Inactive, maaarrrrrrkkkk
Search Posts
Could you mark me inactive on this game Crustmaster?
In light of severe inactivity on my part, and no signs of the situation improving, I've decided to withdraw from many of the PbPs I'm currently involved in. This is not any sort of commentary on the games I am a part of; not a slight or disapproval of the games in any way. Were they not enjoyable I would have withdrawn from them. I have hit a wall lately though, so I'm going to pare down the games I'm involved in. I apologize immensely for doing this. I know losing players creates balance issues and role gaps. But given an absolute failure to keep my head above the water, so to speak, this is probably necessary. (And yes, I'll be copy-and-pasting this liberally) Hopefully everyone doesn't die horribly with the Life Oracle exiting stage left. If so, I apologize in advance dear, sweet Groog.
Bonnie hustles forward next to Vallan, heedless of any danger, in an attempt to return the dwarf's fleeing strands of existence to his person once again. He's getting very good at it!
Rolf Fartharzarinbinxithialikus:
"What ho, dashing companion. Might you level me a bit closer to our foe? I wish to see the light leave his eyes as I dash his interiors against yonder wall, Oh-ho!" "You shouldn't revel in this sort of thing, but I'll oblige you I suppose." Bonnie dips his morningstar low and thrusts it into the little plant-creature's eyes. As it begins wailing horribly, blood trailing from its mangled face, Wil allows a moment of sympathy to wash over him before he finishes the creature fully. Rolf:
"A good bit of zest in such a swing, I must say. Now remove its stain from my face, I wish to shine as I should."
Bonnie continues the momentum of his previous swing, whirling the spiked and flanged head of his morningstar into the other vegepygmy's face.
Bonnie strides past everyone and between the small creatures, assuming his new armaments will deflect the brunt of their attacks. He winds up a wild swing from his morningstar at the vegepygmy closest to the northern side of the room.
+6 HPs
detect undead added to 1st level spells.
New lewts:
After selling old stuff, Bonnie's at 111.40gp
Out of town until Monday Night, taking a trip with the family and catching a Browns game.
Wil follows Groog's example. Standing behind him as if in a chow line, he waits for the clerk to count out the orc's tokens before asking for the same. "The best. I guess." He quickly shuffles over to the table beside the orc as he sets into gambling away their host's gracious gesture. Bonnie fancies Groog a consummate gambler at first, throwing around his money with a practiced hand. Wil follows the much larger Hellion's lead, sliding mounds of coins across the tabletop. Bonnie had a trick that Groog lacked, however: the table. Hallowed Halibuxtruf was it's name, and it had soaked in the rites and habits of gamblers for nigh unto a century. It quite matter-of-factly informed the musician of what plays to make at any given turn, and its advice proved quite adept at navigating the intricacies of the game. When Groog is forced to leave the table, Bonnie excuses himself as well, not realizing the orc's "gambling accumen" was just a big dumb lug throwing coins at a table of gamblers.
Helpless to fully repair the full measure of damage to their rescued charge's mind, Wil decides to pass the lull of days taking up Mr. Ulreth on his gambling offer. He seldom succeeded at such things, but it was a kind offer he didn't want to rudely refuse. And besides, the money he was about to lose was a small gift to begin with.
"It's another room. Vallan? Groog?" Wil nods at the illusory wall and steps through, pressing beyond the not-quite-closed doors. He allows the dwarf and orc to resume their usual position at the fore. Partially because he doesn't want to get rent to pieces by more of the skeletal things, and partially because the air tastes a little too sour for him.
"What's that?" Wil says, maundering closer to the northern wall.
"Oh!"
"It's silent, Groog. They all are. The sands don't want them. Won't have them. All of them loitered where they did not belong. You were right to cut them down. Pile them up. Bury them." Wil has a bit of disgust in his features as he speaks.
Wil petitions the morass of dimming life around Vallan to stay its sentence, and the tendrils reach back to secure once more their bond with the dwarf. "I know. I'm not going to watch him bleed out."
Finally catching sight of something angry and moving, though not living, Wil clutches his morningstar tightly and begins thumping a path through the sand towards his intended target. These were non-things. They did not exist within the same spectrum as the rest. What fibers connected them now hung loose--severed--and flailing loosely in an invisible wind. Even the color was absent, the connection with the larger whole. They needed to be put down, before they could manage to inflict further injury on anything around them. "Sleep as intended!" Bonnie Wil screams as he rushes into the fray, weapon brought around wildly. It rakes harmlessly across the skeletal creature's frame, but Wil's rage shows no sign of slowing.
Barely aware of the conflict up ahead, Wil cannot see beyond the roil of the very fabrics that hold the world and the universe together. He chances an approach to see what all the ruckus is.
The moment Vallan hits the ground, Wil is up on his feet, eyes clouding over with a faint, vermilion sheen as his hands begin navigating unseen currents and threads. It's a simple exercise, despite the complex display, leaving most with the impression that he's playing a massive and invisible string instrument of some sort. The light around him begins to dampen momentarily, and then an imperceptible pulse washes over the room.
Wil continues sawing and hacking furiously at the strange net that keeps Dahlia restrained. "We should find who makes these things and get some for ourselves. Could someone ask the machine where he acquired them?"
