashed out. Qwäg would get the Mask and not the Ring, but Sucy would fish out message-data on her behalf. It would still work out - probably. Everyone would follow Grimper's instructions - some would just sideline an attempt at extracting intelligence, hopefully with Grimper's own blessing. Specifically, Qwäg and Sucy would look for anything useful about the Queen's Relic and the circumstances of her Death. It was a mystery that Humbug had been itching to dive into, with damning details hidden behind the Regency Council's brusque official stance and the information lockdown of the palace grounds that Humbug had run afoul of. He'd stumbled across a big mystery back then and had done his darndest to follow whatever leads he could since then. Fortune had been on his side that he'd gotten Bamboo's testimony - and he appeared even more fortunate that others of the Twelve were now atually willing to support that search for answers. "Thank you for doing this, everyone. Let's hope we're making the right move here," he said, doffing is hat and sketching a bow before they quit their conference huddle and got to work. Feeling quite motivated, the Sleuth seated himself by one of the consoles the Warlord had pointed out and readied himself to follow instructions, taking care to pay close attention. His new friends had put their trust in his words and ideas. He'd have to work his rear end off to do them justice in turn and aid the selective 'phishing' they were trying to pull off. Sleuthing to aid the message-sending and phishing: 1d100+28+10(order) 114
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Mar 17, 2018 18:50
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      Noggins Skillcores: Carpentry +35, Precision, Aiming, Leadership (Unconsumed) HP: 3 Glory: 0->1 Ritual Glory: 4 The sensation was impossible to describe. There was the simple, physical aspect to it, of course, but it went further than that. It was like everything was just a little bit clearer than before, like she'd been carrying weights that had suddenly been lifted, leaving her free to move for the first time on her life. But there was also the uncanny sensation that she was a stranger in her own body. Had it been like this for Ringo? For the Wendigoes? This complete and total loss of familiarity? She wouldn't go back, though, even if she could. Adolescent awkwardness aside, it was the best she'd ever felt, by a mile. Sure, she was having a hard time getting herself to move exactly like she was trying to, and that was making her sort of ineffective at the moment, but she would work past it in time. She knew she would. "Gabber!" she shouted, her voice slightly deeper and more resonant than before. "We've got some breathing room, try and secure a route out of here! Verika, I want you to get that sniper down for good! Somnö! You're with me on cleanup duty! It shouldn't be long now!" Finish Off Surviving Inhabited: 2d100+10+5 44
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Mar 17, 2018 19:16
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      Cosmetic:  Name: Hob HP 2/2 Glory: 12≥13 Ritual Glory : 1 Skill: Singing, Contortion+15 (cooling), Butterfly Riding+20(using ) Hob looked over the battlefield, there was just so many of them. Every second Grimper delayed was another friend fallen, another dead hordemate. And where are the nailbound? "Over there, more! Look out Portha! Mason! Behind you!" There was so many, his Intel was all but useless. Ugh. He flew out at an angle, and leaned over the side. Shooting towards the throng of inhabited. He was in a good position to get over to the massive group advancing towards them, but any attention away from the ones nearby could be the difference between dead or alive friends. There was just too many of them. drop arrows on the inhabited: 1d100+12+1+3+20 106 WereGoat fucked around with this message at 19:52 on Mar 17, 2018 |
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Mar 17, 2018 19:49
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    Cosmetic Items: Name: Neebs Skill(s): Sales (+15) Drinking (+20) (using this turn) Surgery (+15) (on cooldown) HP: 2/3 Glory: 14 + 1 posting glory => 15 Seemed like a lot of commotion was going on over with Humbug, Qwäg, Sucy and Splut...but Neebs didn't see anyone jumping to the controls just yet. Maybe they needed someone to lead by example. Well, that just wouldn't do. Taking a giant swig from her seemingly ever-present flask, Neebs started drunkenly following instructions: (1d100ro2e100)+14+20! 125 while the others figured out what they wanted to do. Why, this wasn't so hard. They must have taken after her expert lead, as she noticed that Humbug, Sucy, and Qwäg seemed to have finally figured out that if a drunk person could man the controls, they could too! They'd have this message off in no-time; and then they could leave this city. Edit: corrected +15 to +20 Half-wit fucked around with this message at 16:54 on Mar 18, 2018 |
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Mar 17, 2018 22:53
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      /// Cosmetic Items: /// Name: Gabber Skill: Mimicry (using), Listening {+30, cooldown}, Night Vision HP: 3/3 Glory: 17->18 A high whine reverberated in Gabber's ears as his Listening skillcore phased off again, increased senses slowly fading away as his hearing returned back to normal. The more he'd been using his advanced Listening skillcore, the more he found himself entering an almost trance-like state in battle. Ears highly attuned to the space around him, every scrape of metal on metal, every quickstep of an enemy advancing from a blindspot, every agonizing cry of another Unexpectable being cut down or shot came through clear as day; and his body reacted in response as if on auto-pilot. He was sure quite some time had passed as they'd mounted their desperate defense of the Thumbscrew, but it had gone by in a blur. Bashing another approaching Inhabited with his shield, he took a quick moment and reviewed the scene before him. His Nails thrumming with energy, a heap of slain foes before him, dead comrades left and right, and Gabber none worse for the wear. Truly he'd never felt more alive here at Noostra, half terrified and half unstoppable. Yet still Grimper hadn't returned - what was taking so long?! Suddenly he jolted from a familiar voice cutting through from nearby: The Lord of Hats posted:"Gabber!" she shouted, her voice slightly deeper and more resonant than before. "We've got some breathing room, try and secure a route out of here! Turning to his Captain to acknowledge her orders, he suddenly felt dumbstruck. Noggins...Noggins had changed. She quickly turned to issue further orders to her other knights, but Gabber's gaze remained a few moments more, heart thudding in his chest. An odd feeling had overcome him as he looked upon his transformed Captain. She appeared more graceful and beautiful, and almost seemed to have a glow about her. He felt flushed, awestruck, wanted to obey the order of his lady Captain more than ever before; needed to accomplish her goals. For a moment he considered if he had fallen in love, but no - this feeling he had now was more akin to platonic worship than carnal desire. Her most loyal knight would honor her by accomplishing her goals no matter the cost. (Gabber Trait Gained: Courtly Love Go!) Scanning the surrounding area, he soon found the opening he needed - a bit of breathing room procured by Portha and her prototype crossbow. Spurring his steed forward, he charged at the gap with as much speed as he could quickly muster. He would part the enemy with his own blood, sweat and tears. His arms would be tireless. He would be the point that drove the Unexpectables forth from the city, victorious, all in her name! Mimic a Gallant Charge - Spread Out Down That Alley!: 1d100+17(glory)+10(skillcore)+10(orders)+6(sword&steed) 79 - Base of 36, armor remains at +3 ...or die trying. Task Manager fucked around with this message at 00:11 on Mar 18, 2018 |
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Mar 17, 2018 23:50
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    Skills:Spreading Disease (+15) [CD], Cursing, Patience(+25) HP: 3/3 Glory: 7 Grumbus's muscles burned with exhaustion. He shouted, "HURRY UP IN THERE YOU BASTARDS! gently caress!", to no one in particular. He spat bile, all he had left in his stomach, in the face of yet another Inhabited and followed up with a haymaker. Spreading Disease +15 to Oh Great More of Them: 1d100+35 36 Luck's Fickler Gaze Reroll +10: 1d100+45 50 lol It knocked the masked rear end in a top hat over for now. Grumbus spitefully opened the bag and dumped a pile of hungry rats on the fallen Inhabited.
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Mar 18, 2018 08:14
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  \Name: Gryph HP: 3/3 Glory: 22 => 23 Skill: Medicine (20), Finally, The Thumbscrew. Splut and Sucy had taken care of the technicians looking to cripple the messaging station, and the team hustled quickly into the control room. As Grimper began bellowing orders to hold off the Inhabited, Gryph began stealing glances around the room, looking for nooks and crannies. If there was anywhere public, secure and that the Fro would return to, it was here. But did he trust them with the all-important notes,any more than he trusted his own Commander? Sikatris did this. She released the Madmist, made the Citizens Inhabited. They may have willingly put the masks on, but Sikatris lied to them. The Horde wasn't perfect. It had it's share of murderers and thieves, and Gryph knew that civilians who ran into certain members of the Horde would be dead. But they were a hundred strong. They couldn't kill the civilians enough to warrant the senseless, heaving tide of Inhabited that now roamed Noostra. No, those civilians had been told that the Horde were merciless, that they would butcher the townsfolk.Whatever was happening here, it wasn't for the good of To, nor Fro. It was Warlords, pure and simple. So, in that tower, Gryph kept his eyes peeled, looking for a place to hide the notes, and a place where, in the mud, blood and pride of Warlords, a To could make a difference. Slam those buttons; Follow instructions: 1d100+10+22 57
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Mar 18, 2018 09:30
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Slaan posted:... "She does love Jaune." Jö looked into the sack and made sure there was a Jaune doll inside. "You don't mind if I keep the Jaune doll for her, do you? The rest are all yours, of course! I mean, I also don't want to presume so if you want it you can keep the Jaune doll also..." Jö trailed off."  "A fan is she? Listen, I know how important role models are for the young and impressionable. Sikatris got me through some rough times when I was a child, that's why I got this thread, representing her specialty, tattooed on my neck. Did you know Sikatris is one of the only monsterists to ever become a commander? It's true. How can a wee tö or frö not aspire to the greatness of that example, eh? Tell you what, I'll do you one better. Now, it's supposed to be a secret, but one of the caravan guards is actually Jaunes latest apprentice in disguise. Goes by the name of Noggins. If you show her the doll, I'm sure she would be thrilled to give you an autograph..." Maybe it was petty. Maybe it was uncalled for and maybe it was all based on lies, but Snödis reasoned the knight-captain needed a dose of humility before her honour-core self-resonated into full blown hubris. Besides... Jö probably wasn't going to make it back anyway, despite her best efforts. Better to give the man some hope, before the end. Who knew if his kids were still even alive? Ugh. Snödis shuddered and tried to pretend to be interested in what he was saying again, forcing a heartless smile to her face (how did those work, anyway?) - if any of them were to live they had to get to some sort of safety, before the sheer number of inhabited overwhelmed them.
