Lugubrious — Roleplayer Guild

<Snipped quote by Lugubrious>
yes, I'm Kazuma

If she takes the red pill does she wake up in reality where robots farm people for electricity.

references aside, when you mention the swarm queen talking about her experiments while fighting, I assume that would mean she has kept some of the former victims of her mutagen serum about so that she can, well, talk about them as they try to murder her enemies.

edit: also will you be interjecting GM posts between the players npc rounds if they are appropriate? Commentary, neutral mob actions, pill results etc.@DracoLunaris

You've got a sharp eye.  Clotho does have victims around, but not anywhere near where she currently is.

I didn't plan to make interjections, but I might, mostly for NPCs that I made.  Most everything is in the hands of the writing player, including neutral mob actions and so forth.  With the combat, after all, it's on the player to make a good, exciting, interesting story.  However, for things that the player couldn't possibly know like pill results, I can answer any questions via PMs and you can weave the information I give you into your own post, without an interjection being necessary.

The Lady in White

Location: Justice Hub
@Lazo

In the space of a moment, what had been shaping up to be an ordinary encounter transformed into a standoff between the badger and the elf.  Neither party, having little to no knowledge about the other's capabilities, seemed eager to throw herself at her opponent.  It fell to Oren, then, to break the ice.  From a perfect position to view the proceedings, a voice blared down, “So, who will it be?  Will the fearsome sharpshooter incinerate her opponent in this firefight?  Or will the coming winter spell an early hibernation for our intrepid little badger?  Oh, I can hardly wait!”  Grinning wildly, the announcer pumped a fist.  “Alright, ladies.  Fire at will!”

The God Hand

Location: the School
@GreenGoat

At first, the anons scattered across the first floor lobby did no more than stare.  With empty red eyes they watched, blinking every so often, some more regularly as if in disbelief.  With methodical slowness, however, they began to rise.  They put away their phones, tossed away their books, got up off their couches where they lay and pushed off the walls where they leaned.  A kind of whisper filled the air—a steady and suspicious murmur shared beneath the strange creatures, too low and colloquial to be deciphered but with an unmistakably derisive tone.  A tall one, sporting a bandanna, hung back with its hands in its pockets, but the others closed in on the maiden who'd so suddenly interjected herself into their midst.  Bottles appeared in their hands, or brass knuckles, or even cudgels.  With the coordinated and threatening silence of those resolute to do their business, the first four ran forward to attack all at once.  Two swung overhead, while one went for a straight lunge, and the largest attempted a tackle.

Seraphim

Location: Whispering Wood – the Forest King
@DracoLunaris

The by-now familiar and somewhat gratingly upbeat voice of the announcer burst forth, not from the defunct drone, but from the phylactery that Clotho wore strung around her right forearm.  Though garbled by the lesser-quality communications device, it managed to reach both the dungeon keeper and the airborne infantry.  “So here we are, ready to rumble.  Before we 'tree'-t ourselves to a lively, high-flying match, I have just one question.  Clotho!”

Unfazed by Oren's attitude, Clotho replied, “Yes, I'm Clotho.”

“Did you like your item?”

After staring at Sophia for an unblinking moment, Clotho held out her left hand and opened it to reveal something clutched in the palm.  Though difficult to make out from the distance, it appeared to be a transparent except for two tiny capsules within—one red, and one blue.  From behind her mask, the keeper gave a hollow reply.  ”Not at all.  They appear to be consumables, but I can't tell what they do.”  After executing a slight, nonplussed shrug, she tossed the Blister Pack toward Sophia.  It skittered across the dry, fibrous floor, making next to no noise thanks to its negligible weight.  ”Have one if you want.  I would not mind seeing the effects.”  Rising from her seat, Clotho let the mangled drone slip from her fingertips, and it clattered against the throne as it fell.  Her hand fell upon a hilt jutting out of the elaborate, macabre chair, and with a yank the flame-bladed sword came free.  Behind her, her wings spread out, their iridescent patterns of orange and green glimmering in the dappled light.  

Oren, ever the keen observer, picked up on the general intent and laughed, “So much for gaming the system! Well, if you're eager for a fight—“

”I'm not,” Clotho cut in, though quietly enough so that the announcer simply steamrolled over her.

“...far be it from me to stop you—“

”You couldn't.”

“...so let's get this match underway!  I'll have my backup drone over in a jiffy to cam the whole thing.  Uh, I mean spectate.  Ready?”

”Isn't this a bit sudden?”

“Go!”

Clotho gave an sigh that was audible even through her half-mask.  She ran her fingers along the edge of her wavy blade.  ”I do not enjoy fighting.  It's pointless.  Boring.  But now that I'm here, you should know I won't lose to anybody.”  Her sword went up into a couched stance on the left side of her head, ready to thrust or parry.  Even more prepared were the muscles in her wings and legs, ready to speed out of harm's way.  She needed only to raise her voice to summon reinforcements to help.  The first move of this dance belonged to Sophia.