Wil has no sooner cleared the entryway than the sound of swords and axes clashing against something else metallic ring out in the room. "The cat strays far from the hen in the appropriate season, indeed. I'm beginning to think you guys are destructive." He pulls out a dagger and begins helping to free Dahlia from her own entanglement.
Wil chuckles and nods as Vallan heads towards the doors. "You're right. He does."
"I know Lily, but I'm afraid I'll hit Vallan!" Bonnie protests, annoyance climbing.
Wilhelm continues to demonstrate a fundamental inability to swing his morningstar against so small a foe.
Bonnie Wil levels an ineffective swing at the creature that continues to stab at Vallan. His morningstar swings wide and into a nearby cavern wall, sending a small explosion of rocks and dust in the air. Wil spares a concerned look at his handiwork and a brief, "sorry!" to the wall he thusly maimed. He whirls his morningstar around in his hand for another pass at the little creature. . .
"Name rings hollow without the Hoots dunnit?" Wil stands up and twists left and right, giving his lower back and shoulders a good stretch. "Still, it's a shame we had to put them down. The hole saw what befell them. Blood, fire, and spoiled food. They had to eat their pets just to survive. From a community of near fifty shriveled down to but a tenth of their collective whole. And now, all gone. All gone." Wil ambles without aim behind the group as they set to looting the place. He seems to have already forgotten his tinges of sympathy and regret, returned once more to simply craning his neck in various directions. Most of his stomach's duress has now abandoned him from the swim into the place. He wonders what remains atop the small ledge he failed so miserably at climbing previously. As Groog and Vallan set to exploring the area, Bonnie strides along behind the dwarf happily, humming another merry tune under his breath as he goes.
Worry plagues Wil on his hike back up the ledge when he sees Hoots slump unconscious to the floor. In short order he is kneeling over the gunslinger's form, plucking at invisible strings around him and pressing his hands over the grievous sword wound. He hums softly and begins to stitch the injury back together with divine energies.
Bonnie reemerges around the corner behind Vallan, his eyes fluttering in random directions around Hoots' form. He finally sees the knife-throwing creature and sends a whirling dagger of his own her way.
Wil's eyes light up at the dagger's cries for attention. "This place has known Truth! Delivered by frightened denizens, no less. But I don't think these things speak Truth else we would not be coming to blows so readily." Excitedly, the eccentric human hustles down the corridor and passes Vallan and Groog. He assists in searching for the stealthy knife-afficionado. He attempts to climb the ledge, but only succeeds in scratching futilely at the stone and earth.
"Paranoia is an awful thing to die for." Wil says sadly, hefting his morningstar in earnest as he stalks across the ledge to slide carefully down to the landing beneath. "Our hands set to foul work, but forced thus it is not our hands at fault. I'm sorry--I tried." The last statement seems directed at the gaping pit to the south that the madman has no actual sight of.
Wil steps in front of them and braces an arm behind the safety of his shield. "No! Don't kill them! Subdue if you must, but they are necessary to maintain the larger whole!"
"We would like to help you. Is there any way we might all be allowed to come along? I understand your hesitance, but we also worry about the safety of our little community. Let us help you."
Ignoring the creatures completely, Bonnie takes a couple of listless steps towards the pit. He stops short and begins muttering to himself as he often does. "What? You're mumblin'. I can't. . . What? How many? How long ago?" Suddenly, Wil snaps his head in the direction of the mostly naked creatures, his face taking on a sympathetic tone. "Of course we'll go with you. I'm sorry for your loss." At Hoots' request, Wil looks confused, then says "They've been through a lot. I can ask, but they're just considering their own safety."
"It's not so congested down here. I don't think this place has spoken for a very, very long time. No mutters or murmurs. How sad." Wil maintains his position at the caboose, but remains oblivious to most of his surroundings as usual.
Wil splashes his way through the creek and past Hoots. He raises a shield and makes to interpose himself between the strange entities and his feathered friend.
Bonnie Wil stares blankly at the dwarf for a few moments. His gaze drifts to the froglike corpse in the water. "The acoustics are nice, but everything's so stale. Lots of dead things. Hold still, or I might pluck the wrong chord." Humming forcefully and merrily, the strange man clasps his hands around around he dwarf's thigh, a likely way for most people to earn themselves a hand less. A pleasant surge of numbness then cool throbbing washes over the warpriest as the wound begins to close fully. "It's so loud. I don't think it hears us. The way forward should be easy. Walk frontways, though. We don't want to trip."
Bonnie Wil continues walking calmly along the bottom of the submerged passageway. His stomach is in a state of turmoil due to the putrid water he's inhaling. He presses on all the same.
From behind Hoots, outside of the doorway, a few scuffs of feet come to a stop. A familiar voice scoffs, before carrying on a one-sided conversation. "Why would I need an appointment?" "I'm not sure I can wait that long. They're already inside though, if you could just—" "Absolutely not. Even if I could afford it, there's no way I'm giving a door that much money." "Empress or not, my intent lies within, Miss Egress." "Wha—? Fine! I'll just wait outside." Aliases
|