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Mar 18, 2018 10:09
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   Name: Ringo! HP: 4/4 Glory: 31>32 Skill: Accuracy (cooldown), Ventriloquism, Whistling+15 (using) Hotswap Skillcores: Pigilante Justice, Kissing, Cross Stitching, Bee Keeping, Lifting +15, Lockpicking, Firestarting, Weaving +15, Avoiding Notice Other: Rolls 10d100, may optionally reroll lowest Ringo leaned up against a wall, catching his breath. This was endless. This was madness. Unexpectables fighting tooth and nail against an implacable foe, without any hint of when Grimper and the Twelve would finish his mission. Another rank-and-file soldier fell. Ringo idly crushed a Noostran under his heel, wincing at the creeping exhaustion setting in. Across the way, he spied Noggins. She'd changed, and something in him recognized a kinship between the two of them now. He put his fingers to his lips, and gave a sharp whistle for her attention. Their eyes met for a moment, and he nodded. Game recognize game. We can talk shop later. Back to the killing, then. Fight More Inhabited!? (Whistling): 10d100+15+31+2 551 [10d100=100, 59, 35, 6, 63, 47, 12, 45, 95, 41] Fight More Inhabited!? (Whistling) - Exploding 100: 1d100 84 Subtotal: 635 Fight More Inhabited!? (Whistling) - Reroll 6: 1d100 36 TOTAL: 665 Edit: This is for "Oh Excellent There's More Of Them" Green Intern fucked around with this message at 23:42 on Mar 18, 2018 |
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Mar 18, 2018 16:24
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   ;Name: Hat Skills: Millinery (+15), HP: 3/3 Equipment: Knightly Spear (+3), String-Slayer Armour (+2), Tuned Shield, Lucky Pearl; Glory: 41 -> 42 Ritual Glory: 1 The fight had been vicious, and exhausting, but Grimper and his Twelve followers had made it to the promised land of the Thumbscrew controls. This was the reason for all this fighting; why the Horde was here in the first place. Hat grabbed the last remaining seat at the controls and, while Humbug and the others were discussing something or other, she looked at the panel in front of her. A mass of strange controls, all carefully labelled (thankfully, Tö and Frö still shared the same language) but terms she had never heard of. Modulators, demodulators, power gain... Hat tried to take it all in, and sat, waiting for Grimper to start barking orders that matched the knobs she now controlled. It reminded her of her first day 'prenicing under Mr. Dash, in the old hat shop she used to call home. She had never felt so nervous, but he'd sat her down with a cup of tëa and explained, a kindly smile poking out from under his mustache. "Your skillcore means you know how to make hats. That's great. But skillcores get tired, and you need to be able to make hats without it. So, today, I will tell you how to construct a simple flatcap. You will follow my instructions precisely. No skillcore cheating! So. Finish your tëa, grab your tools. And do exactly what I say." "Yes Sir, Mr Dash!" said the young Hat. Another quick read of the labels. She was ready. "Yes Sir, Mr Grimper," muttered the current Hat. Following Instructions: 1d100+42+15+10 151
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Mar 18, 2018 16:58
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      Name: Dack Skills: A̵̕t̷͢͡͏̡h̷͟͡͏ļ̵̶̧̀ę̷̢͡t̨̧͘i̵̕҉̴͡c̢͘͜͠s͏̨́̕ (used last round), Ą̀͠c̵̢͡͠͏r̴̸̛͝͡o͘͢͜͡b͜à̵̡̕t̷̢̀͜i̸̸͞c͘͟s̀͜͟, Laughing +25 (Using) Unused Skillcores: E̸n͜҉̛͡ģ̛̕i̡̕͟͡͠n̢͘͢e̶͝e̵̵̡͢ŗ̕͏í̶̧͞͡n҉̴̢́̕g̷̛͢ HP: 1 Glory: 27>28 As somehow even more Inhabited started filing in behind the already excessive swarm, Dack was starting to feel a bit tired. The Horde had been dishing out far more than it took, sure, but it was clear that they simply couldn't hold on forever. Worse, they had no idea what was going on inside the relay, which meant they had no idea how long they needed to hold out for. But Portha had apparently cleared the Madmist from an alleyway, which at least meant the Unexpectables had an exit route, so long as they kept it clear of Inhabited. Well, Dack could use a change of pace (and more leg room would definitely be welcome right now). Following Gabber's lead, Dack moved to secure the Horde's exit, bellowing out a laugh to try and draw more attention from those horde members who weren't swamped with Inhabited. Hopefully they would follow as well, as their window of opportunity wouldn't last very long otherwise. Spread Out Down That Alley: 1d500+25+27+1 152
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Mar 18, 2018 19:14
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   || Name: Trinh Skills: Taxidermy(+50, corrupted, cooldown), Jumping(+15), Dodging(+25, using) HP: 1/1 Glory: 18 -> 19 Ritual Glory: 1 It was easy to step past the inhabited. Earlier Trinh had felt that she could dance past their attacks all day long. Now she realized that all day long was much longer than she could keep this up. She was getting tired, and on top of that the enemies wouldn't even react properly to getting skewered in ten spots at once. How are you supposed to feel superior when others barely acknowledge you? Oh Excellent There's More Of Them: 1d500+18+2+25 72
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Mar 18, 2018 22:24
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          Name: Stårn Skills: Siege Weapons +20, Butterfly Beastmaster, Timing +25 HP: 3 Glory: 14->15 A drop of sweat ran down Stårn's brow. The Inhabited Horde was getting far too large, and taken the population here, Stårn doubted it would get any smaller. They were running out of time. Unless Grimper hurried the hell up, their life expectancy was rapidly dwindling to 'mere moments'. Stårn grimaced. He looked down at his mount. He had made this point before, but Sieging was a number's game. War was a number's game. And since his mount was wounded, there was a very real chance that the next usage of its powers would be its last. He loathed the thought of risking an asset he had put so much love, care, time and resources into. But that risk had to be considered next to what would happen if he didn't risk it. If their lines were overrun once again because of it. If they lost, say, 5 to 10 more troops. That was already far more valuable than his butterfly. And even if his mount would be an amazing asset on the final assault through The Gate, it would all be for naught if they took too many losses here to sustain their campaign. Stårn took a deep breath. He patted his mount on the head. Perhaps for the last time. "You're busting my rear end, Warlord", Stårn noted with a grim note as he guided his mount to unleash. Sieging was a number's game. It was time to roll the dice. Siege Team Six orders: Sucy and Gado have standing orders, the rest must engage the Inhabited Using Butterfly Beastmaster and my Mount's Extra Special ability on Oh Excellent there's more of them: 1d100+14+10+10+899=958  EDIT: Due to Trinh's reroll, my natural roll becomes a 98, and the total roll a 1031, and the Breakerfly lives as well Theantero fucked around with this message at 23:24 on Mar 18, 2018 |
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Mar 18, 2018 23:01
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Something shattered under Trinh's foot. Wha- that was her Lucky Pearl! It must have fallen out of her pocket in the chaos. drat it, she paid Glory for that thing! Oh well, the only thing left now was to hope that it would actually bring someone good luck like advertised. (I'm using my Lucky Pearl to reroll Stårn's 1d100.) Reroll Breakerroll: 1d100 98 Jvie fucked around with this message at 01:04 on Mar 19, 2018 |
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Mar 18, 2018 23:19
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   HP:3 Glory:7 Skills:AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, Wrestling While Skronk was unable to comprehend the workings of the machine, he understood what was at stake. He would stay at his post. The message MUST be sent. With that in mind, let out a fearsome snarl as he brandished his axe. Hopefully no one noticed that...odd moment he had earlier. He'd have to ask a skillcore expert later if that's normal. Standing guard over the console:114
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Mar 18, 2018 23:21
