Search Posts
I'm feeling rather ragged running several campaigns at once--especially during the holiday season and with school to go to. I'm thinking of putting this campaign on hiatus for the holidays, and I'll think about whether I want to continue running this campaign or handing it off to another GM to run. Does anyone object to me putting us on hiatus for now?
Sorry for not posting, folks. Tomorrow, I start my practicum placement, so I'm going to be getting some hands-on work experience. I'll try to update Monday evening.
Hey folks! Just posting to let you know that I have exams this week, so I will not be posting updates until Friday afternoon.
Sia's Knowledge Roll:
The grinding sounds like something that would come from a robot... The doors to the west are roughly torn open with an even louder noise that sets everyone's teeth on edge. Stepping through the door is a tall, rust-coloured robot that resembles a human in full plate mail armour, the eye in the centre of its head made of burnished brass. It *clicks* several times as it takes in the central worship area, its iron fingers gripping what looks like a very sharp length of metal like a spear. Its eye begins to glow orange, and it snaps to attention. Coming in behind it is another figure...
Argh... sorry, folks. Tomorrow I'll definitely post by the afternoon.
Sorry for the delay in posting, folks! I'll try to get a post up when I get home.
The massive rabbit-man turns around. "Follow me, then. Our leader wishes to speak with you."
I'm really really really sorry for the delay. Wednesday afternoon, I'll be free and available to post. I swear.
Got a busy day ahead of me. I'll try to get a post up this evening.
When the party returns to the engineering deck, they find it to be as noisy as it was before. They see the large Hackfoot standing watch over the elevator entrance as two other rabbit folk haul the carcasses of their dead guard animals away. "You return!" The lop-eared giant spreads his arms wide again, his jury-rigged leathers stretching to accommodate his muscles.
With a push of a button, the panel goes dark and the room's nozzles extend. There's a *WHIRRING* noise followed by a *hiss* as several jets of blue steam vent into the room.
When the steam hits Inlé's russet-stained fur, it gradually returns to its black lustre. His stomach & arms still feel unwell, but the mould appears to have been purged from his system.
After about a minute of tinkering, Sia's efforts to fix the machine are rewarded--the network of tubes and nozzles hums to life with more stability than before. The panel on the far wall lights up.
The decontamination chamber in the observation wing is silent and powered down. It appears rebooting the habitat module has somewhat fixed its electrical discharge problem.
The healer grimaces. "Inlé, it appears that a sort of russet-mould has made its way into your body. I fear it is beyond my ability to cure..." The aasimar looks over at Sialea. "...but do you suppose the decontamination chamber from before would be able to cure him?"
Celen's Heal Roll: There are patches of russet discolouration in Inlé's arm fur. It matches the mould found on Gerrol Sonder's corpse from way back under the Hill. It's a disease that needs treatment.
After Rolling: If you get less than 15, you take another 2 points of CON damage as the russet mold spores spread further into your limbs. You can thank the vegepygmy chieftain for that.
The party returns to the elevator and back up to the science wing, finding a spot in the medical facility to settle in for the night. The machinery looms over the party as they prepare to camp, silent, uncaring & unmoving.
Sialea:
Once again, you dream.
You dream of flying through a wondrous aurora of ever-shifting & scintillating colours, seated atop a being of great power. Flashes of strange worlds appear before your eyes for mere moments before they pass you by. You catch glimpses of countless civilizations--some nascent & tribal, others ancient, sprawling and ascendant. Part of you wishes to linger, to get further glimpses into the lives of these peoples. But your mission... your mission is too important. The last vision you experience before waking is one of a great, shining city of metal and knowledge. ------------ Fireday? 5th of Neth, 4717 AR The next morning comes uneventfully.
A quick heads up: I've got some tests to study for, so my posting for the coming week will likely be limited.
Sia's Mind:
Ausk hesitates.
...A few of my brethren are dissatisfied with our leader's guidance. They joined the faith for the power Hellion promised--and they feel as though they are not being given their due. Their faith is strong, but their loyalties... I do not think so. The rabbitfolk, on the other hand, seem desperate, fanatical even. They are not to be provoked. His words are spoken with an undercurrent of great fear. Hackfoot's nose twitches with renewed fervour before snorting. "As you wish, two-legs. Hellion prefers strong faithful, and no others."
Please stay up longer than a few hours this time, Paizo...
"Our leader is currently preaching to her flock, and will be praying for renewed strength later. If you felt so inclined, we could allow you to stay the night and rest--so that you may prove your faith to her in the morning." Hackfoot continues.
"How many worshipers are with your high priestess? Does she have any acolytes with her?" "About twenty. Not all of them are combatants--only a few, us included, are allowed to bear arms." Hackfoot snorts. "Some of us don't need them." "And not all of us have the depth of faith Hellion demands." The large rabbit snorts and glances at Ausk, who flinches. "...but I think the four of you might."
Sia's Mind: Ausk's mental posture loosens up quite a bit when you explain who you are. Truth be told, I would welcome the chance to study technology anywhere. Among Hellion's followers, any technology we find is restricted to only the high priestess' use. That isn't very fair at all, is it?
