The SSRS Kostroma lies idle in the southeastern bay of Mended Horn Island. Only the front portion, the two forward masts and the front of the superstructure that sits in the center of the freighter's hull, is illuminated by a pair of dim lights that glow orange-red, a sure sign that the boilers of the Kostroma are dying, and the lights will soon go off. The remainder of the ship's funnel, and the mast behind the superstructure are visible only in silhouette. The gibbous moon and starry night that would have provided a clear backdrop to the black hulk of the Kostroma have been smothered by the overcast skies and light rain.
A sound comes, not from the Kostroma, and indeed, not from anywhere at all. A low, vaguely tinnitus-like sound that drains out the sound of silence. It calls to you. It calls to everyone.
"Come to the Kostroma, good soldier. Join us here. Come."
/vx/ - Videogames and Paranormal
1370 replies and 51 files omitted.
"Oh dear, look at me, flat-footed and prone at the bottom of these stairs, isolated from my party. I sure do hope some kind of horrifying monstrosity does not rush to the noise I just made and lunge out of the shadows at the edge of my infravision to attack me while I am vulnerable... I might lose my composure."
>>194246
This is an actual invitation to prompt serious, immersive, fear-based roleplay in the way DM expects based on whatever situation unfolds. Idk why I phrased it like a cheesy porno intro when I meant to say "I'm ready to take things seriously now", but multi-leveled irony is one hell of a drug.
This is an actual invitation to prompt serious, immersive, fear-based roleplay in the way DM expects based on whatever situation unfolds. Idk why I phrased it like a cheesy porno intro when I meant to say "I'm ready to take things seriously now", but multi-leveled irony is one hell of a drug.
I may not be able to play comfortably for about a week or so due to travel. I will try to check in anyway. If you can proceed without me, please do so and simply assume that Posey helps out in whatever way she can without expending spell spots.
My apologies for the inconvenience.
My apologies for the inconvenience.
>>194246
When I first saw this post, I was going to write something like the following:
Posey hears a clop, clop, clop growing slightly louder as she hears the sound of hooves clanking down the metal stairs. The sound pauses next to her, then continues. Blackheel comes into her peripheral vision, looking down toward her as he walks into the room.
“Honestly? Ask me later. When we are free of all of this mess, and can have time alone together.” He walks past into the room. More clopping, and Stainnd follows, though he does not stop to speak to her.
This would have been followed by a description of the contents of the room. The problem with this response is that something said in OOC
>these weeks long hiatuses are destroying my immersion
Is all too true. It would make more sense to back up the action
>>194248
> Idk why I phrased it like a cheesy porno intro
Yes you do
When I first saw this post, I was going to write something like the following:
Posey hears a clop, clop, clop growing slightly louder as she hears the sound of hooves clanking down the metal stairs. The sound pauses next to her, then continues. Blackheel comes into her peripheral vision, looking down toward her as he walks into the room.
“Honestly? Ask me later. When we are free of all of this mess, and can have time alone together.” He walks past into the room. More clopping, and Stainnd follows, though he does not stop to speak to her.
This would have been followed by a description of the contents of the room. The problem with this response is that something said in OOC
>these weeks long hiatuses are destroying my immersion
Is all too true. It would make more sense to back up the action
>>194248
> Idk why I phrased it like a cheesy porno intro
Yes you do
>>194263
>Is all too true. It would make more sense to back up the action
How far are we looking? I'd prefer if we have only a brief recap of "last time..." so we don't lose too much time.
>Is all too true. It would make more sense to back up the action
How far are we looking? I'd prefer if we have only a brief recap of "last time..." so we don't lose too much time.
>>194263
If it were possible for Posey's blood run any colder, it certainly would have as she realizes that she was being observed, the embarrassment worse than any monster that might have kept out of the darkness.
>would make more sense to back up the action
What do you mean by that?
If it were possible for Posey's blood run any colder, it certainly would have as she realizes that she was being observed, the embarrassment worse than any monster that might have kept out of the darkness.
>would make more sense to back up the action
What do you mean by that?
