"I see your leg and I'll raise you a ladle."
Meet the LANDSKNECHT's leg with a swing of my ladle. Resume ranged attacks afterwards. Go for quantity instead of aiming anywhere in particular.
Time stops. The ghostly images precipitating with singular purpose as they spread out from your location, trying to find the best position, the one wherein you shall hit your foe no matter what they try. Yet, the projection of their kick remains the same, unchanging in the face of response. It seems that they are unwilling, or unable to avoid it, instead seeking to maximize the power of the strike. The spectral images converge becoming one. The vision of a ladle colliding against the vision of a leg. A trading of blows, wherein both are willing to accept the costs.
History repeats itself.
This happened the first time as well, and in the end, white hot metal flooded your cockpit. You still remember that pain. The pain of death. The pain of failure. Something that you've since grown used to. You were weak then, but a soldier, naive to what the world would hurl at you. But now, even now, you have accepted your destiny. You are the Ladlemonger, Lord of Undeath, Bane of Storefront Security Products, and you
will not stand down.
Time resumes.
[?DEF: AUTOFAILURE][LTAR: AUTOSUCCESS] Your greatladle wreathes itself in a corrosive aura, colliding with the LANDSKNECHT's leg. It is a weapon, designed to be used in combat between armor frames, designed to endure hard impact and even gunfire without a single scratch. But this? Technology from before the Fall of living gods, brought to bear with a crushing blow? That is too much for even it to withstand.
Dire runes rend themselves upon the air. Corrosion and decay surge forth once more. The screams of the damned. The wrath of the dead. All explode forth.
The impact is not kind. Your frame is flung against the ropes. Your frontal plating is all gone. Your rear core plating has been shattered and is slowly healing. You're down to the secondary cameras in your core, the primary ones in your head not responding. If the frame still has a head. But fallen on the other side of the ring is your foe. Their left leg missing, their reactive armor no doubt depleted. Experimentally, you swing what remains of your weapon. Corrosion wreathes it and ripples forth, weaker than before, but still functional.
Checkmate.
We're not even going to bother rolling for this one. Your opponent doesn't have much in the way of MDEF anymore, or any melee options either. And with one skeleflare active, and one other ready to take its place, their firepower won't come into play quickly enough. You slash wildly into the air, corrosion spilling forth in a mad frenzy. First, you deplete what power is left in their reactive armor, the distance too great for the blasts of molasses to faze you. They try to dodge, but, they can't do much, the thrusters on their remaining leg letting them move, but not with enough control to throw off your aim. More and more decay waves crash against them. Soon enough, all that remains is the rusted husk of a once-fearsome frame.
"Aaaaannnnnnnddddd the winner, by the complete, and utter destruction of their opponent isssssssss, The Ladlemonger!"YOU DEFEATEDThe crowd applauds, the applauds breaking into cheers, the cheers breaking into chanting. They're changing your name. Your new name.
Your eyes snap open. You are in the cathedral again, standing before the alter.
>Congratulations! You have prevailed!>We hereby bequeath unto you, Caladlebolg!Another great-ladle, this one fit for a person to wield, precipitates into your hand, not unlike your Bound AIAR.
((Bound Weapon - Caladlebolg gained!))>And formally acknowledge you as the Ladlemonger!With that your clothes melt into a formless grey, bulky plating precipitating and expanding outwards. You are clad in a grand set of ashen white armor, incredibly light despite its bulk, its metallic sheen belying the fact that, judging by its texture, it seems to be made out of styrofoam. Surprisingly study styrofoam, but still not something worth trusting to protect you in anything more life-threatening than a larping session. Anchored to the obligatory spiky protrusions is a billowing black cloak, its immaterial form flowing through the air, comprised of mascara and eyeliner, contrasting the cold glint of the oversized championship belt at your waist. Completing it is a mask in the form of a stylized, melting skull, the top partially covered by a hood that looks like it came from a ghillie suit that had been spray-painted black.
>Go forth and let the world know your name>For that, we shall grant you further powerThe remaining brochures flutter before you as JUS conjures ten points of red light.
Decided where to go next?
+5 EXT points
+5 INT points
[+] The gamble paid off
"Well, my uh...operator, told me a bunch of things that would probably be more useful to someone who isn't me, all I really know is that there's probably something moving around inside there able probably able to tear out our throats and possibly our guts out while invisible in a weird way, as well as the fact that whatever we're looking for is located in the western "shaft", which may or may not be one of the smaller buildings attached, I dunno."
