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Grumb Slanger, traipsing about Grumb's disappointment begins turning to frustration as he fruitlessly attempts to round up the remaining combat scrunts for the mission. After finally locating the last of his compatriots, he returns to the rendezvous point with Urok to find that most of the scrunts he'd previously gathered had once again split into bickering cliques and wandered off. A newly discovered vein throbs visibly under his forehead, and he begins to quake with fury. "BLLAAAARGGH!" he wails impotently at the sky, smashing his fists into his ears. Urok lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, briefly discharging a jolt of electric current into Grumb's body. "Oye, calm down mate. 'Ave a cigar." Grumb takes Urok up on his offer, gnoshing aggressively on the stogie and taking a few deep breaths. As he gulps it down, he finally notices Barrius amongst a small crowd of scrunts. His friend seems to have gotten himself into some amount of hot water. Grumb waddles over to the group, patting his hair down flat. "AY YOU! GITCHER PAWS OFFA HIM!" Grumb yells into Yurik's ear, becoming aggressively defensive of his human friend. He begins to raise his fists, when Barrius speaks up. "Hey, hey, it's cool. I think... I think we're cool," Barrius says, not entirely convinced himself. "This pipscrunt givin' you trobble? I'll smack the bowl righ' offa his-" Grumb begins, throwing a shady look in Yurik's direction. Scrunt Barry finally pipes up, interrupting Grumb in defense of the loremaster. "No, Grumb, hones', 'ee was just tellin' off dat weedy snipingman jussa second ago!" Grumb blinks in surprise, taken aback by this new development. "Oh. Well, uh... D - Dang right 'ee was!" Grumb stammers, striking a menacing pose with arms akimbo. Perhaps he had misjudged the wiry little varmint, after all. "Well Gumbo sez it's time ta shove off, so you lot get together by the wheelybox and let's avance this stinkin' plot already!" Grumb whines angrily, experiencing a moment of uncharacteristic clarity. He takes Barrius aside for a moment, patting the scrawny-yet-still-taller human on the back reassuringly. "Listen, Barry, yer one of us now, and I won't stan' fer anyone sez ovverwise. You jes say tha word if'n you gets any lip from anyone, an' I'll lay em low. Unnerstand?" Barrius nods slowly, his devious human mind considering the ramifications of such an offer. "Fer now, soot up! Yer comin' wiff us." He gives Barrius an assertive bop on the shoulder, reinflaming the bruised and toasty tissue. He begins to waddle back toward the chimera, hocking a tobacco-speckled loogie into the dirt as the Barries follow behind. "Wait, Grumb!" a little scruntling pipes up, stumbling forward behind him. "Don' take all the fightin' mans wiff you!" His interest piqued, Grumb turns to face the sweaty little scrunt. He recognizes him as the same yeungling that whispered to him earlier in the barn. "Why'zat, likkle one? "If'n y'all leave, more-a them jeebstealies are gonna crawl up an' eats us aloive! Dey got 'oles, lotsa hidden 'oles!" Grumb smiles, reaching into his companion Barry's backpack and pulling out a battered trench shovel. He hands it to the scruntling with an authoritative grin, and bends down to meet his eye. "Listen, chum, you round up yer scruntling friends an' make a proper scan o' tha perimm... o' tha farm. If you see any 'oles in the ground you fill 'em right up for me." The scruntling salutes him proudly, excited to finally be given a purpose in life. ------------------------------ If anyone's still confused about the Barry thing, I think the best working system is to have scrunts refer to him as Barry and the omniscient narrator refer to him as Barrius. If it still gets confusing you're more than welcome to do an 'old barry new barry' kind of thing. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 18:19 on Feb 15, 2015 |
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Feb 15, 2015 18:13
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Grumb Slanger, ambush site Grumb listens intently to the plan, torn between wanting to obey his Sargeant and not wanting to give Yurik the satisfaction of having told him what to do. He internalizes the plan, and as one of the most effective ranged combat scrunts, takes it upon himself to learn as much as he can about the incoming plumes of smoke. "Ah needa better view if'n we're gon' be perpaired fer this ambush!" He rubs his stubbly chin thoughtfully. "Tal'bout, climbin' dem crags, er summat." He looks around to find a nearby teammate to assist him. "Ay Kreb! Gimme a boost up 'ere so I kin -" Grumb begins, but he is interrupted by Pernicious Kreb hissing aggressively at him. Grumb stares nervously at Kreb as he voraciously sucks the marrow from his femur, glaring at Grumb with his unsettlingly serpentine eyes. Grumb slowly backs away from his frenemy, eyes darting around in search of somebody a little more helpful. They eventually locate his companion Barry, who is fruitlessly pestering Barrius about trading a haunch of farmer for one of his last PDF MRE's. "Barry! Come giv me an Barry a boost so we kin get a lookit these plumey smokes!" Barrius nods at his captor-friend, pleased at the notion of getting this burly cretin out of his hair for a minute. He gives Grumb a leg-up, and Grumb begins to scale the craggy rock wall. The ascent is shaky, and about a quarter of the way up Grumb's foot slips from an insecure clump of moss. He scrambles, pulling a clod of dirt and pebbles down with him as he drops down upon a prickly bush. He sustains a few scrapes and bruises, but is surprised at how well the Syn-skin suit dulls the trauma. He catches himself thanking the scruntfather for Murdelia's generous gift, then remembers that he is a devout agnostic. From his recumbent position, he peers scruntily at the crags for several minutes. Perhaps, he thought, this would go more smoothly if he had a plan of attack. With uncharacteristic post-foresight, he traces a path for himself and Barry up the rocky outcropping, looking for secure footholds and roots to hold onto. After devising what seems to be a serviceable route, he gives it another go. His second attempt goes much better, and he is finally able to pull himself and his comrade up to the top of the ledge. The two exchange a celebratory fist bump, and Grumb breaks out his binoculars to get a look at the three approaching plumes of smoke. Barry, meanwhile, decides to make himself useful by examining the boulder pile for structural weaknesses and/or tasty lizards. ------------------------- Athletics test to climb the crag vs 41 strength = 55. Grumb falls, but presumably is able to minimize the damage to himself due to only two degrees of failure. A second athletics test, 41 + 10 Foresight = 28! I figure that's probably enough successes to bring my companion along, so Barry ascends as well. Once up there, they are going to try and get a better look at the approaching parties using the binoculars. This seems like a superb time to use 200 of my unspent XP to purchase the Awareness skill, which I figure isn't entirely unreasonable given Grumb's recent adventures in the field of surveillance. 34 + whatever for using binoculars + whatever for knowing what he's looking for and where it is. I rolled a 46. Grumb intends to relay this information to his compatriots below. If there's time left after that, he would like to come up with a plan for dislodging the bounders. His Bulging Biceps would give him +20 to dislodging them manually, so if that looks feasible that would be Plan A [maybe experimental combat drug would come in handy for this!]. Plan B would be to get some distance and fire on them with the autocannon, which might be more effective at dislodging the rocks at the expense of being less discrete. Plan C would be to wedge his plasma grenade into the pile and tie a length of twine to the pin, which frankly sounds like a terrible idea but it's drat scrunty. HOW'S THAT FOR SOME SKILL USAGE, MOTHERFUCKER Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 20:34 on Feb 20, 2015 |
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Feb 20, 2015 17:56
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Grumb Slanger, a rocky perch Grumb dutifully relays his findings to the group of scrunts scattered about the ambush site. "We's better look out, fellas, looks like trouble! Thurr's a pack o' two-wheel rideymans escortin' the cargo truck. And there! Up norf, looks like we got a squad o' - ...A squad of... the heck are those things?" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHvnMi9_9mM     Grumb Slanger had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. What kind of splendiferous walky-boxes were these? They stomped around more gracefully than the finest of game-ostriches, affixed with spinny bits and burny bits galore. Had there been a more efficient way to stomp people to death this whole time?? Why had he not been informed?! There were no words! They should have sent a poet... If only Grumb could have one of his very own. He must have one!! But what would his Scruntmates say? What would his scruntmates do? Grumb clasps his binoculars tightly to his chest, and gulps down the lump in his throat. "A Squodda what, Grumb?" Barry pipes up. Grumb whirls around nervously. "NOTHING!" Grumb yells, pulling the binoculars off of his neck and smashing them on a jagged rock. "MY MISTAKE!" "Oh, okay," Barry said, chewing on a small gecko he'd pulled from the rocks. He calls down to the squad below. "Grumb made a mistake, ain't nothin' comin' at us from up norf!" The mechaniscrunts rev their engine affirmatively, and the crowd goes about their preperatory duties. They's mine, Grumb thought. Grumb Slang he ain't gon let no-un' break 'is beootiful walky-boxes afore Grumb get's a chance at 'em! His eyes dart back and forth wildly as he is stricken with a heretofore-unknown degree of intense paranoia. I'll take 'em myself! I'll just jump down there and take one for my very own. Sweating, he begins to gnaw nervously on his autocannon barrel as he awaits the approach of the walky-boxes, having completely forgotten why he'd ascended the crags in the first place. Yurik Scraglagger peers up at Grumb's silhouette from below. I ain't nae fool, he thought, scratching the patchy hair beneath his colander. Yer up ta something, Grumb Slanger. ----------------- I have decided it's much funnier if we don't know about the sentinels. Call me a turncoat if you will, but Grumb is calling dibs on a sentinel the only way he knows how. This might require a bit of retcon of the last couple posts, which I would appreciate support on. After all, this game is more fun when we're assholes to each other. The rest of you can each decide for yourselves if you buy Grumb's bullshit, but he is not telling the group about the sentinel squad. My plan is to have grumb suddenly remember the fuel truck after it goes by the pass, and shove the rocks down behind it. After that he'll take cover, and try to line up an insane gravity-chute dive onto the top of one of the sentinels as it approaches. I am prepared to spend any amount of fate points to make this happen. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 05:00 on Feb 24, 2015 |
