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1
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] OOC Chat
« on: April 18, 2018, 05:10:08 PM »
yeah, absolutely.


(also, I realized that I left Sam's section out.  I'll add that in this evening - sorry Mac!)

2
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Airship Pirates!
« on: April 18, 2018, 04:33:32 PM »
Sky, I need a HARD(11) Agility+Swords from you, please (Tavington is attempting a disarm for his first action - his attack is a 1d8+1d12=6+10=16)

3
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] OOC Chat
« on: April 18, 2018, 03:31:24 PM »
a loooooong post up in BNW.

4
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] Chapter 8: A Thin Black Line
« on: April 18, 2018, 03:31:00 PM »
Rosie’s/Dalla’s eyes fluttered open as Leon held her.  “Leon?” she said weakly.

Leon was alarmed.  He voice had held a doubled timbre, as if two people were speaking, slightly out of time with one another.  Her eyes focused on him, and he noted that her eyes were now brown, instead of blue.  She shook her head and blinked several times, before moving to stand.  She wobbled a little and leaned on Leon’s arm, touching his face.  “What’s wrong?” she asked, concern coloring her twin voices.  Her eyes widened as she heard herself, and she touched her throat.

“I.. we..”  She began breathing heavily, eyes darting from side to side.  “B-both?!”  She grabbed at Leon, before pushing him away. 

“You should leave me.”  Rosie’s voices were ragged, and she covered her face with her hands. 


Jergen dropped to his knees with a sigh, holding himself up with Caliburn.  Kat would be proud, Caliburn said gently.  You helped save the world, every world, just for her.

“But it doesn’t matter if she’s still gone,” Jergen said, tears dripping down his face. 

Look at Isaac, the sword replied. He believed that his people were gone, and he was the last - yet here they are.  Maybe out in the Multiverse there is some way of undoing what’s been done, without causing the Corruption to come back, he amended.
Jergen looked at the pile of dust where Rendon had been.  “Perhaps,” he said, drying his face and standing once more.  “I’ll always keep looking.”

Suriya held Jack’s arm, but he lifted the memory knife and tossed it away, raising his hands in surrender.  “I know you won’t trust this, Sunny, but lemme say Detective… you was right.   Sometimes you gotta dive so deep in th’Abyss you can’t see nothin’ but then you get that one little spark, far in th’ distance.  I done wrong - there’s more blood on my hands than I care to admit.  But I ain’t like that. He nodded in the direction of the Dark Mason’s still form.

Meanwhile the Mason cradled the orb in her hand, staring at it with weary eyes and slumped shoulders - though it was her younger self that was defeated, the current Mason looked similarly vanquished.   She knelt upon the ground, one palm to her forehead.

"Why?"  The Mason's voice was tremulous.

Suriya pursed her lips and dropped Jack’s arm.  She glanced at Isaac & Jergen, then back at the Mason.  “Mason?” she asked cautiously, moving carefully towards the Time Lord.

“Why couldn’t you…” The Mason sighed, placed the orb carefully in her pocket, and covered her face with both hands.

“Couldn’t what?” Suriya queried, standing as if torn between the Mason and Jack.  There were no rules for handling this kind of situation.  Where one's greatest enemy has also been a steadfast ally: what possible social protocol could exist for navigating this kind of circumstance?  Conflicting emotions passed across Suriya’s face as she stood, rooted to the spot.

"Refute her."  The Mason raised her head, and her voice followed suit, filled with pain and disappointment.  "Why couldn't any of you put forth even a single argument to contradict her?"  The anger in her tone was quiet, yet its mere existence placed everyone on edge, igniting a fear that the fight was not yet over.

"We stopped her."  Suriya calmly stated, hoping to avoid any escalation.

The Mason shook her head.  "No.  No you fought.  All of you disagreed with her and fought her, but none of you refuted her.  None of you said anything that could prove her wrong."  The Mason turned sideways, placing her hand on her face again.


