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melodiesofeternity2018-11-16 11:26 am
sassafrisk) wrote in melodiesofeternity2018-11-16 11:26 am
Player Plot: Winter Isn't Coming, it's Already Here
Who: Everybody who signed up for the event.
When: November 23rd-30th
Where: The Uncharted Territories
What: Frisk leads an expedition into the North to try and find Hades. It doesn't go well.
Warnings/Notes: Post a toplevel to each of the segments below if you want. Encounters will be posted under the appropriate toplevel. For combat, I'd appreciate it if you put where your putting your passive job stat boosts in the subject line of your first post, plus any other boosts your character may have. Thank you!
THE STAGING GROUND (DAY ONE)
The directions that the volunteers have been sent over mail lead to a chocobo ranch just a day away from Armstrong Fort. For a groundbreaking journey into the unknown, the staging ground for Frisk’s expedition isn’t all that impressive. A quaint, if run-down, farmhouse lies next to the chocobos’ grazing patch, where Frisk can be seen arguing with a surly-looking Elezen. White chocobos coo at the new arrivals next to a mound of barely organized high-quality camping gear, staring at them curiously (or blankly, depending on how much intelligence to ascribe to chocobos). It’s a brisk November morning, and the cold bites into marrow of one’s bones as frost-encrusted dead grass crunches beneath the chocobos’ feet. Bleak grey clouds block out the sun, threatening snow but never quite delivering. Resignation and bleakness permeate the air. This certainly isn’t an auspicious start to an already dubious quest.
INTO THE VAST (DAY ONE)
The first day of the expedition is, in a word, boring. Dreary, depressing, monotonous, and several other words of similar caliber would also be apt descriptors. The moody weather doesn’t change through the long hours of plodding towards Armstrong Fort, the clouds oscillating between grey and sullen, and black and intimidating; but always refusing to actually burst and bring down snow on the party’s head. Not even random encounters deign to make an appearance to spice up the day, due to the extensive efforts of Tark Varentain’s military. Perhaps the only redeeming factor of this first day is that the flat terrain and docile chocobos make the actual riding of the birds a breeze, with only the most inept of chocobo riders--such as Frisk--falling off or bruising their rumps through other means. With MogNet reception growing spottier as the team approaches the Claus Snowfields, the only way to pass the time is with conversation.
ARMSTRONG FORT (NIGHT ONE)
When Armstrong Fort appears on the horizon near sundown, it brings a sudden change in weather. Snowflakes begin falling from the sky, increasing in numbers and force as the expedition party makes its way towards the imposing fortress. After just thirty minutes, it’s nearly impossible to see ten feet past your chocobo’s beak. Thankfully, the white chocobos are used to such conditions, so the expedition party still makes good time. The party arrives at Armstrong Fort an hour after the inclement weather begins, and they’re greeted by grim guards who refuse to let them in after a solid fifteen minutes of arguing with Frisk, despite the permit for lodging that they display.
Inside, the fort is just as bleak as the outside, although in a significantly different way. Primarily elezen and human soldiers huddle around sputtering fires on the walls, peering through the snowstorm looking for any signs of monsters. The cries of the wounded echo from the medical hall, although all of the soldiers remain stoic even to their comrades’ pain. If pressed, one of the guards will begrudgingly explain that without a regular shipment of mana potions, their healers often can’t use magic on every wounded soldier, forcing them to do it the old-fashioned way.
The empty bunks that the volunteers are escorted to are uncomfortable, cold, and barren, but it’s marginally better than sleeping on the floor. Marginally. But whatever slumber the party gets is interrupted at one in the morning, when a pack of ferocious yetis attacks the walls. The soldiers stationed at Armstrong Fort are used to such assaults and don’t need any help fending off the monsters, but if any of the adventurers give their assistance anyways, they’ll earn the guards’ grudging respect and perhaps a little something for their trouble.
CLAUS SNOWFIELDS (DAYS TWO AND THREE)
The volunteers are awoken just before the crack of dawn, dragged (by force if need be) to a breakfast of heated ration block and hustled out the door before the sun would even peek over the horizon if it wasn’t completely obscured by the endless snowstorm. From there, a boring journey becomes downright miserable.
Everybody has to huddle uncomfortably close together on their chocobos to keep from losing each other in the oppressive whiteness of the storm. Even the high-end survival gear that the volunteers are wearing only slightly blunts the biting edge of the cold, the raw frigidity of the environment digging deep into the marrow of the bones and nestling there like some twisted parasite. The white chocobos, as surefooted as they are in this environment, struggle against the howling gales, each step forward seeming like a monumental accomplishment.