"Other then that I've got a batch of trivia that may or may not be helpful when we're actually inside."
Ryles watches Killy summon lumps of metal.
"I think I can use that particular word."
"Lets see..."
Try crafting magicks together, "29 84"
[COMP: 5/3] You summon a silvery breastplate and pauldrons, that clatter lightly to the ground. Hmm considering its relatively low density, it may not be enough stop a rifle round, not comfortably at least.
"HAH! Take that you bloody hounds!"
Well that was quite effective.
Bonus points if you can do it to more than one at a time.
James Heign nods to himself, then makes use of the weight gun again, trying to get several of the wolves in its field this time.
[LTAR vs. SDEF: -1 vs. 1, 1] ((Well, the RNG does not like you today.)) Even as time remains frozen, as you mentally place the field, you know it won't be a clean hit. They had options, too many movement options to cover. You needed more time, more time in a world without time, to cut off their escape routes, to prepare your contingency measures. Time resumes. You tap the range-setter and pull the trigger, a bit less confidently than before. The two closest foes manage to quickly shift their positions the field envelops them mid-lunge, shifting their weight backwards, going more upright. They take the brunt of the impact with their hind legs. Their legs are crushed. Their bodies shattered. Their jaws broken. But their heads are still intact. Mostly intact. Leaping from their own shattered remains, they lunge towards you, metallic maws gaping wide open, their entire bodies having already regenerated in mere moments.
"Oh boy... I'm suddenly having second thoughts. A lot of second thoughts. That thing is absurdly dangerous... Give me second to think this over once again."
Empty words to no one in particular.
((Rethinking the plan in both IC and OOC. Will edit once something comes up.))
"Okay guys, so I'm chickening out here. It's probably better if I continue on my original goal and retrieve my LATRANS down on maintenance facility. It's definitely better against that monster than going with only two guns and overwatch. It's also probably better if you too move as far away from the spearman and his posse as possible. Wanna tag along? It's not a retreat by the way, just strategic re-evaluation of options."
Abort the mission! Self-preservation programs activate! Stay away from the monster guy and keep advancing to where my mech is. Persuade these guys coming with me, but don't bother waiting for them. If they come, good, if they don't, wish them luck.
Magic: -E
Two NEE troopers are ordered to go with you to get additional reinforcements.
How would you like to go there by the way? Still going to run down the main road? Or would you like to take a longer way around, giving the core building wide berth to minimize the chances of having your nervous system getting tentacle raped with a spool of barbed wire? Or...
"There is a faster way of getting there, much safer, much quicker, but you can't bring those two with you."((This won't take a turn by the way, we'll give you a personal mini-update when you respond to this.))
[COMP: 4/3] You feel a great yet cautious sense of power, one that is tempered with a mixture of dread and fear.
-snip-
Try crafting magicks together, "29 84"
"Sounds like a good idea to me. What do you say we sit here for a spell and figure out our next move while we get some basic science out of the way?"
"10 72"
[COMP: 14/6] ((What is it with you and weird animals?)) Shimmering into view for you, and only you, are the outlines of a manticore. A lion with a mane of paintbrush heads, a scorpion-like tail terminating in a large, sharpened fountain pen nib, and the face of a bored office worker. Its maw and claws are lined with countless stylus blades. It dissipates with no elements to complete it.
Beirus opens a channel to his squad. "You remember when I said there would be a time when I told y'all to run and not look back? This is that time. You haul ass and you do not stop until you get back to base. Now go!" Beirus closes the channel to his squad and opens one to HQ. "This is Beirus O'Greenahan, reporting in from the anomaly. It seems to be filled with creatures that embody the storm. Birds made of lightning and ice, and some sort of humanoid that looks like a raindrop. And the storm itself may or may not be sentient. I think I pissed it off. Looks like it's turning into a giant snake made of storm clouds. Sorta like that Storm Elephant from that old holovid, Jim and the Enormous Fig. I'm sending my squad back, and I'm going to see if I can reach the center of this anomaly. I'll try to report on what I see on the way for as long as I can. I apologize in advance if this channel becomes filled with incoherent death screams. And if I get through this, I expect a meal when I get back to base. A good meal, like a big steak, not that freeze dried MRE shit. And please, for the love of God, have the squad put in some serious time at the shooting range when they get back. I think they may have gotten too comfortable with the targeting assists provided by their frames." Beirus takes a moment to check the position of the storm snake and looks down the road towards the center of the anomaly.