Suriya took the gamble on stepping closer, to within the range that she could sit beside the Mason without directly confronting her.  "She was wrong, and what she planned was wrong."  Suriya quietly stated.


"Yes, yes of course I was!"  Exasperation escaped the bars of her fingers.  "But I just..."  she sighed. "The problem still exists.  The problem she was trying to solve.  No, her plan... my plan would never have succeeded.  I can't fix the multiverse by recreating it.  But I so desperately wished there'd been something, some reason to believe it was fine as is."

“You do the job that is in front of you,” Suriya said, “And then you fix what you can.  Sometimes things are too broken to be fixed, but they often only look that way at first glance.”

The Mason snorted, then turned to look at the detective, her now-white hair sliding over her shoulders and hiding her face.   "Imagine a patient, living in agony, metastatic cancer throughout their body.  Unimaginable pain.  If you kill the doctor that wishes to perform a euthanasia, have you really helped the patient?"  She looked up at towards the ceiling, before turning back to Suriya.  "Is there even a right answer to that question?"

It was Suriya’s turn to look down, at her feet, her sword, anywhere but meeting the Mason’s gaze.  “Regardless - that’s not your decision to make.”

Wordlessly The Mason looked at Suriya, and then stared off again.  "I wonder how many would believe that without the benefit of hindsight.  When things get so bad, how often is any person tempted by the prospect of a fresh start?"

"For some things... maybe.  But not all."  Suriya lightly placed a hand on The Mason's shoulder.  "Often, the easy solution is tempting, but sometimes repairing what we have is the correct course of action."

The Mason leaned against Suriya’s shoulder, wanting to agree but conflicted over what she felt, because of the intense suffering she had felt in... well... everything.  "Repairing.  Do you understand what it would take to repair the Multiverse?”

Suriya kept a poker face her gaze locked with the Mason, silently quirking an eyebrow at her.

The Mason stood up and paced, as though this had long been a frustration in the back of her mind.  "The cascade of infinite possibilities.  Parallel dimensions where every bad outcome for a choice made in good intentions exists.  Countless beings that define their existence as good by ensuring there are others that suffer in comparison.  To combat the unending injustices that constantly eat away at the very soul of the multiverse would be an undertaking of impossible magnitude."

"Well, we’d best get on it then."  Suriya stood up.  "We do the impossible, and hang the odds."

The Mason inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.  "I'm not talking about fixing one threat.  I'm talking about all threats.  To even begin to address such widespread tragedy I'd need a machine even more powerful than a TARDIS.  Not just an eleventh dimensional construct but a twelfth dimensional one.  Something that has existed for as long as the multiverse has, recording everything so that one day it could all be analyzed.  Even then, I wouldn't live long enough to address all the problems.  I'd need countless helpers, teams of trained individuals that know how to combat these problems without creating new ones."

The Mason placed her hands on her hips, grunting in frustration as she bitterly looked down at the ground.

“Sounds a bit like the Hub’s cells,” Suriya remarked absently.

The whites of her eyes were particularly bright as her gaze widened.  Gradually her head lifted, until her epiphany fueled expression was staring unfocused in to the distance.  "My goodness.  I don't believe it."

Suriya and the others turned their heads to look in the same direction, but there was nothing there.  When they turned back The Mason was pacing once more, but this time with an anxious energy.  "It couldn't be.  I couldn't have.  Could I?"

"Could what?  What are you on about?"  Suriya pressed.

The Mason stopped, looking electric with shock, but her posture gently calmed as she directed her attention to Suriya.  "I... have work to do."

Suriya crossed her arms skeptically.  "And do we need to be worried?"  Her tone carried a matronly quality, and she darted her eyes towards that of the unconscious Mason to drive home her point.

The current Mason looked over at the unmoving figure of her younger self, and then back to Suriya.  In a calm and reassuring tone, "No Sunny.  No you needn't be."

