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About Fox

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  1. (OOC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived

    Yes, that definitely seems like a fight. Initiative Roll: 1d20+7 18
  2. (IC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived?

    The loss of his dogs had Matt already running on raw nerves, that awful feeling of distance in the back of his head setting his teeth on edge, the odd habits of reaching for a canine companion that wasn't there or couldn't answer throwing off everything he did. Matt was mad, and Matt was distressed, and seeing what had been done to his friend was absolutely the last straw. The sound he made was almost a word, but almost a bark, launching himself down the corridor and into an unprepared Abel as fast as his feet would go - a shoulder-check into the man's chest pivoted into a right hook directly into his face, and he barely had the presence of mind to grab at the whistle as Abel dropped; he wasn't too gentle yanking it free of a falling, unconscious body, but he wasn't really in a gentle mood. He had half a mind to do worse, really, but...priorities. He turned to rap a fist against the glass of the cell, concern written all over his face. "Fred? Fred! What'd they...how long have they had us here? I'll get you out, gimme a sec to figure out how these things work. We've gotta get out of here."
  3. (OOC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived

    Notice Check vs. ?Abel?, DC??: 1d20+13 16 Why does Orokos hate Matt so much?
  4. (OOC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived

    Well, then. Surprise round! Hopefully! Matt'll charge Abel. Melee Attack Roll vs. Abel (Charge +2, Power Attack -5/+5): 1d20+12+2-5 25 DC28 toughness save for Abel's face. Matt's at -2 Defense 'til his next round.
  5. Gaian Knight / Tiamat (maxed) - Dragonfly (maxed) The Nothing From Coming For You (1) Wraith Vignette - Twice As Lucky Eclipse - Grim Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived? (3) Gremlin - Ref point to Grim; roll the Dragonfly post over to Gremlin, please.
  6. (OOC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived

    I mean, Fred gets a chance to post first regardless, but hypothetically for my tortured pondering: do the cells have an obvious external "push button to open" style mechanism?
  7. The Nothing From Coming For You (IC)

    "Mine can do the weather, but not the range," Dragonfly admitted, one of her football-sized drones hovering over her shoulder. She reached up to poke it, and it turned to look at her in open curiosity. "Snow cuts down on the signal, and they're only built for twenty miles at best. Could boost the range, but at that distance and with unsteady link to each other and the suit they're...not always very smart. Hive mind problems." The armored heroine crossed her arms, tapping a finger against one limb as she mulled the problem over. "In-person...probably best, in this case, anyway. Easier to adapt, respond quickly. Worst case of open mountain drone recon very bad: alert enemy, drone lost, area vacated by the time we can get there. Also open to other thoughts, though."
  8. (IC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived?

    Matt faltered for a moment at the noise - that was something he should have looked into. That wasn't something he could trust, but he could at least send one of his dogs to-- He scowled again, grinding his fist into the cracking glass. "Oh yeah? Murder 'n safety, huh? Man you're dumb. You've screwed up like twice now and you haven't even figured out how yet." He drew back, glaring into the glass before driving a smoking fist forward again - and this time, it yielded, the undamaged remainder sliding open and betraying...well, it was better than a cell, probably. "You kidnapped an alchemist and a psychopomp, man," he said, shaking bits of glass out of his make-shift glove and stepping out into...freedom? There was a sound in the distance, one that stood out from the rest. Too subtle, too real. That'd do as well as anything else in a pinch, and he set off. "You gave up 'safety' a long time ago if you thought this was a good idea. I'm gonna go find Fred, if she hasn't already gotten herself free, and then dogs or no dogs we're blowing this place."
  9. (OOC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived

    More punchings! And maybe this time I can calculate the attack and damage of my own character correctly? Let's find out. Melee Attack Roll vs. Glass (Power Attack -5/+5): 1d20+12-5 26 Ooh. A 19. So close, but alas Matt doesn't abound with hero points to drop on Improved Crit. That'll be a [DC15 + 3 (STR) + 5 (Strike) + 5 (Power Attack) =] DC28 toughness save for the glass. Which means the last one should have been DC28, too, but I'm dumb.
  10. 10th Anniversary Vignette: 10 Years