Make sure my squad gets away and that the storm monster is focused on me instead of them. Then haul ass towards the center of the anomaly. Cut through buildings if I need to in order to dodge lightning bolts or whatever else. If that monster gets too close and I can line up a shot, blast through it with a plasma gout. Otherwise, use the ALCYONE and my Bound Weapon to harass it and keep it focused on me until my squad is clear. If I actually make it to the building at the center and it's a skyscraper with windows, Equipment Check it, run up the side of it to whatever floor the tech is on and use the ALCYONE to blast open a window to get inside.
"Reading you clear O'Greenahan. Your squad have already been picked up by our radio tracers and we have a truck on the way to them. The barometric pressure look really above you guys and not so much elsewhere, is there some way you can hide from the storm to see if it passes? Also apology accepted, and the steak will waiting in the wings. Yeah. we were betting on that cavalcade of failure that your squaddies call shooting... don't worry Captain Caid will be giving them an extensive lecture about 'attending the range rather than the fucking pub you incompetent fools'."You run, raising both weapons to the heavens and opening fire. Your ALCYONE clip soon runs dry, though the Bound Weapon's absurd rate of fire is more than making up for it, the recoil dampened by your exoskeleton and the loss of accuracy mattering little considering the size of your target. The black clouds simply swirl above, neither flinching from your fire, nor descending to engage you.
Your radio crackles to life.
"Hey uh, sir the -argh! Get the fuck off of me you bloody-"It cuts off amidst the sound of gun fire and cursing, clicking back several seconds later.
"Sir? The birds can't get through our armor, punching works if they start trying to claw you. Heading out now. Don't you die in there."You run and keeping on running, a mad, desperate dash as the tempest rages. Soon enough you clear two blocks, but progress is beginning to slow. The inky darkness remains overhead, smaller than before but also more focused, its center remaining directly above you. More hooded figures appear; some keep pace, collapsing and rising back up in front of you as you pass; others peer at you from the alleys or behind the glass of nearby buildings.
You manage to go another half block, a slow trudge. It's hard to even push forwards now, the relentless gale contesting each and every step, countless raindrops bombarding you with each passing moment.
"We're out! Heading back to base now. You able to escape?"Time stops as pale lines, trajectories, fill your world; the circles that mark their origins so densely packed, they blot out the clouds themselves.
Too many. Too many to dodge. Too many to block. You're going to get hit. Question is, how much it'll hurt, how quickly you can get into cover.
To your left is a car dealership. To your right is moderately tall office building.
((Just a reminder that you can sacrifice your attacking action to use both your defensive stats.))
((Still not caught up, but putting in an action for now))
Search the area. Any clues as to whereabouts to any of the prey?
"Bug, any ideas?"
Look for fresh corpses. That's always a good bet.
You wander around the street past rubbish skips and dirty industrial buildings. The occasional car or bus speeds past, madly speeding away, desperate to escape whatever fresh hell was wrought here. In the distance, you see that several industrial centers have begun producing smoke and embers rather than their usual products. As you wander, you hear a horrid grinding sound, punctuated by several wet crunches. From a nearby alley flies out a bloodstained mess of flesh and broken bone. Stalking out after it is a walking skeleton. Yellowed bones moving without muscles to propel them, eyeless sockets trained upon its long-dead victim.
It hefts a large tire-less wheel, a complex assembly of gears and engine cylinders keeping it in motion.
[TRAN: -1] There is something wrong with it, something terribly terribly wrong with it. Something about it, is just
off, unnatural. The fact that it's spinning so quickly, that the gears are interlocking like so, that the cylinders are keeping it running, you're not really sure why, they seem so horrid; you've seen objects spin faster, you know that clockwork makes perfect sense, and internal combustion isn't exactly a mystery either, yet, watching them here, you can't help but feel that what you see before you should not be allowed to exist.
It lunges forth, choking black smoke pouring from its weapon as it slams the wheel against the corpse, pressing it down, grinding away at its broken form before bringing it back down for yet another crushing blow. It hasn't noticed you, and you're far away enough that you could probably maintain your distance if it gives chase. However, the black miasma is already beginning to creep towards you, blowing forth towards you with a windless gale, as if intending to smother you.
Author
Topic: Perplexicon - Down the Foxhole - Raining Mecha (Read 180272 times)