It isn’t long before all sense of direction is lost. Compasses stop working just a few hours in, their only use being pointing a way vaguely forward to venture towards. The only reliable way to tell the time is the frequency and strength of monster attacks; as the day inches towards night at an agonizingly slow pace, more and more monsters bound out of the snow to savage the party. At the start of this leg of the journey, packs of roving monsters only came once or twice every hour. But as the hours grind past it begins seeming like the party can’t have five minutes of peace before being interrupted by some manner of beast. It’s not just yetis and ice elementals, either: there are strange, exotic animals, all the apex of physical perfection that comes with the ability to survive in such a harsh environment. Magical constructs such as ice golems and undead dressed in the clothes of other explorers also sometimes come charging out of the snow at the party, forcing a confrontation.
When: November 23rd-30th
Where: The Uncharted Territories
What: Frisk leads an expedition into the North to try and find Hades. It doesn't go well.
Warnings/Notes: Post a toplevel to each of the segments below if you want. Encounters will be posted under the appropriate toplevel. For combat, I'd appreciate it if you put where your putting your passive job stat boosts in the subject line of your first post, plus any other boosts your character may have. Thank you!
The directions that the volunteers have been sent over mail lead to a chocobo ranch just a day away from Armstrong Fort. For a groundbreaking journey into the unknown, the staging ground for Frisk’s expedition isn’t all that impressive. A quaint, if run-down, farmhouse lies next to the chocobos’ grazing patch, where Frisk can be seen arguing with a surly-looking Elezen. White chocobos coo at the new arrivals next to a mound of barely organized high-quality camping gear, staring at them curiously (or blankly, depending on how much intelligence to ascribe to chocobos). It’s a brisk November morning, and the cold bites into marrow of one’s bones as frost-encrusted dead grass crunches beneath the chocobos’ feet. Bleak grey clouds block out the sun, threatening snow but never quite delivering. Resignation and bleakness permeate the air. This certainly isn’t an auspicious start to an already dubious quest.
The first day of the expedition is, in a word, boring. Dreary, depressing, monotonous, and several other words of similar caliber would also be apt descriptors. The moody weather doesn’t change through the long hours of plodding towards Armstrong Fort, the clouds oscillating between grey and sullen, and black and intimidating; but always refusing to actually burst and bring down snow on the party’s head. Not even random encounters deign to make an appearance to spice up the day, due to the extensive efforts of Tark Varentain’s military. Perhaps the only redeeming factor of this first day is that the flat terrain and docile chocobos make the actual riding of the birds a breeze, with only the most inept of chocobo riders--such as Frisk--falling off or bruising their rumps through other means. With MogNet reception growing spottier as the team approaches the Claus Snowfields, the only way to pass the time is with conversation.
When Armstrong Fort appears on the horizon near sundown, it brings a sudden change in weather. Snowflakes begin falling from the sky, increasing in numbers and force as the expedition party makes its way towards the imposing fortress. After just thirty minutes, it’s nearly impossible to see ten feet past your chocobo’s beak. Thankfully, the white chocobos are used to such conditions, so the expedition party still makes good time. The party arrives at Armstrong Fort an hour after the inclement weather begins, and they’re greeted by grim guards who refuse to let them in after a solid fifteen minutes of arguing with Frisk, despite the permit for lodging that they display.
Inside, the fort is just as bleak as the outside, although in a significantly different way. Primarily elezen and human soldiers huddle around sputtering fires on the walls, peering through the snowstorm looking for any signs of monsters. The cries of the wounded echo from the medical hall, although all of the soldiers remain stoic even to their comrades’ pain. If pressed, one of the guards will begrudgingly explain that without a regular shipment of mana potions, their healers often can’t use magic on every wounded soldier, forcing them to do it the old-fashioned way.
The empty bunks that the volunteers are escorted to are uncomfortable, cold, and barren, but it’s marginally better than sleeping on the floor. Marginally. But whatever slumber the party gets is interrupted at one in the morning, when a pack of ferocious yetis attacks the walls. The soldiers stationed at Armstrong Fort are used to such assaults and don’t need any help fending off the monsters, but if any of the adventurers give their assistance anyways, they’ll earn the guards’ grudging respect and perhaps a little something for their trouble.