Your mention of allowing you to ogle her is met with a brief feeling of uncertainty that's swiftly brushed aside. Your terms are acceptable.
Sia's Mind: I do not know. All I know is that when the high priestess caught me staring...
There's a shudder in the half-orc's mind. ...I do not wish to think of it. There's a pause. ...Ausk. My name's Ausk. My tribe exiled me for my interest in the strange weapons of Numeria, and the priestess offered me a purpose.
Sia's Mind:
There's a moment of disbelief in the half-orc's mind.
...you are. Very... desirable. For one with no tusks or scars. His words are tentative, and uncertain. There's another pause, and the half-orc's tone turns fearful. Hellion looks down on such thoughts. 'Base desires', He calls them. True faithful don't have them. "It is far to the northeast of this town, strange one." Hackfoot's nose twitches with fervour. "And what makes us different is that we have the power of a true God on our side! You should speak with our high priestess--she can explain it better than I can. I'm but a simple, humble follower."
Sia's Mind:
You glimpse the half-orc's thoughts as you contact him. They're about as lustful as you anticipated. You're in the dominant role, surprisingly enough.
They stop cold when your voice sounds in his head. And then they're hastily removed. SORRY SORRY SORRY DON'T WANT HELLION TO BE MAD AT ME PLEASE DON'T TELL! The half-orc interested in Sialea abruptly stops ogling her and stands upright, his spine perfectly straight and tense. "Have you ever been out to Scrapwall, strange one?" Hackfoot tilts his head at Sia. "It is where castoffs collect, and it is where Hellion made His presence known." "My old warren elder claimed that His path would only lead to ruin. Redtooth's words held sway with many of the older and younger, but Hellion offered us something great." Hackfoot spreads his arms wide. The party notices the number '83' stitched into the fur of his right forearm. "A chance at power! A chance to strike at the Technic League that continues to hunt us!"
The rabbit chuckles at Sia's question to Inlé. "I've grown to my full measure, two-legs. Name's Hackfoot." "Hellion's a God, kit." Hackfoot looks back at the rabbit ranger. "A god of technology, a god of exiles and strength. He brings all who would listen into the fold, and demands the blood of those who denounce him." As Hackfoot speaks, the other half-orc creeps back into the room. Both half-orcs are eying the party with interest--one of them is eying Sialea in particular. "He speaks to those without direction. Especially those hunted by the League." Hackfoot gives Edynn a glance.
"We revere the one true God. The great speaker, He Who Stands Apart--" The half-orc starts before being interrupted by the accented voice again. "Oh, get on with it." The owner of the accent steps into view, their nose twitching like mad. Standing next to the now-uncomfortable-looking half-orc is a very large, cream-coloured & lop-eared rabbit, standing on his hind legs and carrying what looks like an axe made of crudely-lashed together bits of scrap in his paws. He's dressed in patchwork studded leathers with the sleeves torn off, and a smudge of some manner of green paint is across his twitching nose. His brown eyes widen when he sees Inlé. "He's talking about Hellion." The large rabbit says, resting his scrap-battleaxe on his shoulder.
The half-orc with the pipe snorts and nods. "Burns on the skin. No matter. Nothing impedes the truly faithful." A heavy, brutish, accented voice comes from the south. "What's going on out dere?"
The doors slide open. The walls of the chamber beyond are battered and dented, and flickering lights on the ceiling give the room a phantasmagoric cast. A mound of rubble sits heaped to the north, while numerous strange containers lie in haphazard piles throughout the chamber. A pair of desks with chairs are placed to the south. In the room are two half-orc men, each dressed in well-fitted studded leathers and with finely polished bucklers on their arms. One of them carries a length of metal pipe as long as a man's arm, and the other carries what looks like a jury-rigged spear made of jagged bits of scrap metal on a stick. The spear carrier is standing by an open door on the far side of the room, while the pipe carrier is pointing his weapon at the party and growling. "Close enough! Stop right there!" The pipe carrier barks.
Sia's Perception: It's quite loud in here--you can't make out what they're saying.
Inlé's Perception: Over the din on this level of the ship, you can hear the sound of guttural conversation behind the topmost door. The language spoken sounds brief, clipped & forceful.
...oh my. :( I sincerely hope life smooths out for you soon.
Inlé slices up the last one. He's had a lot of practice doing this sort of thing, apparently.
With two snaps of her fists, the beasts fall with whines and yelps, their bones breaking like twigs.
Sia's bullet flies against the back wall with a barely-audible *crack*. The animals keep coming.
And their bites keep missing.
Inlé brutally fells another one.
Edynn's punch narrowly misses the beast's neck.
GM Rolls:
Celen's bolt slices along an animal's foreleg, leaving a cut. It promptly races forward and leaps at the bunny--only to be sliced open with one brutal strike. Three more leap at the adventurers, one of them setting off Celen's frost rune...
...and the sudden burst of cold causes the beast's fur to flash freeze, and it collapses before it can bite.
The two creatures snap and bite at the two warriors, unable to land a good hit.
The shadowy spell snaps at the animal, but it flinches out of its reach.
The animals growl before moving forward, for the attack.
|