Inari

Location: Fuel Plant
@Kapuchu

Sensitive ears made for good hearing, and faint and vague though it was, the sound of Lily's opponent reached her not long before her opponent did.  Her first true sense of the 'freakazoid' sent her way, however, came in the form of a very sudden, very loud bang against a doorway on the other side of the room.  The entire labyrinthine room of metal resonated with the impact for a moment, and before another passed, a second crash followed on its heels.  This time, the metal door parted ways with its hinges with a violent tearing sound to slam noisily against the floor.  Into the room plodded nothing less than a shark with mechanical arms, legs, and weaponry, wearing an anticipatory smirk and followed by Oren's drone.

A few seconds of silence passed as the hammerhead craned his thick neck looking around the room, but he turned up nothing.  In a gruff, thuggish rumble, the voicebox implanted in his jaw demanded of the drone, “Ey, I t'ought you said she'd be 'ere.  Ya sure she ain't at the top, like you said in the first place?”

Oren's voice came calm and assured in reply.  “If my sensors say she moved, she moved.  And they say she's in this room, probably hiding.  I'm gonna go ahead and call it.”

Brucie gave a grunt in reply, hoisting his cannon-laden right arm into ready position, and Oren raised his drone's volume to shout out, “I know you can hear me, Fluffer!  And I know you can see ol' Brucie here.  The way I see it, everyone's here, so 'water' we waiting for?”

The shark's voicebox gave a rough, thuggish sound that could have been raucous laughter.  “Geghegheghegh!  Anudda ten outta ten, my man!”  Brucie's left arm rose and delivered to that of Oren's drone a good-spirited high-five.

“I know, right?  But killer puns aren't gonna turn ya human!  Start the show!”  The pincers of the drone's arm, once out of the vicinity of Brucie's, slammed together in a loud noise to signal the fight's commencement.

The Angel

Location: Culture Center
@Dead Cruiser

“Huh?”

Unprompted, a sound of consternation spurted from the drone in the air above the amphitheater.  According to Oren's intel, two additional competitors had been slated to appear within the structure in order to immediately begin their fight, but all his machine's optic could discern from its current bird's eye view was a single woman, armed to the teeth, but no less alone.  Oren, having other fights to switch his focus to, had left this particular surveillance drone alone for almost five minutes, only to switch back in confusion after the automatic sensors failed to give an indication that a fight was about to start.

“Hmm.”

The young man leaned back in his chair.  Not even a half hour had passed since the Crucible began, but he was already feeling a little stiff.  It would be some time still, though, before he could talk a quick walk around the observatory constructed in the top of this tower.  With eyes buzzing with stress from examining the screens with such fervor, he felt like a couple minutes to stare out at the Governance Hub would be altogether nice.  A;; the same, at this moment he could not divert his attention.  He needed to rectify his mistake.

A moment later, the drone descended at a breezy pace back to the graveyard.  The imposing man known as the Angel had yet, it seemed, to move.  Oren wondered if he was lost in thought, and pondered for a few seconds what to say.  After working up his courage, Oren's smile returned in full force, and he clicked on the feed.  “Hey!  Sorry to be the bearer of good news, but it seems I may have made an error.  Turns out, just one foe awaits you in the amphitheater.  Feel free to check out the mausoleum if ya like, but time's wastin'!  Winner of this little spat gets something special from my box, ya know.  Could be the key to winning the whole thing, or something useless like a couple pills!  Neheh...heh...”  With humorous people, or irritable people, Oren's lines practically wrong themselves, but Dante proved himself inscrutable.  What could a comedian to with a man like that, other than drift away?  The drone's fans buzzed, lifting him up, up, and away.  He couldn't very well not say high to the cowboy girl, after all.

Tyrant

Location: No-man's Land - The Pit
@The Wild West

The fog washed away, and darkness took his place.  Before Tyrant could recognize the sight, he could very well identify his surroundings based on the smell, for they were bizarrely familiar.  As the great ogre's eyes adjusted, the Maw-Pit opened up around him, exactly as he remembered it save for two very significant differences.  In the very center of the grisly cavern's caged arena, an enormous tunnel bore lay upon its suitably immense drill bit, the machine stretching upward straight through the ceiling and beyond.  All the way up to the surface it went, as evidenced by the dim light leaking down from above, and on its side was a sturdy-looking ladder.

Though impressive in its own right, this alteration did not hold a candle to its counterpart.  One entire side of the cavern was gone, like a cardboard box with a side ripped off by some playful, colossal dog, and on the other side of the massive breach was empty space.  It stretched on and on, an dark void with no visible bottom, but on the other side, hundreds of meters down and across, lay something spectacular.  The Tyrant received no context or clues, only a choice: to climb, or not to climb.  Around him, in an almost soporific eddy, swirled old memories.  Noises came to him from the dark—hints of some kind of beast, perhaps, or an intruder, or something as familiar as the viscera-splattered ground on which he stood.

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