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Feb 24, 2015 04:38
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Grumb Slanger, a rocky perch "DAG-FRABBIN' COB-TRAB-FLAPPULIN' poo poo-FER BRAINS!" Grumb howls, spitting at Grimply across the divide. "Ah said there AIN'T NOTHIN' COMIN' UP THUR FROM Th'NORTH! An' besides that, I SAW 'EM FIRST! THEY'RE MINE! GIMMEGIMMEGIMME THAT FRACKULIN' WALKYBOX!" The belligerent scrunt's temper tantrum gradually descends into a coughing fit as he shakes his fist at Grimply from behind the rocky pile. Grumb briefly considers plastering the sniper across the rocky outcropping with his autocannon, vividly picturing the majestic crags stained brownish red with scrunt innards. But he thought back, in that moment, to something his mother always used to tell him as a child. "Big little grumb," she would say, "You stop whaling on them little baby scrunts what isn't big enough to hit back." "Bbut MMAWWRRM, They's bein' loud and obnoshulous! Tal'bout dangol' gumbslang gettin' so MAD!" "Listen Grumb Slanger, when you get angry you jus' count to ten an' take a big deep breaths." And then she was eaten by compost devils. Grumb stares daggers at Grimply, seething and counting slowly until at last he gets lost on his way to ten. He never understood the wisdom in this technique, but he'd be damned if he could remember why he was counting a minute or so later. ------------------ I'm ready for combat pretty much whenever. Grumb will seek relative cover when he gets a chance, and try to take advantage of his high ground as well as he can. He would appreciate it if no one wrecked up all the sentinels, but then again he did just lie to everyone so who's to say whether any of you give a poo poo? Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 23:44 on Mar 2, 2015 |
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Mar 2, 2015 22:35
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Grumb Slanger, atop a precarious precipice Grumb itches to unload a barrage from clive upon the bikers below, but as he struggles to adjust his footing on the rocky edge wall he has a moment to consider his tactical options. The autocannon puts out a mighty wallop - but if he uses it on the bikers, will the oncoming buggies be scared off before they get within range? Grumb didn't want to draw too much attention to himself lest he be focused and pinned up here. He does a quick scan of his person. Fire bomb, fire bomb, combat drugs, plasma bomb, lovely little pistol, some cigars and a shitload of ammunition. The fire bombs look beautiful in this lighting, although Grumb was fairly certain there was a reason he was not supposed to use them. Frowning, Grumb begins to reach for his scruntpistol when suddenly Groin Sklunger comes blazing out from the underbrush popping a sick chimera wheelie. Grumb smiles a grateful-yet-dirty grin as he takes aim and begins unloading burst fire down upon the bikers with the help of his new friend Clive, confident that there would be something more distracting than himself after all. "Barry! Fire on 'em with me!", Grumb shouts upward, and his cousin is thrilled to oblige. "I though'chood never ask", Barry calls back, a single tear welling up in his eye. "t'BRAKKATA!", Clive interjects enthusiastically. ----------------------------- BS45 + 10 short range + 10 Aim + 5 Comrade bonus + 0 Burst Fire = 70. I rolled a 67 for a success! 3d10 + 8 damage 10+7+4+8= 29 damage to the bikers, preferably in descending order of fanciness. I want to engage the tauruses, but I think it would be best to wait until they're a little closer. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 13:27 on Mar 10, 2015 |
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Mar 9, 2015 01:31
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Grumb Slanger, atop a precarious precipice Grumb begins to hack and gasp as a billow of red smoke drifts lazily over him, stinging his eyes and mouth. "Aw, piss!" he hisses, clearing a big phlegmy lump from his throat and spitting it in Grimply's general direction. There was no way he'd get a clear shot at the bikes now, all cloudy as they were. Searching for a juicy target, his attention drifts down the road to the oncoming taurus squad. Their distant lawnmower-engine whine had ramped up to a strained groan as they punched the gas and started driving full-speed toward the ambush site. Catching a glimpse of the glimmering noob tubes affixed to the war buggies, Grumb decides that they needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. He takes a moment to aim and releases a volley of cannon fire in their direction. ----------------------------- BS45 -10 long range + 10 Aim + 5 Comrade bonus + 0 Burst Fire = 50. I rolled a 52 for a narrow Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 19:20 on Mar 10, 2015 |
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Mar 10, 2015 13:49
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Woo! 3d10+8+4, rolls came up [10+3+2]+8+4 = 27, with another righteous fury! This gun is awesome. Would I seriously get to roll this damage up to 3 times with 5 degrees of success?
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Mar 10, 2015 19:17
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Grumb Slanger, atop a precarious precipice Grumb laughs as his continued autocannon fire tears the road to pieces beneath the oncoming tauruses. As he continued to rain terrifying cannonfire down upon them, Grumb's thoughts drifted. What was it the bike mans were talking about? He'd sworn he had heard the word "infernus" before. He racks his brains trying to think of where. Was it a question, or a statement? Maybe another language? And then it comes to him! It was something his mama had said to him once. "Grumb Slanger," his mama had said, hitting him with a big wooden spoon, "You quit stickin' yer little brothers infernus. They all is burning up." Squinting grimly, Grumb strained to picture a furnace impressive enough to house the whole unit of scrunts. These people must have some serious heating needs. Maybe that's where all the gas was going, he mused, lazily throwing shells downrange. ------------------------ aim + semi auto burst with a ranged volley from Barry 300m S/3/– 3d10+8 I Pen 6 Clip 20, 2full reload, reliable BS45 + 0 medium range + 10 Aim + 5 Comrade bonus + 0 Semi Auto Burst = 60. I roll... 09! holy poo poo please do not jink this hit. For 5 successes I can roll damage 3 times if I understand semi auto burst. 3d10+8 [+4 from gumbo's order] is my damage. first hit 7+4+4+8+4 = 27 second hit 9+4+3+8+4 = 28 third hit 7+10+7+8+4 = 36 and as a free action, I would also like to attempt a Lore [War] test [or lore: IG if you think it's more apropos] to see if I can figure out what the gunners are talking about. vs int 26 - 16! edit: forgot the +8, fixed damage and made corrections. ps I am super extra not cheating I just like real dice and phone postin' Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 21:57 on Mar 19, 2015 |
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Mar 19, 2015 21:33
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Grumb Slanger, atop a precarious precipice Grumb perks up immediately when he hears the telltale PTANG-KWOMMPH of a cannon shell finding purchase in the belly of a light vehicle. He cackles with glee as he fires more and more into the buggy, shredding the Taurus to pieces with his explosive onslaught. As the Taurus erupts into a fireball, Grumb's strained intellect manages to put two and two together. His eyes widen in dawning realization. "Everyone l'kout!" He bellows over his cannon fire and the intensifying doppling of the oncoming engines. "They's gon' light us up! Bombs from tha sky gon' infernie us! I mean, infern us! Dangol, y'all watch yer asses!" He turns his attention to the second oncoming buggy, eager to shower the road with more scrap metal. As he fires, one eye drifts northward to surveill the approaching sentinels. Can't lose track o' what's important, he reminds himself, mentally preparing for his (hopefully) death-defying leap. ----------------------------- Another semi-auto burst, with fire support from Barry. BS45 +0 medium range (or is it short?) + 10 Aim + 5 Comrade bonus + 0 Burst Fire = 60. I roll a... 8! hot drat! there could not be a better time for this hot streak. 3d10+8[+4] for damage, 3 times. 1+2+10+8+4= 25 4+8+2+8+4= 26 8+7+7+8+4= 34. I fuckin' love this gun. Be sure to let me know as soon as it's feasible for me to goomba stomp a sentinel pilot, as Grumb will drop absolutely everything else for this opportunity. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 19:28 on Mar 29, 2015 |
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Mar 29, 2015 18:55
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i just reread the last round of posts and I want to clarify that Grumb would like to fire on the Tauros that is not currently being assaulted by his teammate groin.
