Attempts to retreat use the same martial rolls as combat, in fact they specifically roll as a part of combat. So they're definitely affected by the paralytic.
Earth Bet: House of the Sun (Cultist Simulator/Worm)
- Thread starter Witherbrine26
- Start date
Attempts to retreat use the same martial rolls as combat, in fact they specifically roll as a part of combat. So they're definitely affected by the paralytic.
- Pronouns
- He
Y'know it'd be genuinely hilarious if Alicja has a trigger event the moment she's about to die.
Do not speak that evil where the writer can hear it.
If that happens and we lose then we swap to Alicja's point of view instead. /jk
- Location
- 'Murica
there
Every single instance of this word is misspelled. Unknown.
Yes they do, that debuff applies to escape as well
Thank you
And not sure how I missed that, thank you
Any trigger event she can pull in the event that she dies is preferable to ourselves dying.
Vote Closed
Winning Vote:
[X] Plan: The best weapon for professionals
-[X] Hire mercenaries (Gain the services of 4 Health, +20 Personal Combat Confidante. Their actions are limited to going on Expeditions or Guarding you. However, unless you fail to pay them or they are faced with unreasonable expectations, they will not leave.)
--[X] 3 mercenaries
-[X] Potent Paralytics
--[X] 4 servings of poison
[X] Plan: The best weapon for professionals
-[X] Hire mercenaries (Gain the services of 4 Health, +20 Personal Combat Confidante. Their actions are limited to going on Expeditions or Guarding you. However, unless you fail to pay them or they are faced with unreasonable expectations, they will not leave.)
--[X] 3 mercenaries
-[X] Potent Paralytics
--[X] 4 servings of poison
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Another History: Turn 8 - Results, Part 2
You were still in pain, though it was manageable. The cane was becoming less essential with each passing day, but the lingering aches made it clear you weren't at full strength. You couldn't yet move with the precision or speed you'd prefer, and building up your defenses—particularly your home—wasn't something you could fully engage in while your body was still healing. Fortunately, the mercenaries you had hired were proving to be useful, if not a little overenthusiastic about their work.
"I'm telling you," the first one, a burly man with a thick beard, began as he leaned over the blueprints spread across your dining room table. He jabbed a thick finger at the front entrance of your house. "If you want to properly fortify this place, you need a trapped doorway. Something nasty, a makeshift landmine or two. No one gets inside without being blown to smithereens." His grin was unsettling, but it wasn't the first time you'd dealt with men like him—those who found too much joy in destruction.
While the idea wasn't without merit, it was also excessive. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, the prospect of landmines not exactly fitting the image of subtlety you had in mind. Before you could respond, the leader of the group, a composed man with close-cropped hair, tapped the blueprint. His voice was more measured.
"No explosives," he countered with authority. "We've got high ground, windows upstairs. One of us positioned at each window can provide covering fire from multiple angles." He gestured toward the second-floor layout, clearly favoring a more controlled and tactical approach. The bearded one scowled, muttering something under his breath, but didn't push the issue further as the third mercenary leaned forward.
This third man, tall and wiry with his hair tied back in a neat bun, chimed in with an air of quiet reason. "No," he said, his voice calm but firm. "We listen to what our employer wants." His words carried weight, and the bearded man's objections were silenced for the moment.
"You really think—" the bearded one started again, though his voice trailed off as the leader cut him off with a sharp look.
"Bristle's right," the leader said, his tone softening as he turned to you, offering a nod of acknowledgment. "We're here to offer advice, sir, but ultimately, the call is yours."
You hummed thoughtfully, rising slowly to your feet, the cane tapping lightly against the hardwood floor as you approached the blueprint-laden table. The weight of their gaze fell on you, waiting for a decision. You appreciated their input, but at the end of the day, this was your house, and you had your own ideas about how to secure it.
"I think..." you began, leaning over the blueprints, running your eyes over the various points of entry and defensible positions. There were plenty of good ideas swirling in your head, but the devil was in the details, and you needed the right materials to make any of them work.
