Complete Main Story (Red Fever C - Explorers League) To Boldly Go

[Ru Ning]

120 / 160

Explorer's League Member (Orange Whistle)
Red Fever (4) Disgust
30 Retaliation Damage

With the Red Fever's corruption deeply taking root, the gaunt lepus found his complexion waning, his emotions flaring wildly once again. The changes were unnatural, taking a toll on his body as his mood fluctuated beyond control. Though conscious of such changes, the struggle to resist the plague ailing him remained a different matter.

Between the endless wailing of the titan before him and the antics of those around, Ru felt his blood pressuring rising. With each pulse, his head throbbed as if about to burst, threatening to split from the cacophony of sound. Triggering an underlying sense of discomfort, one innately ingrained into those who suffered from headaches, the spirit medium wished for nothing more than a vacuum of silence.

The subsiding irritation the lepus once felt had fueled the disgust and disdain growing within, magnifying it into a beast beyond reason. Its target? The monstrosity howling endlessly before them.

Red prayer beads clinging gently upon his wrist began to spin, slowly in a rhythmic fashion, accelerating with each passing turn. His mana cycled diligently, hiccupping periodically as yet another scream sounded forth from the titan. Behind him, a ghastly, ethereal figure had begun to form, one cloaked in billowy shadows. An exposed hand bleached bone white and dull, riddled with holes as if marrow sucked dry.

It was then that surprise came knocking. Without warning a shadowy figure passed through his person. The lingering energy was… invigorating to say the least. Not one to sample just a bite, his free hand reached forth, grasping at the air as the spirit found itself magically ensnared and unable to escape.

"We're not done yet... You stay."

His hand clutched at thin air and reeled inward, commanding the magic around to grasp at the struggling spirit as it was drawn in towards the figure behind him. The specter screamed with delight as it inhaled the misbegotten soul, its cloak of shadows flaring as elongated tendrils wriggled outwards. Satisfied with the result, a silent command was given as the wraith to dove into his body. A bone chilling scream of his own screeched as if nails against a chalkboard, passing through spider, desiccating a chunk of flesh that withered and crumbled unceremoniously to the ground.

Turning towards the source of the shadowy trespasser, a curt nod was made towards his fellow medium. @Gideon

"Tasty."

Rolls

Roll Result
1d6 (6) = 6 (Disgust)
Ru Ning| Red Fever (4) | 550C6

Normal Atack
1d100 (20) + 20 + 10 + 15 (tag) + 10 (morale) + 18 (Buff from @Gideon ) = 93
93 damage
Spirit Magic | Ru Ning | 550C6C

Vorpal That Lady: 1097/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Cain Darlite]

145 / 145

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (4) - Sadness

The hack and slash, the blast and buff. Seigi enraged, Gideon elated, and Cain himself, happy enough just to be with someone he loved. Onwards they advanced, insects scrambled away at their peerless onslaught!

But then, they heard it. Even within depths and rot, the whistle warbled.

And Cain’s mood sank, the moon falling into the waves. He could feel it, broiling beneath the beauty of the unexplored world. The snapping of star-strings, the agonies of a bound evil. Prognostications of doom, a cosmic veil descending upon the world he saw. He looked around to see Seigi still alive, even as the dread catastrophized, fear falling into miserable certainty. She would fight, and he would...

...unclip the Raven Priest’s Mantle, running his hands through the feathers. A beautiful accessory. One that would better suit her.

“Seigi.” Two steps, close enough to embrace her. “Stay safe.”

Iridescent obsidian cloaked the Sunset Sage, and after letting out a long, long breath, the Flagbearer nodded. He knew where this was going, and he knew that there was no stopping it. So, if nothing else…he would lead the way.

…

They were desecrating the dead, and in return, the banshee born from that arachnid’s corpse raged at them, tearing into their thoughts even as they teared at her body. In an instant, he imagined it. Monsters tearing apart Corvella’s statue. Breaking her bit by bit as she screamed, might impotent. Was this what adventuring had become? Was this what adventuring always was?

Battlecries graphic and grotesque, players seeking only higher and higher numbers. Songs of valor to enable immoral violence. There were a myriad of ways to get past a 'door', and they chose only to turn that 'door' into rubble, their own orifices bleeding out for it. And as their emotions heightened, their bodies crashed.

The explorer, her arrows draining her soul. The blood mage, his self-flagellation fruitless. The flame-haired, folding into herself.

Seigi, in the thick of it again, as if she had never died.

Cain held his Battle-Banner, planted himself in front of @Sol , his form shielding her from whatever carnage may befall them all once the desecration completed. In this state, his own words would fail him, but his magic would not.

You don't get to die.

Rolls

Roll Result
1d6 (3) = 3
Cain Darlite | Red Fever (4) | 550C6 (1-2: Anger, 3: Sadness, 4: Joy, 5: Fear, 6: Disgust

Heal (AoE)
1d20 (7) + 25 + 20 + 25 = 26 (Total divided by 3)
+26 HP to 3 targets (@Laylabelle @Yugam @Seigi Ling Ling )
Harmonic Magic | Cain Darlite | 550C6C
Vorpal That Lady: 1097/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Gideon]

100 / 100

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (4) Disgust

The whistle pierced the warm, jungle air, rising above even the din of battle. Gideon's stomach dropped, and her expression hardened into a stony defiance. "No way," she growled, hands closing into fists at her sides. "No way, I'm not going. We finally have something to fight. I'm not giving that up to go ride around in a wagon for another week."