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    Name: Bamboo HP: 2/2 Glory: 43 + 1 (Action Glory) > 44 Skills: Virtuoso (+10) [ACTIVATE] Interior Decorating (+20) [COOLDOWN] -[Noostra]- Bamboo smiled. A genuine, peaceful, ‘at last my destiny is revealed’ smile. Here she was, dangling in front of Sikatris, completely alone, helpless, facing off against an enemy Commander she had no hope of defeating. Most importantly, Bamboo held Sikatris’s interest for the moment, and the Commander was in a talkative mood. It was, in essence, exactly where a Queen’s Pawn should be; at last, she could do what she had been raised and trained to do. The only question was, how much information can she get before Sikatris would kill her, and how would she get that information back to the Horde. Surviving this meeting would be a bonus, although, secondary for Bamboo at this point. “Commander Sikatris, might I offer my congratulations on a battle most artfully staged and executed; worthy of a Master Weaver at the top of her craft. I had suspected that in this game of Cups-N-Ball, you had long since palmed the coin from the table; Grimper and His Horde have no real chance of succeeding, do they? They have expended their strength, separated their forces, in reaching the Thumbscrew. Now comes the moment where you close the circle behind them, so that the final slaughter may begin. Grimper has been a tyrant and a drunkard; he has overreached in attempting to claim Noostra. Many of The Horde have died due to his decisions; tell me Commander, what fate do you have in store for him? How will you ensure his annihilation? I must know!! I must SEE!!! Even as she spoke, hopefully stroking the ego of Sikatris so that she will share the rest of her Battle Plans, Bamboo once again reached out with her mind into the strands of Slipknot Tango; Sikatris was too dependent on these lines, as much as a Spider is too dependent on their silk. The enemy commander was still connected to her threads, which were in turn connected to Bamboo, Noostra, and her Nailbound. This was Sikatris’s real weakness, and it was time to see if The Last Pawn would be worthy of her own Legend; time to become The Virtuoso!!! “Nailbound, hear me. On my word, take your Sacrifire and force your living essence onto the strands of Slipknot Tango; I have been shown how to navigate these lines, as I will now reveal. Become a spear of consciousness that I will drive into Sikatris. Three, let loose the Wendigo; add the feral power of that thrice-cursed disease to your brethren’s sacrifice. As One, forge a weapon of such ferociousness that I may weld to end this Queen of Weaves.” Action > Bamboo’s Virtuoso Dangerous Adventure Jamboree Talk and Sacrifire Special!: 1d100+43+10 128 [1d100=75]
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Mar 19, 2018 00:47
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   Name: Somnö Skills: BIGNESS +20, Jumping +25 (cooldown), Smashing +20 (using) HP 3/3 Gear: Ball and Chain (+1), Drummers Garb XXXL (+2), Iron Shield, Armored Charger Cosmetics: Nail and Fist Token, A shitload of Jaune Nails Status: Captain's Orders (+10 to Crush the Dying) Glory: 21 Ritual Glory: 1 Wipe Out the Wounded: 1d100+21+10+20+3+1 91
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Mar 20, 2018 12:20
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  Name: Gigs Skills: Unflappability (+15), Triangulation (+15), Oratory (+10) HP: 1/3 Glory: 22 Gigs blinks as though in a haze. He seems to have an arrow in him. "Hmm..." He plucks the arrow free. It's a suitably nasty-looking thing, though no more nasty than anything else the day's thrown at them. He imagines the archer will want it back. Giving the arrow a little twirl, Gigs catches it and pulls it back on his bow. Triangulating the sniper's position based on the trajectory of the hole currently leaking lifeblood into the fabric of his nice new uniform - when did he get such a nice new uniform anyway - he releases the arrow in attempt to return to sender (1d100+37 = 69).
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Mar 21, 2018 10:02
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  Crushing the broken, masked bodies was the first order of business. A seething mass of them carpeted the square, grabbing hands and viscous ichor making movement treacherous for the Horde but not their enemies. Arrows and stones rained down on them, crumpling their armor and finally stilling them. It felt less like fighting now and more like gardening, plucking pesky weeds that were getting in the way of real work. Except these weeds still clutched at the ankles of their gardeners, bringing them down to their level and pulling them in. Spanks the Angry stabbed one of the dying creatures in the mask with her sword, lips pursing slightly as she once again noted how difficult it was to do so. It really was uncannily like wood. Tö should have sent fuckin’ lumberjacks. One grabbed her foot and... LOSE ROLL A line of the wounded and apparently dead Inhabited pushed themselves up to their remaining extremities and scuttled, crablike, towards the Horde’s flank. It was so shocking in its immediacy that many Unexpectables leapt backwards, stumbling against allies trying to hold the line against the other side. Those that lost their footing were pulled into the churning mass of shattered bodies and set upon by splintered limbs that turned out to be marvelously effective improvised weapons. Noggins the Carpenter fell to her knees as two of them grabbed her feet, and barely brought her shield up in time to deflect a ferocious attack from a third. Tossing her battered shield down, she seized Nailbreaker in both hands - and felt something strange pass from it to her. Acting on sudden guidance, she twisted the handle in her main hand and the hammer’s head split open like a flower. She whirled it above her head and brought it down; the ‘petals’ extended with the motion, curving down to strike several masked heads at once. When she drew it back, they retracted, clicking neatly into place and forming up into a solid surface once more. She’d have to remember that one! She almost smiled, but then took in the casualties around her. drat it all… (Oof, another nasty blow. This one hits all of you and spills over into the other group, hitting 35 in all. The spill over will take effect AFTER this round’s fighting here is done (so I don’t have to recalculate stuff on the fly, which would be a pain for both you and me), so just imagine that the wounds suffered here will be fatal soon. The Inhabited in this fight are, for what it’s worth, completely out of commission now. Casualties on your end are as follows: Spanks (dead), Otter (dead), Rik (dead), Grag, Beco (dead), Mookay, Somnö, Agile, Patsy, Gopher (dead), Noggins (shield break), Spleen (dead), Dofro (dead), Marra, and fourteen Mooks take 1 Damage (killing 7). The Horde is falling… if anyone wants to take an additional hit to save one of the dead, they may do so, though you yourself are not out of danger yet! Noggins’ hammer finally has a worthy wielder. Due to her Ascension, Nailbreaker’s true power activates - when you roll two (or more) of the same number, your final roll is doubled (or tripled, if you roll three of the same number, but good luck with that!) This would have happened to you two or three times in the past, but you didn’t have --- Skronk the Yeller clutched his axe and ground his teeth in anticipation. He felt unduly embarassed by his earlier outburst, though none of them appeared to have noticed (or else were kind enough to fake it), and he took out this embarassment on the Inhabited. They lurched up the stairs, many of them burned or broken or missing limbs from earlier combats. He drove his axe square into one’s forehead and it crumpled. The forehead, not his axe. His axe was doing just FINE! He yanked it out and took off another one’s arm. This wasn’t so hard when there was just a few of them. WIN ROLL He and the others chopped the buggers up and threw them off the balcony again. He watched them fall for a good few seconds before the hit. Some of them got back up and started coming back towards the surviving set of stairs. Skronk snorted and heaved a broken chunk of masonry off the edge. The defenders watched mirthfully as it sank towards a crawling figure - only to miss by inches and shatter against the tiles. The others razzed him then took their turn. Sure beat being outside. (Child’s play! Nice that you're in an easily defensible chokepoint at the top of a tower. Hope the guys outside are doing okay too! They probably are, right?) --- Being outside sucked. Verika the Perceiver hated the Mist, hated the smell of death and the sickly-sweet sap that poured from the wounds on the faceless mob. Right now, that hatred was directed at Lieutenant Knock. The bastard was skilled, amazingly so, but she knew that without his fancy tool he'd be no match for her. She'd caught him out once already, had him dead to rights but for a sudden gust that brought Madmist too close for comfort. When she looked again he was gone - but now he was hunting her. She could feel it. Her skin pricked and she turned to see the flash of his scope, up high and watching her. She flinched… but then it was gone. He'd matched her, one to one. He wanted this duel properly. But she wasn't interesting in showboating. She was part of a team, and meant to