The Mason stepped away, walking stoically towards her younger self as The Mentor stood nearby.  His eyes followed her for a moment, then he looked at Suriya and locked eyes with her.  “It won’t work as she thinks,” he murmured, pitching his voice so that only the detective can hear.  “There is one who can do this, but, as with all worthwhile things, there will be… sacrifices.”  He turned, and she followed his gaze to where Isaac and the other Ferro’khin stood.  Suriya’s eyes widened in understanding.  “Oh no…” she whispered.


Isaac stopped, breathing heavily as his body came down from the quickness.  His arms wanted to drop his weapons, but the blades clung to his hands as if bonded with them.  With effort, he released the swords and sheathed them as the first of the Ferro’khin stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.  Others came forward then, and placed their hands in an ever widening web of living Ferro’khin.  His people, Isaac realized, sharing their strength with him.  The ashes were unmade, somehow, the leaf reborn in this final darkness. 

The Mentor stepped up to Isaac as well, holding his arm our imperiously. “Come,” he ordered, “Your gods made one more task for you - for all of you,” he added, his eyes sweeping over the assembled Ferro’khin.

The Time Lord led Isaac and the other outside the building, to where the harsh landscape was burned with the twin bright light of the disintigrating TARDIS and the black hole.  The sky above was dotted with brilliant specks, like stars, as the dalek saucers burned and fell into the atmosphere.


  The Mentor produced the flowers, the Tears of Illior, and presented them to Isaac with a small flourish. 

“The multiverse bleeds, Ferro’khin.  Heal it.”

Isaac touched the Mentor’s hand briefly as the flowers were passed to him.  Centuries and millennia of memories washed over him, but always in the forefront was another, sometimes a young man, sometimes an old one; and then several times the Mason in her various incarnations - The Mentor’s name, it seemed, was quite apt when it came to the Mason.

Isaac swallowed and nodded.  “You know what you ask, Great One?” he murmured, before taking the white handled blade in his left hand. 

The Mentor nodded in return.  “Some inkling.”

"You were made to serve.  To live, and serve, and to die, as your masters saw fit."  Hastur’s words came of a sudden to Isaac’s mind.  The King in Yellow must have known, then, that they walked with their own enemy in their midst, in the form of the Mason.  He must have seen that Isaac would die, to use his wound-sharing to heal what remained of the Multiverse.  He tasted bile in his throat at the pain he knew was about to come.

Isaac licked his lips and eyed the flowers.  With a slight shrug, he stuffed them in his mouth and began chewing stolidly, while the air around his swords seemed to hum.  The blades began to sing as Isaac swept it up before him, feeling a Rift where none should be, and his blood sang in response as he called its power forth. 

Isaac could feel all the other behind and around him, but barely, as merely an anchor to his flesh.  The flower’s nectar burned in his veins and stomach, fire feeling like it coursed behind his eyes. 

The swords hummed with power, and Isaac began sweeping them in the complicated form the Old One has taught him so long ago.  Light and dark intertwined as the Rifts began to pull apart, merging and melding, reality changing before him as he pulled the damage into himself.  Isaac felt rather than heard the screams torn from his throat as he began to knit the fabric of reality with his blood. 

A hand suddenly grasped his shoulder.  Mother Rayna.  Another - Calderon.  Carver.  Others whose names he had forgotten or never known, each sharing their blood with him, their power surging into him like a stream.  The pain lessened for a moment, shared among so many - then the force of it redoubled as those closest nearly dropped from the strain.  Isaac’s mind could barely hold focus, but he could feel blood dripping out of the Ferro’khin from eyes and ears, their bodies unable to heal themselves as they healed the Multiverse.

I am Isaac Crass.  I am Ferro’khin.  I was made to live, to serve, and to die.  Isaac repeated the mantra as he knitted time and space into their proper forms, forcing the Corruption into their own space, feeling the pain strengthen each time one of the Ferro’khin dropped from exhaustion.  The fire of the Tears kept his body from disintegrating, but the others were not as lucky -  their hands and feet burned, their bones twisted, flesh weakened from the healing forced upon them.

