File: ea797c321dc5f693e8c8b147b(...).jpg (71 KB, 736x1057)

71 KB JPG

>>2719724
>Basic Attacks
Attack: The basic, the gold standard; Violence. The medium in which you are the brush and the canvas. Thallos will tailor his attack to the situation at no penalty, lashing out at enemies as directed.

Leg breaker: Aim below the thighs with a vicious and sweeping 360 degree strike. Can permanently hobble or incapacitate an enemy(s). Likely to connect but leaves yourself exposed DURING the attack.

Neck crush: Horrifically strong one handed grip. Crush a windpipe and/or break a neck. FIRST TIME is a charm, after that most enemies wise up if they are strong enough to resist; sadly few are. Option to grab two opponents if not wielding a weapon.

Reaping strike: A telegraphed, wild two handed spin and that leads into an overhead, hyper extended one arm swing from the pommel. Can break lesser weapons. Deals 4x damage. has extreme range compared to normal attacks. Leaves you open AFTER the attack.

Throw: Throw one or two hatchets. Thallos has surprisingly good aim with them. The falx can be thrown for increased damage, at increased difficulty. Other weapons and objects can be thrown in a pinch as well for a hit penalty. Does not count towards consuming "first strike".

Gouging: Thallos is a bastard who will gouge eyes, rip open cheeks, bite off a nose or finger, and in general be unpleasant during a grapple. While not fatal, enemies who are gouged will likely be stunned by pain, and people witness to the event slightly terrified.
+Passive dickhead moves in combat will occur. Active selection of "Gouging" will lead to more inventive choices.
+Can cause terror in enemies.
----
>Berserker Mode: Each point of berserking increase's thallos's speed and agility, with the first 3 bringing him up to what his normal speed would be at if he were not an old man in heavy armor, and far exceeding after that.
>Any ability burns all of Thallo's pool, leaving him slower and thus more vulnerable.
Reckless abandon- Charge at twice your current max speed, crushing those in your path and lending momentum to your swings.

Too angry to die- Convert each stack of 3 rage into 100 temporary health.

Inhuman rampage- Berserker packin' man and a half! You become so enraged that you loose the human notions of using tools. Your fists become weapons beyond compare, momentarily able to tear men asunder bare handed.
----
>Wroth: Burns a set amount of points. Wroth is a contextual skill that can change as the story or situation does. Consumed at the end of combat.
Projected strike- Swing where your enemy will be, not where they are. Chance to maim them on the next turn, ranged attack within LOS. 3 wroth
Frozen second- the world around you seems to slow to a crawl; enough time to dodge, enough time to murder...but only for a second. 5 wroth. can be used twice in one turn.
Shatter- Deliver a blow that makes your victim explode. 7 wroth
Carve fate- Finishing move for defeated enemies. Grants, valuable and unexpected rewards. 10 wroth.

File: 1400960019188.jpg (99 KB, 500x950)

99 KB JPG

>>2719735
Little Extras and opening commentary.
----
There will be options to build additional berserking points via self injury at times. The risk to reward is up to the players.

This is CursedQM's setting, and he might drop in to co-host at will.

Thallos the defiler is not Magnus the mighty. While tougher, he is slower and more deliberate. His fury is cold. There is a methodology to surviving, on your attacks ask yourself if something makes sense or is a better move, does it make sense to conserve your axes for enemies that are closing into melee, or do you thin the herd? If surrounded do you try and kill off your foes one at a time and get bled out, or attack all once and risk a few lucky shots getting in? How quickly and efficiently can you build berserking to get movement bonuses? The old man is crafty, vicious, and terrifying.
----

The ground gave way to permafrost nearly a week ago, and the trail has grown thick with those to week to survive the cold. Somewhere ahead of you is third eye's rest, a tribal settlement where the restless whispers of the dead ever goad you towards. Your iron boots thump against the ground, the flax lazily dragging in your good hand, carving a shallow white line in the frozen dirt.

Ahead of you is a small caravan in the process of getting raided. The merchant and his family kneel in front of the wagons, their oxen butchered, their guards so freshly dead the split corpses still steam. Two dozen petty thieves stand triumphant, already rummaging the goods while their leader seem content with the captives.

>Examine caravan
>Examine captives and the dead
>Examine bandits
>Call out to the bandits in challenge over the spoils.
>Kill without warning.
>Kill everything, the strong, the weak, the innocent, the guilty.

>>2719749
>Examine Caravan
What loot do they got?
>Challenge Bandits
Who among you is a warrior?!

>>2719769
Amidst a clear blue sky and barren grey land lies the caravan. The bandits occupy themselves with unloading furs and boxes of smoked meat and cheeses. More valuable than gold this far north...You know you should eat. Your numb body reports no hunger pain, but it has been the better part of a week since you last had sustenance or rest. You look down at the heavy weapon, its black again, not a hint of gore on it, the ground has polished the trailing edge to a midnight gloss.

Holding your falx high, you yell and wave the weapon. The words do not come easily, just incoherent yelling from a muffling helm. Lets try again.
>roll 1d20, first one.

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>2719783
"WRYYYYYYYYYYYYYY"

>>2719791
What an awesome roll you got there, Mr. Cursed QM

>>2719786
kek. If not for the real roll I would have taken this and ran with it.
>>2719791
The still air of the trail cracks with the yell of a man that gradually degenerates into a bestial scream. Froth flecks off your lipless teeth as you wildly swing your Falx in threatening circles above your head. At 40 paces the bandits ahead of you consider their options. two dozen men, armed in scaveneged armor, furs, and cast off weapons versus a single avatar of hate. A number take what they can carry and run as the others square up in preparation for violence.
>Was all the ranged fucks with their bows and slings.
Small gifts. You wont have to hear the pinging of missile weapons against your plate. 18 Men stand resolute and ready. 3 of them dedicated to holding the merchant and his family captive. A quick glance at the bandits reveals an array of daggers and short swords, a few have bucklers and leather helms.
---
>Charge
>let them come to you.
>throw axe(s)

1d20. best of whatever I get to before I post, or first 3.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>2719801
>Charge with a strong WAAARGH

Does first strike triggers?

File: 1421589448516s.jpg (2 KB, 125x94)

2 KB JPG

>>2719806
>MY
>FUCKING
>SIDES

File: die qm.jpg (102 KB, 400x400)

102 KB JPG

>>2719808

>>2719812
Its not the size of your pic, its how you use it

>>2719806
"Oh fuck Burdok, think its'a moonie. Fucker might be an ash head! Let's do em' before he gets all weird like the last one!"
The bandit spits a foul green loogie onto the frozen ground.
>You see them speaking to each other and scowl as much as your face will let you. Breaking into a slow trot, you gradually increase in speed, huffing with mild effort as condensing breath trails behind you. four of the largest bandits block your path, a full head and shoulder above your own height. Northerners could always be counted on to be arrogant. Rolling your shoulders down, you break into a dead sprint, your body protesting with a series of snaps and pops. "Not today corpse." you grumble to the protesting flesh.

The impact of plate steel on bone and flesh is sudden and violent. Two of the men are bowled over, rolling to the side as they clutch their shield arms. Broken bucklers sit on twisted arms. They were the lucky ones; the other two fell backwards, your iron shod feet crushing flesh where they fell. Groin, abdomen, chest and neck...4 steps, turning flesh to gory jelly in a violent alchemy. <+2 berserk>

You land about 15 paces from the guards near the merchant family, exhaling raggedly from your efforts; your own grey tongue licks splattered blood from sharpened teeth; you spit and look around you wordlessly.
"Ay! What are you cunts waiting for then?! Get to it, there is only one of' em!"

A dozen men form a tight circle around you; nervous, but confident in their numbers. Somewhere from behind the crowd a rock pings off your helmet. "TAKE THAT YA UGLY BASTARD!" That was annoying.
----

First strike active.
>attack
>leg breaker
>other

roll a 1d20. first of 3 or whatever i get to before I post.

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>2719824
Run into the meaniest, largest and smelliest bandit and GOUGE HIS EYES OUT.