employ them. She gathered a group to draw him out, preying on his arrogance the way they had before. She had no doubt he'd see through the ruse, but she only needed him him to hesitate for a second. There! The instant he peeked his head for a shot, she loosed. The Bowharp sang and his head swivelled to face her. Impossibly fast, he brought his weapon to bear on her and fired. WIN ROLL BECAUSE OF ARMOR Her breath hissed through her teeth in alarm as his shot hit first, tearing a hole through her cloak and ricocheting off the armor below. Her arrow hit him a fraction of a second later, skittering off his cheek with enough force to strike a spark off his gas mask. A small fireball woomphed outwards as the Madmist ignited, and he fell from view. His weapon sailed off the roof, bounced once off a hanging sign, and broke neatly in two. She ignored it for now. A smouldering head popped up, looking disoriented, and she loosed another. It disappeared again and she gave chase. She caught up to him on another rooftop by following his trail of blood. His nose was broken and he'd lost a tooth, and the mask was hanging off him loosely… but he grinned at her and winked. He pulled a small iron spike out of chimney next to him, and for a moment she thought it was a weapon. Then she saw a familiar blue thread winding down and away from its tip, off the roof and into the distance. “Well fought. See ya later.”  He winked again, blood leaking from a dozen cuts in his otherwise symmetrical face, and then he was pulled away, rocketing into the north west at a speed that must surely have dislocated his arm. (Finally, Knock is down. Not dead - he won or was unopposed too many times, and was only defeated here by a sliver - but he's off the board. He also dropped his strange weapon; even though it broke, it'll probably be worth keeping for study.) --- Bamboo the Virtuoso strained to keep a neutral smile on her face. Not because she felt sadness - on the contrary, she felt at peace - but because the thread wrapped across her face was uncomfortably tight. She cleared her throat and spoke. quote:“Commander Sikatris, might I offer my congratulations on a battle most artfully staged and executed; worthy of a Master Weaver at the top of her craft. I had suspected that in this game of Cups-N-Ball, you had long since palmed the coin from the table; Grimper and His Horde have no real chance of succeeding, do they?” quote:“They have expended their strength, separated their forces, in reaching the Thumbscrew. Now comes the moment where you close the circle behind them, so that the final slaughter may begin.” quote:“Grimper has been a tyrant and a drunkard; he has overreached in attempting to claim Noostra. Many of The Horde have died due to his decisions; tell me Commander, what fate do you have in store for him? How will you ensure his annihilation? I must know!! I must SEE!!!” LOSE ROLL  Sikatris sighed and picked up a loose thread stretching from Bamboo back to the city. “I didn’t want any of this to happen, really I didn’t. I commend your bravery and resourcefulness in getting this far, and you may even have pulled it off. As I said, only fools assume there is no chance of failure. In another world, another time, you could have taken me by surprise.” The threads around Bamboo began to tighten, cutting off her air supply. Sikatris looked sad, or disappointed, but the Virtuoso was beyond such thoughts now. The last Pawn had been taken. (Sorry lady! Had you beaten her, that would have - if not killed her outright - really messed her up. There was a chance… but it was a small chance, and it was not enough. The Nailbound remain lost and leaderless, and one of them still counts down towards Wendigo-town. Their fate will be left unknown unless they are located and ordered back because they are too dumb to do otherwise.) --- Qwäg the Risk Assessor chewed her lip as Grimper barked orders to her. It was easy to multi-task. His commands were simple affairs like “Console #7, A rotation 20 C, D rotation 25 CC! Readout! Console #3, Readout! Okay, C3 A rotation 15 CC!” And so on. She had bigger things on her mind, and so she let her body and redundant eyes and ears do the Warlord’s busywork. She hefted the changed Lifemask in one hand, then nodded at Splut. When Grimper looked away, she slipped it on her face. At first, she felt noth- -- --- ---- E̛͝R͏҉҉͢R̀O̡͜R̸̡̛̕ ̧͝͞1̴͟͡͞͠5̡͞3̀:̴͟ ̡͜͡I̵̛͜͞N̛͟V͠A̶̡L̛͢͏҉̵I̶͢D́̀ ͠F̵̧̡͜͢I̛҉͢R̶̵̛̀͝M̶Ẃ̡͢͟A̶R͢҉E̶͜͠ ̛̀-͏̷͢ ̀́͜͝Ç̛̀́͡Ò̴̡̕͢R̵̀̕͢͞R̸͡͏̸̴U̵̕͝Ṕ̴T҉͟E̷͝D̸́͜͠ ̢D҉̨R̴͡I̵̡̡̛͟V̸͟͢E̶̶̕͝ ̵̢̛͝͞.̶̷̴̨.̡͢͟͟͠.̵̡̛͢͞ ̛̕͢R̷̕͡E̕͡҉̷̀B̨̡Ó̡͟͜O̕T̨́,̛́ ̸̀̕Y̸͢͡/͏͢͢͝N̡̕͟͡?̛͘҉̷ ̧̨͞.̀͘͝.̧͟͞.̶̧̕͡ ̡́́R̶͝҉̧E҉̸̢҉̕B̵̵̡̛͞Ò̕Ơ̸̧̡T̡́͢,̢̢́́͡ ̸̸Y̶̡͘͠͝/͠͝N̡̡͜?̢͜͡ ̷҉̡.̧.̸̀͢͢͜.̨̨ ̨͟͝Ŗ̴̕͞E͏̷͟͟͞B̨͏̕͝O̡͝Ó̸҉T҉̷͜,̴͞͠ ̶̨͠Ỳ͘͜/̸̨͘N̸̨̧̛͝?̵͢͝ ̧̛.̧͘͡.̛͠.̵̛͡ ͜͞P̸͘R̷҉̶̛O͞͏̷͘Ć̡͡͏҉E̡͠S̴S̸̸̛̕͞ ͞Ą̶̴B͝Ǫ̵̴͜͞R͢͢͏͟T̶̨I͜͏̀͜N̴̷͘̕͜G̢͠͠.̸̵ ̸̡̛̕͠S̵̡E̴̡̢͠E̶҉̨͜͜ ̴̢͝҉͞Ć͘͜L̢͢͢Ơ̷͝ŚE̸͟͠Ş̨͟͜T̶̨̀ ̢̡̢̕͠A̸͠҉D́M̢͠Í҉N͢͡I̸̡͏̸̀ŞT́͜Ŕ̵͟͟͡A̡͡T̵̢̨̀͞O͘R̴̵̷͟ ̸̶̧̡͡F̸̶̢O͢͝R̕͢͞ ̸̨͟D̛͘҉É͞͡T҉̡͘͟A̷̶͢͢Ì͜L̢͘͏S̡͞.̢͠҉͏͘ ͡C̷̡L̢҉͜͞O̴̵̴̡͜S̛҉̢E̵S̵̵͟T̀͜ ̷̛A̸͟D̶̨́́͡Ḿ̵̛͏I̵̧N҉͝I̛͡͡Ś̶͝T̛̛̀́R̸͞҉A͟T͏͢͝O͝҉̶R̸̶̛͢ ̧̀͞͡Ĺ̀͜O̷̷͢͠C̶̴̛͜A̴͟T̸̛͏̢͞E̶̷͏̛Ḑ̵̶͟ ̴͏̶Á̀͡͝T́̕ ̵͢͢͡Á̸̸̛͡┼̵̶̨«̴̡̧͟"́͞╜͜͠φ̷̷̧͢ö͢͏͏◘͢͝͡ ---- --- ---etal taste in her mouth and found she’d bit her tongue. The Mask was inert in her hands, and she could see Splut watching her with concern. She waved him off and shrugged lightly, stowing it for the moment. She’d almost missed a command. She did what he said, but spent her time reading the text scrolling smoothly over her readout. If this really was a major communication hub, valuable reconnaisance could be gleaned from watching it. A nagging feeling in her head resolved into a location, coordinates for the ‘nearest administrator’, whatever the hell that meant. She struggled to ignore it - there were limits to even her multi-tasking. “Console #11 - Qwäg, look alive, this will be a tough one - A rotation 175 CC, F rotation…” WIN ROLL Grimper pumped a fist in triumph and pressed a few nearby buttons. The pillar thrummed with a low energy and the Warlord sent his test message again. After a few seconds, he smiled. Contact. “Alright, we’ve got someone. A few more adjustments before we can make a proper link. You and you…” His voice faded away to somewhere in the background as Qwäg considered what she’d learned. The readouts had not mentioned the Queen or her… Relic at all, which was disappointing but not surprising. They’d killed her, after all, what reason would they have to think about her now? It would just have been very helpful. Not that the data wasn’t helpful in other ways. She thought she understood how the Inhabited worked, now. The Thumbscrew wasn’t controlling them, it was merely acting as… a meeting place? A point of reference? She lacked the vocabulary to describe it. The jist was that the masks were like a… personality that would temporarily control your actions as long as you were wearing it. That ‘personality’ was stripped down almost to nothing, no fear or empathy or anything necessary beyond fighting and movement and senses. They were so simple; she’d caught a peek at their basic ‘thoughts’ - things like ‘if a target is within 50 m, approach at such and such speed’ or ‘if mobility is hampered beyond a certain threshold, play dead’. A huge percentage of their seeming strategy was just these instructions reacting to stimuli and to signals sent to other Inhabited nearby. Strangely, it also seemed to be recording which of these instructions seemed to work best - a quickly incrementing number appended to each described such. She struggled to contain the magnitude of what she’d read - if she and the others could retain the data, she was certain Magda could use it somehow to help them in future struggles against them. For now, she just jotted down all she could remember in her notebook and listened to Grimper’s commands. (Nothing juicy in there right now, I’m afraid. Mostly weather data and status information on the Inhabited forces. From what you can see here, it looks like approximately 60% of the city was converted into Inhabited forces. The rest were either evacuated, sent to other cities already, or - in the case of particular young or particularly old citizens - placed ‘In Stasis’, whatever that means. You learn quite a lot about the Inhabited, but precious little about anything else. It’s like this whole city was being used to test them. Monstrous…)
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Mar 21, 2018 21:52
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It’s a nice day outside. I’m just breaking up this section so you can take a breath or walk around. Lots to read, lots to take in. What’s your favourite food? Mine is probably ramen, as lame as that is. For some reason there’s a really good ramen place where I’m moving, and it’s probably what I’m most excited about. Strange, eh? Anyhow, on with the show. You were warned!
