"Oh I say, Harper old boy..." began Foy, attempting in his own, slightly narcissistic manner to engage the more straightlaced man in conversation, even while straining to move a box full of incapacitated Reaver to Medical, just up the ramp and down the hall, ...you don't seem the particular variant of Core denizen that spent their formatives growing accustomed to the more laborious pursuits of lifting and toting, if I may make the observation. Yet here you are, crisp uniform and neatly combed locks, conveying supplies unknown with a total stranger. You didn't even have the psychological wherewithal to cite duties, thereby excusing yourself from my endeavors. You could have, my Osirian acquaintance, but chose not to. It is demonstrative of character. Or detestably submissive behavior."
Harper glanced back at the better groomed man, unsure as to what he was trying to put across. This was supposed to be a simple task, moving a couple of crates from Point A to Point B, while he had some free time (obstinately to "acquaint himself with the ship"). He opened his mouth to say something, but being as he was on the front end of this scary, black box, Foy could not see this. It would have been a coin toss as to whether he would have spoken, even if he did notice. As it stood, he continued.
But I do not detect that, were the Gendarmes to remove you to termed incarceration, you would do much in the way of, ah... catching, if you decipher my metaphor."
At mention of the word "incarceration", Harper's head snapped back again, eyes narrowing into something predatory. If this discussion was about to get ugly, he was fairly confident that he could give the foppish man a faceful of melee wrench and jam him in an airlock before anyone noticed. It would be a simple matter, hacking the ship's system and retroactively altering any security footage that may have made it back to Alliance datastorage. No one would know. And the next time they compressed and incinerated their garbage, that would be the end of Mr. Coiffeur and his very fine tie. Disappeared without a trace off of an Alliance Patrol Boat. Truly a mystery for the ages.
Harper stopped in the middle of the ramp, turning to one side a best he could without dropping the big, black box, and let his eyes rest fully on Foy. "What exactly do you mean, sir?" he inquired in a low, quiet voice.
Foy flashed a quick smile, his eyes seemingly twinkling. Something had hit a nerve. Maybe this Harper fellow had served some time. It was amazing what one could pick up about a man from casual reactions. "Nothing to inspire such a grim face, Lieutenant Harper, I assure. I am merely inferring that you seem to be quite the assertive gentleman, and do not find that the banalities of manual labor are beneath you. Quite the opposite, you hurl youself unerringly toward it. Curious."
"Idle hands, Mr. Coiffeur." returned Harper. This man spoke too much, seeming to probe for information without actually asking anything important, if anything at all. He turned, and continued the walk up the ramp, cargo in tow. "I've had an eventful life so far. It taught me to never be afraid to get your hands dirty. I'm sure you can relate."
Foy smiled again. So the Pilot knew enough about this game to make insinuations of his own, as well as make blanket statements that might provoke information bearing conversation. "There we are, just around here and a bit aft, good sir. Excellent."
Overall, it took only a few short minutes to get the first of two crates up to Medical. The two unlikely work partners carried the large black box directly inside, and looked to Dr. Moreau. It was, as usual, Foy who spoke up first. "If I might inquire, my debonair compatriot, would it vex you terribly for us to set this down at present locale, or did you have someplace specific mapped out for this intimidating bit of cargo?"
So... yeah. I completely forgot to tag ANYONE with this last update. Big oops on my part. Please read the previous post, if you have not already. Sorry 'bout that.
I don't see a reason why not, as of yet. We are still accepting. Please read through the OOC's original post and submit a completed CS for approval, again here in the OOC.
Also understand, we are sticklers for posting minimums, and the other myriad of rules set up here. But we are otherwise quite harmless.
Season: Late Fall/Early Winter Time Of Day: Night, middle of Weather: Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky General Ambiance: (still) AAAAAAAHHH!!! Location: Front lines, defending the Orc Cave
Well dear friends, the Dead are upon us. Let us review what can be readily observed:
A group of thirty skeletons advanced out of the thicker wood in front of the Orc Cave, while a strange, glowing red mist hovers among the trees. Somewhere in the background, an oddly amplified yet sourceless voice can be heard laughing at odd intervals, possibly at the carnage unfolding, possibly at some inside joke that’s really only funny to creatures who regularly associate with upright, walking corpses. Either way, it’s quite unsettling.
A total of three have been taken out by Sana and Kyra’s young Dire Wolf, Ash. Now, for reasons unknown, a full third of these undead lackeys are making their way to the non-Orcs gathered around the cave opening (that’d be you guys), leaving lesser numbers attacking the rest of the guards on duty.