Forget the Falx, stuff an eye in your mouth, grind it and spit it out. Grab the body and coach screams out of it. Drop it like a wet rag and stomp his head until a pulp remains

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>2719829
......
>Mildly_Erect.jpg

This

Rolled 15, 6, 19, 9, 4, 1, 4, 6, 20, 4, 10 = 98 (11d20)

>>2719829
>>2719829
<first strike used.>
18-4, 14 men combat capable. -2 guarding the captives.
----
<being surrounded, your combat intuition says that it would have been much smarter to execute a sweeping leg strike and leave these men a pile of cripples despite the potential pay off in terrorizing them. If you had elected to grab with your off hand two people could have died in this moment instead of just one.>
---
One of the men guarding the captives, the rock thrower, joins into the circle. His armor and weapon are of better quality than the others. Slamming the Falx into the ground, you lash your hand out behind you at him. Before he can gasp, his neck is crushed, the head rolls lazily in a circle as you raise the corpse into the air, Your hand loosens enough to let the body slide so eye sockets meet your fingers. Gripping the skull like a hurling ball, you dig your finger's into it's eyes then cast the cadaver to the ground with a dull thump. Your boot abruptly smashes the skull, brain and bone steaming away. Not a very grand display, but enough that the men back away from you a step before closing back in. Your pulse quickens slightly at the display, the weariness that ever accompanies you sloughs off like the skin from a burning body. <+1 berserking, 3/3>
----
>Leg breaker 360 attack. (roll 11d20)
>Inhuman rampage (spend 3 points) (roll 1d20)
>Reckless abandon (spend 3 points) (roll 1d20)

Rolled 7, 19, 7, 15, 5, 1, 18, 4, 15, 8, 10 = 109 (11d20)

>>2719851
LEEEEEEGGGGGG BREEEAAAAKAAAA
>INB4 11 1'S

>>2719861
>>2719861
>>2719861
>>2719851
you grit your teeth and wrench the oversized falx from the frozen ground. On cue the mob attacks as you wind up into a brutal spin, the momentum of your armor and weapon carry you in a full circle. first number is the enemy, second is you.

15/7 -hurt you and evaded.
6/19 -ded.
19/7 -hurt you and evaded.
9/15 -ded.
4/5 -evaded.
1/1 -ya both dun goof'd. ded.
4/18 -ded.
6/4 -evaded.
20/15 -maimed but badly hurt you.
4/8 -injured
10/10 -hurt and disarmed you. was also hurt. (that nat 1 just came into effect)

The matte finish on the falx is contrasted with it's polished head, the mass of iron whistles through the air. All around you blades fall in unison with your swipe, many ringing harmlessly off your armor, but several digging in between plates and drawing blood. You slice through entire thighs, slash muscle, carve armor, and shear off ankles. Blood falls around you as men hold stumps and scream. Somewhere along the line a few of the fucks got good blows in, your shoulder sags, and it's hard to breath. 3 men lay on the ground, all their legs fully removed, vital blood pumping away in the last moments of fatal shock. The bastard who stuck his sword into your back is hobbling around one one ankle; things still stuck in your side. Somewhere along the line you screwed up pretty bad, lost your grip. Last fucker knocked your blade away, but it looks like one of em' fell on his own. Your breath comes in ragged wheezes as you cough up blood. You dimly thank your armor for eating most of that punishment. Anything lighter and you would have been dead. the surviving 6 men look you over, big fuckers one and all. You yank the short sword from your side, doing a little more damage. At least you aren't unarmed...wait a sec..is that cockend picking up your falx?!
----
3 northern bandits at full health
1 Heavily armored bandit equipped with your Falx. (+6 to attack roll, -2 to your attack roll against him)
1 maimed and unable to maneuver (-6 to attack roll)
1 moderately injured bandit
180/300 HP
6/3 berserking
3/10 wroth
----
Berserk at 6/3, you are now moving faster than those around you. roll appropriate number of dice.
>Throw short sword (at who) 1d20
and/or
>attack (5d20)
>Inhuman rampage (leave berserk)-Kill your enemies with your bare hands (roll 1d20)
>Reckless abandon (leave berserk)-charge your enemies (roll 1d20)
>Projected strike- Swing where your enemy will be, not where they are. Chance to maim them on the next turn, ranged attack within LOS. 3 wroth
then/or
>Throw short sword (at who) 1d20

Rolled 9, 12, 5, 8, 20, 3 = 57 (6d20)

>>2719877

Rolled 18, 14, 17, 18, 13 = 80 (5d20)

>>2719877
>Attack

>>2719976
Dis

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>2719877
>Projected strike- Swing where your enemy will be, not where they are. Chance to maim them on the next turn, ranged attack within LOS. 3 wroth
On the cum-guzzling cock-suckling faggot that picked up our sword
Then
>Throw short sword (at who) 1d20
At moderately injured bandit

We aren't MAGNUS lads, we're a dead man walking, more wraith than man. We gotta be more cold and calculating.

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>2720176
yes, I likes. I roll with you

File: 1528939686372.png (420 KB, 600x600)

420 KB PNG

>>2720206
>Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>2720292
w-well the short sword just misses the bandit amirite?

>>2719976

Yes

Rolled 8, 9, 10, 18, 6 = 51 (5d20)

>>2719877
attack (5d20

>>2720206
you chose to swing
>>2720176
you chose to strategize, but forgot the second roll. However you got into the mindset of thallos best and executed cold practicality.
>>2719976
you just got unlucky.

For this round, im going to roll these up into a fun wad.
-----------
17 projected strike
18-14-17 attack
1 throw
-----------
The 5 most capable bandits come at you quickly; Large northmen one and all, veterans of countless raids and hunts that would leave lesser men pale. Shouting you slash out at the air with the short sword, still red with your blood. The charging group plows on relentlessly and soon and melee erupts. Your bleeding body sings with the fury of battle, moving faster than the other men. Most of their attacks are clumsy and undisciplined, slashing at air or just chopping into thick plate. You jab your loaned blade into an unarmored neck; slipping it free of the impromptu sheath blood sprays freely over the crowd as the man staggers about, gurgling and holding his neck, his last steps into a clumsy tumble. The next two strikes you deliver are equally fatal, splitting open a groin and stabbing down through the top of the shoulder into vital organs. Two more fall. Looking at the corpse of the last bandit to fall, it was the one who's leg you slashed earlier. Whipping your blade at the nearest opportune target ends badly, not only does the blade miss, but you are left wide open to a brutal retaliation from the asshole wielding your falx. (nat 1 vs nat 20) the attack wracks your body and sends you falling to the ground. (-140hp) You look up at your own blade as it rises to finish you off.
-----
40/300hp
9/3 berserking (berserk max!)
you are unarmed.

1 badly injured bandit
1 falx and armored badnit
1 healthy bandit
---
look at your skills, and consider what to do. Berserk at max means you are now very fast, and the rolls are more forgiving, so gouging is a viable option. but you can also unload one of your berserk skills for devastating effect.

>>2720559
forgot my ID

>>2720559
Inhuman rampage-

As hurt as we are, we can only rely on a fast rampage before they react.
They see a beaten Thallos, but he stands up suddenly, quickly, his silhouette blurred as if a black mist surrounds him. He is more a wraith than a human.

He runs towards the wounded bandit, rips his head off and throws it at the one that stole your falx. You wanted him for last, but he is a danger you can't leave stalling. He will flinch, recieving the head to his face. And when he closes his eyes, that's when you run and tackle him. Done. He's yours.

Your boot meet his face, no. Your feet stomp his knees. He won't need them anymore. Let's get some screams out of him, he won't creep far away.

Thallos retrieves the Falx from the -now- cripple and walks towards the last bandit. He's healthy, he's a veteran. But nothing prepared him to face you.
---------------

>>2720559
So we have two bandits left, 40 hp, and one is standing over us with our own blade? I like these odds

>9/3 berserking max
>Too Angry To Die
roll onto side and crunch, use Neck Crush on the shins of the bandit standing over us, stand and pull his legs out from under him, recover falx if possible, kick it away if we can't.
Attack last with our caestus

>>2720677

This.

>>2720677
>Way too fucking angry.
Digging deep inside yourself, you reach for that giant mound of hate, your mind's fingers grabbing and ripping. The bandits above you look down in time to see your plate armor bulge, muscles flexing so hard as to staunch the flow of blood, eyes veined red through the narrow visor's slit. Steam rises out from your armor into the cold air. "Do it! Fucking kill it now before the shit turns!" the lesser man says, not in time though. "Ay, calm down ya scared little AUGghHH!!" Your carving of fate, a projected strike, it was a minor thing, but the fool with your falx stands exactly where you wanted. Warm guts spill out onto your chest and face as invisible slashes rip open hide armor and sunder rusted chain. His partner reels back in horror "WITCH CRAFT! Fuckin WITCH!" Eyes white and wide, he spits at you. You lunge forward, tackling the fleeing man.

"Get off me YOU FREAK!" pointless words to indifferent ears. You plant your heels into the back of his knees, and pull up by his armpits. The caravan family, the remaining bandits, and the crippled man watch in horor as you steadily yank up. The sound of ripping flesh and tearing tendon audible even over his screams. With a jerking twist, you liberate him from his knees, and then with a bit more effort, rip off an arm. The soon to be corpse soundlessly screams as he bleeds out.