>>194265
continues scrunching
>>194268
What I meant by that was that after a long hiatus, the atmosphere needs to be reestablished. This takes or or two long posts to describe the sights, sounds, and other aspects of the environment. Ideally there should be two or three posts for the feeling to sink in, and then begin action. Or at the very least, the lead up to the action should not begin in the same post or at the same time as the reintroduction to the scene. The problem is that the party is entering into a new room, possibly one of only four before they reach the boiler, inclusive of the boiler room itself. Action can’t begin immediately in the room and the atmosphere be reestablished, nor would there be any time or room to build tension. Obviously not every room can or even should have any kind of action, but allowing the room to at least have the possibility of maybe not being empty like the last one is, I think, desirable. So I wanted to go back to the previous room to do the reintroduction, so that action could happen in the lower room, or at least, that the players should have some fear or concern or suspicion that action may occur in the lower room, and they don’t already know it to be empty.
continues scrunching
>>194268
What I meant by that was that after a long hiatus, the atmosphere needs to be reestablished. This takes or or two long posts to describe the sights, sounds, and other aspects of the environment. Ideally there should be two or three posts for the feeling to sink in, and then begin action. Or at the very least, the lead up to the action should not begin in the same post or at the same time as the reintroduction to the scene. The problem is that the party is entering into a new room, possibly one of only four before they reach the boiler, inclusive of the boiler room itself. Action can’t begin immediately in the room and the atmosphere be reestablished, nor would there be any time or room to build tension. Obviously not every room can or even should have any kind of action, but allowing the room to at least have the possibility of maybe not being empty like the last one is, I think, desirable. So I wanted to go back to the previous room to do the reintroduction, so that action could happen in the lower room, or at least, that the players should have some fear or concern or suspicion that action may occur in the lower room, and they don’t already know it to be empty.
>>194272
I second this. Two or three posts is nothing and they'll grease the wheels, so to speak. When would you like to start?
I second this. Two or three posts is nothing and they'll grease the wheels, so to speak. When would you like to start?
The fog that for so long had blanketed the island and smothered the field of view has retreated, if only somewhat, and instead forms a low hanging cloud that hides all light of the moon and stars. Should some creature look over to port, past the midship superstructure and towards the freighter's bow, they could see as far ahead as to the bow gun deck some 300 feet, illuminated by the dim and dying flood light atop the forward mast. But this orange and red glow is visible only past a haze, a white haze that from this distance looks almost like looking at the bow through fogged glasses. Or it would, were it not for the sheets of small, slowly moving raindrops that likewise crowd the field of view at far distances.
The bow is the only direction any one may see far. To port and starboard, and to the stern, there is only blackness. The bottoms of white tufted clouds sometimes dip into the field of view, reflecting the orange-yellow light, but not always, and they move out of view swiftly enough. Mostly the sky is just another dimension of black. To port, occasionally a small light of a cigarette lighter, or a flashlight will shine from the deck of the torpedo boat, and always a weak light shines through the dirty and half-blinded windows of the pilot house. They illuminate the black painted deck, the green wheelhouse, the grey sides of the freighter, and green-blue waves next to both vessels. But these lights only do so much to break up the blackness of the night. When any party member moves away from the side of the ship, and further onto the deck, the distant ocean becomes one with the licorice black sky, as does even the painted steel of the ship's railing.
The fog has retreated but it is not gone, and the surest sign is that the island shore, presumably only a third of a mile away - hopefully still only a third of a mile away - is completely invisible from the ship. Surely some activity of the GRU, be it the flashlights of search parties, campfires, or... something would shine through the darkness. It does not. Something must be obscuring their activities on the island from view. The Kostroma and the torpedo boat next it are alone in the night. Or at least, they seem to be.
But the party is not concerned with the horizon, even if what is beyond sight will soon enough concern them. Their concern is the aft deckhouse before them. The flood light on the aft side of the midship deckhouse, as well as the light atop the aft mast, are off. Only the silhouette outlining the stern of the ship, the aft deckhouse, and the gun and its platform above the aft deckhouse are visible against the black sky, when even that much can be discerned. But under the narrow cone of directed light from a flashlight, more can be seen. Little pools of water that trickle and flow towards the sides of the ship atop the dark-vanished hardwood deck, and still more small puddles of dark liquid. An open cargo hold revealing only a black, gaping rectangular opening in the deck. A crane lowered from the aft mast. A door cracked open at the entrance of the aft deckhouse. And droplets of falling rain reflecting the light everywhere the light points.
The wind picks up, coming as it often does in rain-laden gusts that roll over the hill of which the Kostroma is presumably still in the leeward, and bites at the wet fur and jackets of the party members. It creates the perception, if not the reality, of freezing temperatures that are one more inconvenience to ponies, griffins and friends who are surely already exhausted and tired from the day's events. The wind blows at the ears before just as quickly calming down, and small waves hit the side of the grounded vessel. But the waves are timid, calmed by the confines of the harbor, and even the sound of the wind does only so much to interfere with the calm of the night. The rain is too soft to make a sound as it settles upon every surface. Chatter from creatures atop the torpedo boat, or even in the boarding party, sometimes breaks through the silence and the wind. The clatter of a single wave moving with determination into the harbor overpowers the sound of so many of its smaller brethren. It must be the tide rising as it enters the harbor. It is this wave that is the best evidence that the Kostroma is still in its harbor only twenty miles removed from the mainland and not transported by some malign or mysterious will through a portal to some dimension where it is isolated in space and time.