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Mar 30, 2015 21:46
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Grumb Slanger, a craggy outcropping Grumb swears and spits furiously as he unleashes hell upon the Tauros that fired upon him. "Fack! Noobs! Fackin'... Get out, Noobs! GERROUTTA HERE!" He shouts after the tauros as it barrels into the fuel truck and crashes, putting a big dent into the fender and cabin. He pumps his fist victoriously. Somehow it just felt better killing something that got a hit in on you. It was satisfying and fulfilling, like that one time he, um... Well, it was him and someone else, and... Well, he couldn't think of it now, but Grumb was pretty sure this feeling reminded him of something! Something good. Grumb looks down to his teammates, eager to see the awe and admiration in their eyes at the sight of his superior marksmanship. His eager face turns crestfallen as he sees the state of the battlefield beneath him. His comrades weren't at all focused on his gunplay! They were all busy running around wreathed in strange elements, floating and babbling incoherenty! Grumb's heart sank. Could it be?? Impossible! Had they really all gone and... dosed without him!?? Why didn't anybody say anything!? Grumb looks up at his cousin Barry, eying the backpack that held his dose of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG. Grumb was no stranger to experimental drug trials, and if there was one thing he knew it was that he would need to get on their level soon, or else he'd miss all the groping and speaking tongues that was sure to follow! "Barry!" he called out. "Y... Yes Grumb!", Barry called back hesitantly. "Pass me mah 'sperimental combat drugs! An' Hurry!" "Eh, no can do Grumb!" ". . . what?" "S'lunchtime, Grumb! I'm goin' on break!" Barry calls back, pointing to his wristwatch. Sure enough, code:"Oh. Uh, Okay, be back by one then!" Grumb yells back. As his cousin trundles off to find and catch some more delicious lizards, Grumb turns his attention to the incoming walkyboxes. The wait was excruciating - they were almost close enough to jump on, but not quite. He needed their attention, before any of these babbling, glowing assholes got their hands on them! Creeping along the rubbly crags, he tries to edge as close as he can to the sentinels. "HAY WALKY BOX!" he calls out as loud as he possibly could. While he couldn't be sure, Grumb could swear he saw one of the pilots turn his head to look right at him. "LLLLLOOOOKIT MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeee!" Grumb bellows, firing wildly. ----------------------------- Move action along the cliffside to get as close as I can. Attack action, without Barry's help M34 Autocannon - Heavy 300m S/3/– 3d10+8 I Pen 6 Clip 20, 2full reload, reliable BS45 + 10 short range + 0 Semi Auto Burst = 55. I roll a... 68. Whiffsville. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 00:23 on Apr 8, 2015 |
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Apr 6, 2015 20:11
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Grumb Slanger, the edge of his seat As Grumb fires ineffectually into the treeline, his eye is naturally drawn to the sight of his fully immolated teammate charging across the battlefield and wrestling with his primary target. Time almost seems to slow down as Grumb's emotional state cascades from puzzlement to concern to resentment and back again. He swears to himself under his breath as he begins to scrape his feet on the rocks like a hosed-up munchkin rhino, readying himself to finally take the plunge. "Gahd fack bocklin' dick-crud bafflin' crack factory, why's everyone gotta get in tha dangol way when a scrunt's tryin ta get poo poo done, tal'bout always be fackin' up my plans, dangol never let a scrunt jes do he gotta DO! " And with that, Grumb leaps from the craggy outcropping. Majestically he hurtles through the air, eyes aglint with the light of the fiery spectacle before him. The fall would be a long one - but Grumb had no time to think of the consequences. For the first time in years, Grumb's eyes were both looking at the same thing - the prize. ----------------------------- Grumb never got moved on the map during my last turn, so I think he'd probably be a square or two northeast by now. Either way, I've gotta act fast before all the sentinels get hosed up and burned. Making an athletics check to leap as far as I can toward the sentinels. Grumb's plan is obviously to be a total baller and leap right on top of the leftmost sentinel, but that seems like it might be a little unrealistic so failing that I would like to aim for the tree in between Grumb and the sentinels. Athletics is S, so the target is 41. I roll... 59. Wuh oh. I assume more tests may be needed as a result of this first roll, so lmk [or just make them for me]. edit: I will be using the grav chute to land gracefully upon the tree / sentinel / ground yes i certainly will. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 02:27 on Apr 15, 2015 |
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Apr 13, 2015 22:21
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Grumb Slanger, having just severely bruised his coccyx in a large tree Grumb is in an awful lot of pain. For instance, he'd recently been on fire, and just now he leapt a considerable distance onto a gnarled and thorny old tree. A wiser scrunt might have set aside some time to read the lengthy and informative instructional pamplet packaged with all Grav™chute products before relying upon it to save him from certain and absolute death. But what Grumb lacks in forethought he makes up for with his gumption, his raw sticktuitiveness. He scrapes several thorns off of [and further into] his face as he gulps down a mouthful of leaves and cheap, tinny blood. With the sentinel momentarily distracted by Yurik, Grumb seizes his chance and makes a charging jump attack out of the tree branches. ----------------------------- If I read right, a charge attack is a Routine [+20] Weapon Skill test. That gives me a target of 52. I roll a... 48! so now I guess I hit him with my autocannon probably? Or maybe we're grappling. Whatever seems appropriate. Basically I just want to knock him out and/or get him out of the pilot seat however I can. GM reminder that I am very tough and have the True Grit talent
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Apr 19, 2015 23:54
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Grumb Slanger, inside the walkybox Grumb comforts the dying human beneath him as it gasps for air, lungs punctured and spine severely displaced. "Ssssshhh," he says calmly, placing his grubby finger on the guardsman's lips. "Ssshh." Grumb gently unbuckles him from his harness and ceremoniously heaves him over the side of the sentinel. He performs the customary one-fingered salute, and spits. He then sits himself down in the control chair and grabs the control doohickeys. Methodically he activates the hard drive, disengages the safety, and turns the wheel to maximum fastness. I'm just like Groin! he thinks, as the sentinel begins to make a terrible grinding noise and twitch one of its legs like a stray dog, awkwardly leaning. "poo poo. Butt-swill snag-puckerin' git the - Fack! Git goin' you stupid thing, we gotta GO!" he swears at the console, jabbing buttons and twisting the activation keys in their locksy compartment. The headlights flicker on and off as the chainsaw spins up and the pilot light on the flamethrower activates repeatedly. He bats at the pushy-sticks frustratedly, as the sentinel begins hopping from foot to foot in place, like some kind of maniac on the floor. Finally, as he gives up and shoves both of the pushy-sticks away from himself in dismay, the sentinel begins to lurch forwards. He did it! He was on his way. Grabbing the pushy-sticks with white knuckles, he slowly begins to comprehend their relation to the legs. He leans forward and pushes them further, sending the sentinel into a jog. "ARE WE WINNING?" he hollers out the top of the sentinel, awkwardly straightening his spine to try and improve his view. "I CAN'T SEE poo poo FROM UP 'ERE!" ------------------------ Grumb wants to head back to the farm now, as he has utmost faith in his teammates to secure the objective while he makes off with a personal war trophy. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 21:42 on May 1, 2015 |
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Apr 25, 2015 17:40
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Grumb Slanger, inside the walkybox "AY! HAY, WHAT THE FECK'RE YOU DOIN' UP 'ERE? DANGOL, GITOFF MA WALKYBOX!" Grumb shouts, trying to grab at Kreb's feet as he clambers to the top of the driver-cage. Distracted with his friend, Grumb bonks the sentinel into a large tree. It staggers back for a moment before he regains control. "Feckin', FINE! If yer gonna climb up there yeh may as well make yerself useful. Point me the way! I canna see poo poo." The two of them begin making their way back towards the scrunt encampment together [or at least, the direction Pernicious Kreb claims is the way back], intermittently scorching trees and bushes as they merrily go along. ---------------- Grumb, never revered for his attention span, has always been quite susceptible to New Toy Syndrome. He has forgotten about his responsibilities and is hightailing it home. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 19:32 on May 1, 2015 |
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May 1, 2015 19:30
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Barry Szcemanski-Slanger, dragged by the foot. Barry wakes briefly as his head is dragged over a mossy rock. He looks up, which turns out to be down, and gets an eyeful of dirt. Then he looks down, which turns out to be up, and sees that he is being dragged to safety by a glorious, shining angel. Her face is like the sun, and her voice is a beautiful, high-pitched ringing accompanied by the sound of rushing water. Barry had never seen something so beautiful in his entire life. He begins violently vomiting, and passes out. Arnika rolls him over face-down.