    Wraith Vignette - "Twice As Lucky" “<I do not like Earth. Why can we not go home? We can find the criminals, and stab them.>” She was pouting, and she could see why humans did it - it was, for a body supposedly made of animal meat and bone, an oddly satisfying slump to mimic a more natural liquid slouch. “English, Dirinai,” said her mother - patient and collected as always, “and speak with your mouth. You need the practice before we move to America.” “Indira,” she corrected, which earned a less-than-satisfactory hum from her mother. “Why must we go to America? I had gotten to know people here. I was making friends.” “We must keep our family safe, Indira.” Her mother sighed, turning away from her task to view their only child with stern sympathy. Indira knew that look, and responded by bonelessly pouting even further - she wasn't going to get anywhere tonight. As usual. “Soon you will have a place you can call home. We promise. I will hear no more of this.” “That’s good work. Toss ‘em on the desk, will you?” This was a dubious proposition: the desk in question may have been solid wood but even it was creaking under the weight of all the other items that had been ‘tossed’ for supposed later organization. If Indira had been hired as a secretary, she’d have been offended; since she hadn’t, she chose to ignore it. She opted instead to displace Jack’s coat, a long brown thing that she draped over one arm so that she could place her files on the bare corner it had occupied. She was already smiling to herself in anticipation of the gruff- “Careful with that.” Yes, that was it. She hmm’d, holding it up to inspect it for any new holes before moving it to a place of honor on the coat rack, where coats go. “I know it is traditional,” she mused, cocking her head at its fraying form, “but does anyone ever comment on the private investigator wearing a movie coat?” Jack snorted, looking up from his own work to gesture at it with a aging, calloused hand. “That is an antique, and so’m I, so show some respect. Movies got it from us, not the other way around, and don’t you forget it.” She smiled noncommittally, but gave the coat rack a bow of respect nevertheless. He tried to not look amused. “Besides, it’s been with me longer’n any o’this. Anywhere it is, that’s home. You’d be twice as lucky to be half as blessed.” “We have to leave, man. We have to leave now. We have to leave yesterday.” Bobby had always been a worrywort, and clearly today was no different. Fisher put his cards down and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he turned to talk to his...associate. One day he wouldn’t need Bobby - he’d have a better class of lackey. For now, he made do. All part of the plan. “He’s an old man, Bobby,” Fisher said, like he was explaining something to a child. “And he’s hurt, at that. Even if he makes it, and figures us out, and makes it in here, what’s he gonna do? We’ve got like two score guys on this job, we’ve got his granddaughter, he’s not gonna bust in here with some old Sam Spade revolver crap. If he tries, we go and turn the office, or we nab that assistant that you were supposed to have already. Or maybe you forgot.” Bobby had the grace to look sheepish, but only until he remembered why he was there. “No. Joe-” “Fisher.” “F-Fisher. No, man.” Fisher was getting worried, now, too, under the impatience; Bobby spent most of his free time fretting about some nonsense, but in the dim lights they’d set up he looked awfully pale. “You don’t get it. It’s not him. We’ve gotta leave. Forget the girl, leave her, it-it’s-” There weren’t lights anymore. Some of the men started swearing, card game forgotten as they tried to dig their flashlights out in the dark. Somewhere off in the distance there was a soft grunt and a thud, and the chilling clacking of claws on brick that went up in a way not supported by the absence of ladders and staircases at that end of the expansive loading dock. There was swearing as flashlights landed on unconscious bodies; Fisher was already going for his gun, and Bobby was going for a panic attack. Too many flashlights to not see something. Fewer flashlights by the minute, but only where nobody else could see it happen. More panic, and less swearing, as each beam of light cut out. An awful rattling noise that echoed around the room, impossible to place. “I saw it, man. It’s here.” Indira’s coat fluttered in the wind as she opened the top floor balcony doors, and she smiled despite herself; it was the only piece of real clothing she was technically wearing, appearances aside, but for all its occasional inconvenience she’d grown fond of its old, brown weight. “This is my favorite spot,” the Indian woman said, turning her smile toward the new girl - it was warm, calm, and inviting, an older sister welcoming the newest member of a close family. “The height is better if you climb to the spires, but they take you further toward the center of the castle and this is a view that cannot be beat. Most would be twice as lucky to be half as blessed.” The girl took her side as they looked out across the nighttime city, Indira letting her eyes slip black even as the newest addition’s began to glow. “It is always important to remember that we are above the city only in height. The old stone and the new skyline is wonderful for pleasure and for keeping you grounded.” There was silence, then, for a moment like an eternity before her reverie was broken a sound her friend couldn’t hear. Introductions would be in order soon. “Do not mind the shadow dogs, and remain out of the spooky room - you will know it when you see it. If you see a large frog, she too is a friend, as are the aliens and the ghost. Especially the ghost, but you have met her already, I think.” Her smile claimed a bit more of her face, and Indira turned back to look not at the skyline but at the stone walls of the city’s strangest building. “It is an odd place, but a good place, and fitting for such a strange group. And...it is home.”
  11. Player Away Thread