The smell of salt water dominates. Salt, and the stinging smell of diesel fuel, though it is harder to perceive here. Most may not smell it at all.
The bow is the only direction any one may see far. To port and starboard, and to the stern, there is only blackness. The bottoms of white tufted clouds sometimes dip into the field of view, reflecting the orange-yellow light, but not always, and they move out of view swiftly enough. Mostly the sky is just another dimension of black. To port, occasionally a small light of a cigarette lighter, or a flashlight will shine from the deck of the torpedo boat, and always a weak light shines through the dirty and half-blinded windows of the pilot house. They illuminate the black painted deck, the green wheelhouse, the grey sides of the freighter, and green-blue waves next to both vessels. But these lights only do so much to break up the blackness of the night. When any party member moves away from the side of the ship, and further onto the deck, the distant ocean becomes one with the licorice black sky, as does even the painted steel of the ship's railing.
The fog has retreated but it is not gone, and the surest sign is that the island shore, presumably only a third of a mile away - hopefully still only a third of a mile away - is completely invisible from the ship. Surely some activity of the GRU, be it the flashlights of search parties, campfires, or... something would shine through the darkness. It does not. Something must be obscuring their activities on the island from view. The Kostroma and the torpedo boat next it are alone in the night. Or at least, they seem to be.
But the party is not concerned with the horizon, even if what is beyond sight will soon enough concern them. Their concern is the aft deckhouse before them. The flood light on the aft side of the midship deckhouse, as well as the light atop the aft mast, are off. Only the silhouette outlining the stern of the ship, the aft deckhouse, and the gun and its platform above the aft deckhouse are visible against the black sky, when even that much can be discerned. But under the narrow cone of directed light from a flashlight, more can be seen. Little pools of water that trickle and flow towards the sides of the ship atop the dark-vanished hardwood deck, and still more small puddles of dark liquid. An open cargo hold revealing only a black, gaping rectangular opening in the deck. A crane lowered from the aft mast. A door cracked open at the entrance of the aft deckhouse. And droplets of falling rain reflecting the light everywhere the light points.
The wind picks up, coming as it often does in rain-laden gusts that roll over the hill of which the Kostroma is presumably still in the leeward, and bites at the wet fur and jackets of the party members. It creates the perception, if not the reality, of freezing temperatures that are one more inconvenience to ponies, griffins and friends who are surely already exhausted and tired from the day's events. The wind blows at the ears before just as quickly calming down, and small waves hit the side of the grounded vessel. But the waves are timid, calmed by the confines of the harbor, and even the sound of the wind does only so much to interfere with the calm of the night. The rain is too soft to make a sound as it settles upon every surface. Chatter from creatures atop the torpedo boat, or even in the boarding party, sometimes breaks through the silence and the wind. The clatter of a single wave moving with determination into the harbor overpowers the sound of so many of its smaller brethren. It must be the tide rising as it enters the harbor. It is this wave that is the best evidence that the Kostroma is still in its harbor only twenty miles removed from the mainland and not transported by some malign or mysterious will through a portal to some dimension where it is isolated in space and time.
The smell of salt water dominates. Salt, and the stinging smell of diesel fuel, though it is harder to perceive here. Most may not smell it at all.
1774581400.png (916.8 KB, 3569x2214, d810i7z-5702b9ed-f32d-498f-ba85-0cd05a8be08c.png)
Hooray, I knew check-in my phone and 11:00 PM would be worth it.
>cigarette lighter
"No smoking until the oil is cleaned up!" Posey shouts
>lights go out
Posey pauses, alarmed by this development
"Either the generator on this ship has faltered, or it has been sabotaged. The only way to tell will be to investigate. Beware, the monsters summoned by the intruder can likely see in the dark, but meeting them down there barely more dangerous than waiting for them to pick us off up here..."
She gives a raspy huff and raises her head sticking out her chest, seemingly not bothered by the frigid winds. Despite her pose, a subtle hint of concern creeps across her stoic expression, betraying cautious uncertainty over how to proceed.
"... This is hostile territory. The enemy will surely be waiting to strike from around corners. Those who know the ship, keep speaking. The better we know the lower deck, the better prepared we will be for the eventual ambush. My nightvision spell can guide us forward, so stay beside me..." she says softly, slowly walking towards the center of the ship
>cigarette lighter
"No smoking until the oil is cleaned up!" Posey shouts
>lights go out
Posey pauses, alarmed by this development
"Either the generator on this ship has faltered, or it has been sabotaged. The only way to tell will be to investigate. Beware, the monsters summoned by the intruder can likely see in the dark, but meeting them down there barely more dangerous than waiting for them to pick us off up here..."