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Mar 21, 2018 21:53
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Jö and Snödis continued their adventure deeper into the city. This far from the action the sounds of battle dropped away, leaving their walk in a deep silence. They crunched through a thin layer of red dust as they went - the Madmist needed a certain level of moisture to be active, and this far from the emitter it was starting to dry out. It looked just like dust or pebbles, but the crunched lightly, like seeds or lichen. Neither of them opted to play with it. Snödis wanted to go to a prison, so the Butcher led onwards. Noostra was a rich town full of rich people, but even those places had drunkards, violent outbursts, duels, and pickpockets. The nearest prison was a smallish affair, holding only a few dozen prisoners, but it would suffice for her purposes. Jö led the way while chatting about Noostra. Snödis only half listened, partly out of disinterest and partly out of a faint sadness. Whatever happened here today, whoever ended up winning, the Noostra that Jö remembered was gone. Hell, soon enough Jö would be gone. She could sense these things, after spending so much time with the Wendigos. Wendi-Jö wouldn’t be nearly as pliable without a Brand, and Grimper wasn’t around to apply one. He led onwards. WIN ROLL VS. ??? They headed into the jail and looked around. Most of the cells were empty, though a handful had those strange chrysalids they’d seen elsewhere. The room was covered in red dust, but otherwise things had been put away neatly. The cabinets were locked. By prying open a door, they found a few telescoping batons left hanging on the wall of what was probably an armory. Not a need for heavy weaponry in a ‘civilized’ place, they supposed. Jö had a coughing fit, red mist trickling out of the corners of his mouth. Snödis rolled her shoulders awkwardly. Maybe he’d just die and this would be easier for both of them? (Jö’s Wendigo countdown ticks over next turn. What’s the plan?) --- Starn the Sieger watched the Horde fall against the seemingly endless swarms of Inhabited with something like annoyance. Sure, he didn’t want his allies to die, but looking at it pragmatically, he could just see the numbers working against them. Sure, the Horde was stronger individually, but when they were outnumbered, that advantage disappeared. When Hordemates died, their Glory disappeared with them, weakening the Horde abstractly and weakening Grimper (if he understood this correctly) literally. And more importantly, weakening his Breakerfly at the same time. Unleashing its power would harm it, maybe even kill it, but unless he acted quickly he wouldn't have much to unleash. He told everyone to brace for another run and they cheered him. He patted Flutter on the head (ignoring a hail of tiny scales that fell off when he did so) and looked around for that rude-rear end Sniper. Seeing him gone, killed, or distracted, he rose once more, the drumming from below pulsing in his heart. Time to roll the dice. WIN ROLL (and how!)  Flutter unleashed an outrageous gout of flame, blasting most of the attackers apart or reducing them to greasy smears on the suddenly-bubbling floor. Despite a few uncomfortable sounding cracks, the Breakerfly was alive! Starn felt a grateful warmth that he was certain was merely for the continued tactical usefulness of the creature and certainly not out of any affection. It kept flying low to the ground, the stream of neon vomit destroying another score of the bastards. He made several passes before the power died out, guttering out like a doused fire. Starn could hear Flutter straining, and took him down gently to rest. The beast had done well, very well. He patted it on the head soothingly, then looked up at the tower. All right, Grimper, they’d done their part. Now he had to do his. (Flutter (and the others fighting on ground level, who deserve credit as well) savaged the Inhabited forces, driving them back. They kicked so much rear end, in fact, that the excess damage spillover from the other part of the Horde is reduced from 7 to 2, only hitting Vist (whose shield soaks the damage and holds) and a Mook for 1 Damage and killing neither.) Carrying on the momentum, Dack the Athlete and Gabber the Mimic pushed into the alley that Portha had been so kind to clear of Mist. A few burning soldiers rushed to block them, but the Horde would not be denied! Dack laughed, holding his Boarlet close to his chest with one hand and vaulting off his chair with the other. He landed on an Inhabited elbow first, crushing him against the pavement. Moments later Gabber did the same, his movements perfectly mimicking Dack’s (within the limitations of his anatomy) in order to hit another. They fought. WIN ROLL And then, somehow, they managed to scrape through. They threw the broken bodies of their foes into an alley and covered them with garbage just for good measure, then ran through the open path! (The Horde has some room to move, now! This will both reduce casualties from combat and allow you guys to spread out a bit towards an eventual exit. Don’t worry, not much longer. Once Grimper sends his message he has a plan that will surely work and save you all!) --- As they followed their Warlord's commands, the central pillar came to life. Lights lit and faded, knobs spun wildly on their own, and the whole structure seemed to creak. Grimper laughed avuncularly at their sudden concern. “It's the tower itself - it's flexing to get a better signal. Keep going!” He looked happy, manic now, but with a furious purpose burning behind his eyes they'd not seen since his beatdown at Fostis. Suddenly, a pure, keening tone tore through them all, causing them to reflexively cover their ears - and then it stopped so immediately they thought they'd gone deaf. Only Grimper's satisfied “Ah.” let them know that things had gone right and that connection had been made. Across half the world, the Thumbscrew had associated itself with a twin in the Töan capital. The small taste of home touched something that had calcified deep inside them… but then the moment passed. Sucy flipped the Ring about in her fingers nervously, waiting for the right opportunity to watch the exchange. If she guessed correctly, it would be very 'loud’, but the others were depending on her to translate. Without her, they'd only have Grimper's word on what went down, and he was… untrustworthy. Grimper cracked his knuckles, then began twisting knobs and pressing buttons so quickly that his hands were a bright pink blur. Sucy fumbled the Ring in surprise and by the time she put it on she'd missed the preamble. <-amn good to see you're alright. Our TSR boys tell me you're in Noostra, for some drat reason. Don't tell me you stopped to have a bite to eat on your way to the Gateway?>  <No sir. The Unexpectables and I breached the Sun Gate and took it.> <You WHAT? Grimper, you rogue! They'll give you a medal for that - maybe two! I can only imagine the look on their pompous red faces when you kicked down the door. I've been there, you know, before - all this. A diplomatic affair at one of their ghastly operas. The sight of their fat, rich faces turned my stomach.> <Sir, I have important reconnaisance to relay. If you’d just-> <Well I hope it’s good news, we sorely need some out here. The push on the Fröman capital has hit some hiccups.> <Yes, and things will get a lot worse soon; my Horde happened upon the Monsterist prison, Nägel, and discovered evidence of a massive expansion of the Inhabited program. They’ve gotten it working. I’ve seen them in action.> <So have I.> <Following that raid, we faced off against Agenou the Dancer and terminated him. I sustained severe damage in the battle but my Horde performed admirably. A full report of the conflict is attached to this message. I suffered catastrophic damage to my right hand, fracturing my Gauntlet Harmonizer - a story with an amusing ending, perhaps later.>Grimper chuckled. “I wish I could have seen the ‘Breakerfly’ work. I can only see glimpses of it from here…” <Later, Breaker-09.> <A hard march led us through Oxnyard, where we faced and killed Jaune the Wall with little difficulty. Report appended. From there, we pierced Noostra’s defenses and entered the city. It was a trap, naturally, but the scale of the trap was unbelievable. Sikatris the Thread-> <Oh, she’s a handful.> <...yes. Sikatris the Thread Inhabited a large portion of the population and sent them out against us. She also deployed Madmist, to which the Inhabited were immune due to their nature. We are currently fortified adjacent to the Thumbscrew itself. Post this message, I will collapse the Relay with a Wailing Nail and evacuate. Horde casualties have exceeded optimal limits - reinforcements would be appreciated.> <We have sleeper agents in Teret, Ohl, and Sinter. Don’t expect an army - you’re deep in enemy territory. Make due with what you have or Bind some prisoners, you’ll have to work-> <I’m sorry sir, you mentioned earlier you’d seen the Inhabited in action?> <Yes. Yes I did.> <I’m sorry, but how? Production of the process was confirmed to take place down here. Did you-> <The Inhabited are here, Grimper. They sent them up, somehow. The Capital began to deploy them against us nearly a week ago. They’re pushing us back.>  “What!? How the hell did they get there?” He kicked a nearby console, smashing it to bits before he wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead and turned back to the pillar. <What!? How the hell did they get there?> <They were sent. Rumour has it that the Gateway fortress unearthed some drat Oh-Gee relic that let them Oops that’s enough of that for now, I’ll just snip this out and now they’re here far ahead of schedule.> <Sir, there’s some sort of interference on the I’m Grimper and I have bad breath> <What are you babbling about noI’m a Regency Councilman and I seem to have benefitted heavily since the assassination that’s not weird at all talking madness. Keep heart, only you and your men are embedded enough to die out here far away from your homes for old men who don’t care a whit for you> <...Sikatris? You know it, Breaker.> <What’s…> <CUT THE FEED CUT THE FEED CUT THE FEE->  Grimper’s back arched and his eyes went wild as a network of blue threads winding up and around the pillar blazed into azure flames. Sucy stiffened as she saw words and light curling off them and into the etherial connection between Noostra and the Regency Councilman in Frö’s capital. They words looked strangely familiar - instructions? <|||Inhabited System Update Push|||-hat’s going on? Grimper! Are you alright!?> <
Inhabited Combat Data Uploaded - Combat Value now 52
Inhabited Combat Data Uploaded - Combat Value now 54  Grimper tore the pillar down entirely, screaming incoherently and snapping the threads that had bound it. “drat her! drat her!” He drew out the Nail that he’d prepared and held it aloft in shaking fingers. Tightly packed script engraved in miniscule letters glowed pink, then red, as he brought it to bear. “I’ll kill everyone she loves! I’ll tear down this whole loving city! My Horde, stand away, and witness - with this Wailing Nail, I will kill every last man, woman and child in the city. Let the scar of thousands of death curse her trickery forever, and may my hatred for her people be known across Frö!” Sucy gasped and snapped the Ring back on instinctively. The Nail was clearly visible in the black world, the shape of it clearly demarcated against the darkness in stark denial of the normal way of things. She shouldn’t be able to see it, here, but it blazed like the sun, and she could ‘see’ the hatred suffusing it. She ‘knew’ that it would infect the network here, would piggyback onto the datastream that the Inhabited fed into and kill them outright. And not just them - every citizen that remained within Noostra’s walls would be stricken down. The city would become a charnel house. Still in the dark world, she relayed the message to the other eleven up here. They needed to know. They needed to choose. Choose, because she felt like she could reach out and touch it, could unravel it entirely or partially. It would come with a cost, a cost she wasn’t sure she was up to paying. She ‘knew’ all of this, and she told the others. They had seconds to act.  Snödis and Jö’s Bogus Adventure [No Banner] You have to do something.