    I'll be travelling to visit family for (American) Thanksgiving; I'll do my level best to keep up with threads and the like, but I may or may not be around much between 11/19 and 11/25, inclusive.
  12. (IC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived?

    Matt made a growling noise, pulling at his own hair to try to block out the static of it, the awful insistent noise of the ceaseless death of a billion mortal souls. He had to find a way to get out, he had to get his dogs back, he had to find Fred, if she was in this awful place too (he really hoped she wasn't), he had to-- And then the voice insulted his dogs. He stopped. He had something to latch onto, now, something to block out the noise. He had anger, and the anger was clarity. "See," he said, still wincing, but more sure of his motions - he pulled off his jacket long enough to remove his shirt, re-donning the former over a naked torso while he tore the latter into crude strips. "See, I thought you got it. I thought you knew, too, but you don't know nothin'." Deathdeathdeathdeath - he paused, collected himself, and wrapped the strips around his hands. "They all die. You can't save 'em because they all die. Nobody beats the reaper, and I get to play janitor, but murder? Murder's another game, man. Murder's not pure. Murder takes 'em before their time. You can't always beat the murder, but you can always give it a shot. Buy some years. Postpone the death, even if you can't stop it. Even when it doesn't matter." He turned his hands over to inspect his work, frowning up at the voice. He was grimacing, like trying to fight of the world's worst headache, but he had his focus back. "Especially when it doesn't matter. They taught me that, see. They taught me a lot of things. And they'd love me no matter what." Black smoke was leaking out of his bandages, crawling through the air like ink through water as he drove one fist into the window. It didn't break outright, but long cracks started to spider out across its surface. "They're good dogs."
  13. (OOC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived

    Matt's gonna pick a fight with some glass, though he's probably going to wrap his hands first. He doesn't like this room anymore. Melee Attack Roll vs. Glass: 1d20+8-5 9 The attack bonus is wrong because I am very tired and it's making me very dumb; this is a roll of 6, +12-5, for a final roll of 13, not 9. That's a DC23 toughness save for the window to the next cell, which he's...probably just going to keep doing until he's got a hole big enough to jump or teleport through.
  14. The Nothing From Coming For You (IC)

    "They'll be all of ours'," Dragonfly had dryly noted, but there was some serious truth to that. She hadn't liked any of this when she'd shown up, and she liked it less and less as time went on, but at least they were doing something, and she was always better when she could be doing something. Except, of course, she couldn't do anything, because magic - what was this, scrying? - was so far out of her wheelhouse that it was on another boat entirely. While Tarva focused literal black magic (Mara was pretty sure black wasn't a great sign, but she also assumed it was normal for someone who dressed like that) Dragonfly opted to sent her drones out across the area, each hovering well out of the way or clinging to a wall or corner, giving her as much camera coverage as her little fleet could manage. Only one stayed nearby, staring up at the ceiling to project a rapidly-shifting UI of the room's status. "Do we have a plan for if we find him, other than....mmh. Atomizing? Atomizing sounds good. Then put atoms into the sun of someone we don't like."
  15. (IC) Pop Quiz: Or Are You Deceived?

    "Of course they can't be saved!" Matt was holding his head in both hands, trying to shut out the death like it was some kind of headache; something was wrong with it. Something was wrong with him? Even at his worst he'd never had an avalanche of death like this, even at his most sensitive and in the midst of the largest disaster. It was too much, an assembly line of mortality - or an echo chamber. A recording, or a transmission? He could have done it with sound, but who would know how to do it to death? He needed his dogs. What was he supposed to do without his dogs. "You save one or two and ten more die and I clean up the mess," he said between clenched teeth, trying to look around the room for any sign of egress. A door to kick in, bars to teleport through, something to orient against. The baby? That was weird, but hard to focus on with a head full of doom. "I don't get to save anyone. I get to break the news when nobody saves them. That's how it works. That's how it always works."