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May 1, 2015 19:43
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Grumb Slanger, inside the walkybox Grumb Slanger merrily trundles along in his new ride, falling into place behind the truck as it gradually becomes clear that Pernicious Kreb doesn't know which way they're supposed to be going. Grumb glances up at his friend as they ride, squinching up his face in concern as he watches Kreb rock back and forth mumbling to himself. There was definitely something... off with Pernicious Kreb lately. He wasn't his usual aggressive self. There was something skittish about him, like a paranoid amphetamine addict. His eyes darted about nervously as he chewed on his scarf, occasionally gurgling. All of a sudden, something catches Kreb's attention. He whips his head around, peering off into the distance behind them. Whatever he had seen, it clearly frightened him. Eyes widening, he grabbed at Grumb's face from above. "SKREEEE," Kreb wheezed urgently, scratching and wrenching Grumb's head around wildly. "Fack off, Kreb, Dangol gitcher mitts off my 'do!" Grumb hisses back, losing control of the sentinel. It begins to stagger about, traipsing away in the opposite direction from the tanker truck as it hangs right through an intersection. Seeing his friends slip away from him, Grumb slams his fists on the big angry buttons and yanks the grabby sticks desperately back towards the truck. He spins the turnywheel and activates the buzzsaw, causing the cockpit to spin wildly on its axis as the sentinel crab-walks awkwardly to the side. Kreb loses grip of Grumb's head and nearly flies off, hanging onto the bars tightly with his feet as he squeals and curses. Could he always do that? Grumb wonders. The two make their way back to the convoy, gradually regaining control after having stomped their walkybox wildly around the intersection. They've raised a big cloud of dust and felled several of the smaller trees behind them, inadvertently obscuring the path behind somewhat. ----------------------- Operating test to pilot the sentinel in a manner which stomps out our tracks and chops down trees to obscure the path behind us. I rolled an 89, so I probably didn't accomplish very much. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 02:12 on May 9, 2015 |
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May 9, 2015 02:09
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Grumb Slanger, the tunnel Grumb dutifully escorts the truck and chimera down into the tunnel, piloting his new toy in between the command vehicles. Now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off, he becomes aware of the intense aches and stinging cuts covering his body. He cracks his knuckles, wincing, and slows the walkybox to a prudent canter. He flips the switch that he now recognizes as the headlights, and calls out to his crew. "Erryone keep quiet!" He stage-whispers, idly scratching the briars and dirt out of his face and arms. Grumb hasn't got any more fight left in him, and all he wants now is a big bowl of mulligan stew and some intensive medical attention. He coughs up a tooth, and swallows it again in surprise. -------------- Grumb has 3 wounds remaining and is not at all interested in engaging the tanks. He would like to slip away and go back to the farm for some stitches. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 20:42 on May 21, 2015 |
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May 21, 2015 20:39
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Grumb Slanger, the garage Grumb carefully tiptoes the sentinel into a vacant corner of the garage, avoiding any further damage to the paneling. He backs in slowly, turns off the engine and headlights and pockets the keys. "Dangol, home at last, Kreb," he says, looking back, only to find that Pernicious Kreb had already scampered down the back at some point. Grumb shakes his head skeptically, awkwardly descending from the cabin. Somebody should prob'bly check out 'is noodle, he thinks. On the way out the garage, Grumb spots Mungly Mung parking the limousine. "HAY SCUR'LUS!" he shouts, gesturing at the sentinel in the corner. "See 'fyou can boost up the walkybox seat while I'm gone! I canna see poo poo up thurr." As he walks away he idly wonders if there might be a way to put more guns on it somehow, or some kind of sidecar. But a sudden sharp pain in Grumb's lung reminds him that there are more pressing matters to attend to. Seeking out Murdelia Scurvy, he makes his way to the impromptu medical compound where she'd been spending her time. He finds her outside the operating room, covered in blood and dirt, smoking a blunt roach. "'Ay Grumb, ya made it back in one piece!" she says, passing him the roach. "Nice shootin' out there," she says. "Yes it were," he grumbles, taking a puff most chuffed. "I noticed you was on fire before? But uh, looks like tha's, uh... Thas all sorted out now." "Yes it were," she replies. A moment passes before Grumb suddenly inhales a big load of ash, and begins coughing wildly. Out pops his tooth once more, bouncing lazily off of Murdelia's face and leaving a small spatter of blood. She wipes it away. "You, uh... you need any med'cal attention?" She asks him. "Oh, no, no, no no no. I'm fine. Dangol, I'm great over here." He says, turning to leave. "...Although... ...Although maybe jussa few stitches wouldn't hurt." As he walks bashfully into the scrlinic, Grumb asks "By the way... You ain't noticed nothing... funny 'bout Kreb lately, have ya?" ------------------ Grumb is choosing to investigate Kreb, as that is the most visible mystery to him at this point. Past the medical attention phase, he's likely to go check out the tanker with Sgt Gumbo and investigate that. If someone starts making more of a thing out of the =I= box he'd probably pop in to take a look, but as of now it doesn't really have his attention. Shadeoses, I have left Arnika out of this intentionally so it is still up to you whether Arnika brought back Barry to save him or to perform horrible experiments or to hold him hostage or whatever. Right now I just want to get Grumb back up above 'the brink of death' territory before I do any more serious investigation. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 20:10 on May 25, 2015 |
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May 25, 2015 20:03
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Grumb Slanger, the operating room Grumb stirs groggily, gradually awakening to find himself considerably less punctured. He stretches achily, feeling himself over. Rough crosshatches of stitches covered the wounds which were closeable, and a series of cigar burns covered the wounds which weren't - this included several bruises and a missing tooth, but it was the thought that counted, really. Looking over to the table next to him, he sees his companion Barry being tended to by the scruntess Arnika. "Wat took ya so long, facker?" Grumb cries, belting his cousin on the shoulder. "Ain'tcha found no wheelyboxes or nothin'?" Barry winces, then opens one eye. It glares at Grumb, and he jerks his head towards the door in a manner which strongly suggests loving Right Off. Never one to respond to social cues, Grumb pokes Barry in the gut. "HAY! Hay wake up! Les' go check out tha trukk we stoled. It's' prolly full of-" "Ain't you got some uvver rear end in a top hat ta push around, Grumb?" Barry jolts upright, twisting arnika's needle uncomfortably in his arm. "And jes what'cha mean by tha-" Grumb's face goes blank. "Oh." poo poo, Grumb thinks, Didn't I have anuvver one-a these somewhere? Where'd 'ee get off to? He gets up from the table, and slowly makes his way to the door. "Well, I should probbly go check out that, eh, that oil truck! Yeah, I'ma go that," he says as he leaves, panicking visibly. "Er, thanks fer tha stitches Murdie!" he calls back, his deliberate stride gradually becoming a full run as he gets more distance from the OR. "poo poo!" Grumb swears to himself as he jogs, searching the farm premises for his human companion. "I gotta finds that fucker Barry! Ohshitohshit where'd I see 'im last? Lessee, we was gonna, but then we found the, and he helped, and we climbed the woah woah woahwoah WOAH WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?" Grumb screeches to a halt in front of a growing crowd of scrunts and scruntlings, all fighting tooth-and-nail over an oblong object. At first glance it appeared to be a durian fruit [itself a highly-sought scrunt delicacy], but when Grumb gets closer he can see that nobody is even trying all that hard to eat it. It appears that they're participating in some sort of... game. "THE HELL IS THIS," Grumb shouts, punching a nearby scrunt in the face and grabbing the spikey oval. "AND WHERE HAS IT BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE?" ----------------------- Grumb has completely forgotten about the tanker and his human friend/hostage. At heart Grumb is a jock, and this.... this sings to him. If anyone else is interested in piloting the scruntinel they're gonna need to challenge or bribe me for it before the next mission. If no one has made a case for it by the time we go back out, I'm buying the operate skill. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 00:29 on May 31, 2015 |
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May 31, 2015 00:25
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Well I rolled an 83 on the medicae test, so apparently I need to go back to the emergency room and wait there for another three to five days. Narratively, I guess Grumb reopened a wound in the fracas or something.
Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 19:25 on Jun 3, 2015 |
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Jun 3, 2015 19:23
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Grumb Slanger, the gridiron Grumb clutches his side, still grinning like an idiot despite having recently reopened several of murdelia's stitches. Seeing the game begin to die down, he trundles over to his friend Kreb. "Oh hay kreb, I see you met andrluk. Nice guy!" He pats kreb on the shoulder and wanders off back toward the extended care unit. There he finds Sgt. Gumbo, making a big deal out of some sort of bomb or other. "Go fine Yurk, lad, an tha tech too - we need containmen! We cud all ge sick - or them humans cud trace it! They hav tanks Pirk! TANKS!" the plucky little scruntling scrambles out the door to go fetch the other scrunts, leaving Grumb behind with him. The Sgt grabs Grumb by the collar and pulls him close. "Grumb! There you is! Listen, we ain't got much time. Them humans could still fine us any time! We need to be ready. We gotta send out patrols. We need soldiers! Anyone who ain't got gunsense needs some stuffed into 'em, pronto!" "Righto, baus!" Grumb dutifully throws up the one-fingered salute. He turns to leave, then looks back at Murdelia, arm deep in a disgusting pile of flesh. She is spreading ichor and bits of sick all over the operating table like a madwoman. "Eh... Murdy... you need a hand with that?" -------------- Later, as he is gathering up the overstimulated football scrunts for target practice, Grumb notices Yurik poking about with the =I= box. Still suspicious of this electric dope-fiend, Grumb waddles up to see what he's doing. "Ey poo poo-head! Whas' the hap-doin' over here, tal'bout got a nice box there! Dangol, whatcha got?" In response Yurik hisses at Grumb and holds the box tight. "None-a yer business, ya stinky overgrown varmint! This's some impor'ant loremaster busy-ness here! Jus' as soon as I can figger out this latch I'm-" Grumb interrupts him by grabbing the box out of his hand and yanking the clasp in both directions. Yurik turns bone white, but his instincts tell him not to get rowdy with Grumb when he's hulking out. -------------- I want to assist murdelia with the autopsy in any way I can. I don't have medicae or anything, but any roll you deem fit to add is fine with me. I wanna know more about that little critter, and I'm worried she's gonna smear it all over. I also want to contribute an athletics roll toward opening the inquisition box. I can't remember if you said that was one of the rolls we could try, but I'm drat well gonna try anyways. Strength 41 + 20 to hulking out at things - I roll a 41. Take that for what it's worth. I still have 2 or 3 days of extended care left before I'm healed up, so I'm gonna spend much of this downtime at the impromptu rifle range I set up prior to our last adventure, attempting to further train our scrunt militia in the arts of war. We can set up shifts on patrol and shifts on combat training, or something like that.
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Jun 11, 2015 16:32
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Barry Sczemanski-Slanger, The Operating Room "Squeeehl," Grumb utters, dazed. "Wassat Grumb?" Barry asks, leaning closer. "You say sumfing?" "GROOONK," His cousin honks back, stomping his foot on the floor excitedly. "GGRROOOOOOOOONNK!" His arms start to flail about madly, grabbing at nearby scrunts and chairs. He leaps up onto the operating table, wildly gesticulating and shrieking. "SQUAAAILL! SQUAAAAAILL!" He stomps on the horrid little corpse, splattering ichor of subjective description all about the room. Nearby scrunts begin to panic and scramble as the blood and giblets begin to rain down upon them, pushing each other over in a mad rush to the door. Murdelia snatches up a notepad and begins scribbling intently. "GRUMB? YER SCARIN' ME, GRUMB!" Barry nervously screams. Grumb crouches down, loudly shits his pants and leaps up onto his cousin's shoulders. He wraps his legs around Barry's neck, smacking him in the head and squealing. "SQUAAAALE! GRONNK, GREEEAWNK!" he bellows, taking a big toothy bite out of Barry's fauxhawk. Barry begins to spin around, desperate for help. His cousin, while only slightly larger than him, was not Barry's first choice to straddle his face even when he wasn't covered in gore and poo poo. "HAAAAALP!" Barry shrieks, breaking into a run. Grumb yanks his neck wildly from side to side as he makes an earnest attempt to bite Barry's eyes out. The two step over a fallen scruntling and take a tumble, bowling over a handful of scrunts and unseating Grumb from his cousin's shoulders. Grumb rolls up, veins popping out of his neck and forehead as the hyperventilating scriggoth takes in his suddenly unfamiliar surroundings. With a series of honks and gasps, Grumb rolls ceremoniously out the door. A moment passes in silence as Barry confusedly rubs his neck. "He... He'll probb'ly be fine." Barry offers. "Should we take lunch, then?" he timidly asks Arnika. ------------ Elsewhere, Grumb is scrombling about on his hands and feet and gronking loudly, raising a terrible ruckus. Bodychecking several scrunts out of the way, he barrels toward the garage, seeking the safety and status of his nest. Mung looks up from his delicate bombsmithery to see a squealing poop-stained heavy weapons guy galloping towards him. "The poo poo...?" is all he has time to think before Grumb lets out a terrible, spit-spattering "WHAAAARGARRRBLL" and leaps up onto the scruntinel's legs. With unnatural strength he yanks himself up into the pilot seat, chewing on the control sticks as he bellows a muffled challenge to the world. "Facker mus' be off 'is gourd" Mung stage whispers to a growing crowd of techscrunt onlookers. He nervously moves to cover the bomb with a big tarp, muttering "Les' jus' hope he ain' remember how to-" An ominous jingling cuts through the room, and the scruntinel springs to life. "GROOOOOOOOONKKK" Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 04:13 on Jun 16, 2015 |
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Jun 16, 2015 03:57
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Grumb Slanger, on the roof Grumb, animalistic instincts in full control, hollers and hoots as he spins the sentinel around and around. The chain blade revs menacingly as gouts of flame issue from the business end of his squig nest. A small crowd has begun to accumulate around the farmhouse beneath him, and even Yurik (the self-proclaimed Lord Master of all scruntdom) delivers a grand speech of complete submission to Grumb's authority. This pleases Grumb. Finally, he thinks, or would be thinking if his mental patterns tended toward the verbal, that little poo poo learned who's tha biggest an strongest round here. Now that the chrome-domed dweeb was in line, no one was left to challenge his dominion! He howls and squeals, squirming around and smearing poo poo all over the newly-installed cinderblock booster seat. Just then, a different-smelling scrunt approaches the dweeb Yurik, and lifts him bodily above her shoulders! It is the scruntess Murdelia! Grumb snorts in amusement, and then the wheels in his head begin to squeak. If this scruntess challenges the Lordmaster, surely she was challenging the veracity of his surrender, as well! By demonstrating her physical domination of this wee scrunt, she was transitively challenging Grumb! He narrows his eyes, huffing and slobbering in indignation. "SQUAAAIL!", he cries, jabbing at the control doohickeys and sending the scruntinel lurching forward. He'd show her who was boss around here! He'd show them a-" The scruntinel's back foot catches on a weathervane, staggering and losing its delicate balance on the rooftop. With a series of sparks and an ominous CREEeEEeEEAAK, the scruntinel topples forward and violently plants its face into the rooftop. Grumb falls forward, face scraping along the shingled incline, until he slides to a stop just inches from the battered gutter. "SQUAAAALE, SQUEEHHhl" he shrieks, shaking his head and dispersing a mess of bloody flecks over the rooftop. "SQWHEEEehhh... "Squehh, squeh... S... ...m... murdie, 'zat you?" He blinks, confused. What was he doing there? Grumb ached all over, and he smelled even worse than usual. And what was he doing on the roo- His train of thought is interrupted by a falling cinderblock bashing him in the back of the head. Everything goes dark. ------------- Grumb wakes back up in the extended care facility, without the faintest idea of what happened. Murdelia has swiped both of his doses of Experimental Combat Drug for extensive testing. The scruntinel is still lodged firmly in the roof. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 22:07 on Jun 24, 2015 |
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Jun 24, 2015 21:50
