Bond: I never liked the default one I have with Tear. I'm thinking "Tera makes for an excellent lookout, he could give me the edge I need." +1 I also think I'll fill in my open default bond with Tera as well. +1 Alignment: Not so much. Questions: Definitely learnt to be careful of what is being summoned! +3 Puts me at 8 XP -> 0 XP and level 2. +1 Dexterity and "How Clumsy of You".
It takes only a moment for Krenin to deruffle himself, coat and hair adjusted by nimble demi-fingers. "That may be somewhat difficult, as they are, to man, nameless. Merely notate us as 'Lord Krenin plus five.' That should give them plenty to gossip about..." As he speaks, Krenin wanders over the the prostrate almost-drow and looks down. "My Liege," he starts, conversationally, yet still clearly capitalising that L. "What is your position regarding ritual sacrifice of defeated enemies?"
The distant relative goes directly for the nearest affront to it's sensitive nose: Defenceless drow flesh. The nameless scamper inside, away from the assault, but the near-mindless mutant is as single-minded as it is swift. It leaps, tortured vocal chords releasing nothing but a near inaudible hiss. Krenin is bowled over backwards through the opening, which seals slickly behind the group. Teeth bared, weapons out of reach, the drow and the almost-drow can only flail at each other ineffectually. Mostly ineffectually: Krenin's tentacle fingers ooze and elongate, sliding directly for the throat.
"Greetings friends!" He calls out from the floor, mid-grapple. "Will be happy to deal with you in a moment!"
The changeling smiles savagely to herself as the thing responds to her voice. Only one thing to try now. Silvia's lungs contort in ways no mortals were ever meant to move. A throbbing resonance builds, fae magicks moving swiftly along her ribcage.
"I said, Reveal Yourself Right Now!"
The three high families were divided by bureaucracy only. We were all only a few intermarriages away from becoming a cohesive whole. Genealogy aside, they were all uppity prudes, paranoid schizophrenics, uncontrollable narcissists and magic users. So run-of-the-mill dark elves. Each family however, liked to cultivate it's own branch of magic, one of their many preening affectations. One was obsessed with demonic pacts, another with psionics and mind-rending. Krenin's "family", as it were, always partook in the summoning of elementals. Specific parts of the walls and grounds may still be alive, or at least, only dormant. If they can be awoken, it should make for a much more pleasant stay here. A rather unfortunate aside: A generation or two ago, the excessive fervor towards of maintaining the purity of the family bloodlines combined horribly with the magical delvings. That is to say, the genetic flaws combined with fell magicks to cause nearly an entire generation of dark elves to be born twisted and malformed, crudely broken rather than elegantly insane. They were shunned, their latent magic bound, and trapped below the grounds. The new children were born with carefully mixed blood, then sent to garner additional "diversity in the stock". Hence, Krenin's very unofficial role as wandering gigolo and hitchhiker. Those creatures wandering the estate? Krenin's second cousins, of course.
Bonds: Zip. I need to interact more. Motivation: Not yet. Soon though... Soon... I'll take those other 4 XP thanks.
Once 2BR is recovered and repaired for the second (third?) time, he undergoes an serious existential crisis. What will remain after his eventual permanent termination? Nothing lasts forever, especially when he is around, and what kind of legacy is destruction? A really great one, but not sustainable. Only occasionally does destruction begat more destruction of the same type. It's a dead end, evolutionarily. Hence, after "requisitioning" a shuttle and a micro-factory for spare parts, he crash-lands it onto the world of the orcs, he began his life's work: Gardening. That is to say, attempting to conquer a significant portion of the planet / biosphere. Last Sona checked, he was still going, trusty plasma shovel by his side. No doubt, if he's needed some time in the future and is still in one or two pieces, he'll get scooped up and pointed at something irritating, but until then, he is at peace. Ish.
"Our squishy meat-based compatriot is marginally more durable than other, squishier meat-based compatriots. Let us proceed"
we are all extremely thankful for all the hours of thought-provoking entertainment you have shared with us.
Emma takes it upon herself to carry one of the stones. It shouldn't be too dangerous for her, right?
Completely ignoring the two allied meatbags, 2BR considers his options. A crack in his bioreactor is leaking radioactive goop into places where the radioactive goop is not supposed to leak, even with Muffet's patch job. Other than that, he's spinning hot. Extremely hot. Hot enough to make mincemeat out of everything in front of him. 2BR activates his immovable buckler for support, and brings out the stolen mech cannon. > Your assistance is greatly appreciated Dexter.
I've got a feeling that Shatterspike Ridge should be on the menu at some point. Can we get some kind of map or sense of which is closer?
Compared to even the humblest of elves, Emma is, to not put too fine point on it, a hideous brute. Bulky, cumbersome, scarred, ruined in mind and soul. Still, she makes her way towards the elven child-queen, shedding her pack as she goes. Eventually, she stands before the diminutive ruler. Placing her longsword, which has been patched up as many times as she has, at the queen's feet, she kneels wordlessly, asking for her blessing in the fights to come.