The volunteers are awoken just before the crack of dawn, dragged (by force if need be) to a breakfast of heated ration block and hustled out the door before the sun would even peek over the horizon if it wasn’t completely obscured by the endless snowstorm. From there, a boring journey becomes downright miserable.
Everybody has to huddle uncomfortably close together on their chocobos to keep from losing each other in the oppressive whiteness of the storm. Even the high-end survival gear that the volunteers are wearing only slightly blunts the biting edge of the cold, the raw frigidity of the environment digging deep into the marrow of the bones and nestling there like some twisted parasite. The white chocobos, as surefooted as they are in this environment, struggle against the howling gales, each step forward seeming like a monumental accomplishment.
It isn’t long before all sense of direction is lost. Compasses stop working just a few hours in, their only use being pointing a way vaguely forward to venture towards. The only reliable way to tell the time is the frequency and strength of monster attacks; as the day inches towards night at an agonizingly slow pace, more and more monsters bound out of the snow to savage the party. At the start of this leg of the journey, packs of roving monsters only came once or twice every hour. But as the hours grind past it begins seeming like the party can’t have five minutes of peace before being interrupted by some manner of beast. It’s not just yetis and ice elementals, either: there are strange, exotic animals, all the apex of physical perfection that comes with the ability to survive in such a harsh environment. Magical constructs such as ice golems and undead dressed in the clothes of other explorers also sometimes come charging out of the snow at the party, forcing a confrontation.
no subject
He almost ignores the Wight trying to hack away at him right now, the brief invulnerability of the Safeguard giving him enough time to Throw Dylas some much needed Eye Drops.
no subject
Still alive. Huh.
The wight and Richard exchanged blank looks for a second, as if they were two of three people standing in an elevator when someone farted. All of a sudden a giant monster just appears from a rift into the void like it owns the place. Oh, how nice, thought Richard, someone summoned that thing to start chewing through the undead.
And then he caught that same hungry stare that Belphegor was giving the rest of the crew and thought that it would be most prudent to back off and be not in the path of that thing. He gave the armored figure a shove and scrambled backward, collecting his thoughts while engaging in what the Dragoon school said was called a [Spirit Charge].
"Right, uh. I don't think that piercing weapons and spears are going to be particularly useful against these things. I have an alternative, but..." He tosses the spear back onto his back and cracks his knuckles. "... I might need to switch to more familiar means."
no subject
"Doggone it--!!"
He'd have loved to fire up the guns and blow away the undead then and there, but Dante wasn't going to be able to look after himself and everyone else with this many targets on the field. He'd have to save that satisfaction for a little later- for now, a quick reposition to keep his •Sentinel cover on Dante would have to do.
However things may have been, the fight was just getting started. Richard and Dylas could keep themselves in check for a little while longer. Probably. And as for the Belphegor...
Well. Hopefully it wouldn't be stupid enough to try and tick off the literal tank.
no subject
Another attacks Richard with a Darkra, which he handily dodges, and the last assaults Dylas with another Frost Moon strike, which he takes the brunt of.
Red: 216/269
Dante: 115/115
Richard: 54/60
Dylas: 104/150
no subject
He took a quick glance at the battlefield and noted that there were no real people taking damage that he could just pick off. His battlefield knowledge was limited, but he knew this much: three guns pointed at you is a terrible situation. And if you can't make the situation better by, say, running away or catching them by surprise, then the next best thing is to make it two guns firing at you.
"Hey! Stomp this guy in particular!"
With a loud snap like a spring finally letting loose, he hurled himself far up into the air. One of his legs spent, he looked like he was going to body himself onto the limb on a dead tree before he got to the enemy. But before he hit it, he'd curled himself into a ball and wound up brushing against it's underside.
And then the second snap let loose, and he let off all that tension he was building up as he [Jump]ed down, feet first in an attempt to do a flying downwards dropkick towards the Wight that had attempted to hit him with that spell. He'd only done something like this once. He's good at taking a fall, but this would sting without his bullfrogs if he missed.
no subject
Okay. Most of those attacks were no big deal, but having one's lifeforce forcibly yanked out from his body was not a pleasant experience. At least it meant that Dante could still sling around some of those potions without having to worry about healing himself. Still, even these four wights were going to become a problem if they were left unchecked like this.