Realities swirled around him.  He lost himself in an unending stream of time and space, but he could still feel the anchoring pain of the Ferro’khin. At the edge of his awareness was the steady rock of Sam Carter, all of her lives; the self-contained chaos of the Mentor & the Mason, the ripples of them across space and time; Jergen, his thoughts reminding him of the weapon Hastur had given him; Leon and Rosie’s/Dalla’s love, the three of them a tightly interwining ball; and finally Suriya.  He could feel her horror at what Isaac had taken on, her fear of what would happen to him - but beneath it, pride and a stubborn refusal to accept things as they were. 

And then beyond them, his compatriots - Jack.  The only one who who could even possibly comprehend him. Acceptance and grief at the thought of losing Isaac.  Guilt at having helped caused this evil.

Distantly, in the dark shadows beyond, Isaac could feel… Them.  The Old Ones.  The Makers of him and his kind, eyeing the new reality he was shaping… hungrily.

Thoughts came to him, memories.  Suriya, defying Ares.  The Mason, taunting Apophis.  Leon, protecting Rosie from the guns of the One’s guardsmen.  Jergen throwing his shield over Leon’s unprotected back.  Samantha’s vessel striking across the void at vessels so much larger than hers.

More memories - of Athena at the gods’ ball, telling how they had ordered the deaths of the Ferro’khin.  “The Ferro'khin were designed as weapons, for a war that should never be fought.   That weapon was - removed from consideration."  Bad Seeds.  The lion-headed goddess Sekhmet: “Should any of your gods have survived, we would kill them too.”

Yet here they were, at the very end.  Waiting.  Isaac imagined for a moment what would happen if the Old Ones entered this new realm, and the gods, the other gods, found them.  “Any battle between our pantheon and theirs would have devastated entire realms, mortal.”  It would undo all the healing he and the others had done, Isaac realized.  It would end all the worlds just as they were being born.

No.  Isaac’s thought sent a shockwave through the Old Ones.  Never had one of their creations openly defied them like that before (not for more than a moment, at least).  They surged towards the realm he was building and Isaac pushed at them, forced them away from it. 

Why.    The Voice within him demanded.



5
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Airship Pirates!
« on: April 15, 2018, 01:03:47 AM »
post is up.



6
Tavington leaned back as Bert’s fist swung, barely catching the blow on the jaw as he contemptuously blocked Bert’s sword.  He glanced back and saw Meg approaching from the rear and called out, “Mille piece d’argent pour cette femme, vivante!”

Meg’s blade ripped across the throat of the frenchman before the man knew what had happened - blood sprayed over her uniform and hat as the man dropped to the already slick deck, grabbing at Meg’s dress as he fell.  She could feel other hands reaching for her as well, one grabbing at her blade while others ripped at her clothing. 

Drastically outnumbered, Meg fought as best she could, but one brute  leered and smirked at her, wrenching her close to his body with his greater strength.  He forced himself against her and her against the rail, his breath fetid and garlicky as he grinned at her.  He began to speak, then he abruptly screamed and let her loose - Sean stood close behind him, his eyes wide at the bloody sword clutched in his hand.

Cosimo’s band struck like bowling balls, their foes falling away like pins.  Gardenzio heaved a shoulder into one and lifted the man bodily over the rail, throwing him into space, his scream very short as he struck the Cordelia’s still functional rotor.  Frederico crossed swords over the rail, while Guiseppe and Damiano protected their flanks.

Walter and Ed stood back to back, Ed with an ax in each hand and Walter with a rigging knife and belaying pin.  Ed ducked under a sword thrust, which took Walter in the back.  The airman shrieked, and Ed responded with a roar, driving his ax blade into his opponent’s side, then whirled it around and removed the man’s head.  As soon as the blow struck, he turned back to Walter and shouted,  “Walter, mate!  No dyin’, y’hear, no dyin!” 