[Fortify your home DC: 20/60/80]
[Roll: 7+7(Stewardship) = 14]
"Damn it," you muttered under your breath as your eyes scanned over the list of supplies Bristle had brought back. Each item, one by one, had been crossed off and marked as unavailable. A wave of frustration surged through you.
"Even the wooden planks?" you asked, your tone incredulous. It was hard to believe a simple hardware store would run out of something so basic. You didn't need much—just enough to board up a few windows or reinforce the front door.
"I'm afraid so," Bristle replied, his voice tinged with an apology. "What they had was either too small or wouldn't hold properly."
You gritted your teeth, fighting back the growing irritation. You didn't need state-of-the-art defenses to fortify the house—just the bare minimum to keep it from being a sitting duck. It was true that this wasn't the best place to make a stand, but it was your place, and for now, you didn't have anywhere else to retreat to.
"In that case," you said, exhaling sharply, "stay on guard. There's not much else we can do at the moment."
The mercenaries nodded, Bristle giving you a curt nod of acknowledgment. The room fell quiet as they shifted their focus back to their tasks. You knew they would stay vigilant, but that did little to ease your mind. The weight of unfinished plans gnawed at you as you pushed yourself to your feet, hobbling back toward your room.
The physical pain wasn't the worst of it—it was the nagging sense of vulnerability, of being unprepared. But just because this avenue was closed off didn't mean you didn't have other plans in motion. There were always more options, always another angle to work. You would find another way to secure your home and prepare for whatever might come next. You sure as hell weren't going to sit around waiting to be caught off guard.
There was still work to be done.
Despite the planning you were unable to get the proper supplies to fortify your home, a simple case of bad luck.
Your cane thumped rhythmically as you entered the gym, each step echoing off the walls. It had been a while since you'd been in a place like this, but Anatoly had made the purchase, and for that, you were grateful. This place wasn't fancy, not by a long shot, but it had everything you needed. Equipment, space, and, most importantly, a group of people who were ready to train. The cult members you hired needed discipline, strength, and endurance, and while you'd have to oversee their progress in shifts due to your current state, a basic fitness regimen was the smartest thing to implement. A well-trained body was a well-trained weapon, after all.
"Should you be training us like that?" one of the men, younger and braver than the others, asked hesitantly, watching you limp around the gym. His tone wasn't confrontational, but there was doubt in his eyes as he glanced at your cane and the way you moved with clear discomfort.
You scowled at him, your cane thumping harder against the ground as you turned to face him. Pain shot up your spine, but you ignored it, the years of experience and sheer willpower making the agony bearable. You stalked toward him slowly, your eyes never leaving him, and when you stood in front of him, you leveled him with a glare that spoke of battles fought and victories hard-won.
"I've fought in worse shape than this," you said, your voice low and sharp, a small edge of anger cutting through. "I could still kill you where you stand, even like this." The cold, hard truth of your words seemed to sink in, and his bravado wavered. You took a step closer, locking eyes with him, your gaze piercing as if to challenge him to test you. "So if you want to see whether I can still train you, go ahead. Make your move."
The room fell silent, every eye on the two of you, the tension thick in the air. The young man mumbled something under his breath and backed down, unwilling to press the issue further. The way your experience radiated off you, the confidence in your words, had been enough. They didn't need to see you fight to believe you still had it.
Satisfied, you turned away from him and took a few steps back. Your back twinged, and your chest ached, but you didn't let it show. Raising your voice to command the attention of everyone present, you ignored the physical strain.
"Alright! Get moving!" you barked, your tone leaving no room for argument. The men snapped into action, falling into their drills. You followed behind them as best you could, your cane tapping against the floor, barking corrections when necessary.
[Training Fodder DC: 50/70]
[Roll: 32+18(Martial) = 50]
But you overdid it. By the time the session came to an end, your back was screaming at you. The dull ache had turned into a sharp, constant pain that spread down your spine, and even though you tried to tough it out, you knew you'd pushed too far. Sitting down heavily on one of the benches, you cursed under your breath. It galled you to no end to be like this—crippled, reliant on a cane, forced to sit when you should be running alongside them, pushing them harder. But you weren't an idiot. You knew the line between a temporary injury and permanent damage, and right now, your body needed rest if you were going to heal. Pushing further would only lead to mutilation, and you weren't about to let that happen.