Her refusal, however, appeared to fall on death ears. Her companions took their leave, following the direction of the high-pitched alarm. Even the remaining soldier ants fled, as if accepting the cease-fire offered to them. Only Gideon remained on the dusty battlefield, her face pinched in disgust, her make-shift weapon forgotten at her feet.

A familiar rumble of male laughter did nothing to improve her mood. "What's so funny?" she snapped, but the shadowy figure offered no explanation. Instead, he simply drifted behind her as the woman stomped after @Cain Darlite and @Seigi Ling Ling. "We should come back and finish them off," she called after the retreating pair.

She would come to miss the silence when a horrible sob raked its claws across her brain. Gideon clapped her hands over her ears, bending at the waist as the sound crescendoed into a scream. "What in the world-" she stammered, casting a desperate glance toward her spirit shadow. "What are you waiting for? Do something!"

Gideon expected the specter to charge the arachnid woman, dealing devastating damage, and obliterating her as he had the soldier ants. Instead, he hesitated, before drifting lazily through the three nearest Players. After the third, the spirit seemed to tense, as if caught in a web invisible to Gideon's naked eye. He struggled once, twice, then dispersed like smoke drawn through small straw.

She should have been worried about him. At the very least, Gideon should have been curious as to the fate of her spirit comrade, as he had saved her from the soldier ants. Instead, his disappearance brought about another wave of revulsion. Just going to leave, are you? Abandon the fight? Coward. Gideon sneered at the other Players who hung back, focusing on healing or buffing rather than dealing straight damage. You're all cowards. Disgusting. The irony of the situation, that she herself failed to attack, was lost to the immense repugnance that threatened to drown her.

Rolls

Roll Result
1d6 (6) = 6
Gideon | Red Fever (4) | 550C6

Buff (AoE)
1d100 (29) + 0 + 0 + 25 = 18 (Total divided by 3)
+18 buff to 3 targets for 1 post (@Yugam @Ru Ning @Sol)
Spirit Magic | Gideon | 550C6C

Vorpal That Lady: 1097/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Seigi Ling Ling]

121 / 220

-50 Emotion Change to Anger
-60 Retal
+26heal
Unaffiliated
Red Fever Emotion: Anger!!!!!!

"T-Thank you..." Seigi blushed HARD as @Cain Darlite was playing it smoothly. Calming whatever raging fires she had inside her. Only for so long. With each passing second, Seigi felt angrier, and angrier. And the fact that the whole Whistle business stopped them from exploring this dungeon did. Not. Help. At. All.

"Whoever is stopping us from exploring this place further, I'll kill them to death. I'll... just." Seigi didn't even know how to express herself without using her fist. "Just..." Punching another wall, It crumbled without much resistance. "Oops." Anger? Some sort of addiction? How would @Gideon bones sound if she broke them?

Just...???

...

It was @Lady N who gave Seigi a proper greeting as they arrived on the scene of psychic terror. This little fucking piece of shit dared to taunt Seigi once again. Before she could move away, Seigi grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. "Hey, listen, pipsqueak..." She got closer than ever to Lady N's face, a sweet smile, before...

One more word from that ugly visage of yours and I'll push my fist so deep down your throat that I'll turn your intestines inside out so that you can hang yourself and PRACTICE DYING YOURSELF YOU P-

What!? NO! Seigi took a few steps back. "Urgh..." This wasn't her! It wasn't... but... "Urgh..." She buried her face between her hands. She wasn't... Cain wouldn't. Between the gaps of her fingers, her eyes looked erratically. Searching. Seeking. Not even @Bluebird soothing music was helping anymore!

Finding.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!" Nothing mattered anymore. With one shrill battle cry, Seigi dashed towards the half-rotting carcass. "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!"

Splash
Sploosh
Split

"RIP AND TEAR!" She cried out as she buried her entire body deep inside the spider. Bits and pieces of flesh, acidic blood, and organs landing behind her. "RIP. AND. TEAR." She didn't even have any proper words to emphasis her anger anymore. Instead, she kept digging. Diggin and digging deeper and deeper into the carcass, like a rat trapped in a bucket on the chest of a living human. "Hehehe...."

"AHAHAHA!" Only mad cackling remained. "KYAHAHAHAHA!!!!!" And then, sudden silence.

The hero was no more.
Later, she'd surely wonder.
What would those that knew her, now think?
How would those she didn't know, judge?

Then, movement. The Queen's head was vibrating, ever so slightly. "ROOOAAAAARRR!!!" Before, with one deafening cry, Seigi emerged once more from the front. Ripping the monster's head in two.

Rolls

Normal Attack
1d100 (63) + 25 + 25 + 20 + 25 + 25 + 20 = 203
158 damage
Martial Arts | Seigi Ling Ling | 550C6C

Vorpal that Lady: 894/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Vale*]

Interjection

Decapitated!

The halfway mark is reached and surpassed to the tune of sundered stone and the stranger sound of what almost seems to be shredding elastic. Connective tissues not fully dried within the chitin pop and separate as more and more of the arachnid's throat is brutalized. Barely visible against the bright light streaming down on the fight, wisps of energy snake out and away from the Matron's throat and orifices. The wretched sobs weaken to release a final, relieved exhale. Finally, there is a lurch. The weight resettled atop her shoulders as the Matron's head has been freed. The weight of it keeps it balanced on her neck, but the crumbling armor sends it slowly tilting.