She gives a raspy huff and raises her head sticking out her chest, seemingly not bothered by the frigid winds. Despite her pose, a subtle hint of concern creeps across her stoic expression, betraying cautious uncertainty over how to proceed.
"... This is hostile territory. The enemy will surely be waiting to strike from around corners. Those who know the ship, keep speaking. The better we know the lower deck, the better prepared we will be for the eventual ambush. My nightvision spell can guide us forward, so stay beside me..." she says softly, slowly walking towards the center of the ship
The door to the aft deckhouse opens with a pull. Inside no light is on. Only darkness, and what is illuminated by what lights may be provided. The white paint of the steel walls has chipped away in some locations, though mostly it holds, darkened to an off-white by years of dirt, the marks of rubber soled boots, and soot from cigarettes and who knows what other sources. The floor is mostly dry, wetted in a few locations by tracks of what seem to be claw prints. Cabins dominate most of this level, deck three, of the aft deckhouse, which are on either side of a hallway that runs perpendicular to the entry hallway. At the end of the hallway is a set of metal stairs that go downwards. While the door is open, air moves through past the party and towards the blackness of the lower level.
Inside of the cabins, some beds are made. Some have covers pulled back and disheveled. And some have the sheets completely removed and mattresses cast on the floor. There are also lockers. Some are closed. Some are open. And some have clothing strewn onto the floor. One of the rooms - the one down the hallway to the far left of the entryway and the ship's starboard - is the infirmary. The bed is disturbed with the sheets partly pulled off. A couple cabinets are open. A few little brown glass bottles are empty and first aid kits are open. There are small rust-colored stains on the floor.
When the door is closed, only the hint of whistling wind can be heard, and this quiets deeper inside of the deckhouse. The same is true of the waves, which can be scarcely heard at all. Once or twice, the creaking of bending metal can be heard, and then the whole floor can be felt to push against your hooves and claws, pushing you upwards, before falling slightly. The vibrations or sounds of fans, or the buzzing of electronics that ought to drown out the sound of silence in any large vehicle are conspicuously absent. Instead, the party can only hear silence, occasionally broken by unknown sounds bleeding out from beyond the dark lower floor.
But of course, there is no sound of silence. Instead, there is always that dominating sound. That same sound, or rather pair of sounds, that have haunted the party since they first arrived onto the island. It's a sound most similar to a muffling effect, like being under water, combined with a high-pitched ring underneath similar in tone to tinnitus. It could be dismissed as the lingering effects of the machine guns earlier, were it the first time tonight it were heard. Instead, it is all too familiar. Two things, however, are different. One, the ringing sound is oddly quieter here than in the more quiet moments on the beach, or even on the deck. And second, the "muffled" sounds are less the generalized noise that has been so long heard, but are something closer to recognizable. Like the sounds of people talking heard through walls.
Inside of the cabins, some beds are made. Some have covers pulled back and disheveled. And some have the sheets completely removed and mattresses cast on the floor. There are also lockers. Some are closed. Some are open. And some have clothing strewn onto the floor. One of the rooms - the one down the hallway to the far left of the entryway and the ship's starboard - is the infirmary. The bed is disturbed with the sheets partly pulled off. A couple cabinets are open. A few little brown glass bottles are empty and first aid kits are open. There are small rust-colored stains on the floor.
When the door is closed, only the hint of whistling wind can be heard, and this quiets deeper inside of the deckhouse. The same is true of the waves, which can be scarcely heard at all. Once or twice, the creaking of bending metal can be heard, and then the whole floor can be felt to push against your hooves and claws, pushing you upwards, before falling slightly. The vibrations or sounds of fans, or the buzzing of electronics that ought to drown out the sound of silence in any large vehicle are conspicuously absent. Instead, the party can only hear silence, occasionally broken by unknown sounds bleeding out from beyond the dark lower floor.
But of course, there is no sound of silence. Instead, there is always that dominating sound. That same sound, or rather pair of sounds, that have haunted the party since they first arrived onto the island. It's a sound most similar to a muffling effect, like being under water, combined with a high-pitched ring underneath similar in tone to tinnitus. It could be dismissed as the lingering effects of the machine guns earlier, were it the first time tonight it were heard. Instead, it is all too familiar. Two things, however, are different. One, the ringing sound is oddly quieter here than in the more quiet moments on the beach, or even on the deck. And second, the "muffled" sounds are less the generalized noise that has been so long heard, but are something closer to recognizable. Like the sounds of people talking heard through walls.