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Grumb Slanger, the dormitories Grumb sits at a splintered, 3-legged table in the dormitory area, spooning down a bowl of mulligan stew and discussing the finer points of toilet winery with his cousin when suddenly the young scruntling Pirk approaches hurriedly. "Grumb!" he whines, tugging on the corner of the gunner's burlap poncho, "Mister Sarg'nt Gumbo send-newsin' ya!" Grumb leans down, and the wee one whispers the news into his greasy ear. "Mister Sarg'nt Gumbo seys there's a squadda hu-mos looks like they's fixin' to ambush us. He seys you should all get reddy fer'ra fight, but you should-a no tells errybody." Grumb attempts to suppress a look of concern, and sits up in his chair with a look in his eyes like a child who has been told a juicy bit of gossip. "Hey Barry. C'mere." He whispers the news to Barry, and as he talks he begins to formulate a plan. Barry nods, and slips out the door with Pirk as inconspicuously as a pair of conspicuous idiots can manage. Grumb looks over at the group of scrunts dining around him. He counted a handful of warrior scrunts - battered stubbers and knives dotted every few belts about the dormitory. Not great, but it would have to do. "'Ay you lot! News in from tha Sargeant!" Recognizing Grumb as one of the leaders of the loosely-organized scrunt militia, the scrunts perk up and listen. "Sarge says he bets us a hunnerd blunts that we lot can't all fit behind the tables wif' guns and knives all night!" Confused gazes pass from scrunt to scrunt as he continues "But he's a big dummy, I sez of course we can! Now let's all flip up tha tables an' hide!" He overturns his own table, splattering mulligan stew all over a pair of scruntlings. He starts to slide it over toward the windows. "Over 'ere," he says, "So tha sarge can see how good we's hiding!" He slides up against the table, performing a quick check of his person. Barry'd better find his way back here soon, he thinks, drawing his combat knife with one hand and his sketchy plasma grenade with the other. ------------------------------------- Command test to wrangle the scrunts into hiding spots without directly divulging the threat - Fellowship + 10 (peer:scum) = 36, and I roll... 75. So this probably won't go well. Or maybe this means they see through my ruse, idk your call. Barry is making a trip to the shed where we installed the shooting range, in hopes of bringing back Betsy and/or Clive. It's up to you to decide if he is able to make it back in time, and what he finds. Scruntinel is in the workshop, and still has not been properly hosed down. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 18:07 on Jul 7, 2015 |
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Jul 6, 2015 23:18
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No, right there is just fine actually. -------------------------------- Grumb Slanger, the dormitories Grumb cannot help but feel a touch of awe at the sight of the severan drop troops descending from their transport. There was such efficiency to it, such clarity of purpose. These were real soldiers, clearly cut from different stuff than the farm boys and truck jockeys they'd faced before. These guys deserved the best. Only in the heartbeat between yanking the pin from the improvised plasma grenade and its subsequent departure from his hand, only then did Grumb ever really look at the grenade. It was hand-crafted. There was a beautiful composition to it, really. The repurposed cylindrical chasse of a smoke-grenade had been augmented with the pressure cap and thermo-fuse plug of a plasma grenade in just such a way that the center of balance was maintained, both practically and aesthetically. There was custom branding near the cap, and the tasteful blue labeling on the handle - reading simply "PLAS" - was hand-stenciled. In small hand-etched letters, a corner of it read: "For Susan" It really was a nice grenade. Isn't it funny in life how we never appreciate what we have until it's gone? ------------------------------ My strength bonus is 4 and the range on the grenade is SBx3m, so if each square is 3 meters then i've got range on team two. Rolling against my strength of 41, and I get a 32. One degree of success! With my second action Grumb is going to equip Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 17:49 on Jul 10, 2015 |
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Jul 10, 2015 00:18
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Grumb Slanger, the dormitories Grumb smirks with satisfaction as the troopers smash through the window and bowl over his barrier, recalling one of the many lessons Groin Sklunger taught him long ago. And that's why you always crouch behind the tables. Seeing that the troopers are distracted, he begins to shuffle toward the staircase in an attempt to disengage from the sprawling duo. It is at this moment that his cousin Barry, in a panic, decides to unload a volley of stubber fire into the backs of the two scrambling drop troops. "BBWWUAAAAAAAAUUUGHH!" Barry yells, enjoying the hell out of himself. ---------------------------- Grumb shuffles a square or two northward, trying to get away without being noticed. Barry fires a full-auto burst from Betsy. I don't know what his BS is, but he's firing from Point Blank so that should be +30 to the roll. I would rather you make this roll, as Barry is effectively outside Grumb's narrative control right now and it's more fun if I'm surprised. I assume that firing an autocannon into melee with a friendly scrunt is A Bad Thing, so Grumb's going to draw his ScruntKnife with his other action.
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Jul 20, 2015 05:46
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Grumb Slanger, the dormitories Grumb peeks out from behind his fingers, briefly scared out of his wits that his cousin's ineptitude truly had finally been the death of him - but he finds himself unharmed. "Aw poo poo, poo poo Grumb! 'M sorry, Grumb! Aw poo poo!" Barry yelps pleadingly. "Dangol', shaddaup an' fixit a'eady!" Grumb barks back. He turns his attention back to the intruding hu-mos, to find that a feisty newcomer had joined the fracas! Grumb is impressed by this scrunt's brutal efficiency. Dat beefy lug's a real whiz wif 's knife, Grumb thinks to himself, and he is inspired to join the melee! He scrambles to his feet and charges at the burning trooper, enthusiastically thrusting his combat knife into the son-of-a-bitch. ------------------------------------------ Grumb is going to unwittingly help Yurik in the only way he would ever deign to - BYY KILLINGG HIMM. Charge is WS + 0, if I am reading that correctly, so I'm rolling vs 32. I rolled a 41, so it seems like Yurik might have to stay a little longer. UNLESS, of course, that my proximity to Drekk triggers both of our Double Team talents, in which case i have succeeded! I don't seem to have damage listed for my knife so i'll let you roll that for me. Orders to Barry to fix the jam. Or can that not be done in a round?
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Jul 24, 2015 21:48
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(I don't think you're actually stunned, I think that gif was a joke)
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Aug 13, 2015 19:09
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Grumb Slanger, outside the dormitory Grumb grunts and snorts instinctively as thick, dark blood begins to run down his shoulder. It has an acrid, corroded smell, with hints of waste and burnt garlic. He gnashes his teeth, being confronted by an assailant larger and more physically imposing than himself for the first time in ages. The smell of hot blood (and perhaps a little bit of experimental combat drug yet lingering in his system) sends his animal instincts into overdrive. He howls madly, lunging at the hu-mo and burying his combat knife deep into its bones. The panicked trooper lets out a little yelp as Grumb twists and yanks on the knife mercilessly. As the human's bright red blood begins to pour, Grumb's attention wanders to the eviscerated, burning trooper lying beneath him. His eyes widen. "G'NAAAADE!" Grumb shouts, scrambling backwards over the shattered window frame and diving for cover. ------------------------------------------ Standard attack against the trooper that just bayonetted Grumb. WS + 10 target 42. I roll a 2, and royally gently caress up this guy's day. Following that, a move action to back up into the dormitory where Barry and my guns await. I have a feeling I will be needed elsewhere soon. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 20:36 on Aug 13, 2015 |
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Aug 13, 2015 20:34
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Grumb Slanger, the dormitory The hell was that, Grumb thinks, stepping over a busted-up chair and some shards of glass. "Yew say sumping, Barry?" "Yes Grumb, I said I's all done wif' da gun, Grumb!" Barry triumphantly presents the heavy stubber to his cousin. "No, no, not dat," Grumb says dismissively. "D'ja say something about a little 'un just now?" "Oh, no, Grumb, not me Grumb. I tink it wuzzat big stompy guy over thur." He gestures vaguely northeast with a jerk of his shoulder. A look of concern spreads across Grumb's face as he crosses the dormitories northward, revealing the towering dreadnought locked into a deadly struggle with the sergeant. "poo poo," Grumb cries as a lead slug soars through the closest window. "Giddown!" The two dive for cover, sidling up along the tables propped up by the windows. "It's clive time!" Grumb stage-whispers at his cousin, who dutifully grabs the autocannon from the floor beneath and shoves it into Grumb's hands. ----------------------------------------------------- Grumb takes a full move to get into position by the windows with a clear shot at Frank Hardchest. He orders Barry to equip him with Clive in preparation for next round. If Grumb is not allowed to use Barry's orders to equip his own weapon, then I will use 200 of my unspent XP to purchase quick draw right-the-hell now, and equip it anyways.