Nice work everyone! One last big push and the way'll be clear. Let's keep up the pace though, I don't like how much noise this has made!

The beastfolk rears back, claws glowing with the raw destructive power of pyromancy. Numerous smoldering slashes impact into the side of the head with each of Arlyn's swipes. Time for one final effort!

894 / 2200 HP

Mechanics

• This post is not a new cycle and therefore does not allow you to post again if you had already made a post for Cycle 6.
• You may continue to attack the Matron as before, the same rules and guidelines still apply.
• The morale boost and tag bonuses remain the same, for a total of +25.
• Damage: Only Actions that damage the matron will now deal Retaliation DMG, as whatever lingering power she had has been freed at last. However, the debris and crossfire attacking in such a narrow space remains.
  • If you deal damage to the Matron, take 30 Retal.
• Thread Code: 550C6C
• At the moment of posting, refresh and look at the contribution count of the poster above you and update the total count accordingly. The progress is counting DOWN.

Spoiler: Post Template

[hp=current]max[/hp]
[status]
OO Member (Rank) / Unaffiliated
Red Fever (4) Emotion
-XX Retaliation DMG
[/status]

Post here

[action]
Bot result here
[/action]
Vorpal That Lady: XXXX/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Alkaid Zexis]

60 / 145

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (4) Sadness x10
-30HP from Red Fever

Alkaid barely kept up as the group bounded toward what was described as their only path forward, through some—statue? spider? thing—her lungs burning from surely wasn't just exhaustion at this point, she was sure of it. Worse yet, it felt like her mood only sunk deeper as she watched Lady N speed ahead. Where some experienced a rollercoaster, Alkaid felt as if dragged into a mire.

As the corpse screamed, it felt as though something had a hand gripped around her heart, every breath ragged as her finger scrolled through her UI, over a dozen green bars flitting through her vision: every plummet of a gauge matched with gut-wrenching, terrible shrieks that made something within her choke up.

Maybe it was the thought of this thing possibly being the matron of these creatures, no matter how wretched they seemed to her. How horrifying it might've been, the last semblance of not just yourself, but everything you knew desecrated by strangers.

And though she wasn't a mother, herself, she almost...

Eventually—finally, the screams stopped.

Naught to be heard in the silence but the frantic movement of warriors and the song of one or two players amongst the skirmish. A teary eyed Alkaid wasn't sure how many were still left to answer their leader's call, but she could plainly see that even those supporting from the backline, such as Laylabelle, were not freed from the spirit's vengeance.

She drew a card from her deck, summoning forth one tiny creature that brought with it a rejuvenating breeze in its wake as it flew round, circling @Laylabelle, @Lady N, and @Thousand Swords in hopes of raising their spirits, the strength to continue the fight should it not end soon.

Rolls

Red Fever
1d6 (3) = Sadness redux redux

AOE Heal
1d20 (10) + 15 + 10 + 10 + 25 = +23 HP to @Lady N, @Laylabelle, @Thousand Swords
Spiritual Magic | Alkaid Zexis | 550C4C

Vorpal that Lady: 894/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Gwyn ap Herne]

200 / 230

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (4) Anger
+25 Buff from @Bluebird
+9999 Trauma from @Gideon

Gwyn joins the call when the whistle blows, having little hesitation when beginning her traversal down. When low enough, she leaps from the sloped trunk and onto the massive leaves, the slide a wild rush that sends her skating into the next and down another. She races to meet them, joins @Lady N after a while considering the sheer speed of her, and finally they all pour into the basin as a group to complete what they'd ventured into the unknown for. The way forward. The answer.

The shriek aches, bringing a snarl to her slips. She finds an ember of fury in her chest that is immediately stoked to life. It grates. There's an easy fix for that though, and the huntress pulls up her burning bow with deadly intent.

A shadow walks into the corner of her vision. The world stops for the second time, even though everyone else continues to move. She's stuck again. The stone walls of the canyon are the marble walls of a throne room. No archers, but it doesn't matter, they were never the danger. The shadow walks up to three of them in turn, passing through them, and she can only imagine the horrible ways they'll die when time unfreezes. They'll rupture at the seams, their bodies ripped apart by his passage or their hearts stopped in the grip of foul magic. When he does it again, but why? What have they done that's important enough? What's on the other side of the throne room doors that he's here to defend it, avenge it? Where is King Theodore's body, or his daughter screaming for him to hear sense, or Astor wreathed in ice and fire, or Amane trying to save her life in vain, or any of the rest of her kill squad? Where is the sword?

There is no frozen moment in time. There is no throne room. There are no archers. There is no cleric. There are no dead allies. There is no door. There is no King Theodore. There is no Princess D’vangelline. There is no Astor. There is no Amane, Ashiore, Roland, none of them at all.

There is no sword.

She's mechanical when she turns her head away from the vanished figure. She isn't breathing, has been holding it - unblinking because she couldn't move, but he's gone. Gwyn tightens her hand on the string, splits her arrow into many, and lets them fly.

❰ Scatter Shot ❱

Rolls

Normal Attack
1d100 (70) + 25 + 20 + 25 + 25 + 25 = 190
190 damage
Ranged Weapons | Gwyn ap Herne | 550C6C

Vorpal that Lady: 704/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Rook the Quick]

70 / 100

Explorer's League
Red Fever (4) Sadness
-30 Retaliation DMG

Over the tree, and through the woods. Over the trials, and through the world.