Falx back in hand, you are presented with choices. Ahead of you is the crippled bandit, attempting to hobble away on one foot. To your side are the other two, holding members of the family hostage at knife point. People are yelling, screaming, crying, the words echo off your mind like blows off your armor. Its all just noise.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1NeLhre2gYU
-----
(pick a max of 3)
>throw falx
>throw morning star
>Throw axes
and/ or
>Murder the cripple
>Murder the guards (1d20)
Or
>Murder everyone (3d20)
>Murder literally everyone (5d20)

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>2721092
>Throw mirning star
>Throw Axes

>Murder the guards

File: 1531074397296.jpg (189 KB, 477x724)

189 KB JPG

Rolled 5, 3, 20, 9, 10 = 47 (5d20)

>>2721092
>throw axes
>throw morning star
>Murder literally everyone

Rolled 13, 12, 6, 6 = 37 (4d20)

>>2721092
>pick a max of 3

>Murder the cripple
>Murder the guards
>Murder everyone

>>2721151
>>2721168
>>2721208
>>20<<
---------
The cripple hobbles away, before realizing the futility of it all and turns to meet his death. "Come on than ya big fuc" his last words are cut off by a flying morning star head. metal spikes meet with face; skin shreds, teeth fly, and his neck careens backwards at an unnatural angle. "We warned ya cunt! WE WARNED YA!" two of the children bleed out into the snow. the Bandits grabbing the next captives. With a grunt you whip your axes at them; the elongated handles flying end over end as they carve a path through lightly falling snow. The first axe bites into a chest, all breath leaving the man as he sags down, weakly pulling at the handle. The second embeds itself into a stomach. Walking up to mortally wounded bandit, you yank your axe free and plunge your cestus into the gash, fist first. Grabbing a hand full of viscera, you yank it free, and repeat the process several times until he stops moving.

The merchant, his wife, and surviving children look at you. "Mercy lord. Mercy." weakness...

You launch out a plated boot, and crush his head against the weathered wood of the caravan. Without looking at the women or children, you start digging through the contents of the ruined wagon. The woman clutches a dagger in impotent rage. "You are a monster." Nicest thing you've been told all day, really.
----
There is too much for you to carry, and the oxen are dead.

>Take what you will.
>Force the survivors to pull the wagon with you, towards third eye's rest.
>Kill them.
and
roll me 2d20 for the raider's loot, and the contents of the wagon.

Rolled 2, 3 = 5 (2d20)

>>2721241
>Take what you will.

Rolled 13, 7 = 20 (2d20)

>>2721241
>take what you will.

No more threats, no need to force the body to move. Also eat and drink something right now

File: 1459133910796.jpg (110 KB, 809x1500)

110 KB JPG

>>2721280
you grab a map, furs, and a small canvas bag full of strange coin. The raiders have stolen provisions and skins of harsh ale. Eating and drinking as you pillage, the liquid goes down your gullet as much as it spills from your lipless mouth. The musky and coarse furs sit heavily on your frame, no doubt from some northern beast.

Ahead of you is a long grey road, stretching towards your future. Behind you, the woman and her children walk southward towards their own fate.
----
Roll 1d20 for the trip to third eye's rest.
best of 3 or whatever I get to when i respond.

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>2721305

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>2721305

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>2721305

>>2721363
The road is smooth and even, the days long, bleeding in to perpetual light. Alone on the road, you begin to drift into thought as your footfalls become almost rhythmic. "There is no total lack of value in this world boy. Even a void shifts the world around it." It was more of a warning from your old teacher as a youth. His name, face, even voice forgotten, but those words as he pointed out a sucking vortex in the clam bay. What was the vortex? Empty. nothing, but all around it the world swirled. That image had always haunted your imagination.

Ahead of you rose jagged wooden walls on the horizon. The rest. This is where you were going.
---
third eye's rest. A massive hub in the middle of nowhere, it's populations sole reason for living there was to be close to a certain tree. Lore has it that the trees were nourished by the last blood of a dreaming god killed long before Vall walked the world as a mortal man. Regardless of the truth, the locals seem to perpetually harvest and chew the bark of the trees. Of all the rumors, this is the only one known to be true.

Each step closer to the fort leads to a disconnect. Strange trees that dot the roadside gradually fill out into a dense forest you had not noticed before. Despite the life around you, there is almost no noise, just your footfalls.
---
>look around you
>keep walking ahead

>>2721461
>Keep walking

Thallos cares not for your trickery Demon Trees

>>2721461
Looking around are strange trees. They are hard to focus on, the gnarled bark along twisted trunks leads up to clumps of leaves...or flowers...they range the color of purple through dark red. Like hanging clumps of gore. Beneath the trees, and a dense mat of leaves are twisted shapes here and there, tangled together. A large elk screeches at you, blood dripping from it's nose as it takes off into the thickets. Snowfall replaced by a steady cascade of falling leaves that seem to melt into the ground. The fort ever looms on the horizon, seeming to get neither closer, nor further. A scratch at the back of your skull grows more and more incessant.
---
>Roll a 1d20 for perception.

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>2721500
>inb4 low roll

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>2721500
Evil triks!
high roll.

File: 365b0050c0d0810d2fe0a7a5b(...).jpg (34 KB, 400x552)

34 KB JPG

>>2721508
>>2721513
You Close your eyes, and focus; this place is too quiet. Banging your cestus to helm, the pain is more FOCUS. It quickens the heart, and holds close the kindling of fury to old and dry hate. Ragged breaths escape your maw, and there it is, again. Disquiet. Something wrong. Instinct leads your hand as you lash you and feel your hand close around something flesh and tendon. The creature exhales, fair hair falling away from it's face. Despite your crushing grip, it speaks freely. "S'how ya treat a woman then?" Squeezing tighter, the apparition vanishes, laughter in it's wake. All around you the image sharpens. The forest floor is a blanket of desiccated corpses, almost piled together, flattened with age, blanketed with gore like foliage. Here and there hands poke free like mushrooms breaking from the soil. Faces twist into the base of the trees as the leaves DRIP down to the ground and ichor pulses back up the trunks to replenish the process once more.

Gripping the falx, you carry on. The fort is not far now. It's enormous walls made of cursed wood, roughly hewn from the forest. At the open gates, there are no guards, just a strange woman in this strange place.

File: progress2.png (10 KB, 422x456)

10 KB PNG

>>2721541
"Seems you made it past all...that unpleasantness." the lone sentry gestures towards the forest. "Third eye's rest. Lotta people come here for something or another, usually nothing, but only ever once. What brings you here?" She spits a mouthful of purple liquid onto the dirt, waiting for you while she chews. "What? Loose your tongue and your lips?"
---

>Try to talk. Try to think. (1d20)
>Just walk in, there is somewhere you need to be.
>High impact violence (1d20)

>>2721559
>>Just walk in, there is somewhere you need to be.
Uninterested. Thallos walks to get somewhere, not to chit chat

>>2721570
She calls out after you "Not much for you here. Smith is to your left, the smoke lodge is straight ahead. You're gonna find whatever it is you are looking for there; bitter one..."

>Throwing axe to the wretch's face.
>Your armor is in pretty bad need of repairs and you have all this useless coin.
>To the lodge

>>2721577
A smith in this place. Informative. He will spare the wretch's life for that.

Tallos will walk to the smith, and throw the bag of coins at him. Hopefully he will comply, or face wrath

File: 401.jpg (37 KB, 750x338)

37 KB JPG

>>2721579
The walk to the smith's is quick, the inside of the fort is oddly small despite the number of buildings here. The smith's building is exotic yet familiar. the architecture, and even man inside almost seem like a subtle blend of every smithy you have ever seen, but slightly off. The man inside is illuminated by flickering blue flames both in front, and behind him as he pounds away at the steel in front of him. "the ore, the wood, the coal its all a bit tainted. Burns unnaturally, but it works." you stare in silence. The various chinks and rents in your armor need fixing. "Wont be cheap." his words preempted your thoughts slightly. "but I can do it. make it a little better even. Bag of coin. Like anything else." he spits purple liquid onto the steel as it flares yellow, and keeps pounding. "Gotta anneal it before we temper the skin, or it'll be shit."

Somewhere in the depths of your mind, you remember the desert, and an older man telling you about the importance of properly treating your metal with heat. You never forgot, and it saved you several times over. Treated metal is harder to work, but harder to break...

"Leave the coin, your armor, and the falx here boy. I'll have it done as soon as I will. Go pass time at the lodge like all the others do." There was no one else. Your hand runs over the ragged edges of the plate, sitting in a neat pile..when did you take this off? "Don't worry. Right now it's as empty as you, but there is just as much potential. Go on now."

You walk back out into the daylight, ahead of you is the lodge, it seems closer than it was. Along the way is a fountain.
---
>check that fountain out
>fuck that fountain. lodge.