>>194290
As Posey looks around her, in the little bubble where her eyes may pierce the veil of darkness, Posey realizes one thing, and one thing very well. Should the GRU appear through the fog with their long-range guns aimed and readied; should Our Fellow Traveler send another one of its "seraphs," or some other flying creation from beyond her bubble; should some pirate or Light Water himself snipe at her and her posse through the windows of the midship deckhouse - then Posey will have relatively little time to react. Posey's magical and physical talents are more favorable to her in closed spaces than on deck.
As Posey looks around her, in the little bubble where her eyes may pierce the veil of darkness, Posey realizes one thing, and one thing very well. Should the GRU appear through the fog with their long-range guns aimed and readied; should Our Fellow Traveler send another one of its "seraphs," or some other flying creation from beyond her bubble; should some pirate or Light Water himself snipe at her and her posse through the windows of the midship deckhouse - then Posey will have relatively little time to react. Posey's magical and physical talents are more favorable to her in closed spaces than on deck.
>>194289
>>194291
Silver grimaces, a mixture of the cold and the utter blackness of the hostile location they're about to enter getting under his floof-covered skin, but he stands back up straight and resolute, knowing that this is what he was born for. He is a warrior, a soldier, and just like his ancestors he will stand firm against the icy chill.
Kira, meanwhile, while having been born a Hunter in her clan, is more out of her element here. Salt and sea are a far cry from the tall grass and acacia tree which she finds at home in, hiding from both predator and prey. She grips her bow tightly and reassuringly, and continues to offer up thanks for the protection Ouroboros is granting her from the cold in this frozen wasteland. "Well, we're raw-dogging this ship, then...I don't remember it being this spooky when I was hiding in that crate of bananas..."
As they travel down the metal-clad hallways, Kira flicks her tongue in the air, trying to catch scents but mostly getting metal and oil. When they pass near to the infirmary she does catch the whiff of what the rust-colored stain is: blood.
>>194291
Silver grimaces, a mixture of the cold and the utter blackness of the hostile location they're about to enter getting under his floof-covered skin, but he stands back up straight and resolute, knowing that this is what he was born for. He is a warrior, a soldier, and just like his ancestors he will stand firm against the icy chill.
Kira, meanwhile, while having been born a Hunter in her clan, is more out of her element here. Salt and sea are a far cry from the tall grass and acacia tree which she finds at home in, hiding from both predator and prey. She grips her bow tightly and reassuringly, and continues to offer up thanks for the protection Ouroboros is granting her from the cold in this frozen wasteland. "Well, we're raw-dogging this ship, then...I don't remember it being this spooky when I was hiding in that crate of bananas..."
As they travel down the metal-clad hallways, Kira flicks her tongue in the air, trying to catch scents but mostly getting metal and oil. When they pass near to the infirmary she does catch the whiff of what the rust-colored stain is: blood.
>>194289
>>194291
Cavaliere's motions seem more deliberate than usual. One may ascribe this to fatigue, but the more perceptive will notice that he is paying close attention to his surroundings, listening to the air as he avoids the pools. "The creatures here left in a hurry, and I suggest we don't linger any longer than needed," he states softly. "Some of the lockers are sealed; if you want to break into them, I recommend being quick and quiet."
>>194290
"You are the only one of us with that uncanny ability. If we're not to stumble our way through this place, you have to describe everything to us. A light in a closed room isn't particularly dangerous regardless."
>>194293
Maybe Kira wouldn't know what "raw-dogging" is
>>194291
Cavaliere's motions seem more deliberate than usual. One may ascribe this to fatigue, but the more perceptive will notice that he is paying close attention to his surroundings, listening to the air as he avoids the pools. "The creatures here left in a hurry, and I suggest we don't linger any longer than needed," he states softly. "Some of the lockers are sealed; if you want to break into them, I recommend being quick and quiet."
>>194290
"You are the only one of us with that uncanny ability. If we're not to stumble our way through this place, you have to describe everything to us. A light in a closed room isn't particularly dangerous regardless."
>>194293
Maybe Kira wouldn't know what "raw-dogging" is
>>194294
Kira looks to the tip of her tail. "Well, I'm not really trained in it, but I could see if I could hit the tumblers."
You'd have to ask her about it to find out.
Kira looks to the tip of her tail. "Well, I'm not really trained in it, but I could see if I could hit the tumblers."
You'd have to ask her about it to find out.