Emma nods, and watches the sun rise with both feet behind her head.
Even if the elf is turned away from me, I'm still hitting him in the face. If I have to go entirely through his skull to do so, meh.
2BR has been rebuilt and repaired so many times by Sona that his chassis layout is basically instinctive knowledge.
As a large group of men once said "I was only following orders." Howeverrrrrr... I can see your point. Emma has been known to do dumb murder-hobo things, but quite a few of those have in fact been due to me misinterpreting a few posts then lashing out as I see fit, then rereading, panicking, and trying to rectify the situation. Mm. Anyway, be interesting to see how Grigor reacts!
>Sona, I have direct access to a few interior consoles. Is there anything nasty we can upload for our hosts?
While Sona responds, 2BR surveys his landing zone.
EDIT: Found it, 'Seeing Red' from the Fighter
2BR is waiting patiently outside. I would very much like to set some things on fire. Kindly designate targets into these categories: Will be fired if destroyed, will be sued if destroyed, and will be given a raise if spread over an area of several blocks.
2BR waits awkwardly outside. There probably isn't much of a market for him inside. He holds his various implements of death as if someone else just handed them to him. Whose are these? He doesn't know how to use them, that's for sure. No way. Completely innocent. The ammo box is closed, but not sealed. Ready to be emptied at a moments notice.
> Noted 2BR sheepishly climbs out of the tube, stuffs all the ammo into a carry box and meekly follows Sona, looking as innocent as a murderbot can be.
"That creature is going to die. By my hand. This I vow." Emma grimaces, and her scar pulses once, justifying her actions. She marches into the thicket, heedless of the lashing vines. Her mind is aflame with justified anger.
Dream: Yes. Very. The heat that is normally produced by a nesting pyro-spider is replaced by the explosion. The shards of "stone" begin hatching, dripping tiny crystalline spiders amid wisps of burning web.
2BR looms up behind the commander. The low rumble of his speakers causes any glass objects nearby to shiver and shimmer. "Here I am. What did you want?"
2BR datavises over the info rather than actually talking. To anyone not in the loop, it probably looks like the giant murderbot is kinda just standing there awkwardly. > Designation 2BR, BunkR BustR
>> THIS IS 2BR HERE ADVISING YOU TO DETERMINE WHICH OF YOUR NEAREST ORGANIC MEATSACK FRIENDS CAN BE USED TO BLUDGEON YOUR OTHER ORGANIC MEATSACK FRIENDS INTO A FINE PASTE, AND THEN TO EXECUTE SAID BLUDGEONING << Ahem. Oh. I was going to contribute something. Ah, yes, that was it. Rule from Apocalypse World: Drive your NPC's like you stole them. They weren't yours before, they won't be yours for long, and it's boring if they aren't burning in a wall somewhere by the end. Also helps prevent Mary Sues from growing like fungus in your campaign notes.
> Most of them: prey. Weak. Squishy. Prey is noble calling. Better than scavenge.
At the moment, 2BR is across the hall, having his organokinetic reactor cleaned and retuned. As the backup reactor is extracted from his battered chassis, sticky strands of rot-laced blood slick and slap to the floor, draining out of innumerable channels and crevices. The whole ensemble writhes in the grasp of the automated crane, flexing and stretching, pulsing once, twice, before acceding to the cleaning process.
Emma simply raises her shield, lumps of rock thumping and bumping down on her.
She pulls Lyntel aside and under the shield as well, holding her close. Surely there's room for a slight elf maiden?
2BR poorly-etches the word "truce?" into a bulkhead before digging his way out of the half-crippled ship and rocketing back, dragging the torn off cannon behind him. He clomps up to Sona later and proffers it. 2BR is leaking coolant everywhere, some of his limbs don't seem properly attached and his power level has passed critical and reached the point of pure stubbornness. However, it seems there is a spot somewhere on his chassis that doesn't have a weapon attached. This needs to be remedied.
Emma, pale-faced still, glides towards Dhice, blood trickling from her wrists, and whispers in his ear. "I'll stay right here to make sure you do not drop that mirror."
2BR retreats, but not before swiping the Crick's cannon.
In the aftershock of the stun blast, 2BR Ups the Ante, lodges a chainsword in one mech, and goes after the other with his flamethrower.
2BR nods, juddering from current leakage. > Thank you for the data file Sona 2BR takes aim at the inside of the force field generator with his projectile cannon, and opens fire with the scrap from the turrets.
Desire flutters through Scarlets mind as she realises she could get her hands on a flamer. An honest to goodness flamer. She had to have it. Waving cheerily at the escaped prisoner, Scarlet flicked the safety on her shotgun, dropped it, and drew her glaive. This moment called for finesse. Finesse and extreme prejudice.
"See Chief? I didn't start this one." mumbles Scarlet to no one in particular as she flips off the bike and legs it towards the shed. Glaiving open the door, she simply points her shotgun at the back of the 2x4 armed raider.
2BR opens his projectile cannon intake port and proceeds to stuff as much of the blasted wall as he can into its hungry maw.
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