>>2721605
A fountain. After all this time, he does feel thirst. And so it stings his gut and his tongue feels parched. He NEEDS to drink from that fountain

>>2721609
The fountain is fairly simple, but the water falling into it doesn't disrupt the glassy surface at all. It perfectly reflects the sky and gives away none of it's secrets that lay below in either its simple shallows or endless depths. dangerous but tempting.

You remember a woman, a slave. Knowing eyes and dusky skin, back before your face was a ruin, when friends was a word with meaning and they still drew breath. You remember it all burned to ash, and mingled with the dusts and sand. With it another small piece of you, another choice gone.
---
>disrupt the fountain's surface.
>drink the fountain.
>walk away.
>Look at your reflection, how long has it been?
>Fuck this fountain. Sunder it.

>>2721631
He has not seen his face in a while. He does know how he looks, but seeing it besides touching it is something else. How long has it been? How much time has passed? Refusing to sleep like a puny human may not tax his body but it does play with his mind.
He gazes at his face, wondering how long has it been.

>>2721631
>walk away
Refuse this temptation, as we refuse all others. We have no need for sentiments, or even these memories.
Our face is irrelevant, we never even needed our lips.
Clear our mind of these useless memories and watch the Smith work our gear. We won't leave something so vital to survival and killing unattended like that.

>>2721637
By chance you eyes catch the waters. You see a ruin of a man. A face made of scars and melted flesh, set with two dead eyes and a maw of stained and sharpened teeth. Old tattoos of various styles melt and fade into damaged flesh, mementos of a discarded life.
>>2721641
Looking away was easy, the visage is unimportant. You start walking back towards the smith's shack, the land stretching against you. Grunting with effort, you feel the edges of this existence and tug at them. Each step is excruciatingly hard, like climbing up a mountain. hours pass, but the land does not change in the direct path to the smiths building. Reality strains, the illusion, or existence ceases to play coy, and distorts like the bottom of a glass bottle all around you. Your will to struggle, to fight, endure...to win...to hate. It carries you, your own potential like a void, drawing reality to and past you. The effort is enormous, but you eventually find yourself at the smith's doorstep. She looks up at you and frowns. she? The woman spits a wad of chewed purple plant matter into the fire as she continues to hammer. "Impatient fucker. Said you could wait at the lodge."
---
choose either.
>look at her work.
>look at your equipment
choose one.
>Listen to the whispers not from this place, those that are always with you.
>Listen to the whispers from the fire of this place.

File: soft.jpg (155 KB, 1200x900)

155 KB JPG

>>2721660
He walks slowly, his legs are heavy and his mind taxed. If he were a man of pasion he would be feeling relieved now, that there is a little more reality to be comfortable with, but the defiler does not dwell in vanity. He has become (or what's left) pragmatical. He creeps towards the smith. Female? Unfazed, he closes and sees the work so far. The armor as important as it is cannot be left alone.

*Clack* *Clack* The mallet moves quickly in precise strikes, restoring the armor the shape it had, before countless blows struck it.
*Clack* *Clack* *Crack* *Crack*

Crack the fire goes, the coal in it makes little bursts, as the fire crackles in tune. But these crackles have an odd melody to them. They become soft, like a hand tracing its fingers through linen.

The fireplace whispers

>>2721660
>Look at our equipment
The Unfated one is not to be trifled with witch
>Listen to the familiar whispers
What do the dead tell us?

>>2721682
The fire puffs and hisses, somewhere in that noise is a simple message.
"Wear it hot and red....burn it to your flesh..let it be your skin as it always is. Ease your burdens and share your life with it, make it more real, more alive."


Almost angrily, the ever present and numbing cold behind you drowns it out. The whispers are impossible to understand as words, as they always are. Instead you catch the meaning. Cold, empty, brutal. make it harder, more resilient, chill it with your fury.

The woman looks at you as she finishes. "Quite the collection of thoughts you attract...but do you trust them?"
---
>Leave the armor to finish as it naturally would.
>Burn it to yourself as the fire instructs.
>Temper it in the void, rip away the lies of fate and harden it as you have hardened yourself.

>>2721707
More of yourself. He imposes more of himself into his armor. Tempering it, hardening it. It will be a second skin, but not the way the fire wants it; not the way the whispers wants it. The armor will be changed the way HE wants it

>>2721721
>>Temper it in the void, rip away the lies of fate and harden it as you have hardened yourself.*****

>>2721707
>Temper it in the void, rip away the lies of fate and harden it as you have hardened yourself.

>>2721726
>>2721721
Walking to the smith, you apprise the armor. It is mended, almost exactly as you remember it should be. No It is like it should be, a faithful reproduction. You reach over to the armor, its glowing heat sears your deadened hands. Next to the smith is a quenching well so deep and dark that her eyes avert from it. "That...is an optional step. Not one I would take...but it is yours to choose." without breaking movement, you throw the armor, piece by piece into the dark liquid. The surface ripples briefly, and you almost see the black night sky, a thousand small motes of light winking out one by one until there is only the abyss. You stare at it for a long, hard time. The flames in the room guttering out, until there is darkness here, and soon cold. Frost begins to form on the equipment. "Take your items, and leave, but not before payment..."

Reaching into the tiny pool of unknown liquid, you fish out your armor piece by piece. It was deeper than you expected, and at moments there is a strong pull.

"Again...my payment. what will it be?" you gesture towards the canvas bag. It is blurry, undefined.
------
What was it?

>A bag of coin.
>A bag of seed.

>>2721762

> A bag of coin

We don't stick our dick in malicious spirits, we're too old for that shit.

>>2721762
>a bag of coin

>>2721762
>Coin

Metal for metal. We have no use for shiny soft gold when the cold iron of our armor calls to us

File: daggersea.png (29 KB, 450x565)

29 KB PNG

>>2721769
>>2721772
You grab the bag with a firm grip, the hard coins clattering inside and pass it to her with a toss. The lady smith effortlessly catches it and begins to dump the coins into her hand, they run through her fingers and simply fall to the floor. "Hmmpf. The fiat of others from a carver of fate. You are as hard and cold as your armor, boy. Certainly not as ambitious as the little finger of Vall. upstarts." She hawks noisly, clearing her throat and spits a purple loogie into the guttering flames, and the building fills with smoke, cloying and thick. You wander a bit, before the mist clears, and find yourself in a circular room with wooden benches around a smoking fire. "Lets drop the pretenses, unfated one." The smith opens her mouth unnaturally wide as teeth form to points and purple drool oozes down her chest. Smooth skin puckers and ruins. "You walked here willingly, urged along by your endless whispers...the visage of you that is hidden is so much worse...than what you can see Thallos. A testament to mutilation and ruin, yet..." Words continue to fall on uncaring ears. "Give me what I want. I exist as you, but the choice was never mine. Do you understand?" her voice rings with power.

In front of you on a stone slab is a strip of the bark that everyone here chews. Wet and dark, purple ichor leaches from it. "chew. Chew and we will discuss violence by your hand, spite you can offer to the order of this world."
---
>Chew.
>Bad idea but chew it anyway.
>Try not to chew, fall down, chew a lot.

File: cocaine.gif (40 KB, 500x500)

40 KB GIF

>>2721788
Do ALL the drugs.
>Whats the worst that could happen?

>>2721788
He came in here looking. Was this what he was looking? Chomp chomp chomp

>>2721797
You grab the strip of bark, and shove it into your mouth, sharpened teeth and jagged molars gnaw the puply plant flesh. An acrid, bloody, and bitter taste washes over your taste buds. Your vision fades as you lean forward, twisting and falling onto your back.
The strange woman kneels down to your ear as your vision fades "So long forgotten, even here, as weak as I am, unfated one, even to one such as you, I can still show something, and I can take something." Both her eyes are closed yet a fresh third one looks at you, weeping the same purple ichor she so routinely spits.
---
Your eyes open and place you in a dark and featureless room, there is a floor, even if it cannot be seen, there is light, even though there is no source. Ahead of you is a figure, backed by burning eyes; one red and one gold.

>Walk ahead.
>Look behind you, the whispers are near.
>Stand in place.

>>2721806
>Listen to the Whispers
Spirits, what do you tell?
>Walk forward
"Oi! The fuck u want cunt"

>>2721806
Walking is the only thing he has done for so long. He does it now, out of habit.

>>2721811
Familiar whispers of unwords are loud, behind you. Turning to look you see countless eyes in the void, peering out at you, or looking ahead. It's hard to tell. You step forward, they advance, you step towards the wall and it gets harder. Its wrong to go back. Go forward. That is right. Its hard to tell if these are your own memories turned ghosts, or the true spirits of the dead riding with you for vengeance. Maybe both. It really doesn't matter. The thought swiftly slides back into the pits of your mind, forgotten.