Swallowing your frustration, you straightened yourself on the bench and raised your voice once again, this time with a little less fire.
"Good," you called out, your voice cutting through the low hum of exhausted men. Slowly, you rose to your feet, the pain in your back flaring, but you kept your movements steady, not allowing anyone to see the full extent of your discomfort. Your hobble was more noticeable now, but no one dared to mention it. They knew better.
"You're all improving," you said, eyes scanning the room. "Keep at it. You're dismissed for tonight. Be back here the day after tomorrow." They needed time to rest and recover, just like you did. No sense in pushing them too hard when they were already worn down. They nodded in acknowledgment, each one leaving in small groups, tired and sore but undeniably better than they were when they started.
As the last of them filtered out of the gym, you allowed yourself a moment of solitude, standing there in the dim light, listening to the sound of your own labored breathing. This wasn't ideal, not by a long shot. You should be stronger than this, should be moving better, faster. But it was what it was, and right now, all you could do was work with the cards you'd been dealt.
Slowly, carefully, you made your way to the door, your cane clicking softly on the floor. Each step was an exercise in patience and restraint, your body protesting the movement, but you pushed through. Reaching your car, you eased yourself into the driver's seat, the familiar sting of pain greeting you as you sat down.
The drive home was quiet, the city passing by in a blur of lights. Your mind raced with plans and contingencies. Just because you were hurt didn't mean the world stopped turning. There were still moves to make, pieces to put into place. You'd take your rest, but your mind would keep working, always thinking two steps ahead.
There was no time for weakness. You wouldn't allow it.
You have improved the Cult followers' combat skills. +2 on tests that require physical strength and personal combat
"I'm telling you," the first one, a burly man with a thick beard, began as he leaned over the blueprints spread across your dining room table. He jabbed a thick finger at the front entrance of your house. "If you want to properly fortify this place, you need a trapped doorway. Something nasty, a makeshift landmine or two. No one gets inside without being blown to smithereens." His grin was unsettling, but it wasn't the first time you'd dealt with men like him—those who found too much joy in destruction.
While the idea wasn't without merit, it was also excessive. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, the prospect of landmines not exactly fitting the image of subtlety you had in mind. Before you could respond, the leader of the group, a composed man with close-cropped hair, tapped the blueprint. His voice was more measured.
"No explosives," he countered with authority. "We've got high ground, windows upstairs. One of us positioned at each window can provide covering fire from multiple angles." He gestured toward the second-floor layout, clearly favoring a more controlled and tactical approach. The bearded one scowled, muttering something under his breath, but didn't push the issue further as the third mercenary leaned forward.
This third man, tall and wiry with his hair tied back in a neat bun, chimed in with an air of quiet reason. "No," he said, his voice calm but firm. "We listen to what our employer wants." His words carried weight, and the bearded man's objections were silenced for the moment.
"You really think—" the bearded one started again, though his voice trailed off as the leader cut him off with a sharp look.
"Bristle's right," the leader said, his tone softening as he turned to you, offering a nod of acknowledgment. "We're here to offer advice, sir, but ultimately, the call is yours."
You hummed thoughtfully, rising slowly to your feet, the cane tapping lightly against the hardwood floor as you approached the blueprint-laden table. The weight of their gaze fell on you, waiting for a decision. You appreciated their input, but at the end of the day, this was your house, and you had your own ideas about how to secure it.
"I think..." you began, leaning over the blueprints, running your eyes over the various points of entry and defensible positions. There were plenty of good ideas swirling in your head, but the devil was in the details, and you needed the right materials to make any of them work.
[Fortify your home DC: 20/60/80]
[Roll: 7+7(Stewardship) = 14]
"Damn it," you muttered under your breath as your eyes scanned over the list of supplies Bristle had brought back. Each item, one by one, had been crossed off and marked as unavailable. A wave of frustration surged through you.
"Even the wooden planks?" you asked, your tone incredulous. It was hard to believe a simple hardware store would run out of something so basic. You didn't need much—just enough to board up a few windows or reinforce the front door.