He was a small Rook—a quick Rook—and he followed the whistle because it was a cry for help or a cry for hope, and Rook knew both songs well as wishing. He was a forgiver-giver: a giver of swords, of stories, of serendipitous meetings in secret glades. A giver of silence when the sound was too loud.

So he gave his joy away to the fever, and scarlet threads laced themselves through his vision like viscera.

In his sudden sorrow, he fell up.

It was useless, trying to understand his grief. It caught him unprepared as tears floated from his eyes in the wrong direction, pulled by fate and gravity.

See me...

The whisper came from somewhere long ago, something long-forgotten, a desire Miquel had buried alongside his words in another world.

It was not Rook's world. He did not long for things that could not be—he took shortcuts and chased his dreams, with time to spare. He did not cry for the unseen, the unnoticed, the boy who'd taught himself to disappear.

He was too QUICK for sadness.

Rook the Quick released the thread he held and fell back to earth, down, down, down towards the spider-soul whose psychic screams still stung like salt in scratches.

Her howling faded as his downward-pointed blade parted the sound like a comb through wet hair, swaddling him in silence.

Rook closed his eyes, pulling back Respiro just before impact and thrusting out with both sandaled feet in a powerful KICK to the Matron's tilted, disembodied head.

Though the armor cracked beneath his cruelty, it made no sound.

Soft. Like feathers, and photographs, and those who'd been forgotten.

Rolls

1d100 (29) + 15 + 10 = 54 + 10 = 64
64 damage
Martial Arts | Rook the Quick | 550C6C

Vorpal That Lady: 640/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Frey Elzeiros]

125 / 160

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (4) Sadness x10
-30HP Retaliation DMG
+25 DMG from @Bluebird

Soft-spoken, quavering ramblings fall from his lips as he is carried away from the site and the siren's attack, mostly meant to keep himself busy. His mind repeats the scene, stack after stack of red fever augmenting and distorting the image of the siren into a nightmarish creature, immortalizing it thus in his head.

Initially, he remains behind as others soon engage in combat against an arachnid corpse blocking their advance, until... The dryder screams and the pulse of its anguished screams drives him to tears. Inexplicably so, he is compelled to fight not out of a sheer desire to overcome the last obstacle to mar their path, but to halt the suffering of a creature long gone.

Scream no more.

Yet it does, and the tears flow freely.

With an incantation whispered, a depiction of the night sky witnessed over the wagons only but a handful of nights ago comes to life upon the dryder's petrified remains, the myriad bends and cracks alongside the chitin giving the appearance of a stained glass painting. From where he stands, he thrusts a hand forward and promptly snaps his fingers once, allowing the sound to carry over until it is overpowered by the gruesome crack of crumbling remains shattering underneath.

Again, he commands his inner reservoirs of energy as the sound of his fingers snapping rewards him with yet another fracture of the armor. Again, and a flicker of hesitation passes through him, tears somehow rolling down his cheeks.

Frey fails to bring himself to his senses, momentarily overcome by the effects of the fever which had wrestled all control over his emotions away from himself. In the midst of incomprehensible sorrow, of incomprehensible guilt over his part in the creature's desecration, it is not he who pushes himself onward.

The verses of one @Bluebird will determination back into his veins, stronger perhaps than what he had displayed so far. His fingers snap at shorter intervals now, each repetition overtaking the last with a more sonorous crack at the stone, a deeper wound that causes acid and ooze to spill forth from it. He reels control back for himself if the game would not give it, shattering all pieces painted upon the stone until none remain save for the ones fallen at the feet of those engaged in combat at close quarters.

Rolls

Roll Result
1d6 (3) = 3
Frey Elzeiros | Red Fever (4) | 550C6C

Steady Attack
6d20 exploding (12 + 20 + 8 + 19 + 1 + 7 + 5) + 10 + 5 + 5 + 25 + 25 = 142
142 damage (Explosions: 1)
Astramancy | Frey Elzeiros | 550C6C

Vorpal That Lady: 498/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Schilva Flasch]

100 / 130

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (4) Fear
-30 Retaliation DMG

When summoned to the summit of the Whistles before the giant petrified spider lady thing, Schilva simply gives his companions @Laylabelle and @Sol a 'well then?' raise of his brows before following the haunting sound to its source.

Ignoring the growing noise of @Frey Elzeiros babbling incoherently in his arms, Schilva dashes and leaps with speed exceeding that of the average Traveler, but not as fast as he knew could go; he was dedicating a good portion of his attention to watching his reflection change as the wind whipped his hair about. What gallantry, what elegance, what grace!

By the time he arrived at the locale where everyone was gathered, Schilva was practically glowing with smugness. As he was called to cast the first strike, he was so overflowing with confidence and hubris-blown pride that he barely spared the crumbling statue-like Matron as second glance as his blade bit stone and returned to its sheathe.

"Now, crumble as d-"

His victorious proclamation is drowned by the psychic scream of the dryder that forces him back to reality with an unpleasant lance of pain, driven into his skull like a railway spike. The illusion is broken, the spell woven by the wondrous reflection lost as Schilva clenches his eyes shut and grunts in pain.

Properly taking his eyes from the mirror for the first time since picking it up, Schilva turns to see the petrified visage of the Matron, unblinking and seemingly unaffected by his blade, staring at him with its stony countenance. Had he...failed?