It should be noted now that Sana, Kyra, Ash and Epona are out among the enemy now
The Orcs are mounting a bracing defense. So far, the skeletons only seem interested in attacking the people out front, not swarming into the cave. They appear to be making excellent progress, snapping the skeletons like kindling. So far, they aren’t moving to help our plucky group of protagonists. Maybe they want to see if we can handle ourselves first…
Sana: You successfully knock through the first skeleton in the marching column. Go you. Though a touch awkward, you also succeed in getting back to your feet. Finally, Sana has amazing success playing T Ball with the second skeleton’s cranium. Dead and done. Now about your horse... Epona, being a spiffy battle-trained mount, is running up behind you. Is not part of the fray yet, but is up there.
Kyra: Everyone’s favorite puppy, Ash, darts in from out of nowhere and tackles the skeleton directly in front of you. He batters it to clunky pieces, but not before the bony nutter’s free hand curls into a claw and rakes his flank. Light damage for poochy.
Initiative
Everyone is awake, ready to go, and may act as normal this round. Even the resident Druid had been roused from slumber and is free to take whatever actions she has available. Here’s the downside: Skeletons have moved into melee range, and they’re not happy. Or sad, really. Ok, so they’re dead and fleshless, it’s kind of hard to tell. The same group of skellys, that is to say the brunt of them, are coming after us measly Humans and Half-Humans (plus token Elf).
To say again, there are six Skeletons in melee range of the party. They are spreading out to stand roughly side by side as they attack.
Speaking of the token Elf, he’s up first.
Calanon - standard Ntaj - Skill goes off after Keystone’s actions, otherwise hack away. Cyneburg - Fully awake and has full actions. Go be a hitter. Thomas - standard Keystone - standard actions, dawn mahogany notwithstanding. Kyra - standard, out in front. Sat - standard Sana - Leads the kill count so far. Can continue actions normally, but remember - Sana is out in front of everyone else. To make matters worse, a great, horned, bovine skeleton is eyeing her (figuratively), figuring a good spot to gore her.
Remember: Declare actions, not results. Also, tag the next person in the lineup after your post.
"Niesha..." mulled over Ash. He had received complaints about that woman, from a few different sources. He recalled meeting her for the first time, requesting entry into Newnan. She had mentioned that she could make some types of medications upon meeting their usual welcoming committee at the gates, trying to use it as leverage to gain entrance for an injured companion. The part where she sounded like a total frigging maniac aside, one thing that she said did stand out: She claimed that she could convert solid antibiotics to an IV solution. Now, in his years with the U.S. Army, he had seen what medical personnel and pharmacy techs could do when pressed into service. Even for them, the scratch production of anything in the "cillin" family was difficult, without an existing base to start it off.
A Doctor could identify the proper mold, that much he knew. Ash knew enough about it to know that the wrong mold could kill you faster than the infection would, and not to mess with it. But he also knew that if that bit was settled, all they would need is a more or less decent chemist (or God forbid, meth manufacturer) to run the setup, and a pharmacy tech to assemble/convert the raw materials into more sophisticated forms. He knew what had to be done, in theory, but nary a clue on how to actually do it. All he could do is try to assemble the people that might know. And he was short a chemist.
But all these thoughts were pointless in that moment. The conversation turned back to the more urgent business of the hour, not to mention that Astrid had already hashed out a plan and made the decision to follow through with it while in plain view of Ash, as if he wasn't actually there. Still, he couldn't fault her too much for her minor act of insubordination. She had been accustomed to making snap decisions like this for just herself and her sister Valkyrie since the beginning of all this unpleasantness. Out there, it would have been called Initiative. That, and it wasn't altogether a bad plan. Ash did want to foster a relationship with a friendly settlement, maybe even get more hands manning the walls and working the fields here in Newnan. It couldn't hurt. If Astrid wanted to take the risk, and Beni put himself up as collateral, he could work with it.
"Approved. Grab your shield and anything else you might need from Froggy or Tom, meet us at the Gate when you're ready." He turned his attention to Beni, "This is turning onto a lot more trust than I'm usually comfortable giving. We're both going to be a lot happier if I don't come to regret it. Now, we don't have a whole lot in the way of resources overall, but I'd hazard a guess that we're better off than your group. If you have any other pressing medical issues, have them brought over. I trust you will instruct your people to treat her with diplomatic courtesy?"
"Astrid! You haven't eaten all day. Grab something you can walk with. You won't be any good to anyone weak and tired. Beni, whenever you're ready."
Bridgette Vinters
Location: Within the Outer Wall, Livestock area - Stables
They were doing relatively okay, those horses. They just had a bit of mild neglect and, from the look of them, hadn't been for a good run in a while. Bridgette didn't really have the time to exercise them that night, but she made a mental note to come back tomorrow early, if it was at all possible. It looked like the bare minimum of care was being done for them, and she wasn't having it.