"I'm afraid so," Bristle replied, his voice tinged with an apology. "What they had was either too small or wouldn't hold properly."
You gritted your teeth, fighting back the growing irritation. You didn't need state-of-the-art defenses to fortify the house—just the bare minimum to keep it from being a sitting duck. It was true that this wasn't the best place to make a stand, but it was your place, and for now, you didn't have anywhere else to retreat to.
"In that case," you said, exhaling sharply, "stay on guard. There's not much else we can do at the moment."
The mercenaries nodded, Bristle giving you a curt nod of acknowledgment. The room fell quiet as they shifted their focus back to their tasks. You knew they would stay vigilant, but that did little to ease your mind. The weight of unfinished plans gnawed at you as you pushed yourself to your feet, hobbling back toward your room.
The physical pain wasn't the worst of it—it was the nagging sense of vulnerability, of being unprepared. But just because this avenue was closed off didn't mean you didn't have other plans in motion. There were always more options, always another angle to work. You would find another way to secure your home and prepare for whatever might come next. You sure as hell weren't going to sit around waiting to be caught off guard.
There was still work to be done.
Despite the planning you were unable to get the proper supplies to fortify your home, a simple case of bad luck.
Your cane thumped rhythmically as you entered the gym, each step echoing off the walls. It had been a while since you'd been in a place like this, but Anatoly had made the purchase, and for that, you were grateful. This place wasn't fancy, not by a long shot, but it had everything you needed. Equipment, space, and, most importantly, a group of people who were ready to train. The cult members you hired needed discipline, strength, and endurance, and while you'd have to oversee their progress in shifts due to your current state, a basic fitness regimen was the smartest thing to implement. A well-trained body was a well-trained weapon, after all.
"Should you be training us like that?" one of the men, younger and braver than the others, asked hesitantly, watching you limp around the gym. His tone wasn't confrontational, but there was doubt in his eyes as he glanced at your cane and the way you moved with clear discomfort.
You scowled at him, your cane thumping harder against the ground as you turned to face him. Pain shot up your spine, but you ignored it, the years of experience and sheer willpower making the agony bearable. You stalked toward him slowly, your eyes never leaving him, and when you stood in front of him, you leveled him with a glare that spoke of battles fought and victories hard-won.
"I've fought in worse shape than this," you said, your voice low and sharp, a small edge of anger cutting through. "I could still kill you where you stand, even like this." The cold, hard truth of your words seemed to sink in, and his bravado wavered. You took a step closer, locking eyes with him, your gaze piercing as if to challenge him to test you. "So if you want to see whether I can still train you, go ahead. Make your move."
The room fell silent, every eye on the two of you, the tension thick in the air. The young man mumbled something under his breath and backed down, unwilling to press the issue further. The way your experience radiated off you, the confidence in your words, had been enough. They didn't need to see you fight to believe you still had it.
Satisfied, you turned away from him and took a few steps back. Your back twinged, and your chest ached, but you didn't let it show. Raising your voice to command the attention of everyone present, you ignored the physical strain.
"Alright! Get moving!" you barked, your tone leaving no room for argument. The men snapped into action, falling into their drills. You followed behind them as best you could, your cane tapping against the floor, barking corrections when necessary.
[Training Fodder DC: 50/70]
[Roll: 32+18(Martial) = 50]
But you overdid it. By the time the session came to an end, your back was screaming at you. The dull ache had turned into a sharp, constant pain that spread down your spine, and even though you tried to tough it out, you knew you'd pushed too far. Sitting down heavily on one of the benches, you cursed under your breath. It galled you to no end to be like this—crippled, reliant on a cane, forced to sit when you should be running alongside them, pushing them harder. But you weren't an idiot. You knew the line between a temporary injury and permanent damage, and right now, your body needed rest if you were going to heal. Pushing further would only lead to mutilation, and you weren't about to let that happen.
Swallowing your frustration, you straightened yourself on the bench and raised your voice once again, this time with a little less fire.
"Good," you called out, your voice cutting through the low hum of exhausted men. Slowly, you rose to your feet, the pain in your back flaring, but you kept your movements steady, not allowing anyone to see the full extent of your discomfort. Your hobble was more noticeable now, but no one dared to mention it. They knew better.