You walk forward, towards the glowing figure, so opposite of you. The closer you get, the larger HE gets. The larger THEY get. So indistinct, but if you focused...could you see them for what they are? There is something there. Arrogance, boundless confidence and more than a touch of ambition and carelessness, behind him is hate and..something old. Heavy with the weight...hope and perhaps retribution
---
>Look at the man in the middle
>Look at the Red eye
>Look at the gold eye

(roll me a 1d20)

>>2721820
>Look at the Red Eye
Look at something familiar, a bloodshot eye

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>2721820
>Look at the gold eye
If nothing of interest occurs, I advise ripping this man apart. No floral trickery can stop your anger.

>>2721825
Even without trying, you know damn well who this eye belongs to. "Vaaaalll.." the name drips out of your mouth with more than a little scarcely contained and cold rage. There isin't even a real reason for it, just...because.
>>2721826
It's a woman's eye, and instead of looking ahead of the figure, impatient and expecting like Vall does, it looks at him, watchful and guarding.

So far the figure in the middle ignores you, seemingly viewing it's own reality. You feel a pull towards it, a near compulsion.
---
>Examine figure, you NEED to know. (1d20)
>Write in
>Engage this floral trickery with your anger.

>>2721834
>Slash Vall's eye

Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>2721834
>Examine. What is thing

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>2721834
>Time to Engage

>>2721851
You look at the glowing giant, appraising it more than you have anything in years, and all you can tell is that it is a champion of Vall. With that realization, the avatar looks at you, and the nothingness slowly is forced into form as the golden eye blazes.

plush grasses and trees explode from the blackness, vines creep and stretch with a woody groan across the twisting landscape, life continues to pile upon itself until the blackness in front of you is blotted out by primeval vegetation and thick mists. Somewhere in there is the champion...your body shivers in anticipation as muscles coil and bunch.

"Thallosss...two can play this game if you will allow it. I was casst aside and broken before primitives even worshipped these upstartssss." Your guide's voice carries an strange hiss and rasp to it, the first real anger you've heard.
---
>Let the guide do it's thing. (no roll required.)
>Walk into the forest (1d20)
>Slash the eye of Vall (1d20)
>Dig deep into your self. (1d20)

Pick as few or as many as you want.

>>2721855
<sorry I missed that one. I will compensate you on your next roll.>

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>2721859
>>2721855
>>2721860
>:I
>Walk Into the Forest
Slashing the forest apart would have been nice.

File: mQA0Qjj.jpg (74 KB, 800x529)

74 KB JPG

>>2721862
>20

>>2721867
His rage burns the fucking forest down.

>>2721862
>>2721862
>>2721855
20+11 well shit.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slz0AoKBHhY

The burning red eye above the forest looks out over the expanse at you. There is something in that glare that enrages you, makes you feel, makes you hate. Glacial rage cracks and flows free; heart surging your sinuses crack and fill with metallic stench as your mouth succumbs the taste of blood and electric numbness. "VALL!" you reach for words, any words, anything that you can do other than incoherently scream"...FUCK...." struggling for it the final piece comes out "YOU!" they come out thick and accented, roped with drool and rage.

>Something in you has changed.

You surge towards the forest, each step crushing through the vegetation to shatter obsidian beneath. The conjured grass and forest withers, retreating from you as the oppressive hatred, the void itself, rushes forward in your wake, spreading, consuming like ravenous hunger that fire could only pretend to be. Great towering trees, visions of beauty splinter and topple, rot, and turn to dust, dust to nothing. Total emptiness grips the dreamscape, cold and absolute. What was beautiful was made ruin. A horrible, wet and ragged noise won't stop, it dominates the environment around you, and begins to fill you with further fury till you realize. It is laughter. your own wretched laughter, like a man gagging on blood and saliva but unable to stop, the chilling noise comes from a deep place.
"Not bad old man, but do you have more than fancy tricks?"

In the distance, Vall's Champion looks at you, and you know him, not from this world, but from here. It sets your teeth on edge and calls you to violence. His golden blazing corona fades away, leaving a man, if not a very large one. Though you have never met this man, you know him, every detail of him, more than you can remember even your lost friends, loves, or life.
--------------------------
Arch Magnus
200/200HP
90 Armor
>Huge (+10 to feat of strength)
>Giant Rune (+1 attack with Great weapons, allows use of Ultra weapons, +10 to feat of strength)
>Life Drinker (Recover 10% of damage dealt as HP)
>Spirit Blade (+10 to chance to hit and damage on 1d100)
>Weapons
>Storm blade (3A 2D 2DD
>DarkSteel Spear (3A, 2D 2DD)
>Magnus's hammer (3A 3D 2DD+20)
>Heavy Throwing Axes (1A 0D 2DD)
>Fighting Dagger (5A 2D 1DD)
>Shield

>Attacks
>Whirling Blow (Dual wielding ability)
>Iron Fist Counter (Highest successful defense roll is an attack. Roll damage on enemy)
>Ruinous Slash (Great Weapon ability. +1DD, remove 1/4 enemy armor)

>Forest domain: bonus in forests.

>>2721887
-------------
You are
>Thallos Ruinbringer
>-The Defiler
>-Avatar of Lament
>300/300HP
>150 armor
>0/10 wroth (max 10/10 wroth)
>0/3 berserking (max 9/3 berserking)

>Heavy Falx- Great weapon (4A, 2D, 3DD no enchantments)
>Long Throwing Axes (2/2. 1A 0D, 2DD)
>Plate Cestus (Unarmed weapon. 4A 4D, 2DD)
(see the thread for traits and stats)

attack die (?A) defense die (?D) and damage die (?DD)

And this adventure will be continued tomorrow.

File: 1531074279014.png (261 KB, 1000x560)

261 KB PNG

Had to leave early, but I can't wait to fucking kill that pussyboy riding vall's dick as Thallos The Defiler, Ruinbringer.

>>2722063
Sorry for the long ass delay folks. I'll be picking this up in an hour or so. Got a little bit of heat stroke and dehydration. better now.

>>2722756
"Git a lil' bit of almost died" Damm dud, u ok naw?

>>2722756
RIP Nongent
Died of dehydration after larping the epic battle of MAGNUS, breaker of doors, vall's second-favorite cocksleeve and Thallos, The Defiler, Ruinbringer, Avatar of Lament

>>2723312
not dead yet. almost there. Real life shit hitting hard for a bit.

File: 1531268719049.jpg (70 KB, 800x400)

70 KB JPG

>>2723321
>not dead yet

>>2723334
missing critical info:
>Magnus (Dream)
Blessed Great shield: +15 Armor, +3D (Defense)
>Thallos additional traits without lore or fluff
-Painless: Thallos feels no pain.
-Relentless: While not overly fast, or strong at the start of a fight, thallos does not tire.
-Survive the first fatal blow
-Regenerate 30 HP for each turn of combat you do not take damage
-gouging: your unarmed attacks disfigure your enemies.
-Speed penalty. Until your berserking hits 3/3, you are slow, at 9/3 you are a very fast.
-Wroth/ Berserking: Generate points to activate bonuses and skills as you deal and take damage.
-------------
>>2721887
The champion blazes so brightly you have to squint your eyes. The weapons in his hand shift endlessly, a reflection of his mortal self's own versatility. You grip your falx's iron handle. One weapon has served you well enough through this life.

>Throw hatchets from a distance and save your first strike for when he closes in.
>Charge in and use first strike
-Reaping Strike (4x modifier on the Falx roll.)
-Leg breaker (chance to hobble)
-Gouge (chance to maim)

>>2723427
How combat works right now:

each weapon classes have different attack die (?A) defense die (?D) and damage die (?DD)

One handed weapons deal more attack die, in exchange for moderate defense die and lowered damage die. This can be altered by the type of weapon (spiked, piercing, blunt, etc) and whether they have a shield.
A dagger will have 4A, 2D and 1DD
A greatsword will have 2A, 2D and 2DD
A warhammer will have the same but im thinking of having blunt weapons ignore a set value of armor
Great weapons = more damage, less swings
One handed weapons= more swings, less damage
Dual wielding =More swings, less defense
Two handing a weapon (great or otherwise)= more swings, more damage, less defense.

Shields add +1, +2 or +3 Defense die according to their size (smaller ones are easier to maneuver). They add a set armor bonus as well that increases their wielders armor value.

ex:
Guy with a greatsword will have 2A, 2D and 2DD
Guy with a dagger and a shortsword will have 5A, 2D, 1DD
Guy with a axe and a round shield will have 3A, 4D, 1DD
This lets the competing dice system come into play. however many dice their loadout gives them, you roll them. players respond with their rolls (whatever their attack or defense is) per EACH enemy they are engaging.

If there are two enemies, you roll the appropriate number of 1d100 for their attack or defense and the players respond with individual rolls to see who comes out higher.