Leland led the deckhands as they fought to get to Meg and Tavington, clearing the space behind Bert to give him room to fight.  “Get to the captain!” the airman shouted, smashing his belaying pin into any within reach.  Seth dropped with a gurgle, a sword protruding from his chest, and James Merrill bellowed as a shot took him in the leg.

Killian risked looking over the steam gun, and with fewer shots ringing out, he stood and fired again, spraying the Fortuna’s quarterdeck and lower envelope.  The blast of a cannon roared from nearby, and part of the Fortuna’s deck exploded into splinters (everyone takes 2S).  The smoke made it nearly impossible to tell whose vessel had fired.

“No quarter!” Adam Pearson shouted, stabbing at a man who tried to surrender.  “No quarter!” the crew began to chant, picking it as a battle cry.  “No quarter!  No quarter!”

Tavington’s eyes narrowed.  “No quarter, is it?  No quarter?  Fine.  I’ll give you no quarter!”  And he stepped towards Bert, his blade striking relentlessly at the coxswain.


Tavington’s attacks:
Quote
Dodge on from last round: 1d8+1d10+1d6: 7+6+2 = 15
Bert's damage: 1d4: 1 (total 2W, 5S to Tavington because of the cannon)

First attack: 1d8+1d12+1d4: 8+4+4 = 16
Damage: 1d6: 2

Second attack: 1d8+1d12+1d2: 3+8+2 = 13
Damage: 1d6: 6

Defense: 1d8+1d10+1d6: 6+9+5 = 20


Meg and Cosimo need Defense vs. 7


7
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Airship Pirates!
« on: April 12, 2018, 09:48:35 AM »
sorry guys - we've had fieldwork for the first time since the beginning of January, and the weather has finally made it such that we can actually get to it.  I'm writing today and tomorrow (yay office time), and stuff will be posted very soon!


And Sky, Tavington rolled pretty well on his defense - Bert did get his attention though, don't worry ;)

8
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] OOC Chat
« on: March 19, 2018, 10:23:01 PM »
epilogue will be posted in next week or so.

9
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] Chapter 8: A Thin Black Line
« on: March 19, 2018, 10:21:29 PM »
Dalla looked at Leon with a mixture of love and revulsion, as if the two sides of her were warring within her.  He glanced back for a moment to reassure Rosie, and in that moment Dalla leapt forward, shoving Leon aside and embracing her duplicate. 

There was a momentary scream, two voices joining into one, as Dalla and Rosie merged together, light flickering around them as the two women became one.  Hundreds of faces, all the versions of Rosie from across the Multiverse flashed across her countenance as she stood there, shaking as the two united. The Corruption melted off her, squealing in a frequency almost too high to hear.  Rosie/Dalla stood dazed for a moment, staring at her own hands in wonder.  “We… I… Leon...“ her eyes rolled back in her head as she collapsed into Leon’s arms.

Leon held her up, his eyes wide with confusion and dismay, his weapons forgotten as he held Rosie/Dalla. 


Jergen and Rendon danced back and forth, their blades lit by the lightning each had gathered around them.  Flashes of light illuminated the room as they clashed and then danced apart, each one measuring the other’s prowess as they breathed heavily.  Rendon threw a bolt of witch-fire at Jergen, who blocked it and sent a blast of lightning back.  The circled each other, searching for an opening.

With a shout they came together, blades ringing like hammers on anvils, each striving to overcome the other.  Sweat poured off them, and finally Jergen drove Caliburn’s quillons against Rendon, throwing him off balance.  Stepping in to press the advantage, Jergen forced the prince to his knees, standing over him and panting. 

Holding Caliburn ready, Jergen said, “Prince Rendon, as Knight-Protector of the Realm, for the deaths of the King and Queen, and for Kat, I sentence you to  ARGH!” Rendon drove the dagger he had been concealing into Jergen’s leg, and started to rise, grasping his sword.