>>194292
As a crypt-dwelling monstrosity and touch-spell specialist, Posey realizes this as her instincts kick in, and makes a more resolute pose, fondling her sword handle ready to draw it
"Come quickly. We are sitting ducks if we stay in the open." she says to the party, gliding through the aft deckhouse
>>194291
Nice description
>always that dominating sound
"That damn noise... What could it mean?" Posey grimaces, flickering her sensitive vampony ears
As the party occultist, Posey puts the gears in her head to work Jimmy Neutron style trying to figure out what this sound effect is. She pauses and closes her eyes to concentrate before she asks herself the following questions:
Is this a real physical sound, or an ambient psychic/telepathic noise?
What threats might it pose to Posey or her allies?
If so, how might she counter them?
Can she discern the source of the noise?
Could she discern any useful messages or information from the sounds like muffled speaking?
Arcana (knowledge check)
[1d20+11 = (15+11) = 26]
Listen (to make out the message/noise)
[1d20+3 = (17+3) = 20]
Sense Motive (to discern intent)
[1d20+1 = (16+1) = 17]
Concentration (to focus on any mental affects)
[1d20+13 = (8+13) = 21]
I guess I'll also roll Search to investigate the room
[1d20+5 = (10+5) = 15]
As a crypt-dwelling monstrosity and touch-spell specialist, Posey realizes this as her instincts kick in, and makes a more resolute pose, fondling her sword handle ready to draw it
"Come quickly. We are sitting ducks if we stay in the open." she says to the party, gliding through the aft deckhouse
>>194291
Nice description
>always that dominating sound
"That damn noise... What could it mean?" Posey grimaces, flickering her sensitive vampony ears
As the party occultist, Posey puts the gears in her head to work Jimmy Neutron style trying to figure out what this sound effect is. She pauses and closes her eyes to concentrate before she asks herself the following questions:
Is this a real physical sound, or an ambient psychic/telepathic noise?
What threats might it pose to Posey or her allies?
If so, how might she counter them?
Can she discern the source of the noise?
Could she discern any useful messages or information from the sounds like muffled speaking?
Arcana (knowledge check)
[1d20+11 = (15+11) = 26]
Listen (to make out the message/noise)
[1d20+3 = (17+3) = 20]
Sense Motive (to discern intent)
[1d20+1 = (16+1) = 17]
Concentration (to focus on any mental affects)
[1d20+13 = (8+13) = 21]
I guess I'll also roll Search to investigate the room
[1d20+5 = (10+5) = 15]
>>194296
>Arcana
>Listen
>Sense
>Concentration
It sounds muffled - some more normal sound disrupted and disharmonized by some physical impediment, or failure of the senses. She seeks to hear with greater clarity. And what she hears....
She knows it by analogy. This is not the form that the music takes, mind you, but the form molded by Posey's mind so that she may understand through analogy.
A filly walks in a clearing in the forest gathering the flowers that grow wild, and the edible varieties of mushroom. She hears music coming from the tree line. It is of an older style, maybe known to her ancestors, but not often played by the old folk of the village. At least, not outdoors. She knows what it is. She sees silhouettes dancing round through the tree line. She moves closer, and her eyes confirm. The Fair Folk dance to the melody, a melody so harmonious and full of whimsy that the filly wishes only to lope in and join their circle, dancing with them under the sun and moonlight for all eternity as the mundane world passes through its cycles around them. One of the fair folk takes notice and looks back to her with its black eyes, offering a hoof. It beckons.
But Posey isn't like that little filly. She is not a youthful mare full of lust and wonder. She has not sought the beauty in things for many years. She is old and tired. tired of the world. Stressed and pushed by needs. And neither does the melody passively reflect the rhythmic revelry of the old ones. It calls to her. Promises to her. Promises that she too, may be a filly again, with youth and wander for new things. That she may see a world - a wonderous, new world, free of woe and envy. No need to prove who you are. You may have peace in being, little filly.
Take my hoof. That reflection you see in my black eyes isn't you as you are. It's you as you could be. As you should be. Full of love and wonder, and hardly a care. Come with me little filly. We shall dance under the light even as all the world withers away.
>Arcana
>Listen
>Sense
>Concentration
It sounds muffled - some more normal sound disrupted and disharmonized by some physical impediment, or failure of the senses. She seeks to hear with greater clarity. And what she hears....
She knows it by analogy. This is not the form that the music takes, mind you, but the form molded by Posey's mind so that she may understand through analogy.
A filly walks in a clearing in the forest gathering the flowers that grow wild, and the edible varieties of mushroom. She hears music coming from the tree line. It is of an older style, maybe known to her ancestors, but not often played by the old folk of the village. At least, not outdoors. She knows what it is. She sees silhouettes dancing round through the tree line. She moves closer, and her eyes confirm. The Fair Folk dance to the melody, a melody so harmonious and full of whimsy that the filly wishes only to lope in and join their circle, dancing with them under the sun and moonlight for all eternity as the mundane world passes through its cycles around them. One of the fair folk takes notice and looks back to her with its black eyes, offering a hoof. It beckons.