Luckily, it didn't take long to see to their nutritional needs, nor to provide fresh water. Cleaning their hooves and shoes weren't too time-consuming, either. But brushing the Four Horses of the Apocalypse would prove to take a bit more time. Also, the single most settling thing that Bridgette could do for them. A brushed horse is a happy horse. At least, a less nervous one. That's what she needed now. Bridgette started with the jumpiest one, a chestnut mare, and began smoothing and exfoliating with experienced, even strokes.
She seemed a different person, handling horses. The hard and sharp lines of her face softened somewhat, and she could even be heard (from extremely close range) humming a little, bordering on vocalizing a song. It seemed to help calm the horse, but more surprisingly, the horse seemed to calm the woman. She even let her hair down, allowing the soft, summer breeze to catch her long, blonde locks and let it cascade over her chain armor.
When the first horse was down, Bridgette went back out to check on her Cadence. The warm sun illuminated her face and revealed a very rare thing for the warlike, vulgar lady: An honest, broad smile. It amazed her, when she realized what she was doing. It was a feeling of competent euphoria, like she would get when working a properly equipped forge, but calming instead of energizing. Also, deep down - she really hoped no one could see her like that. It would damage her reputation.
Bridgette took a long drink from a bottle of water in a saddlebag, replacing it just after she was done. Cadence had plenty of water on standby, and a little bit of fodder. He would be just fine. After a few minutes of enjoying the wind and sun, she would be back to work, brushing down the other horses. But for now, she would have her moment. Damnit.
The Great Bazhooli
Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)
A box. Specifically, a box of old-school, wooden bowling pins and a few colored balls, some of which looked like they had seen better days. Well, it wasn't the most ideal of circumstances when putting together a show, but let's face it - nothing in the Apocalypse was ideal. It was a thing he had gotten used to, equivalent to favoring cans of Spam in the same fashion he would have a decent burger, just over three years ago. It's what you've got.
Optimism catching him, as it tended to from time to time, he realized that he had just offered up one hell of a Hail Mary, asking if they had bowling pins, of all things, in their settlement. It was unthinkable that anyone would hold onto something like that, as it had absolutely zero practical use for security or production of edibles. Somehow, these people had a set of polished hardwood, white with red band bowling pins. And here he was half-joking when he mentioned it. The Great Bazhooli had even trained with items like this. Following basics with simple, colored balls, bowling pins were adopted for use to get the juggler accustomed to asymmetrical, but uniformly shaped items. It acted as a bridge between simple stuff and the truly random, like juggling a seven piece set of alternating masonry redbrick and whole, fresh fish.
Bowling pins. Yes. Many people used only these to put on legitimate shows, though they were usually doing something else along with it, like unicycling or singing opera. The Great Bazhooli had even seen one particularly talented French lady who performed a very risque burlesque act while simultaneously juggling pins. The finale of that act resulted in her being banned from family shows in the United States for the remainder of her career, but from what Bazhooli heard she was still amazingly popular in Western Europe. For a moment, he wondered if that charming and well-endowed French lady had survived the Outbreak. Probably not, but it would be interesting to know for sure nonetheless.
Circus folk had to stick together. In recent days, just folk had to stick together.
It was several seconds of him staring into the box before he realized that he hadn't even acknowledged Jack's presence back in the Rec Center, nor had he properly extended gratitude for the mostly unexpected lending of exactly what he requested. The mention of food piqued his interest, until he realized that the Massachusetts native was speaking only to Tatiana. That, and he had grabbed a little something earlier, though it did not include that heavenly aroma he could only assume came from the dark gentleman manning the massive woodfire cooking apparatus earlier. This would demand further inquiry after a bit. But for now, he had a point of manners to attend.
"Krasivyy1, Meghna. Absolutely beautiful. It's no set of knives and lovely lady to throw them at, but is great. More than hoping for. Spasibo2."
1 = Beautiful 2 = Thank you
Black James!
Location: Building B (Zoie's House)
James didn't have a whole lot to say. He just wanted to drop off some food for his pre Outbreak friend, and had the good fortune to have it turn into a quiet bit of time, sharing a meal of decent grub in the early evening. It seemed like an occasion to turn back the mental clock to long before all of this death and dismemberment started, to when he could pop by Lee County and drop in on Miss Zoie and her family, get in on a basket of fried chicken and a slice of genuine, Southern Style Red Velvet Cake. Back in the day, it was a thing he would travel many miles to consume. These days, there was no manner of atrocity he wouldn't at least consider, were the option to grab a leg and a slice to present itself.
It didn't matter that he had little to say. He was with his friend. Life would never be like it was. A moment of calm civility over, James nonchalantly stepped into a bit of light business with Zoie. "You know, Ash doin' a OK job, keeping Security in line. We got some new faces in too, since you been stuck in bed. You wanna try to set somethin' up, so's you can get a good look at 'em? Make sure they ain't the Bad People what we been worrying about?"