That just meant Red would have to be thorough. And the boost the full Magitek Armor gave to his weapons was hopefully going to make that a little easier for him. Arcs of energy surged into the DAHAK's hands and it soon glowed bright orange from the seams; its arms spread, as a series of ports in the arms opened, to no further warning beyond a flicker of flame and a cursory word--
"Heads up!"
--and a Fire-element •Magitek Beam erupted from the machine, arcing and braiding across the battlefield as it dispersed out to each of the four Wights. Thankfully, his warning was merely ceremonial; it was fine-tuned to avoid his allies; they'd only feel a pleasant warmth that suddenly cut through the cold winter's air.
no subject
Dante takes a quick survey of his teammates. Not too terribly hurt, but preventing that altogether would be ideal. He shakes his head and smirks. Least he can do is make sure they can keep kicking ass. The chemist quickly rummages through his things to Toss up a Mega Potion to give everyone a little extra health boost at once.
no subject
Belphegor looks at the party like they might make for a decent treat, sure, but Dylas has been doing this summoning thing for a while. It decides that the monsters make a much more appealing target. It uses Critical Attack on the Wight that attacked Dylas for the equivalent of Belphegor's physical strength times two.
Dylas, meanwhile, decides to try taking a hint from how his earlier spell didn't work quite so well and casts Prismatic Missile, sending missiles of light to attack each of the Wights for light damage.
no subject
One of the Wight's retaliates with another Black Ice directed entirely at Red, while the other one spreads the black, crystalline destruction on the entire party. Pillars and spikes of black ice seething with dark energy erupt out of the ground, making the terrain quite difficult to navigate and dealing intense damage to the party. Richard is the only one who manages to dodge. The other two cast Leechra, targeting Belphegor and Red again.
Red: 124/269
Richard: 60/60
Dylas: 111/160
Dante: 74/115
no subject
"Eat shit! Or...light. Assholes."
no subject
The only problem is, and he notes this with some trepidation, everyone around him seemed to prefer using laser beams and magic powers. Which means his suggestions to alpha strike would, of course, fall on deaf ears since they could just shoot magic beams and missiles at all of them.
His shoulders slump, and then he shrugs. Well. When in Rome...
He reaches into his trenchcoat and pulls out a flask. Normally, it's a terrible idea to get drunk in arctic temperatures- it might seem as though you're warming up, but that's simply a function of getting sloshed, which will not prevent you from losing fingers. And normally, he's not the type to drink, which is why this seemed like a weird turn of events to anyone that knew him.
That is, until the zippo came out.
With a spray of strong alcohol, a gout of flame spewed out of his mouth. A [Fire Breath], if you will. He wasn't quite able to maintain one long, steady stream of firey death, but he managed to at least try and get everyone invited to that awful party.
no subject
He'll get everyone else back to shape in a moment, but the doggo can probably use an X-potion. The Chemist goes and Tosses him one to keep him shielding everyone else.
no subject
But even if his defense against the wights' elemental magic was lackluster, he wasn't without his ways of punishing them for their use of it... and the armor's glowing seams seemed to brighten and excite at its touch.
A swelling of energy was once more shunting into the DAHAK's arms, but this time it settled into their sharpened edges; and a quick lunge forward past Richard's fire, Dylas' magic, and the Belphegor's wind became a whirling •Magitek Wall counterattack through the two Wights who'd sent their spells his way. Hopefully, the handling of his thruster-aided mechanical mount wouldn't suffer too much from the poor ground conditions; after all, someone needed to step in front to keep the back line protected.
And if either of them were still on their feet after the team's combined assault, hopefully a fiery, red-hot •Magitek Beam would serve to finish off whichever one still looked the weakest.
no subject
And that's the remaining Wights' cue to unleash their own limit breaks. They both plunge their swords into the ice, once again aiming one Black Ice specifically at Red and one more at the rest of the party. What's more, the second attack even manages to crit! Only Richard manages to evade the deadly assault.
Red: 42/269
Dante: 8/115
Richard: 60/60
Dylas: 62/160
no subject
He'll admit: seeing Richard dodge and weave through all of that kinda reminds Dante of his younger days. Maybe he should pick up dragoon one day....
...But he and the others need to live before they can do that, don't they? He'll worry about individual healing once everyone isn't busy dying, so he'll Toss another Mega Potion overhead to help spread the heals around, including the Belphegor Dylas summoned.
no subject
"Gents," He yelled out from beneath the snow. "I know that this is not really the time, you must be looking pretty roughed up, that was a surprisingly brutal attack, but if any of you heard that, please do not tell anyone you did. Especially not Corrin. Especially not Kuja."