He had not toppled the dryder in one strike...was it not true? Was his reflection just that; a reflection, not reality, not the fraud that he was? Is it lying to him, that wondrous mirror that showed the 'true' sublimity of his being?

Dropping to his knees and staring off into nothingness as he shivered unconsciously, terror gripping his heart as the mussel shell snaps closed around the tiny mirror in his palm, Schilva grips the shellfish until its edges cut into his palms and his knuckles turn white. No, it could not be, no, it wasn't like that, he wasn't-

Arlyn's voice brings him back to reality, his body moving sluggishly in compliance as he digs his blade into the crumbling remains of the oversized head, numbly levering and thrusting with all his might as his eyes continue staring into the invisible distance between self and deception.

"I'm not...a fraud..."

Rolls

Heavy Attack
1d100 (83) + 10 + 5 + 20 + 10 + 15 + 20 = 163
163 damage
Schilva cannot move this cycle
Slash Weapons | Schilva Flasch | 550C6C

Vorpal That Lady: 335/2200
Play Sheet Link

 

[Vale*]

F A I L U R E
Explorers League Expedition's End​

The effort is made, and the deed is done. The head slowly shifts and begins to fall, though the angle is off. It careens to the side, her face turning down and away as if in shame to slam her brow into the cliffside. Water cascades down her still face, but only it continues to fall. She stills. A rock noisily clatters from the cliff. A shower of pebbles rains down into the water and greenery far, far below. A crack pops noisily, tearing a seam in the rock that climbs straight up to the cliff's crown above you all. The sun is too bright to see it, but the entire expedition hears part of the cliff give way. No piece larger than a grain of sand hits the pathway you stand on, but giant chunks of the stone plow past you all, whipping the air and water around it, to crack into the bottom of the basin. Arlyn leans over the side to look down with a whistle that echoes in the deafening silence.

Those with Magic Receptacle Sound or Hyper Sense notice it first, drawing their attention. It sounds like nothing you've ever heard before. Like a thousand papers thrown into a storm, violently fluttering and shredding. Grinding. Chewing. The slick sounds of something being devoured. Insect wings. Insect wings in great enough number as to be innumerable.

Those with Magic Receptacle Sight see it once their eyes have adjusted to the light. The end of the pathway blooms outwards with magic. Ripples of it snake into the canyon, fading just before they reach the inert form of the Matron. It looks alive and red. Something pulses at random, as if the magic itself is wildly lashing out at the world around it. Those with Hyper Sense cannot see whatever source their keen-eyed fellows may witness because the world turns to black and red. Beyond the bright light and misting waters that would blind anyone else, they see the swarm. They fly erratically. They assault everything from the droplets of water to solid rock to one another. It is a maddening sight.

Those with Magic Receptacle Taste or Magic Receptacle Smell notice it last. There is something burning on their tongues and on the wind. A cavalcade of scent and flavor profiles that overwhelm them with something that is not pyromancy nor hemomancy, but reeks of hot iron. Makes their skin hot and inflamed. Feverish...

And the swarm notices you.

All at once the swarm explodes outwards, crashing down the canyon toward you all without a hint of hesitation. Immediately, some turn to run, while others grit in their heels and steady themselves against a tide there seems to be no stopping.

Spoiler: Theme

The Moment of Truth

The noise was too much. The time it took to clear the path too great. The swarm descends on the expedition.

... Whistle. (She laughs, surprisingly soft-eyed despite the danger quickly approaching, before she orders over her shoulder.) Those of you who can run, run. Report to Childress: infection source located. Good luck!

Perhaps her easy acceptance of the fight, and likely grave rushing to meet her and her fellow Whistles, should be unsettling... but the Vow of Whistles has always been a grim one.

These are the ones who defy death, to beat back darkness and light the path forward. They acknowledge the dangers of the expeditions, that death walks besides them always, and that their whistle is a promise to keep their skills sharp, their will steeled, to become the source of strength for their comrades, and to never abandon their company even in the direst of times. Ad astra per aspera, their aspirations take them to the stars.

(Arlyn grins.) Per aspera!

[ Flee and inform the expedition. ]

Those with Dynamism or the Haste Action may choose to flee and carry on Arlyn's message, saving themselves from the unsure fate of the torchbearers left behind. Those with Haste cannot Haste others, only themselves. React with

to do so. Those with the Carry Passive may save one companion as well. Have the comrade you save react with

.

[ Remain with Arlyn's company. ]

Those with Dynamism may choose to remain with the company and face whatever unsure fate awaits the torchbearers of death. There will not be another chance to flee. React with

to do so.

​

Explorers Decomm​

 

[Asch]

When the explorers were taken away, a lone figure watched the unfolding disaster from a distance. Everything worn on his rugged body was tattered except for his hat, which was pristine if one can look past the bloodstain. The exposed skin beneath his clothes revealed copious amount of bruises and deep gashes drawn on the bare-bodied scar canvas. When he shifted his body, the five whistles of various colors hanging from his neck rattled against one another like a wind chime. He gritted his teeth, unable to touch the upper and lower rows together, seeing that a sword was in the way.

The moment the hideous creature began thrashing its way forward with its hostages, sword-mouth raised his broken bayonet at the swarm and fired what looked like a spectral chain that hooked onto its grotesque body.

With that, the figure adjusted his hat as he fixed his eyes toward the direction of the camp.