He’s going to kill them all. Everyone. But maybe that’s fine? They are the enemy, after all.
What the hell is going on? They’re going crazy out there! But they also look distracted - maybe it’s time to get the hell out of here. Whatever Grimper’s doing clearly happened, whether or not it worked out how he wanted. Maybe you should just panic!
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Mar 21, 2018 21:53
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    (d6+3)Gado!!! Skill: Digging (+35), Climbing (+10), Mining (+10 avaliable next turn) HP: 2/2 Glory: 9->10 Mutation Countdown: [x] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] Wrenching the Bone Tö Pick out of the face of one of the inhabited, Gado wipes it clean and stows it again. Grimper was yelling about someting, but that was hardly new and the digger was still feeling pretty sluggish from his ordeals. Taking a seat on a rather cushy console chair he leans back and with an eye toward Grimper Lets Him do whatever he needed to do. quote:Gado could probably be persuaded to MURDER, but otherwise he has no qualms about this. Can't loot a city that hasn't been genocided!
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Mar 21, 2018 22:33
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     HP:3/3 Glory:47 Bluffing +20 (Cooldown) Charm +25 (Using) Camouflage +10 Ritual Glory:0 Infiltrator Captain "Warlord, that isn't right." The Infiltrator Captain spoke up, clearly, his voice the first to break the silence. "There are no men, women and children in Noostra. There can't be, or the Mist would have gotten them. There are only soldiers, Inhabited, and weapon stockpiles. The Inhabited have to be stopped, not just as a military force, but as a concept: Mass-mobilising civilians into soulless war machines is pure, unmitigated evil. We have a chance to excise and expunge that evil here and now, send a message to Sikatris and her psychotic peers that the world will not stand by whilst they conduct such horrible experiments upon their own people. Because of the Inhabited, there is no longer such a thing as a Fröman civilian, and this entire city is a legitimate, purely military target. We have to wipe them all out, not out of hatred or revenge, but because allowing the Inhabited atrocity to continue is the greatest crime we could commit here. This is a righteous act, the correct course of action, but let the records show that as our reasoning rather than emotion." Using Charm to convince Grimper and the others of the Dozen that obliterating Noostra is a righteous and necessary act because of the Inhabited: 1d100+72 163 Splut, for his own reasons, is a loyalist: He's not going to let you stop Grimper if he can help it. Purging the Inhabited is a message that needs to be sent.
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Mar 21, 2018 22:53
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     Extra Skillcores: Fashion +25, Secretly Murdering Innocents HP: 3/3 (3 wire) Glory: 27->28 Ignomity: -9 Ritual Glory: 1 and here they were. Prison. Or what passed for one in a sleepy Fröian city such as Noostra. Just in time, by the damp look of Jö's skin and the bulging of his veins. Now, she could just order him inside one of the cells, lock the doors and be off, safe and sound and with no one ever the wiser. She could have done that, in truth. But she didn't. Instead she looked him dead on in the eyes and began to speak. Jö. Thank you for everything. For helping me find lintel on the enemy commanders, for showing me around, for taking the time out of your day to help me look for my boyfriend. I know that Nail has bound you, is forcing you to obey, but something about you tells me you would have done it either way. And that is makes what is about to happen to you all the greater. Truly, I couldn't be more happy for you, but even I must acknowledge that the way it will happen, well, its wrong. You will be an accident, Jö. A happy one, but as with everything these past few weeks, not one by your own deeds or choice. Your body is about to change. Hormones, enzymes, glands and organs. Eyes in new and wonderful places. You will become better, stronger, fiercer. But in a place such as this? With a sizzling nail stuck to your forehead, with a only somewhat useful lunatic running the army you were unwillingly conscripted into? I fear it might be too much. Not to mention the cursed madmist that cakes this awful place, turning our glorious future against us. <Snödis sighs and looks over at the toybox.> Hand me that breaker-doll, will you? Thanks. It pains me to do this, but if you are ever to see Ewön again, if I'm ever to see my Tö-Päin, I need you alive and stronger than ever. But also I need you compliant. Docile, branded. Fighting fire with fire to give the flames a chance to burn. So if you would just sit down and follow my instructions, I'm sure we can get through this together. / First we take The Breakers Hand Inscribing Here That Awful Brand With Nail and Claw Upon your Skin The Ritual May Now Begin / <With great strain, Snödis wields the Breakerdoll like a hammer, using one of her fashionable breastplates' plentiful Fail-nails as a chisel. Using these items, she attempts to carve the traces painted on the (hopefully highly accurate) toy-harmonizer gauntlet onto Jö's exposed flesh, all the while imparting to him her knowledge of the / The Second Step it goes as follows That deep inside your Fröan hollows The spores of madmist we now hallow lest be future; bleak and mellow / < Continuing her strange blood-letting scarification, Snödis keeps three out of her four eyes peeled for any sudden movements on Jös part, and the last one on the nearby cell door. > / Accept the change Embrace the mutant Overcome what Frö have plot Break your chains... and then build new ones chained to me, like it, or not. / Disapproving Poetry to Off-Brand Jö: 1d100+30+27-9 = 57 Whatever happened next, Snödis would watch over him until the end. After that? She would probably book it, before an angry Wendingo burst out of the cage she had put him in. But let none say she did not try, thought Snödis. Not that anyone would ever know.
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Mar 21, 2018 23:32
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is being handed off to Gabber for now. Name: Dack Skills: A̵̕t̷͢͡͏̡h̷͟͡͏ļ̵̶̧̀ę̷̢͡t̨̧͘i̵̕҉̴͡c̢͘͜͠s͏̨́̕ (Using), Ą̀͠c̵̢͡͠͏r̴̸̛͝͡o͘͢͜͡b͜à̵̡̕t̷̢̀͜i̸̸͞c͘͟s̀͜͟, Laughing +25 (used last round) Unused Skillcores: E̸n͜҉̛͡ģ̛̕i̡̕͟͡͠n̢͘͢e̶͝e̵̵̡͢ŗ̕͏í̶̧͞͡n҉̴̢́̕g̷̛͢ HP: 1 Glory: 28>29 Dack gave a thumbs-up to Gabber after they managed to clear a path. Who knew mutes made such good partners? Suddenly, all of the Inhabited started acting strange (more so than usual, anyways). Something was probably happening up in the relay, so the time to get the hell out of this city was approaching fast. But there was still something that needed to be done, as the Neötype Squad's Captain had yet to join back up with the Horde. Wordlessly handing off Boarealis to Gabber and giving the Knight a salute, Dack set off in the direction Snödis had disappeared in. He made sure to travel on top of the roofs whenever he could, but there was still a very real risk of leaping headfirst into madmist if he wasn't careful. Still, who the hell would lead the Neötypes if Snödis was gone? If the answer was no one, then what would happen to Dack and the other Wendigoes? Grimper clearly only tolerated them because it seemed Captain Snödis could "control" Dack and the others, and most everyone else still seemed to follow the Warlord's advice of looking upon the Branded Wendigoes with pity. Snödis was definitely odd at best, but at least she actually valued the Wendigoes. There was no way Dack could leave his Captain behind enemy lines while the rest of the Unexpectables escaped. Going after Captain Snödis: 1d500+50+28 239 Safe from Madmist.