Sam cradled the orb, her karakesh ready to force away any of the Corrupted who came near.  Ferro’khin and the other Sams stood guard over her, in an ever widening circle as the chronovores were forced back or dispatched.  The orb was warm, like a freshly hatched egg, but from the cracks a golden light leaked.  Wherever the light touched, things changed… a part of her uniform became blue instead of green, while another became black and gold-trimmed silk.  Sam watched as her alternates, the other Sams, began fading away, while memories of other lives began flooding into her.  The orb was leaking realities, it seemed, drawing them together around her.  She understood then how the Mason’s TARDIS has split her timelines across all the Multiverse, and how the Mason must feel with the hundreds and thousands of years of experience.  Places and faces flashed before her eyes, hundreds of lives on hundreds of worlds, each one only subtly different, all of them her.  The circle around her shrank as the other Sams vanished, leaving only the Ferro’khin surrounding the shuddering, glowing form of Samantha Carter.


Isaac moved through the remaining Corrupted, his blades hungrily devouring their essence.  Even compared to the other Ferro’khin, Iseriac was fast, and his eyes shone with an inhuman ferocity.  Isaac could feel his soul being consumed as he powered through the enemy, their darkness giving way before him like fire before a flood.  Memories and names slipped away with every strike, faces disappeared into the blades with every blow. 

In his mind, he kept repeating, I am Isaac Crass.  I am a riftwalker, and a Ferro’khin.  I am the Last Heir.  I am Isaac Crass.  I am Ferro’khin.  I am a riftwalker.  I am Isaac Crass.  I am Isaac Crass.  I am Isaac... 

Suriya stood over the Dark Mason, her teeth clenched in the effort to contain the rogue Time Lord.  after a moment, the rocks crumble to dust, leaving the Dark Mason free.  She stand, resigned, as Suriya moves to attack her - instead, the Dark Mason holds up her gauntlet and freezes the whole battlefield. 

“Look at you.”  she sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose.  “All of you - fighting, warring, killing senselessly.  SO much suffering.  I can’t stand it anymore.”  She walks daintily through the frozen hall, her heels clicking lightly on the stone floor.  She leans over Samantha and pries the orb from her fingers as Sam can only watch helplessly.

“To think of what I shall do when this is over,” she muses, holding the orb up to examine it like a rare gem.  “I suppose I’ll be busy for a few thousand years - you know what that’s like now, don’t you, Carter? But I’ll make it all better.  Cleaner.  Starting with muons, I never liked muons much, too much instability there, but neutrinos, neutrinos were certainly my favorite, needs more neutrinos, add that to the list…”  The Dark Mason continues to chatter as she walks around, the air growing steadily hotter as she talks. 

Isaac sees it first from the corner of his eye - one of the shadowy figures moves slightly as the Dark Mason’s back is turned.  With a shifting, almost preternatural grace, the figure slides toward the rogue Time Lord, keeping itself in shadows.

The Dark Mason makes her way back towards the where the Light Mason is sprawled.  She pats her hair and then sits next to her, stroking her gently.

“Don’t worry, Mason.  I won’t forget you, but I will make sure that this sort of thing doesn’t happen again.”  The orb begins to glow brighter, and the Dark Mason holds it aloft for the last time.  “What wonders there will be…” she says as she gazes into it, the room becoming uncomfortably hot.

The dark figure moves with a sudden leap, his green glass blade in his hand, slashing across the throat of the Dark Mason.  His hood falls back to reveal Jack Larabe, his brooch glowing at his throat. 

The moment the blade touches her skin, the Dark Mason convulses, and the green glass of the memory knife begins to glow as it draws her memories into it.  Time restores itself, and the Mason reaches out a hand to grab the orb a second before it touches the ground. 

In that instant of time’s restoration, Jergen slashes downward with Caliburn, and Rohmer’s head rolls from his body, a shocked expression on his face before he crumbles to dust.