"Shit… gotta get back."

 

[Raid Boss]

Cycle 7C
Flickering Light

If you've got phobias related to insects, stop reading ahead.

When it came to the battle of speed, only the fastest of you were able to escape the swarm of palm-sized fliers. Those who stayed and chose to stop the enemy from pursuing their allies were eventually overwhelmed. You were picked up by the fliers and thrown into what looked like a much larger insect with massive opened folds where the majority of the swarm resided.

Amid the feverish haze where your core emotions were starting to meld together into a manical mix, you might have been cognizant enough to commit the wet stink to memory as the bed of writhing flying insects danced across your skin. Those that were outside the fold flew in erratic fashion, drawing random pattern in the air as if they too puppets to something beyond them. The majority of them did not seem interested in feeding, but the few that did hooked their tiny claws into you as their pincers opened up your skin like a child unwrapping their present on Christmas morning, violently ripping the wrapping apart to get to the content within.

Dire as it was, you did not suffer alone.

If you could not see or hear your allies, you surely would have felt their presence nearby.

Mechanics

Guidelines

• Anyone who has taken part in this thread and have not made their escape are allotted one post this cycle.
• All replies this cycle are happening at the same time as Cycle 7 in the main thread.
• Replies have a max wordcount of 450 including BBcodes.
• You can skip all the insect-related stuff in your post and just focus on the Red Fever part when posting
• Thread Code: 550C7C

Red Fever (5)

• Use the command below in the #red-fever-rolls channel
• ?r 2d6 # CharacterName | Red Fever (5) | 550C7 | 1-2: Anger / 3: Sadness / 4: Joy / 5: Fear / 6: Disgust
• If one emotion matches the one from Red Fever 4, take 45 damage.
• If both emotions match the one from Red Fever 4, take 60 damage.
• These two emotions are now blending together and are amplified by 20 times beyond normal level.
• If both rolled emotions are the same, you will feel as though your mind is bursting at the seams.
• You may not force your emotion this time.

Damage

• In addition to the damage dealt by Red Fever (5), take 20 damage from the insects

Sheet Action

• Make a Save (Will - DC 35) to stave off the effects of Red Fever. If successful, you may use Recover. Your body is in shock, but still fighting to keep the lights on.

Spoiler: Post Template

[hp=current]max[/hp]
[status]
OO Member (Rank) / Unaffiliated
Red Fever (5) Emotion
-XX HP from Red Fever
-20 HP from Flying Insects
+XX HP from Recover
[/status]

Post here

[action]
Bot result here
[/action]
Play Sheet Link

 

[Rook the Quick]

52 / 100

Explorer's League
Red Fever (5) Anger, Anger
-20 HP from Flying Insects
+2 HP from Recover

Rage and Rook met one another like long-lost twins, separate and separated, mirrored in multitudes. He saw himself reflected and refracted in a thousand compound eyes, and he was something beyond recognition.

He was not himself.

A mirror would have only reflected grotesque hatred, a flayed and inside-out thing unrecognizable as the little swordsman with the chickenbone legs and the wishbone heart. He was a transplant, a hostage, an extra organ in the body of the beast.

Sounds escaped him. Inhuman ones. No words, no meaning, not even real enough to call a scream or a shout. In this world there were only two things, sounds and silence, and silence had long since fled with the swiftrunning survivors.

This was noise. This was pain. This was ANGER.

The world was hot and red and pulsed like white stars behind his eyes. Supernovas crashed and burned within his skull. Nerves frayed and unspooled entirely from the cacophony of his head.

But he would not let it hurt him.

His mind pressed against its own recesses, squeezing from traps and gaps like a shoal of fish. A network of red threads overlaid his vision, grounding him, anchoring him back within the hellscape of his Rook-shaped form.

He was not himself.
He was not himself.

Too angry to heal, too slow to run, too quick to Rook—but still, too strong to die.

Rolls

Save
1d100 (36) + 10 = 46
Will | Rook the Quick | 550C7

Recover
1d20 (2) = 2
Recover 2 HP
Rook the Quick | 550C7

Play Sheet Link

 

[Jin]

41 / 120

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (5) Anger + Joy
-45 HP from Red Fever
-20 HP from Flying Insects
+15 HP from Recover

He felt the pit of his stomach burning, as if the already empty organ had turned on him. Hunger unlike anything he had ever felt, insatiable, dire, almost fanatical tore at his already fraying sanity as the blood loss from his excessive Hemomancy exacted its considerable toll. His last words to the Whistle a promise that he could not keep, that she would not let him keep. The bitterness of his feelings as they were rejected exploded into fury.

"Stiffed... again..." Jin let out a mirthless chuckle. The irony was not lost on him.

The opportunity to stand there and speak, however, and his conscious effort to do so intermingled with that already explosive rage in the form of a perverse joy. Excitement. This was an experience unlike any other. The ecstasy that lanced through his body with every bite, with every tear at his flesh and each new wound blossomed extraordinary pain.

Nothing in the world he had left behind could compare to this.

In that moment, Theo transcended to become Jin in earnest. Their hatred, their rage, their bitterness, their elation, all burned as one. His blood colored eyes fixated on the world around him, fighting against all odds to remain upright. He staggered, dropped to a single knee, but refused to fall any farther. The warmth had left him, but the heat from his emotional turmoil more than sustained him.