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Mar 21, 2018 23:47
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   Pythag HP: (3) of (3) Skills: * +10 Math (available) * +10 Headshotting (available) * +15 Fearlessness (available) * +10 Honor (uninstalled) Equipment: * +5 Armor * Iron Shield * Bowharp * Arrow Flatpack * +10 Feral Warboar (outside) Cosmetics * Nail and Fist Token Glory: 18>19 Ritual Glory: 1 The Lord of Hats posted:"Pythag! I want you to head inside, I don't know what you'll find, but I trust you to figure out how to deal with it! The Captain's last orders continued to resonate with Pythag. What would she do in this situation? To see the blatant hatred of the Warlord writ large. Splut's words cut across the din of the moment, and as always, the Infiltrator spoke a moment of truth, followed by an epoch of deceit. The only option? The only recourse to kill everyone? He was wrong. This wouldn't send a message, wouldn't teach a lesson. Everyone who had chosen to place those masks on had done so understanding the stakes. They would have come to terms with death already. No - the destruction of an entire city would likely be a rallying cry. How many more would leap at the chance to serve their nation when the alternatives were simply death? "Sucy! We have to stop thinking of this like a mission. Grimper is lost to it. This isn't about a gate anymore. It's about winning a war. It's not the people here, it's not even us that are the key. It's the data." Pythag was across the room, next to the ringbearer. "We need that data more than Sikatris does. Every conflict, every fight - they are all adding up to more and more intel, more and more battlefield advantage for the Inhabited." "Modify the data. Send it all through the 'Screw to our twin tower. Cut off Sikatris' stream to it. She's been one step ahead of us this whole conflict! There's no blue thread connecting her to Grimper, but do you think that's her only option for controlling a fool?" "Insert something she can't find into the orders and let it ride. We'll fight our way out as best we can. But even if we don't make it, it means our Queendom might when they get the inside look at how these things operate, and how they can be twisted." "Sucy, I'm begging you, Break Down That Data!" Barbed Tongues fucked around with this message at 01:09 on Mar 22, 2018 |
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Mar 22, 2018 00:56
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Potrait:      Naim: Mason Skillz: Mason Hootin' an' Hollerin' +15 Mason MasonryMasonFlailing +25 HeeP: Mason Mason Mason Glury: Masonx8 -> 9 A perfectly sane, smart person would be running right now. But Mason wasn't sane, nor very smart. Mason was Mason. Mason was Unexpectable too. "C'mon ye fukin HOARD, DEW WUT YE WER MAID TEW DEW!!! FAIIIIIIIIIIGHT" Mason finishes up another bottle of hooch and flips off the Inhabited before slashing them in the face with his reedblade, flailing once more! Flailing through the nearby Inhabited - again!: 1d100+33 +1 reedblade 79
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Mar 22, 2018 01:30
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Name: Jö, the Nailed Fostis Butcher Skills: Butchery (using), Impatience +15 (CD) , Clouting HP: 3/3 Glory: 9 > 10 Roll Modifiers: -9 all rolls Must obey all orders: Immune to orders from Hob Wife: Söndra Daughters: Ewön: Age 5, Ami: Age 3 Squad: Neötype Items: -War Drum (STOLEN, meant for Ewön [with Grumbus atm] )-Froman Sword +1 -Belmysut Guard Uniform +1 -Killer Koffin +2 -Baby Boarlet -Fancy Medal -Sack o' Dolls (Jaune's is for Ami!) Wendigo Clock: 1 >  Jö did as the Captain asked. Sitting down in a cell, he allowed her to begin face painting him. His daughters loved the face painting at the yearly fair- they liked being Jaune and Sikatris - and his wife was fairly good at doing his Höllöween face masks. It was calming for him, brought Jö some good memories. The poetry was also helpful. He felt terrible after his exposure to the gas, but Snödis was doing something to help. So Jö sat back and let what was going to happen, to happen. Occasionally, Jo used his knowledge of muscles to help Snodis guide her face painting to more natural positions. Perhaps it helped? Helping with sigil: 1d100-9+10+10+9 91 Wendijö?: 1d10 5 Slaan fucked around with this message at 04:27 on Mar 22, 2018 |
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Mar 22, 2018 02:17
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            Name: Verika HP: 2/2 Skills: Perception +30 (active), Sniping +15 (cooling), Smithing +55 Equipment: Fröman Cuirass (+1), Iron Shield, Arrow Flatpack, Ornate Bowharp (+2), Ruddy Charger, Blixthäst (+5) Cosmetics: Nail and Fist Token, Agenou's Cape Sash, Sikatris Scarf, Basker Cloak, Slightly-Cracked Telescope, Jaune's Broken Nails Glory: 19 -> 20 Ritual Chits: 2 -> 3 (artwork bonus) Noostra (Part 11): Drat - drat drat drat! The enemy's Gob-forsaken sniper had shot at her and managed to get away with it! Verika fumed. It was utterly infuriating that she'd managed to score a direct head shot on the ruddy Fröman but the arrowhead had only glanced off the target's masked face, igniting the Madmist around him. Such a shame that burst of flame didn't kill him! At the very least, she'd managed to remove the enemy's deadly marksman from his sniper's perch and to disarm him of his OG-tech weaponry in the process. Now where had that infernal ranged device landed? Verika had seen it fall and bounce off a sign, breaking in two when it hit the ground. Now it was just a matter of getting to the pieces before they got trampled underfoot... Verika retrieves the two broken halves of Lieutenant Knock's OG weapon.  //  Verika's Smithing core wasn't even active, but just from holding it she could tell she could stand to learn a thing or two from the craftsmanship of this marksman's machine. There wasn't time for that right now, however! Verika could see that the Horde needed her help in staying aware of the omnipresent dangers surrounding them. She flexed her Perception skillcore and felt the relative speed of the world slow down around her. She could see everything going on before her, heard everything in the constant clash and clamor of battle, punctuated by cries of triumph and piercing screams of bloody death. She could feel, smell, and taste the sick seeping ichors of battle, tinged with blood and sweat and viscera. They were going to win out the day, and yet they've lost so many along the way... The only thing there was to do was to hold the line and stem the tide, to quell the endless hell of this Inhabited assault. Verika nocked arrow and got to it. Verika Versus the Inhabited - Fight Them All!: 1d100+30+19+7+10 150 Lux Anima fucked around with this message at 11:07 on Apr 7, 2018 |
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Mar 22, 2018 04:16
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  Name: Waesh Skills: Piracy +20, Grappling +10 HP: 3/3 Glory: 9 -> 10 "Aye, Captain Grimper." Waesh nods along with Splut's speech. "With all the mist about, the only things remaining in this town are more Inhabited monsters and us. Get rid of these bastards for all of us back at the base of the tower!" He stands by, ready to hold back anyone who would do something so stupid as attack Grimper. He didn't expect anyone to, but there were definitely some rebellious elements among the Unexpectables... Grapple hostiles away from Grimper: 1d100+10+10 92
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Mar 22, 2018 05:13
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   Name: Portha Skills: Rummaging (cooldown), Cleaning (in use), Imagining HP: 3/3 Glory: 17 Portha considered retreating down the alley now that Knock was dealt with, but people were still fighting the Inhabited and she'd feel guilty if she left them to die. It was time to clean out the last of the resistance. It was too dangerous to fire the crossbow right now, so she picked up a pushbroom lying against a market stall and began shoving down distracted inhabited until it broke and then started jabbing them with the pointed stick the handle had become after breaking. Mob cleanup duty: 1d100+27 118
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Mar 22, 2018 05:21
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"Huhm," said Humbug, in a short little gasp of surprise. The knowledge Sucy had dumped on them resonated within him and his skillcore - HIS skillcore - immediately span off on so many pointless thoughts and tangets - Mystery solved! Mystery solved! It all made nonsense now! - that his mind half blanked out and collapsed into white noise. Body moving on near autopilot, he pushed back the chair he'd been sitting in and rose to his feet to face the screaming Warlord. In the space between moments, he found himself thinking of the old days. He missed the Capitol. Its varied streets, broad and narrow, the markets with their smells and sights and sounds. The packed tenement structures of Old Tö-Town, cramped and slummy, but still home to some of the fiercest, proudest people he'd ever known. He even missed his crabby old landlady, Martha the Mither, which had him faintly recognize how badly he'd gone off of the deep end. He snorted, and closed his eyes to picture it all better. He'd grown up in a rough neighbourhood in the Old-Tö district. Yet unlike the hoods of his 'hood, he'd kept his nose clean. A good boy, from a good, if poor, family, trying to make it good. They'd been proud of him when he'd found a place in the Watch - said he made their street safer, and the pay had added to their income, which was a different kind of safety. They'd been prouder still when his skillcore had grown in and he'd been promoted to work under Watch Captain Badbrass himself. Bit of a bastard of a boss, but the Tö was a minor legend. Not necessarily a nice legend, mind, but it had still been respect by association. The Sleuth turned and opened his eyes to look at Splut, who was already speaking up to justify Grimper's unjustifiable action. Humbug smiled, snorting again, and envied the right bastard - the scoundrel would be legendary too, soon enough. Not that Humbug'd listen to him. He was a patriot too, but he was Old Tö-Town-style patriot, and not an idiot besides. It wasn't as if he could pretend this was only for the good of the nation. Not with the Queen murdered. Not when he was so sure there were other people perverting that greater good for their own ends. Not when he was wondering if this still might just be another piece of Sikatris' plan. Not when Gränïs and Bäbïs... all over town. No. It wasn't right. Splut had