Man, what I wouldn't give for a beer..." he breathed, looking down at his plate. It wasn't quite a subject change more than a mental tangent he felt the need to express. "There's a show tonight, two of them new people's putting on for us. Maybe I can wheelchair ya down to it. Meet the new folks, have some fun. Leastaways, I'm hopin' fun. What you thinkin' on that?"
Schrödinger
Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall, Roof)
From atop one of the central buildings, the Dread Feline Schrodinger surveyed the territory he now viewed as his. At least for the time being. So many new sounds and smells, new people with which to interact... and every so often, he would catch a glimpse of the one human he knew for a fact he could trust. Strange fellow, even as humans go. Likes those shiny, sharp things that humans usually carried, but a LOT more.
The chunk of meat and fat that Schrodinger liberated from the larger man earlier had long since been consumed. There was nothing left to do but lick his paws and clean his whiskers, perhaps give his chops a good once over to make sure he hadn't missed any spots of grease or the like. But maybe this wasn't the best place for it. The fuzzy orange survivor scanned his new home again, trying to sort out a suitable place to hole up for a while; a spot to come back to between bouts of eating and exploring.
"Meow.1" he stated flatly. Meow, indeed.
1 = Yes, Newnan. I shall suck and savor the sweetness of your scrap of human civilization, possibly growing fat and happy until such time as my natural passing or yours. In return, I offer the greatest gift my kind has been able to bless you with: The Power of Cuteness. You will grovel for it, Humans. You will beg and whine for it. And I, being a benevolent entity, shall acquiesce. Keep me fed and my Human happy, and you shall take great reward. Do this not, and the land becomes my own, personal litterbox.
And that concludes the declared actions for Round One. My next post in the topic will deal with the results and initiative for next round. Remember, by the beginning of next round the skeletons will have closed the gap and will be within melee range.
For the meantime, just hold tight. Do not post until results and initiatives are in.
Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three
Interacting With: Inside of his Eyelids, Shit Happening
Sleep. Actual sleep. It had been since that night in Salarn, three days prior since he had gotten true sleep. Even before that, he had been on the road for weeks. He got little in the way of eyes-shut, random dreaming sleep, the kind where your eyes dart about and really symbolic happenings occur deep within one's braincase. Or tiny clips of abject terror. Or just naughty things.
It was the point to Shou meditative techniques - allowing oneself to consciously process the lessons and events of the day, focus upon what needed dedicated thought, and let the rest sort out in the periphery. All the while, a skilled practitioner of meditative techniques could use the time to refresh both mentally and physically. Ordinarily, Keystone was indeed a skilled practitioner of this technique. But tonight was unique.
Prior to the screaming and the Orcish battle-cry and (gods forbid) the nefarious laughter off in the woods, the steadfast pugilist was snoring in a manner so absolute as to make lumberjacks, pulling mightily upon wide, toothy saws buried within the densest of trees, jealous beyond imagining at the breadth and depth of the throaty, ripping sounds emanating from behind the hard mask and stiff hood of his coat. Perhaps the garment even served to amplify in the direction it was facing. The reasons at that point were immaterial. Keystone was out, and bringing the man to rapt attention was going to take more than a paltry bloodcurdling scream and bellowing, naked Half-Orc.
His present dream state hovered around the very subject that kept him from entering meditations earlier: Sana. It was very boyish of him to be distracted by a pretty face while there were serious, in-the-now dangers in play. Even if he had prior acquaintance with her. Even if she seemingly followed him a generally insurmountable distance to give him something. Even if she was a resilient, assertive woman with a combative background and extensive, well earned scars like himself. The fact that he was impressed by her performance, both stage and battlefield, shouldn't have been enough to give him distraction and cause his lapse into unconsciousness, nor should it contribute to his inability realize that he needed to spring to life and begin doling out vigorous, twofisted attentions.
It was a good thing that Keystone had that half-mask covering his mouth. It was twisted into a sleepy but broad grin, hinting at dreams of a most ribald nature. "...no no, love. Of course I got feelings for ya. But quick... hide in the barn..."
When the information filtering into his brain from the waking world became way too much to ignore, Keystone's eyes sprang open. They immediately narrowed, and a single hand came up just far enough to shield his eyes from the direct glow of the embered cooking fire, allowing him a better view of what lay beyond. When he figured it out, he really, really wished that he was still dreaming. He knew it. Absolutely knew it. This was the same hassle, all over again.
"Bloody hell." he enunciated, fully but with his distinct accent. "Sodding typical, this is."
Skeletons. And more, no doubt. Back on the clock, Keystone.
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[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266]Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944]The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
[/hider]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
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<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
Sister Sable
RPM
Zman
Shadow Dragon
Not a Sayan
Simply Not Real
Fetzen
Lewascan2
Arty Fox