Warlord Side story is an experimental thing, so lets see what happens.

>>2723427
This enemy looks dangerous, and demands caution. He has a shield and will block the long hatches, but it's to test his speed.

>Throw hatchets from a distance and save your first strike for when he closes in.

Rolled 22, 31, 11 = 64 (3d100)

>>2723432
roll me 2d100 for the throws.

Rolled 32, 55 = 87 (2d100)

>>2723465
yepsi

>>2723469
Roll 4d100 for the damage roll.
first two dice are for the first axe, second two for the second, they will square off against Magnus's armor and defense rolls.

Rolled 72, 46, 7, 33 = 158 (4d100)

>>2723479

Rolled 61, 28, 35, 41 = 165 (4d100)

>>2723479
the damages!

>>2723489
>>2723496
>boring ass backend
axes: 72+46 (118) (, 35+33 (no damage)
vs Magnus modified armor90+15= 105 -118=13
---
Pulling the long hafted axes from your back, you roll your shoulders. Pulling backwards the axes are throwing at the glowing avatar, you can faintly make out his bearded face. The first axe simply impacts on the silver shield, the second was thrown lower and catches the giant in the leg. He doesn't even grimmace as he pulls the axe out and snaps it in twain. you have no more axes and a very large man is charging at you, the weapon's in his hand shifting like liquid silver to anticipate your action.
>Dream Magnus tickled for -13 HP.

---
Early game update

I'm new to the system and the lore, I fucked up on the data for the Falx: It is a 2dd, not a 3dd.
Thallos agility is:25
Magnus is: 50
>Dodge mechanic: If an enemy's attack die outnumber your attack or defense die, they will have "free hits" for every die they have unchallenged. These hits must beat your agility score to land, so in this case magnus just has to beat 25.
-Reaping Strike: Is accurate, but highly telegraphed, meaning you are gonna see it coming if you aren't a total dumb ass.
-Reaping Strike mechanic: 2dd x4= not 8 dice, but the numeric value of your 2dd times 4. it leaves you open on your next turn as you recover your weapon.

>>2723554
Gripping the flax firmly, you brace for impact as you prepare a strike. Time seems slower here, and in it you see something in the land around you, bits of fate and potential. Things that both have and will happen. This is a reflection of something made greater than reality, but as a reflection of reality, you could equalize it.


First strike is now active.
>Reaping strike- 2dd value multiplied by 4.
>Leg breaker- Chance to lower target's agility
>Regular attack- 2dd
>Gouge- Chance to maim the target

Rolled 20, 5, 8, 9 = 42 (4d20)

>>2723581
The avatar is charging and getting near. Fast.

Thallos will use his great weapon's size and reach, going for a Reaping Strike to surprise and stop the giant's charge.

I threw the 4d20 right away

Rolled 4, 9, 98, 18 = 129 (4d100)

>>2723591
>Reaping Strike
With first strike we'll be fast as fuck even if we're Reaping.
I always liked Thallos more than Magnus btw I hope he wins

Rolled 56, 29, 90 = 175 (3d100)

>>2723581

Rolled 86, 81 = 167 (2d100)

>>2723787
Rolling for damage

>>2723791
>>2723790
>>2723787
>>2723591
As you rush forward, your breath condenses in the void, behind the champion the gold and yellow eyes blaze away, particles of fate lazily twisting about. The Giant lifts his shield to meet your blackened blade in a feat of speed that is unnatural for a being of his size. As black meets gold, light keens out into the abyss and you are momentarily blinded...
------------------------
>>2723791
damage 86, 81 = 167x4=668 (F*CK)
vs armor 90+15= 105 =563 vs 200hp= -363 health.
+3 berserking (agility artificially raised to 45)
+5 wroth
---------------------------
The Avatar of Vall explodes into a constelation of golden motes, flickering and fading out as they slowly fall to the floor of this strange place. You let a long exhale and stare at the two eyes fixed in the gloom.
----
>Leave
>Provoke them
>Attack Red
>Attack Gold

>>2723798
>Attack Red
Thallos isn't a man of words. He's a man of action. And right now that action is telling Vall to fuck off. Punch that red eye with the caestus multiple times.

If possible, I'd also go after the golden eye, but we'll see what happens after.

>>2723803
Walking up to the red eye, the enormity of it is not lost on you. Molten hatred seeps from it, turning your armor into an iron oven. "Vaaaallllll....." words manage to croak out of your abused throat, sounding like gargled rocks through old leather.

>There was a time, long ago, that you would have fought under that banner...and dared to forget your past, and those gods who had forgotten you. A body covered in a story of ink and scars...yet as with the others your prayers were never answered.

You lash out with your maimed fist, expecting to hit something like flesh, desiring that wet squelch...anything to dig your gnarled fingers into, to rip, to vent anger on. Instead like glass, the eye shatters, the moment broken. Glistening shards, red like the spray of blood in a sunrise floating frozen in the black. All around you the guttering sparks of gold rally to this, sucking into a single point and gradually filling out the form of a man.

No longer blindly gold, this form is closer to the truth of the Magnus. A giant of a man, clad in scraps of armor both earned through coin and violence. Wild eyes peer at you from behind a brutal iron helm, the extravagance of his armor and collection reminds you of your own youth.

>Handsome once, with companions and kinship, burned away in a night, and bled away over the years

Half forgotten memories stir the bile in your soul. "Remembering things you cant change old man?" The half giant's voice comes out clear and proud, a hint of challenge and mirth. He sweeps his hand across the space between you two, inviting you into an invisible space of combat. That hand should be maimed; you know it.
----
reaping strike is on cool down for this fight.
First strike has been consumed.
----------
>attack with falx
>gouge with cestus
>neck breaker
>maim with leg breaker

>>2723805
>neck breaker
WHY.
WON'T
YOU
DIE

Rolled 84, 67, 49, 50, 57, 27 = 334 (6d100)

>>2723807
go ahead and roll me up 5d100, first roll has to beat magnus's agility of 50 if you are going to catch him, otherwise its a regular attack.

Rolled 74, 4, 22, 32, 96 = 228 (5d100)

>>2723810
Didn’t know you were live NonGent.

>>2723811
I'm going to try and plow through this one, but i need to sleep soon.

Rolled 39, 96, 10, 90, 58 = 293 (5d100)

>>2723810
That's a lotta damge

Rolled 12, 85, 58, 72, 1, 32 = 260 (6d100)

>>2723810
>>2723811
>>2723813
74 (pass)
84 vs 96 Thallos hits
67 vs 22 magnus hits
49 vs 90 Thallos hits
50 vs 96 Thallos hits
57 (magnus hits)
27 (magnus hits)
------------
>I need 6d100

Rolled 20, 20, 33, 69, 31, 47 = 220 (6d100)

>>2723818
Send help

File: F43EC927-6895-4D18-90D1-6(...).jpg (87 KB, 667x668)

87 KB JPG

Rolled 61, 12, 31, 2, 90, 16 = 212 (6d100)

>>2723818

>>2723818
>>2723819
>>2723820
Neck breaker
73, thallos
97, magnus+10=107
102, thallos
106, thallos
130, magnus+10=140
Derp<33>-magnus.+10=43
+1 berserk
+1 wroth
---
You lunge at the champion, and viciously try to lock your gnarled hand around his throat. So thick is his neck it is like trying to choke the life out of a line to a feasting table. Nearly face to face he grins, good teeth glinting at you. "If only my thralls were as feisty as you." You snarl, your stained and jagged teeth close tightly. He chuckles through a gritted smile "Calm down old turtle! no need to snap at me!" He finally manages to kick you away via a blow from a spiked boot. The impact making your chest ring, but otherwise not leaving true damage. Skidding to a halt, you charge again, this time wrenching the arrogant warrior's hand, crushing it for all your worth. He grimaces before smashing you with the butt of his blade. "You'll pay for that." Ice hangs on his words. He had faltered during the exchange several times, but his massive strength carried him past it. Your armor served you well once again.

You look at the warriors ruined hand, despite your own vicious technique you lay no claim to that injury. It appears it was crushed with a bunt and vicious object. The gauntleted hand is in ruins...

>You were a slave in the sands, fresh from one master to another .. He thought it wise to have you fight in the pits for his own purse to grow large. Day in and out you would murder, heedless of concern, the repetition gave you distraction against your own bondage..until the exhibition, that mage..she crushed your hand with foul sorcery, so you crushed her ribcage.