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Aug 21, 2015 00:23
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Grumb Slanger, the dormitory Grumb nearly leaps out of his boots in awe as the stomping monstrosity comes barrelling through the farmhouse walls. Recognizing this immediately as the sort of situation he's probably supposed to be on top of, he grabs up his autocannon and points it at the hulking dreadnought. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his cousin's cowering form curled up behind a folding chair. "Dangol, look alive, Barry!" Grumb shouts impatiently. Barry quivers, holding Betsy to his chest with white-knuckled fright. Grumb lightens his voice, and encouragingly adds "R'member how I taughtcha. Aim..." "...Aim," Barry repeats hesitantly, propping the stubber up on the battered chair. "And gently caress EM UP." ---------------------------------------------- Standard Action - Semi Auto Burst Clive the Autocannon - Heavy 300m S/3/– 3d10+8 I Pen 6 Clip 20, 2full reload, reliable 45 BS + 5 Ranged Volley Order + 10 Short Range (target 60). I rolled a 33. That's three degrees of success, so two shots connect! (3d10+8) x2 8+7+7+8=30 8+3+9+8=28 Following this, a Move Action to dive for cover- from the dreadnought if he is still standing, or from Squad Five if he does not appear to survive.
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Aug 30, 2015 22:49
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Grumb Slanger, cowering by the window Grumb grimaces in pain, clutching his mangled leg as the exploding dreadnought showers the dormitories in searing flecks of metal. He looks upwards with a scowl, just barely able to make out the weedy little silhouette of a hooded scrunt through a hole in the roof. The faint sound of Grimply's victorious yeeing adds insult to injury. Sumbitch, Grumb thinks, I soffend 'em up for yeh anyhow. He turns his attention to the alley where just moments ago a fusillade of lasfire had caught him off-guard. The alley is awfully dark, but there is very little one can do to hide from an autocannon in such cramped quarters anyway. Grumb grits his teeth as he draws a bead on the clump of shadowy figures, and then lets loose. Barry, excited to finally be helping, joins him in the attack. ------------------------------------------------------------ Grumb remains in cover behind the window, peeking out to fire upon Squad Four. Standard Action - Aim Standard Action - Semi Auto Burst Clive the Autocannon - Heavy 300m S/3/– 3d10+8 I Pen 6 Clip 20, 2full reload, reliable 45 BS + 10 Aim + 5 Ranged Volley Order + 10 Short Range - 20 Darkness (target 50). I roll a 94. Spending one fate point to re-roll nets me a 41 for the hit! 3d10+8 damage: 1+1+6+8 = 16
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Sep 9, 2015 23:53
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Grumb spends one fate point to recover 1d5 wounds, and I roll a 1.
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Sep 10, 2015 18:59
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Grumb Slanger, cowering by the window Grumb starts to chase after the fleeing humans, taking one step onto his mangled leg and falling over on his face. He screams in impotent frustration, firing wildly into the outer wall as the enemy runs out of sight. -------------------------- Standard Action - Aim Standard Action - Suppressing fire Clive the Autocannon - Heavy 300m S/3/– 3d10+8 I Pen 6 Clip 20, 2full reload, reliable 45 BS + 10 Aim + 5 Ranged Volley Order + 10 Short Range - 20 Suppressing Fire (target 50). I roll a 06. That's 5 degrees of success, or 3 if there's also a -20 from lighting. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 18:04 on Sep 18, 2015 |
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Sep 18, 2015 16:26
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A couple of things - There was definitely a window in the southern wall a a few rounds ago. There was also some sort of acid grenade that went off just outside the window. I imagine there's a pretty wide hole in the southern wall at this point, so maybe they should only have received one wall's worth of soak? Also, shouldn't 5 successes have granted 3 hits on a semi-automatic burst, or does suppression work differently? edit: or am I still doing successes wrong? it's one success for beating the target number, plus another for beating TN 40, another for beating TN 30, another for beating 20, and another for beating 10. Right? Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 18:35 on Sep 18, 2015 |
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Sep 18, 2015 18:28
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I quoted 5 degrees of success, though. the -20 from suppressing fire was already calculated in there. Did I incur a dark-fighting penalty or not? I guess it doesn't really matter, I just have a hell of a time keeping the combat rules straight in my head so I wanted to clarify. edit: this may be what confused me. DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:Grumb gets his suppress on, with a Ranged Volley from Barry. It's -20 because of Suppressing Fire, but not because of lighting. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 19:26 on Sep 18, 2015 |
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Sep 18, 2015 19:19
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Grumb Slanger, emerging from the farmhouse. "Gat-dangit, they's retrittin! After 'em, Barry, they's gettin' away!" Grumb yells into his cousin's ear as Barry drags the mangled gunner from the rubble and glass. He drags Grumb a few meters before losing his breath and collapsing outside the farmhouse. "I canna catch uppem, Grumb, they's too fast! And you's too 'eavy!" Barry whines, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Grumb spits out a mouthful of dirt, scowling at his cousin. Barry smiles at him bashfully. "I fink I got one, Grumb." "Hah! Yeah," Grumb peers over to the fallen soldier beyond the gate. "Yeah, I guess so. Good shootin, Bare." He looks back at the chimera wheeling around behind him, and whistles for attention. "Hey you lot! I needs reinfarce- i needs mobaliz- dangol, Gimme a lift!" Barry drags Grumb over to the chimera, popping the hatch to find Murdelia and Mung inside. Murdelia greets the two of them with a hearty "Feck!", while Mung hisses passive-aggressively from the controls. "Oi, Murdy, Barry sighs, "is we glad to see you." As Barry shoves Grumb into the hatch, Grumb grabs him by the shoulders. "Listen, Barry. It's not safe here anymore. They knows where we is!" He begins shaking his cousin excitedly. "Fine the Sarge! Fine Erryone! We gots ta round everybody up. We gotta git the gas, git the nukular bong and GIT!" Barry nods with grim purpose. He reaches into the chimera, giving Grumb a big scared bearhug, and bolts. Grumb clutches his leg as Barry scampers off into the night. Godspeed you little poo poo, Grumb thinks. Barry chuckles to himself, caressing the scruntinel keys in his grubby mitts. He'd get their attention, alright. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 03:08 on Sep 19, 2015 |
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Sep 19, 2015 02:56
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Grumb Slanger, inside the chimera "Yeoww ow owwie!" Grumb winces as Widget assists him into one of the crew chairs. "Think mah fackin' leg's blown clean off, mang! Dagnabbin, I can' walk no-more!" Murdelia peers back at him, drawing closer to take a look at his knee. She spits thoughtfully. "Ain' nothin' wrong witit, Grumb, quitcher bellyachin'." She prods him in the knee with her stethoscope for emphasis. Grumb bashfully mumbles "I got shot by a bullets...", scraping his foot on the chimera floor petulantly. "Well quit standin' in the way o' them all the time." Murdelia teasingly snorts. Grumb blinks. "Well, uh, it, uh, wad'n maybe so bad as I... Dangol, bleedin' all ore the place, thought maybe you'd..." He trails off, standing shakily and flexing a big lumpy charlie horse out of his shin. He looks to the pointy-helmeted berzerker, fruitlessly attempting to engage the driver in conversation as Mung wanders off to loot the bodies. "Hey, new guy! If ye wan' any of the good swag we should git movin' afore the ressa the scrunts get to lickin' errything good." As he clambers out of the hatch door with Drek, Grumb eyes the vicious knife at the scrunt's side. "Thas some nice shankin' there, mang... Name's Grumb Slanger." He wipes his hand on his pants absentmindedly, smearing it with his own blood as he extends the offer to shake. It was at that moment that Barry Sczemanski-Slanger ran clanking by on a stinking, sputtering sentinel, spouting jets of flame and saving Drek from the socially awkward moment. "HAY YOU LOT!" He shrieks to the scrunt populace as the stomps around the farm. "GATHER UP YER poo poo! GATHER UP THEY SHITS, TOO! WE'S GOING ON DA MOVE!" ------------------------------- Grumb will attempt to gather loot while Barry attempts to help wrangle the scrunt populace. I rolled a 38 for any applicable test, which I understand would be untrained as a companion action but maybe the sentinel will help to at least centralize everybody's attention. Maybe a more charismatic scrunt can take it from there. Grumb is looking for fancy weapon mods, heavy weapons, new boots, drugs, communication systems, combat stimpacks/medicine and maybe some supplementary armor to augment his synskin getup. Since I already have true grit I've been thinking about trying to play up his tankiness in combat. Grumb also is resolving to try harder not to get shot with bullets. Training Dodge for 200 pts. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 19:41 on Sep 22, 2015 |