He couldn't hear them. He couldn't see them. There was no one else to turn to. Anyone in this place with him doubtless suffered the same fate. But Jin would not give in. His reason to die had come and gone, and with it rejected, Pride swallowed up his previous offer. He was too Greedy to die for nothing.

With sheer force of will he conquered suffering, smiling all the while. Blood spilled from between his teeth, spewed down his porcelain flesh, and he gave a garbled laugh.

"Beautiful..."

Rolls

Save
1d100 (88) + 0 = 88
Will | Jin | 550C7C

1d20 (15) = 15
Recover 15 HP
Jin | 550C7C

Play Sheet Link

 

[Thousand Swords]

59 / 100

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (5) Fear x400

Thousand had the choice to run, but was there really a point? you can not outrun death no matter how hard you tried and it was here. Not in the form of some reaper, or some wolf mauling you, but a army of insects and all the man could do was stand there for a moment and then sit down. his legs crossing as he sheathed his swords. His face was pure fear, but his body was still moving. He was fine with death having felt it before. he had only regret the fact his life was a doormat to others.

"Ha... guess we are going back to the black room for a bit. Not gonna lie Death is alot less scary once it happens once to you..."

His words the only sense he was really still there mentally as he got partly trampled and cut up. He was not afraid of death, or the insects, his fear was that he failed himself again. He wanted this life in the game to be different then his real life, but here he kept making the same foolish mistakes of working with people and ending up on the receiving end of bad luck. His only thoughts crossing his mind was how he would go about the next time he respawned.

Screw everyone else to hell, he would simply do what he wanted and others be damned. No more helping the weak, no more putting up with doing things others wanted him to do, and fuck letting people talk over him... He was going to show himself and others true FEAR, he was going to turn into the very thing he himself feared the most because why the hell not? it was time to ditch humanity and just let the monsters out.~

Rolls

+23 healing from @Alkaid Zexis
---
-20 hp insects
---
Save
1d100 (62) + 0 = 62
Will | Thousand swords | 550C7C
---
Recover
1d20 (16) = 16
Recover 16 HP

PSL (Play Sheet Link)

 

[Tick Tock]

44 / 100

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (5) Anger X Joy
-20 HP from Bugs
+9 HP from Recover

And everything became dark, familiarities in an unfamiliar world, where the cycle of her own story repeated itself time and time again like a broken record. She could barely make out the situation as the reaper should have been the last thing to embrace her as she realized one could not outrun their destined death.

Instead, pain reawakened her back to her senses, like bullets that bite and rend the flesh and skin alike, a clear definition she should have been proud and afraid of to have nailed so perfectly, yet the experience almost ressembled that of shrapnel extraction if done with a pair of tongs instead of a magnet.

A smile could barely be held back, quiet, harmonious, fangs flashed towards nothingness itself as the bugs split her senses in two from a body reconstructed from zero, the distant memory reawakened as if dormant for long enough: long did her wretched remnants go without touch, that old husk became her prison, and as her fanciful silks were torn by creatures that seeked to feast on her, relentless on the pursuit of their desires, so did she realize:

She's alive.

"I am alive!" She reassured to the binding memories that tormented her once upon a time, her voice cracking in one last crescendo. Unlike the last one, this body was still virgin to suffering, a newborn in the art of tolerance. The scars were mere reminders, not experiences. Chitinous insects would make sure to cleanse them with their own bitemarks.

"I feel... I can feel everything." Her body thrashed, fingernails aimed like claws at everything that crawled upon her after indulging upon her zen state, frantic attempts of survival, to escape the horrors, the pain and death alike. No longer a husk, Shane let her body speak for itself, for she could not die without experiencing everything anew with this puppet she claimed as her own form. Long behind are the days of a broken carcass laid on a bed with no voice or movement of her own. She's alive once again, and baby's got a thirst for blood.

Rolls

Save
1d100 (76) + 0 = 76

Will | Shane | Thread Code

Recover
1d20 (9) = 9
Recover 9 HP

Shane | 550X7

(I fucked up both thread codes my bad)

Play Sheet Link

 

[Herculean Drakecon]

12 / 125

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (7) anger and joy
-45 HP from Red Fever
-20 HP from Flying Insects
+17 HP from Recover

He would watch as the creature they were fighting had fallen but things would get much worse. People often said out of the fire and into the frying pan. Their ranks were broken and people started to run as others stood their ground. For herculean this was a moment that was something out of adventure manga. The red fever was taking over but was suddenly stopped. He stood in the center of the storm of insects next to him stood a tall Aligator figure in medium armor. In his mouth was a wooden pipe as he exhaled smoke from his nostrils. Putting a hand on his shoulder and just smiled a toothy grin.

"You really are new huh WE have the battle to win ya know and I'm not dying like this. IF we survive this I'll tell you who I am but we've gotta go survive first. Don't worry about dying alone I'll be right here with ya kid.

He had a lot of questions but this wasn't the time to ask so he put up his shield and his weapon drawn. Keeping up a defensive stance. Suddenly he felt lightly rested and some of the wounds closed slightly. Keeping his eye on the swarm around him while still addressing the stranger who was relaxing.

"Right well I am a bit confused on this whole event there isn't anything I can do. The people who helped me fight the monster could be in danger. I met two people some wounded person @Crimson Ruby and @Shane a woman with a flintlock pistol. Maybe they took time to run but if they didn't i have to make sure they live thru this I owe them that much.