Out of recalled thought, and as close to something as empathy as will come from your cold heart, you unconsciously flex your ruined hand. Ligaments and tendons snap and pop around twisted bone and muscle, the cestus giving it form it would otherwise not have. Owing to the champion's prodigious strength, he uses the broke hand all the same to grip the end of his massive hammer. His shield lays draped across his back, a clever if crude expedited armor. "Come on then..."
-----
>Leg breaker
>Attack falx
>attack cestus

>>2723834

> Leg breaker

Sweep his ankles

>>2723834
>Attack falx

>>2723968
I'd rather not use all our tricks so soon

>>2723834
>attack falx
Fight defensively.
Until we can see an opening, a chance for maiming to turn the tide of battle in our favor, our armor should protect us, as it always has.

yea,
>Attack Falx

Rolled 44, 77, 7, 91, 61, 19 + 20 = 319 (6d100 + 20)

>>2728982
>>2724019
>>2724030
go ahead and roll me 6d100, first 4 for attack, last 2 for damage.

Rolled 40, 5, 41, 16, 89, 75 = 266 (6d100)

>>2733442
U-RAH!

Rolled 28, 70, 38, 94, 3, 70 = 303 (6d100)

>>2733442

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>2733442

>>2733670
>>2733442
>>2733670
>>2733670
Magnus's hammer (3A 3D 2DD+20) (+1 for magnus if two handing it)
The champion's muscles bulge as he puts all his strength behind the blows of his hammer; the devastating weapon's power amplified by the raw strength of this half sized giant. Unexpectedly fast, and viciously devastating. The blows crash into your arms and bat them aside like a child, crushing your chest. Black armors flexes and cracks, ribs breaking behind it, before you can even acknowledge your breath leaving you he brings the hammer down on your shoulders, driving you down like a nail as your knees buckle. Though you feel no pain, your body responds weakly to the simple command to get up. Warped armor plates screech against each other as you rise. Cold hate freezes in your veins as the motes of fate gather around you, this close to death is one of the rare times you truly feel alive. The large man grins, and spits a large wad of phlegm at your feet, the exertion of his blows seems to be fading quickly, like the damage he did revitalized him. Arrogance leaves the opening you quickly exploit, two vicious and practical slashes land deeply into his hide and chain armor. A deep rent carves through the surface of the ribcage, Magnus's eyes going wide as you complete a full spin, the next slash ripping open his right arm from shoulder to wrist. The blood seeping from your plate armor pools to match Magnus's as it pools on the ground around you. Behind Magnus, the eyes wink to life once more, Blazing Red and Gold, indifferent to each other yet invested in this man. Without looking, to your back is just the cold void and the stares of haunted memories of rage and hate, ghosts given form as details lost. Around Magnus, the black landscape twists into patches of primeval forest once more, and with it, despite his grievous injuries he seems lighter for it.

That is fine, you carry something inside yourself that is revitalizing as well; the simple will to kill.
------------
damage:
91+61+19+20=191(+64)=255-150armor=105x2=210
hits:
(44, 77,) 7, NA
vs
40, 70, (41, 94)
damage:
89+75=164-105 armor=59x2=118
-------------
Thallos HP: 90
Magnus HP: 82

(gotta go for now. calculating wroth and berserk when i get back.)

>>2733745
when are we getting back to the main storyline? I'm waiting on this one, and Peasant Lord Quest, but everyone seems to have abandoned their shit.

>>2734044
Well, meanie pie, you must know that this anon NonGentQM is not CursedQM

>>2734243
Oh, okay. thats cool too.

>>2733745
>4+3=7 Berserking (agility artificially raised to 65)
>6+4=10 wroth (time to get weird.)
------
Hissing through your teeth you the entire scene lays out frozen before you. Your body, bleeding, broken, near death and yet standing, poised for violence, a lipless mouth forming a rictus grin that reaches dead eyes. The darkness around you is consuming, blots of light fleeing from your path. Ahead are the glowing motes of fate, of destiny, congealing into the wyrd. They flurry like a luminescent storm; drawn towards him of his own magnetism, the potential of greatness. Magnus; there was his secret; not just personal greatness, patronage and following. For the greatness of his own potential, the swirling mass of individuals around him, connected, interdependent, taking something but giving more, these were the true strength. More than the patronage of supernatural entites great and small, he drew from the masses around him, flickering dancing shadows, easy to ignore in his presence, yet spreading far and wide.
-----
>Look at Vall
>Look at Cameera
>Look to the dancing shadows
>No. Violence.

>>2735399
>>No. Violence.
ALWAYS ANGRY, ALL THE TIME

>>2735432
Pointless shit. Vall tending a field of fires with many lit and many snuffed, Cameera of gentle desperation. Doesn't matter...Like that you are back in your own body and the world is flowing around you once more, fates still visible.

Magnus's body busily rekinits itself in front of you, the horrific gash on his arm and chest at least mending some bone at your own cost and pain. A long growing exhale is all you manage to draw out from your ruined voice. A chunk of your plate simply breaks away, exposing bloody and scarred tissue beneath. Those hammer blows have been taking a toll on your armor.
>Magnus HP: 93 (lifedrinker)
>Thallos: 113 armor/ 150 armor

You saw enough though, and swallow hard, working the words out one by one. The harshness of them sounds foreign even to your own ears. More an invocation as opposed to an address "Arch Magnus; the Mighty, the Gate Breaker, Friend of giants and the Heir of Ruin, the fire of Vall’s wrath, righteous fist of the Wolf, Courtier to Cameera, son of Man.....father to be." With those words, you draw just the barest truth of Magnus himself into this dream, true recognition and awareness dawning on the man. Features filling in, the wear of combat and stains of life creating something more real.
>"Another dream Vall, again I am tested?! Again you will find me worthy!" the large man shouts angrily, spinning to the eye, both of them and to you, slightly more confused now "No. not my dream." He looks at you and squares himself, readying for combat. His hammer begins to smoke and emit a ruddy glow from within. "You are one ugly motherfucker."
You just let out a long ratting exhale as ribs pop back into place long enough to deliver a killing blow. Saliva mixed equally with runs freely from your mouth. Only a few viable strategies register in the depths of your mind.
-----

>Inhuman rampage+Neck crush+Carve fate (roll 6d100, <damage die gain a +45, and temporary +60 armor for defense during the turn>
>Reckless abandon+Attack+Carve fate (roll 7d100, you gain an extra damage die for your attack. First strikes guaranteed. -75% armor for retaliatory hits.)

>>2735450
>***"Saliva mixed equally with blood runs freely from your mouth"

File: WITNESSME.jpg (35 KB, 700x300)

35 KB JPG

Rolled 73, 93, 66, 21, 17, 21 = 291 (6d100)

>>2735450
>>Inhuman rampage+Neck crush+Carve fate (roll 6d100, <damage die gain a +45, and temporary +60 armor for defense during the turn>

>>2735451
Unrelated, but for those who are fans of the Warlord series by CursedQM, here is warlord #0.
https://archived.moe/qst/thread/2240472/

Rolled 14, 24, 38, 22, 41, 47 + 60 = 246 (6d100 + 60)

>>2735458
forgot the magnus dice.

>>2735457
Something inside you snaps as you whip your falx at this willing slave fate. It was neaver meant to hit, the heavy chunk of sharp iron tumbles head over head as the champion neatly dodges to the side. Just in time for you to tackle him. Vicious blows rain down from your fists as you attempt to rip into him. Blow after blow is deflected as his armor dents and flesh bruises. His shield of no use here, chain and leather begin to come apart, the man dazed as you wrap your hands around his neck. "...slave of fates" you mutter. As the consuming rage gutters your inhuman strength begins to leave you in time for a burning hammer to impact you. Rocking backwards from the blow, you fall down next to your falx as Magnus puts some distance between you two. Looking around blearily the last of the adrenaline fades, but in it's place is the cold touch of the falx. "My thanks to you Vall...." the giant half whispers an oath, looking at you scornfully "Not today. Not today." He points a finger at you like someone would discipline a misbehaving child. The two of you prepare to clash once more
---
Thallos: 17,21, 45=83-90 (armor)=no damage to magnus
Magnus:22+41+47+60=170-113+60(173armor)=no damage to thallos.
>Magnus's armor is damaged -25 armor.
>Reaping strike is available.
>Shatter is available as a Wroth attack but will remove the ability to carve fate.
>Attack
>Leg sweep

>>2735463
>attack!

Rolled 20, 80, 84, 49, 4 + 20 = 257 (5d100 + 20)

>>2735465
attack:falx, roll 6d100, last two are damage.