But Posey isn't like that little filly. She is not a youthful mare full of lust and wonder. She has not sought the beauty in things for many years. She is old and tired. tired of the world. Stressed and pushed by needs. And neither does the melody passively reflect the rhythmic revelry of the old ones. It calls to her. Promises to her. Promises that she too, may be a filly again, with youth and wander for new things. That she may see a world - a wonderous, new world, free of woe and envy. No need to prove who you are. You may have peace in being, little filly.
Take my hoof. That reflection you see in my black eyes isn't you as you are. It's you as you could be. As you should be. Full of love and wonder, and hardly a care. Come with me little filly. We shall dance under the light even as all the world withers away.
>>194297
Posey grimaces before shaking her head and biting her lower lip with her fangs to rid herself of the feeling, letting out a low pained hiss. She knows better than to engage with the voices, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant to resist.
"Keeping moving, everypony. Keep talking too if you can, about anything. The enemy will appear out of thin air when it feels like it, so being covert is less of a priority. Focus on anything but that noise." she says to the group
she turns to Blackheel
"Which way to the boiler?"
Posey grimaces before shaking her head and biting her lower lip with her fangs to rid herself of the feeling, letting out a low pained hiss. She knows better than to engage with the voices, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant to resist.
"Keeping moving, everypony. Keep talking too if you can, about anything. The enemy will appear out of thin air when it feels like it, so being covert is less of a priority. Focus on anything but that noise." she says to the group
she turns to Blackheel
"Which way to the boiler?"
>>194298
Kira sticks a hoof in her ear, turning it around as if to clean it out. "Yeah, that noise is annoying. I wonder if it's just a natural passive result of the Traveler's presence or if it's an ability the Traveler is actively using to try to make us all go insane. It's kinda like that thing the kirins use, that water torture thing where they hang a bucket above your head and let the water slowly drip onto you, except this is sound instead of water. Can you even call this sound? It's like it just bypasses my ears entirely to try to mess with my brain."
Silver tilts his head. "You are hearing something?"
Это место занято, Демон.
Kira sticks a hoof in her ear, turning it around as if to clean it out. "Yeah, that noise is annoying. I wonder if it's just a natural passive result of the Traveler's presence or if it's an ability the Traveler is actively using to try to make us all go insane. It's kinda like that thing the kirins use, that water torture thing where they hang a bucket above your head and let the water slowly drip onto you, except this is sound instead of water. Can you even call this sound? It's like it just bypasses my ears entirely to try to mess with my brain."
Silver tilts his head. "You are hearing something?"
Это место занято, Демон.
>>194298
Blackheel points his hoof down the corridor perpendicular to the ship, towards an open door that is on the left relative to Posey's perspective and offset to port relative to the ship. Posey can see metal steps going down, out of her field of view. She could feel - before the door was closed - a draft passing by, from outside and down, inwards, into the ship. And she can hear the call reverberate up the stairwell, and out the open door.
Blackheel points his hoof down the corridor perpendicular to the ship, towards an open door that is on the left relative to Posey's perspective and offset to port relative to the ship. Posey can see metal steps going down, out of her field of view. She could feel - before the door was closed - a draft passing by, from outside and down, inwards, into the ship. And she can hear the call reverberate up the stairwell, and out the open door.
>>194300
Posey slowly proceeds towards the door, checking for any tripwires before she moves through.
Posey slowly proceeds towards the door, checking for any tripwires before she moves through.
>>194300
Rolling basic perception for what she finds as she proceeds:
Spot
[1d20+3 = (4+3) = 7]
Listen
[1d20+3 = (10+3) = 13]
Rolling basic perception for what she finds as she proceeds:
Spot
[1d20+3 = (4+3) = 7]
Listen
[1d20+3 = (10+3) = 13]
>>194295
Cavaliere shines his flashlight over to one of the lockers.
"You could try one of them. When it comes to these locks you want to match the numbers that were used to set the lock. There is a mechanism inside and if you have patience and sensitive feeling, you can tell what the right combination is. Sophisticated locks can take years of practice, but these look simple enough for a beginner to try."
Cavaliere shines his flashlight over to one of the lockers.
"You could try one of them. When it comes to these locks you want to match the numbers that were used to set the lock. There is a mechanism inside and if you have patience and sensitive feeling, you can tell what the right combination is. Sophisticated locks can take years of practice, but these look simple enough for a beginner to try."