Suriya grabs Jack, looking between him and the Dark Mason, who lies unconscious at his feet, her gauntlet still glowing gently. 

The corruption turn as one towards Isaac.  It is over, for now, one says, and the mycelium begins to crumble to dust, shaking off from former hosts and then vanishing.

10
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Airship Pirates!
« on: March 15, 2018, 09:30:19 AM »
:P


new post up!

11
Meg's shot took a frog in the throat, blood bubbling and spurting as he drops.  She swung into action from the quarterdeck, her blade finding its mark like a Hussar's lance - she pinned one of the enemy through his lung before sliding the blade back.

Another Frenchman grabbed her by the hair to drag her down, but Ed removed the man's arm at the shoulder with a boarding ax.  Hot blood sprayed over Meg as the man screamed and fell back (Meg takes 2S).

Cosimo fired into the fray with his coach gun, the smoke making it difficult to see anything beyond a few feet.  As he charged forward, the others behind him yell, "DON SPACONE!" and "MORTE A TUTTI I TRAITORI!" and surge against the Frenchmen.  As they join the battle, Cosimo took a glancing blow from a musket across the face, dazing him slightly (Cosimo takes 1S).

Bert moved like a dervish, shoving through the melee like a man possessed.  Tavington saw him and swore, smashing his basket hilt against one of his own men's heads to get through faster. 

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of killing you, peasant, before taking your whore captain to my bed and spreading her like you've wanted the whole time, dog!" Tavington snarled, his blade flicking back and forth like a viper's tongue.  "And then every man in my crew, and you'll watch before I cut your eyes out, so its the last thing you see!"

Quote
Bert needs a Will+Will vs. HARD(11), and Defense vs. 17 (Tavington rolled well, I'm afraid - and don't forget you can use people as cover ;) )
Meg & Cosimo, Defense vs. AVERAGE(7) before you make your next actions.

12
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Airship Pirates!
« on: March 14, 2018, 05:14:21 PM »
Today's writing s delayed due to 24 inches of snow & a downed tree knocking out our power.

13
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] OOC Chat
« on: March 11, 2018, 11:12:55 PM »
I will be writing the final scene & epilogue over the next few days.  Please PM me with anything in particular you'd like to see for your character.

14
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Airship Pirates!
« on: February 26, 2018, 10:58:26 AM »
new post up.


this fight is going to be bloody.  Sorry.

15
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Chapter 7: A Changing Tide
« on: February 26, 2018, 10:53:05 AM »
Meg saw it a moment before it happened - the Fortuna heeled to port, her front spar crashing into the Cordelia's wounded starboard.  Tangling together the riggings, the two ships spun crazily, their decks pitching and rolling.

With a roar, the two ships' crews engaged, cutlasses and pistols taking their toll.  Harriet finished reloading and picked off the Fortuna's coxswain, his face a bloody mess before tumbling off into space.

Edgar dropped onto Fortuna's deck, his rigger's knives flashing as he dove into the enemy's flank - Meg saw one of Tavington's men drive a boarding ax through the back of his skull. 

Killian turned the steam gun onto the enemy vessel, depressing the lever and cutting into the other crew with the sound of a thousand bees.  A pistol shot in response spanged off the brass and he ducked, leaving an opening for the enemy to cross.   With a roar, the French and Italians stormed onto the deck of the Cordelia, to be met with her own furious response.  Walter and Ed began screaming orders, Owen shooting blindly into the fray.  Nick Hale drove a dagger into a man's neck before being brought down by a musket butt to the face. 

Gardenzio & Frederico grasped their weapons, ready to plunge into combat, looking to Cosimo to lead.

Meg, from her vantage on the quarterdeck, sees Tavington pushing his men forward, laying about with the flat of his blade.  He holds a pistol in his right hand, and she notes with some satisfaction his nose is still crooked from Bert's brutal punch back at the duel. 


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