Rolled 37, 72, 7, 31, 79, 22 = 248 (6d100)

>>2735466

Rolled 41, 76, 62, 40, 76, 71 = 366 (6d100)

>>2735466

Rolled 41, 90, 90, 95, 92, 24 = 432 (6d100)

>>2735466

>>2735474
>>2735472
>>2735466
>>2735468
Magnus hits no times at all
Thallos hits four times, 92+71=160-80 armor=80 damage x4=320=-227
>yep thats pretty fucked mate.
----
Charging at your foe again you notice the fight is wearing on him, his breath comes heavily now, thoughts not focused. Your body never tires, and though he is stronger, you are relentless. Through prodigious will he uses his crippled hand to hold the massive silvered shield, its details of a goddess and saints a passing distraction as your weapon slashes downward, cleaving from the shoulder to the waist you release him of his worldly burdens. The giant finally topples over, light faded from his eyes as his patron spirits look on at you, strangely unfocused but furious. His mouth works "I want..out of this" a prodigious amount of blood spills out of his mouth "asinine..dream.." The golden eye fades as it struggles to anchor him in place, giving the last of it's gifts. Standing over him you look down and speak "Then wake." As you stomp down on the fallen warrior's head, you meet no resistance as he explodes into a small constellation of fate and potential. swirling around you they fade quickly, only scattered motes and the hateful eye of Vall remains; staring at you and into the void. Behind you is an alien presence.

"What you fought was just the dream of the chosen, the barest fraction of his essence" A strange woman's voice...no not so strange, the witch. the fallen spirit. "I appreciate your vigor, both here, and" it pauses to chuckle "the waking world." Grunting you turn to it, her...the thing in the guise of a woman, you stare wordlessly at her "Oh...you wont ask what I want? I am very deprived...depraved...?No deprived. Of conversation. Endless little travelers over the agess, little, little nibbles to stave off creeping..oblivion. I want something small, but will offer so much more. Already I offer more, Thallos..." its voice carries a strange dissonance of all the village's voices melted together over one another yet trying to blend, out of sequence and harmonized all at once. "Who other than you...would break the cycle..the order? Embrace a damnation, out of spite..Yet crude as it is, you can weave, little things, and all i ask is something so small. Almost insignificant. A single stitch." the voice, very feminine asks breathlessly.

Somehow the eye of Vall sees neither you nor the witch.
----
Carve Fate:
Magnus- Leave him with a passing nightmare of this encounter, and a bit of yourself.
>Learn a powerful falx skill for defeating armored foes.
Witch- Negate what is left of a forgotten god.
>Gain a anti-magic wroth skill.
Vall- words are too hard; Fuck you Vall.
>Gain Vigor. You will start every battle with 3 points of berserk.

Also

Return the spirit to the flow of destiny (a boon will be given, roll 1d100 to determine the quality.)
Leave it broken

>>2735489
Guess there was some confusion:
----
Make a choice and roll 1d100.

>Magnus- Leave him with a passing nightmare of this encounter, and a bit of yourself.
Learn a powerful falx skill for defeating armored foes.

>Witch- Negate what is left of a forgotten god.
Gain a anti-magic wroth skill.

>Vall- words are too hard; Fuck you Vall.
Gain Vigor. You will start every battle with 3 points of berserk.

Optional if you do not choose witch:

>Return the spirit to the flow of destiny (a boon will be given, roll 1d100 to determine the quality.)

>Leave it broken (roll a 1d100 anyway)

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>2735852
>Vall
Starting with 3 points will let us use berserk skills right away while also making us faster.

>Leave it broken
She must've been exiled from the flow of destiny for a reason. And Thallos works for no one besides himself. Bloody bastard.

Rolled 20 (1d100)

>>2735852
>Magnus- Leave him with a passing nightmare of this encounter, and a bit of yourself.

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>2735489
>Gain Vigor
Fuck you Vall
>Weave Fate.
Just a single stitch. She has helped us, we will help her

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>2735852
>Vall
We are as vall was, and we bow to none
>leave it broken
Why would we care about some witch? We are not one for sympathy or sentiment.

>>2735852
Thallos ain't helping witches. Last one fucked him real bad.

>Vall- words are too hard; Fuck you Vall.
Gain Vigor. You will start every battle with 3 points of berserk.

>>2736685
>>2736390
>>2735900
>>2735878
>>2735877

Without gesture or ceremony you draw out and carve into the fate around the eye of Vall. Smears of light rip away, carving a path into the void as they meet oblivion. What you took was so small, nothing more than a grain of sand from a beach, almost pathetic; but it fills you with a vigor you havn't felt in years. The weight of age and armor seems lifted. If you had lips you might even smile if not for the fact that a voice felt but unheard rips through the fiber of your being. "Little void...by the set of each day my power is lost and gained in volumes no mortal can dream of." trying to stand, you can only kneel as blood streams from your nose and ears. "A fight against pale copies, a collection of dreams and ideas, borrowed essences." The smiling, bearded face of that man remains burned into your vision "You seek to take from me...Then drown in it." A stream of etheral red light congeals like old gore on a blade, twisting in the air before surging towards you. A mortal body was not meant for this kind of power, the energy impacts you in a way that makes Magnus's hammer seem like a love tap. Your spirit will rip apart before this is done, and in it you see the true oblivion of one who is removed from the natural order. There is nothing for you, nothing behind you, just the cold void, black as your armor, black as your heart.

The witch whispers once more from a place you cant see "He can't see me, I'm like you; removed from the wheel, broken order, fatelessss." Pressure builds as your essence fractures trying to contain the "gift" of a god. Smug hatred radiates from the eye as it looks "I can almost see you little broken thing..." Hands felt but unseen caress you through your armor "Let Myssadrah help you, help me help....you." You thrash trying to leave, trying to do anything "Just give me what I really...what I need, what this world needs...or die. You are not the only one who likes to TAKE, thallos, I can TAKE too. Oh I can take, and rip, and keep."
----
Choice time.
>Give the witch what she wants, no boon gained this time. (no roll required)
>throw the witch into the stream (1d100) Hard pass
>Die. (no roll required)

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>2737437
>>throw the witch into the stream (1d100) Hard pass

>>2737437
>Give the witch what she wants
>Make her work for it.

Rolled 41 (1d100)

>>2737437
>throw the witch into the stream

File: 1530058424070.png (227 KB, 752x375)

227 KB PNG

Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>2737437
>>2737557
>>2737464
This can't be the end for Thallos
please, he's so much better than Magnus

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>2737437
By my might and my power I will get a hundred!
I know many things and the name of everything I see

>>2737590
>>2737466
With a simple gesture of your will, you request the presence of Myssadrah the fallen, mad god, void spirit, mortal witch, unfated. Even as you surge and struggle with Vall's overwhelming energy she stares at you with a vaccant smile. "you will, yess?" she hisses through teeth not unlike your own; crooked rows of sharp points on a mouth too wide for her face. She extends a hand to your burning form and you take it. Around her is the void, so much like you but she exists as a bastion of decay and madness within, not empty, just alone. Alone from a time before Vall walked as a mortal man, and still. This creature wears whatever guise will allow it to survive, plays on familiarity, as you see it; it sees you. "You are an abomination."

Showing remarkable composure for a man being killed by a god, you manage to speak "I've been told as much." You grab the mad spirit and slam her into the stream of energy from vall "Fate? Destiny? Take your fill, drink deeply!" Holding her by the wrists in one hand and hair in the other you smash the spirit's face into the crimson energy. To say she screamed would not be correct. This noise the world has never heard before, but it is enough that Vall's eye goes wide and shudders, trying to stop, but it cannot. The two entities, one a fragment of itself, the other a fragment of what it was, twist and bind.

You rasp out, your voice harsh but more well spoken than you have been in years "Your fate, returned to the cycle, so badly wanted." taking in a deep breath you grasp at the fates with visible gesture, strings bunching and snapping in your hands as you mangle and twist them without artistry. A single stitch request . A single stitch then. "Granted." the word slips off your tongue and slides past your teeth.
---
The explosion was violent, and when you find yourself awake once more in the land of the living, you are in the middle of a seven pointed crossroads. Behind you is "the third eye's rest" but above it a violent storm rages, lighting strikes and fires burn. Unnatural screams and howls ride the echos of thunder into the distance. Turning your head northward, you feel the compulsion to continue onward once more. Footfalls heavy on the earth, but reforged armor light on the back, this is a long road, and you will pave it with the bodies of your enemies.

>>2737645
Valiant!
>>2737649
Well guys, thanks for sticking this one out. I think it was quite as good as the last warlord side story, but it serves a higher purpose! Filler; until the main story starts!

At minimum I hope everyone had fun, and Thallos stayed in character while reflecting your decisions. Feel free to post commentary, criticisms, or wishes for the future of the story.

>>2737658
I think one of the best parts about this quest is the difficulty, knowing that as a sidestory we could totally just up and die, and that there most likely won't be some lame deus ex machina to save you at the last moment.
I also think one of the best parts of the quest is the character we play as.
Those two things coexisting can lead to a pretty wild ride.

As far as writing goes there's an occasional redundancy, same as in warlord, where the same word is used twice in a sentence, but other than that it's good writing. I'll be looking forward to Warlord: sidestory 3

Gt