it there. The Wailing Nail had been made long before Sikatris' trap had triggered Grimper's rage. Humbug grabbed his hat and pressed it down over his ears, shutting out Splut's rhetoric and stepped forward. He'd heard it all before, anyway. In Watch Captain Badbrass' eyes there had at least been a bitter, mad gleam of satisfaction, despite his empty words, on the day Humbug left the Watch. Perhaps he'd been happy that there, at last, had been consequences. Maybe he had hoped a willful young fellow would make waves, would dig deep and hard, scare out the right people, break enough legs and make them pay for what they'd done. For the investigation they'd shuttered, the gag orders they'd placed, the pride they'd wounded, the district they'd nearly killed, and the people in it. If so, Humbug had been a pitiful failure. He'd spent the last five years since the Outbreak in Old Tö-Town putzing about, recovering his wits, solving mysteries to make a name and a brand, and chasing down rich ladies' lost pets to make rent on his office-apartment - he had to live somewhere, after all. The old home street lay in ruins and Old Tö-Town being Old Tö-Town, it'd been repaired and bricked over in mere months. New faces had replaced the old and the street no longer felt like home to Humbug, Sleuth Extraordinaire. Whatever the Watch Captain had seen in him that day hadn't born fruit. Humbug, though he'd been sore, hadn't set off on some great mission of vengeance. He was just an honest lad wanting out after the Watch had proved complicit, guilty by association for refusing to let him dig deeper into whatever mad Madmist thing had gone down that day, and guilty for only stepping in to save Old Tö-Town at the last minute and only due to the Watch Captain's exhaustive exhorting - and actual extorting. They'd rather have burned it all down, which was the worse betrayal for a local boy. When the Sleuth left he had known he'd never again be a Watchtö. He'd known it in his gut, where his skillcore had rumbled with a feeling of butterflies burrowing in his stomach. He'd had known it all the harder from the way his hard-earned Respect had shed from him like leaves from an autumn tree the moment he left the Watch Captain's office. But at least he'd been free to do his own thing - free from working for the very institution that had failed him. Free to heal, free to fail, free to fumble, be humbled, be Humbug. Humbug looked at Grimper and searched deep inside. He found the old anger and fury he'd used back then, buried, but not gone. The numb frustration and loss that he'd felt. The useless hypotheses he'd formed. All the hideously complex conspiracies he'd speculated might exist, just so he'd have a guilty party to pin to a wall, yell at and break. All the hard feelings he had flung in the face of his Watch Captain, but, at the end of the day had decided to, sanely and reasonably, shrug off and ignore and replace with a thirst for cracking murders and mysteries - to do some good. He'd moved on with his life. It was what they would have wanted for him, those good people, and Humbug, for all his flaws, was his poor parents' child. One of the Good ones, fölk said, while nattering on how pointless that was, this day and age. He fumbled at his belt, grabbed a pouch and tossed it at Gado. It felt right. -----> 10 GLORY TRANSFERRED TO GADO The Sleuth stepped forward towards Grimper and reached inside to stack old outrage on new and reached to his shoulder and seized on his first Nail and felt the heat in his voice as he said "This is Humbug, Warlord, and I Quit." Two for two, he thought, before Waesh, rightly suspicious, piled on him. ----> ACTION QUIT LOCKING GLORY -----> USE SUBMISSION HOLDS CORE ON TARGET COORDINATE -----> RIP OUT NAIL #1, CORE OVERRIDE TRACEBACK SOURCE TARGET COORDINATE -----> RIP OUT NAIL #2, CORE OVERRIDE TRACEBACK SOURCE TARGET COORDINATE -----> RIP OUT NAIL #3, CORE OVERRIDE TRACEBACK SOURCE TARGET COORDINATE Skill: Sleuthing +20 (Used), Watching +20 (), Submission Holds (Using). HP: 2/3 Sucy's choice can be her Sophie's choice. Humbug's off earning pathos points, which are like glory points, except not useful and maaaay come with a slight chance of death. Submission Holds to arrest Grimper's Nail-arm: 1d100+10 100
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Mar 22, 2018 07:02
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He'd feared this might happen. Stepping in to intercede, he took the Sleuth's notes out of the interior pocket he'd placed them into as requested earlier and held them up. Quietly, with a soft intensity and strong conviction, "Humbug, if you get yourself killed here, Old Tö-town will never receive the justice it needs. Live, for their sake if nothing else."
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Mar 22, 2018 08:40
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Cosmetic Items: Name: Neebs Skill(s): Sales (+15) (using this turn) Drinking (+20) (on cooldown) Surgery (+15) HP: 2/3 Glory: 15 + 1 posting glory => 16 "My friends, I see many of you are thinking about Grimper here; thinking he's off his rocker. But from the short time we have spent in Noostra: the Frömen have released madmist...MADMIST...into their own city. We haven't encountered a single man, woman, or child that isn't part of the war-effort; we've encountered nothing BUT Inhabited. This city became a valid war-target when Frö removed every shred of Frömanity from this place. I have the sinking feeling that if we don't stand by our nation's powers-that-be, Frö will wipe Tö off the map. For your countrymen, let all of this brick, mortar and the monsters dwelling within be laid to ruin. There is nothing the Frömen will not do, no line they will not cross. We must at least make them pay, even if we're bound to lose the war. As sick as this level of destruction might be; ultimately Frö started this war by killing our Queen; we must make them remember our nation somehow." Attempting to sell the other Unexpectables in the tower to hold fast to Grimper's plan: Don’t Let Them Stop Him: (1d100ro2e100)+15+15! 64
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Mar 22, 2018 11:40
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\ Name: Gryph HP: 3/3 Glory: 23 => 24 Skill: Medicine (20), Wrestling (10), Gryph's head was low as the Commander raged, his ears barely hearing Grimper's rant as he pushed and worked the buttons. Sucy's messages worked their way through his head, every part of the conversation registering. Sikatris was here. In the conversation. Grimper pulled a nail from his clothing and Gryph's stomach churned as his epithets grew. We can't do this. "Splut posted:Purging the Inhabited is a message that needs to be sent. Neebs posted:"We must at least make them pay, even if we're bound to lose the war. As sick as this level of destruction might be; ultimately Frö started this war by killing our Queen; we must make them remember our nation somehow." Gryph turned as they began speaking. "You're wrong. The madmist hasn't spread throughout the city. The North is still clear. And the civilians wouldn't leave without their children. If you can promise me, without a shadow of a doubt, that there's no innocents here, then fine, kill 'em all. But you can't because there's still a chance. And I can't stand by." The rest of his speech was interrupted as Humbug tossed a glory pouch to Gado. His shoulders squared, Humbug's walk was that of the condemned, yet determined as ever. He's going to get himself killed. Gryph's eyes widened and then he was running,his hands going for Humbug's back. I've never done this before... only ever seen it. But he had to try. Sucy, I can't make you do this. I can't stop you. But I can't stand by. Modify or Unravel it, kill as many inhabited as you can near us, but don't let Noostra die. To Nerve Pinch! Turn off Humbug non-lethally: 1d100+20+22 63
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Mar 22, 2018 13:24
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Beside Gryph as they both interceded, He offered, "I can promise you, absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt, that there is no opportunity for any Frö in the entirety of Noostra to be considered innocent. Our enemy is not going to stop Inhabiting their people, turning every last one of their former civilians into a weapon or a weapon in potentia, and even their children will grow up, reach maturity, and live in a world where the expectation is to put on a mask and fight for the glory of this vile, murderous empire. They are all complicit in the Madmist, in the Inhabited and in even worse crimes: I didn't see Wendigoes, so either they're not there at all or they knew the Mist was coming and were prepared for it, stripping them of any pretence of innocence."
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Mar 22, 2018 13:50
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Cosmetic: Name: Hob HP 2/2 Glory: 13>14 Ritual Glory : 1 Skill: Singing(using), Contortion+15, Butterfly Riding+20(cooling) More died. It was a numbers game, and Oh Gees they had numbers. At least the people in the tower with Grimper would be safe. They were massing again, ready to push. Too few. More people were needed, more bodies, more more more. Where was flitter? Where was Söndra? Where was Bamboo? They had skeddadled to the left as they approached, which narrowed them down to... Around a quarter of this massive city. Great. If they weren't already dead, they were hopelessly lost. But he had to try, right? Those ten could be the difference between someone living and dying, could sway the numbers in their favour. The banner, just what he needed. He set off to the south west. There was no chance of finding them there. Too big, too sprawling. But away from the front lines, where the sounds of battle were distant... 🎶Uuuunexpectables🎶 🎶where are youuuu🎶 🎶Uuuunexpextables🎶 🎶you're lost it is true🎶 🎶Bamboo, Flitter,🎶 uuuh 🎶all the ooothers🎶 Erm 🎶laaaaa🎶 If only his singing core helped with convincing lyrics. Well, Snodis could help with tha- focus! He stood on Gawp's back and unhooked the flag from it's strap. Waving it about high above the city, he was visible from miles around. Maybe even visible to the missing nailbound? Hob listened out for the shouts of his missing hordemates, looked for motion and flashes of blue from above the city. Look for the missing nailbound, sing to get their attention.: 1d100+13+10+1 104 🎶Uuuunexpectables, Hey!🎶 WereGoat fucked around with this message at 17:29 on Mar 22, 2018 |
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Mar 22, 2018 14:51
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