>>194303
Kira slithers over to the locker, inspecting it and especially the lock which keeps it shut. She holds her pendent with a hoof and it glows with a slight golden light, which she uses to look inside the lock with her keen snake eyes.
Open Lock: Using the very tip of her tail, Kira tries inserting it into the keyhole and turn the tumblers with it such that it unlocks.
[1d20+1 = (11+1) = 12]
Kira slithers over to the locker, inspecting it and especially the lock which keeps it shut. She holds her pendent with a hoof and it glows with a slight golden light, which she uses to look inside the lock with her keen snake eyes.
Open Lock: Using the very tip of her tail, Kira tries inserting it into the keyhole and turn the tumblers with it such that it unlocks.
[1d20+1 = (11+1) = 12]
>>194304
Her tail is just a bit too fat and not quite dexterous enough to move the tumblers. It does not open.
Her tail is just a bit too fat and not quite dexterous enough to move the tumblers. It does not open.
>>194305
Kira scrunches, and stares intently at the lock. She grabs onto the locker and tries to shake it back, forth, and around violently, thinking that maybe she can tumble the tumblers into position if she just adds a bit of percussive maintenance.
[1d20 = 11]
Kira scrunches, and stares intently at the lock. She grabs onto the locker and tries to shake it back, forth, and around violently, thinking that maybe she can tumble the tumblers into position if she just adds a bit of percussive maintenance.
[1d20 = 11]
>>194307
The snake becomes scrunchier, and she even lets out a "reeeeeee" as she shakes it a bit more for good measure. Eventually she halts the shaking and slumps down with legs crossed and face frowning. However, she looks up and raises an eyebrow as an idea crosses her mind. She stares intently at the lock, sticks her legs out towards it and moves them in circles, calling out, "In the name of Ouroboros I command you to open!"
There's no magic actually involved in this act and her pendent doesn't glow, it's not even certain if she even knows a spell to open locks with, but there's nothing wrong with just seeing if either the power of the mind can cause it to open or if the universe decides to give her a freebee.
[1d20 = 13]
The snake becomes scrunchier, and she even lets out a "reeeeeee" as she shakes it a bit more for good measure. Eventually she halts the shaking and slumps down with legs crossed and face frowning. However, she looks up and raises an eyebrow as an idea crosses her mind. She stares intently at the lock, sticks her legs out towards it and moves them in circles, calling out, "In the name of Ouroboros I command you to open!"
There's no magic actually involved in this act and her pendent doesn't glow, it's not even certain if she even knows a spell to open locks with, but there's nothing wrong with just seeing if either the power of the mind can cause it to open or if the universe decides to give her a freebee.
[1d20 = 13]
>>194309
flicks tongue indeed, as she pouts at the locker. "Well, you're no fun."
Strength: With a sigh, Kira sees if she can force the locker open through brute strength.
[1d20+3 = (14+3) = 17]
flicks tongue indeed, as she pouts at the locker. "Well, you're no fun."
Strength: With a sigh, Kira sees if she can force the locker open through brute strength.
[1d20+3 = (14+3) = 17]
>>194310
Kira slams against the locker. It bends and folds in odd ways, clearly damaged. It hurts to hit, as it must be made of steel. Kira is making quite a bit of noise doing this.
Kira slams against the locker. It bends and folds in odd ways, clearly damaged. It hurts to hit, as it must be made of steel. Kira is making quite a bit of noise doing this.
>>194313
Kira smiles at the griffons concern. She drapes the end of her tail around the pretty catbird's shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just this silly locker." She looks side to side as if someone close by is listening in on them, before leaning in towards Garv and whispering, "I think the Traveler put an evil hex on the locker to keep it from being opened."
Kira smiles at the griffons concern. She drapes the end of her tail around the pretty catbird's shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just this silly locker." She looks side to side as if someone close by is listening in on them, before leaning in towards Garv and whispering, "I think the Traveler put an evil hex on the locker to keep it from being opened."
Sorry, I've been busy.
We're trying to open a door?
Posey attempts to bisect the lock with her mind samurai style using iajutsu focus. She rapidly draws her sword and strikes, taking 10 on her focus rule.
Rolling sunder against it's AC (5?)
[1d20+7 = (10+7) = 17]
Damage
[1d8+5 = (2+5) = 7] [2d6 = 4]
We're trying to open a door?
Posey attempts to bisect the lock with her mind samurai style using iajutsu focus. She rapidly draws her sword and strikes, taking 10 on her focus rule.
Rolling sunder against it's AC (5?)
[1d20+7 = (10+7) = 17]
Damage
[1d8+5 = (2+5) = 7] [2d6 = 4]
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