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Sep 22, 2015 19:26
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| # ¿ May 16, 2024 03:13 |
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Grumb Slanger, the courtyard https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZZHrK311aw Grumb sifts through the rubble, snatching things from the ground and from other scrunts around him - some solid metal tubes, a knife, and a bunch of old comms equipment. He chuckles giddily upon finding the Refractor Field Generator, which creates a vaguely ticklish underwater sort of feeling when he turns it on. He even finds a new pair of boots! As he laces them up, he sees Murdelia patching up other scrunts in the courtyard. He grabs a lho-stick out of the hands of one of the agrarian scrunts, and limps over to her. "Hey Murdy... I was just wondering, y'know... Maybe sometime you and I should, y'know... Take the bullets out mah leg." he mutters uncomfortably. The two share a hearty smoke while she pulls the bullets out, which results in her doing quite a bad job of cleaning the wounds. Grumb thinks about asking her to give it another try, but just then he sees Yurik whacking his ride with a stick and yelling at his cousin. "Hey! Hey you," he bellows, shuffling over to the loremaster. "What you is yellin' at my cousin for?" Barry instinctively backs the scruntinel up, not wanting to cramp Grumb's style when he's bullying the other scrunts around. "This poo poo'ead here be stompin' around in the quaran-teen zone!" Yurik yells back, rising up on his heels to match Grumb's eye level. "E's gonna track all the radiactivy with us when we go, and then they's gonna track us down!" Grumb scratches his head. "There ain't no radio activity since we shots 'em all, Yurik. 'Ere, listen!" He hands Yurik one of the microbeads, and hands another to a passing Sgt Gumbo. The line has gone deadly quiet. Yurik sighs impatiently. "No, you eedjit, i'm talkin' bout... bout this!" He grabs a giger-box from one of the growing huddle of techscrunts who had gathered to examine the quaran-teen zone, and waves it around. It clicks ominously at the puddles. He hands it to Grumb. "This poo poo's radiactive now! The 'umies track these clicks, an' that's how they is gonna find us wherever we go!" Grumb furrows his brow, waving the giger-box in circles as he points it around at the things on the farm. It clicks angrily at the nukular bomb, and also picks up a rising signature coming from the newly-licked truck. He thinks hard, harder than he is used to thinking about things. If he couldn't see radiactivity, What else was out there floating around, clicking inaudibly? It was a troubling thought. "Well... Well okay! We'll sen' someone. We'll sen' someone ta drive the truck as far as they c'n go, and not bring it back." Yurik scoffs. "Ye can' be leavin' scrunts ou' in the woods un-supervise-like! Wat if they get caught?? They's gonna talk, they'll spill all tha beans on us!" Grumb squints. "Leave it ta me. I'ma keep erry thing incog- nitta.... gon' keep it all on the downlow, tal'bout ain't nobody gonna talk." He looks up at his cousin. "Barry! C'mere, lemme show ya sumfin." Barry climbs dutifully from the scruntinel cockpit, returning his cousin's keys. The two of them trundle off into the ruined dormitory together. Yurik thinks about intervening, but curiousity stops him - what did this big oaf have up his sleeve, he wonders? ---------- Grumb and Barry sift through fallen plascrete and tile, wandering back into the dormitory's utility room. They pass over a bunch of dirt piles and shattered pottery pieces, as though a grow operation had very recently been relocated from the room. "Grumb," Barry asks, "What is we is doin' back 'ere?" Grumb peeks past the circuit box into the laundry area, checking inside the washing machine to find a bunch of soggy lho leaves. "You remember cousin' Nik'las, Barry?" "Sure, Grumb, good kid." Barry calls back, digging through a pile of dirt. "Bit of a snitch, though, wuddn' he?" "'Ym-hm, that 'e was. Member that night we wuz drinking all 'o mama slanger's moonyshine, when she waz busy bein' in labor an' whatsis?" "Ohhh, yeah, 'e was there, wuddn' he? He said he was gon' snitch on us." Grumb smiles, grabbing a big plastic jug from behind the dryer. "Abso-dang-ly he was. An' do you know why he dinn'a?" Barry shrugs. Grumb triumphantly holds the jug up for his cousin to see. "Blechh. Hey Grumb, what's Blechh?" "Issa magical drink, Barry. When someone is gonna snitch on you, you just feed 'em a big glass o' Blechh, and they drink it, and then they go 'Blechh' and they suddenly don' feel like talkin' no more." Barry giggles, clapping excitedly. "You is so smart, Grumb. We'll jus' use the Blechh and then they won' find us no-way no-how." Grumb pats him heartily on the shoulder. "Right!" He pours a trickle of moonshine out of an abandoned flask, and begins filling it with the cloudy liquid. "Hey Grumb," Barry asks, watching excitedly. "whatever happened to Nik'las, anyway?" "I dunno," Grumb replies. ---------- Grumb and Barry approach the eastern wall of the farm, where Groin Sklunger is showing off his new truck for a small group of lowly techscrunts. "'Ay Groin!" Grumb calls out, grabbing the attention of a single robot eye. "Wotcha got there?" Groin calls back "I gots the 'umies truck, an' it's mine now! MINE!" He rocks back and forth in the driver's seat anxiously. "Nahhh," Grumb says, as confidently as he can muster. "You don' want that truck. You wan' this." He tosses Groin the scruntinel keys, which his robotic arm snatches greedily out of the air. "Tha feck?" Groin asks, un-used to getting generous offers from life. "I'll trade you my big walky robit fer this old heap-a junk." Grumb says, feeling particularly sly (if not a bit disappointed in what he was giving up). "It's got tha spinny burny bits, tal'bout stompin' on folks, dangol, this'n be MUCH killier than that'n. You give me this truck, and you're the stompiest guy around, just like that." This offer intrigues Groin. He steps out of the driver seat to take a good look at the sentinel. "Duzzit... Howzit... Howzit taste?" Barry pipes up - "To be perfectly hones', you don' wanna lick it." Grumb nudges him with his elbow. "Eh, uh, but you don' gotta lick it neither! We'z gonna let erryone know it's all yers." Groin looks the scruntinel up and down, and a slow grin passes over his face. It is a pretty stompy box, after all. As he thinks it over, Grumb looks to one of the nearby techscrunts, who is greedily eyeing the truck. "You. Hey you. I gotsa job for ya." He hands a rusty metal flask to the techscrunt, and leans in close. "You needa take this thing for a tes' drive, ya hear me?" He looks west for a moment, thinking about Grimply's plan and the tunnels, then points due east. "Drive thattaway. Don' stop, jes drive as far as ye can. When ye run outta gas, or if a 'umo patrol catches up to ye, I wan' ye to drink this special signal drink, and we'll come getcha." The scrunt eyes him confusedly. "That way, we knows how far the truck kin go." Grumb smiles threateningly. "Hey," says Groin, "Kin I have a special signal drink too?" Grumb stands in stony silence for several seconds, looking Groin up and down. He glances at Barry, who shrugs at him in deference. "...Nno." ------------------------------- Hoo boy! Big post. I only put words in the mouths of the folks who volunteered, and there's still time for Moola to back out of this if he doesn't like the deal. But it's actually a pretty good deal, and probably what's best for both of us. Grumb claims one of the tubes fit for an underslung weapon, as well as a steak knife. (I take it you cannot have both an underslung weapon and a bayonet, or is this possible?) He also puts on a new pair of flak boots, to replace the ones with holes in them, and grabs the Refractor Field from a quicker but weaker scruntling. As a high-priority target, I am making a decision to pursue tankiness as a character. To this effect I am spending 400 xp on Abiding Resilience. Lastly I will be looting all the Comms Equipment that I can, and passing them around to Gumbo, myself, Yurik, and the next three plot-scrunts that want one. Rolling Medicae with Murdelia, if indeed it is an action that can be performed without bed rest. Per kai tave's post I am quoting the target as 68, which I fail to meet with a roll of 94. Looks like Grumb will be limping a while yet. Next I am rolling the Intimidate skill to bully a techscrunt into driving off with the radioactive truck and killing himself. Using my strength of 41 + 10 for the techscrunt being weaker (arguably I could claim +20 for outnumbering him, or 30 for the target being 'obviously inferior', but will leave that to your discretion) gives me a target number of at least 51. I managed to roll a 03 on this one, so hopefully that's enough to convince him of something which is not good for his long term well being. Yurik, suspicious as ever, witnesses every moment of Grumb sending off a scrunt with a radioactive truck and a suicide flask. Whether he perceives this as the malicious act of a hardened criminal, the idiotic plan of a childish bully, or the grim and canny decision of a scrunt who made a tough call, this much is up to him. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 20:50 on Oct 3, 2015 |
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Oct 3, 2015 18:33
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