Suddenly, there was a burst of snow from beneath one of the remaining wights and gives him a [Jump]ing shoulder check from below.
no subject
"I miss the time I summoned an actual gelatin to battle for me. This one sucks. And the gelatin almost killed my party."
You know, details for the rest to consider.
He lifts his hands and starts to cast again. With prismatic missile and dark savior not working and his HP low, he aims to hit whichever enemy Belphegor attacked (unless it was killed) with Earth Grave.
no subject
Besides, as if Kuja was one to talk with how he dressed.
Dylas was most of the way to knocking one of the wights clear out of the battle, and definitely out of reach of any hope for a good hit with a counterattack; but he at least had room for one last •Magitek Wall on the remaining Wight nearby- hopefully it was the one who was foolhardy enough to single him out- and even managed to send a crackling arcane bolt colliding with it in a followup •Magitek Judgement.
That sun had better hurry up and rise already.
no subject
Lying where one of the Wights was in a Wight's Heart, a piece of twisted black metal inscribed with runes that seem wrong to the eyes.
Wight's Heart: This can be imbued into a weapon to have all attacks made and skills used with it deal weak dark damage in addition to its normal effects. The Heart also doubles dark damage for attacks that already deal dark damage (this stacks with its other effect), and raises Attack Potency by one rank.
no subject
They won.
He cranes back his head and takes in the sunshine. For once, he didn't feel like he should immediately slink back into his apartment.
But after a while, he did notice he was standing on something.
He looked down and spotted a dark lump. He narrowed his eyes, and picked it up with his begloved hands.
"Hey, uh. Magic people. What's this thing?"
no subject
The tragic end of a bromance.
He looks back towards the shelters and is about to abandon everyone to go warm up inside of them when he hears 'magic people.' That's him. He's the magic person. He slithers over to Richard, and soon he's on both sides of him. Tail to the left, torso to the right. When Dylas sits around the couch, he...you know how it goes.
He grabs the rock. It's still pulsing, as an undead heart would, of course, and Dylas isn't too bothered by its runes being both a monster (self-proclaimed) and Necromancer.
"I think it's their heart," he says before opening his mouth wider than a person should. He places a clawed hand on Richard's shoulder to, you know, brace himself as he eats his dessert? And then swallows it whole right in front of him and Red. If it's a little juicy (and what good rocky wight heart isn't), maybe it even dripped on Richard a little. "Huh. It's not very filling," he says even though both of his hands are pulsing with dark energy and his eyes are glowing more golden than before.
no subject
"DID YOU JUST EAT THAT THING?!"
You know, the thing that fell out of an unholy, animated corpse? As if grotesquely devouring it in front of everyone wasn't already bad enough.
no subject
He'll see him again, hopefully.
Admittedly, the zora can't help staring at Dylas after seeing him swallow the rock whole like that.
"Dude..."
A disappointed headshake.
"...I could've made you a mean stew out of that. It'd really warm you up. On the other hand, cooking it distills any power you could get from it. Pros and cons."
A casual shrug. Someone's certainly not bothered by this.
no subject
Chomp. Gulp. The heart was gone, the only thing left being gravel and maybe a bit of snakeman saliva. Richard just stares at his hand for a second, and just for the life of him looking as if he hasn't quite comprehended what just happened. As if his mind was failing to contain the enormity of how messed up that thing he just watched happen was. He began to chuckle because he was feeling too awkward to do anything else.
He began to move slowly. Very notably with his other hand, he decided to start digging in his coat for his flask. "Yeah, uh. You know, stone soup is uh. You know what, no, I have no quip for this." He undid his latch on the mouth of the flask and started taking a long drag off of it.
Yes, he didn't drink. This was going to be one of the rare, justified exceptions.
no subject
"What, were you going to eat? It's not a big deal."
His eyes are still glowing a little. His hands are still pulsing with a dark cloud of energy. Dylas looks a little possessed, but instead he stretches his arms over his head and yawns before pulling his cloak tighter around him and looking at the other two.
"I'm going to sleep as soon as we get the call to go back inside. There's no time for stew. Aren't you coldblooded, too, fish man?"
He sort of wants to steal Conway's alcohol and take it for himself, but he's caused enough trouble and his hands are cold. He holds out his hand instead and, shocking even himself, asks politely.
"Can I see that? Please?"
Of course, see that means "I would like a drink of that flask," and considering where his mouth has been...