The bellowing laugh from the creature was drowned out by the loud buzzing. The gator would reply as if amused by his strange caring for people he just met.

"You can cut that chivalrous shit out it's kinda weird but if you are going to pursue it make sure you finish what you started. I want to see how this plays out if I am being honest and if you're going to ask you'd better use navigation."

Blinking his eyes for a moment as they glowed the gator figure kept behind him as he called out @Crimson Ruby Hopefully hearing her voice. Keeping up his heroic from with his ax in his right hand and the shield in his left. He would act to try to avoid areas where the swarm would move as one. Herculean is alert and on edge. Suddenly the swarm of insects tears into his flesh as they found their way into his armor. He had turned on the mode that pain as realistic and it was no joke. Falling to his knees screaming in absolute agony. The insects peeled his flesh and pulled off chunks of meat while they found they were under his armor. Dropping to one knee blood spilled from the slits in his armor. The gator to his surprise would see how the young man was to live thru this.

Rolls

Roll Result
2d6 (2 + 4) = 6
herculean | Red Fever (5) | 550C7 | 1-2: Anger / 3: Sadness / 4: Joy / 5: Fear / 6: Disgust

Save
1d100 (72) + 0 = 72
Will | Herculean Drakecon | 550c7c

Recover
1d20 (17) = 17
Recover 17 HP
Herculean Drakecon | 550c7c

Play Sheet Link

 

[Yugam]

56 / 100

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (5) Sadness x20 | Joy x20

-20 HP from Insects

The impromptu barrier between himself and the insects had lasted only mere moments, the viscous fluid made thin by Arlyn's (@Vale* ) heated attack. The great black mass had pierced walls of blood as if it were nothing but a thin veil.

Spoiler: WARNING: INSECTS

They'd surrounded him, carried him aloft, high into the air, and to where they took him he didn't know. In the black haze of beating wings and black carapaces, Yu did not know which was left or right, up or down. So densely did they cocoon him, not even light made it's way to his crimson eyes.

'So, this is Terrasphere?' Yugam thought to himself as he felt thousands, perhaps millions, of spindly little legs crawling across his skin, beneath his clothes, finding their way into every open orifice they could. They crawled into his ears, his mouth, his throat. Yu couldn't even scream, his open mouth merely a speaker for the chittering of bugs. And yet, the man couldn't be more thrilled.

'Now I understand! I get why she played this game!' This was living! This was real life! Not that monotonous play everyone put on out there. Doing the same boring shit day in, day out, just to do it again the next day. No, this was life. Danger. Exploration. Adventure.

Only, Yu wished he could have done a little bit more. A little more damage. A little more to help his fellows. Something, anything to mark his arrival. Something that said, "I am here".

Despite not being able to utter a sound, a Yu laughed, a manic, insane sound. Sobbing, and full of mirth, and regret. For the first time in a very long time, Aristotle felt alive.

Rolls

Roll Result
2d6 (3 + 4) = 7
CharacterName | Red Fever (5) | 550C7 | 1-2: Anger / 3: Sadness / 4: Joy / 5: Fear / 6: Disgust
whoops i fucked up my roll code

Save
1d100 (7) + 0 = 7
Will | Yugam | Thread Code
and i fucked up this one, imma kms T_T

Play Sheet Link

 

[Gideon]

35 / 100

Unaffiliated
Red Fever (5) Disgust & Sadness
-45 HP from Red Fever
-20 HP from Flying Insects

[Trigger Warning - Insect Descriptions]

It was the sound that broke her first.

Even as insects tore into her, their pincers like sharp scissors through paper-thin flesh, Gideon fought. Her hands slapped, swatted, and scraped at exposed skin, attempting to rid her limbs of the swarm. For the briefest moment, a few heartbeats, she thought she might win. She thought she might for once, beat back the wave of utter horseshit that threatened to overwhelm her. But even in Terrasphere, she was found wanting. Even in Terrasphere, Gideon was too weak. And as the hum of the bugs filled her ears, she imagined herself being dragged deeper under the surface. Her movements slowed, then ceased altogether.

Gideon's body crashed to the hard-packed earth. The force sent a handful of insects skittering away, but others continued their feeding frenzy. Tiny legs rolled like pinpricks across her skin, the sensation as unnerving as the heavy pressure that throbbed like a sore thumb. Even from her limited time in-game, she knew that pressure meant damage. A small part of her wished she could feel the pain. It might rival the emotions that stormed through her.

Cracking her eyes open, she thought she might at least watch the creatures as they brought her death. Instead, Gideon found herself looking up at a group of shadowy figures. She stared, unblinking, while tiny feet scurried across her crimson eyeballs. With each thunderous pound of her heart, the faces staring back at her changed. Her dead mother. Her incarcerated father. Her disappointed teacher. Her abusive ex-boyfriend. Her hard-ass boss. The men who undressed her with their eyes while she took their orders.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Gideon spat, but the buzzing drowned out the words. It drowned out everything, except for the toxic revulsion and the impenetrable sadness that warred within her.

I hate you all, came her final thought as the girl feebly curled into a ball, as alone in death as she had been in life.

Rolls

Roll Result
2d6 (6 + 3) = 9

Gideon | Red Fever (5) | 550C7

Save
1d100 (31) + 0 = 31

Fortitude | Gideon | 550C7
(Accidentally rolled fortitude rather than will, but advised to keep the roll.)

Play Sheet Link