"You're all improving," you said, eyes scanning the room. "Keep at it. You're dismissed for tonight. Be back here the day after tomorrow." They needed time to rest and recover, just like you did. No sense in pushing them too hard when they were already worn down. They nodded in acknowledgment, each one leaving in small groups, tired and sore but undeniably better than they were when they started.
As the last of them filtered out of the gym, you allowed yourself a moment of solitude, standing there in the dim light, listening to the sound of your own labored breathing. This wasn't ideal, not by a long shot. You should be stronger than this, should be moving better, faster. But it was what it was, and right now, all you could do was work with the cards you'd been dealt.
Slowly, carefully, you made your way to the door, your cane clicking softly on the floor. Each step was an exercise in patience and restraint, your body protesting the movement, but you pushed through. Reaching your car, you eased yourself into the driver's seat, the familiar sting of pain greeting you as you sat down.
The drive home was quiet, the city passing by in a blur of lights. Your mind raced with plans and contingencies. Just because you were hurt didn't mean the world stopped turning. There were still moves to make, pieces to put into place. You'd take your rest, but your mind would keep working, always thinking two steps ahead.
There was no time for weakness. You wouldn't allow it.
You have improved the Cult followers' combat skills. +2 on tests that require physical strength and personal combat
I do appreciate the creativity in weaving a good explanation for the total botch of a fortification roll.
Still vexing of course, but it's not because we're inexplicably incompetent.
Still vexing of course, but it's not because we're inexplicably incompetent.
I recommend dice to reconsider its decision to cooperate with Alicja. I have their brethren at home, and who knows, maybe the next time they decide to support Alicja, these brethren may be accidentally destroyed.
- Pronouns
- He
This is just the bad dice luck being leeched away before the fight actually happens.
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I disagree. The dice just wants us to have a proper corrivality and you can't have that if you manage to kill your foe, so of course we will fail.
Is always possible to be deader
Some say Death is cleaner.
Another History: Turn 8 - Results, Part 3
It's late, well past midnight, and you're sitting in the dim light of your room, trying to lose yourself in a book. Reading wasn't something you found much time for these days. Once, it had been a favorite pastime, but now, it felt like an indulgence you couldn't afford. Tonight was different, though. The exhaustion that pulled at your body demanded rest, and even if you couldn't completely let your guard down, this book was a small distraction, something to keep your mind off the pain and the strain of the last few weeks.
This book wasn't the usual fare. No treatise on warfare or political maneuvering, no dense tomes of strategy or occult theory. It was something lighter, something easier on the mind, almost leisurely. You needed that now, a brief moment to unwind. The fortifications for the house had fallen through, but at least you had three competent men keeping watch. They knew their job, and if anything happened, you trusted them to handle it—or at least give you enough warning to act.
[Staying on Guard DC: 72/92]
[Roll: 92+8(Intrigue) = 100]
You had just turned a page when the sharp, unmistakable sound of shattering glass cut through the night. Immediately, the acrid scent of smoke filled the air, thick and pungent, wafting up from the lower level of the house. A moment later, a shout echoed inside the house, confirming your worst suspicion—fire.
With a grimace, you snap the book shut and rise to your feet, your chest protesting the sudden movement with a dull, familiar ache. Reaching for your cane where it rested beside your bed, you grab it in one hand while hobbling toward the closet with the other. You can feel your pulse quicken, that old familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through you, sharpening your senses even as the pain threatens to slow you down. In the closet, your rifle waits for you, along with a set of quills you've kept prepared for such emergencies. There's no time to fully suit up, but this will have to be enough. It always has been.
"Sir, we've got six inbound!" the leader's voice calls out, slightly muffled through the walls but still clear enough to reach your ears.
You grit your teeth, every step sending a jolt of discomfort through your body as you make your way toward the door.
"Then light them up!" you bark in response, feeling the fire in your chest, not just from pain but from readiness—old instincts flaring back to life.
[Defending the House]
[Your roll: 21+18(Martial)+10(EDGE)+10(Attention of the Laws) = 59]
[Her roll: 100+??(???) = ???]
[She and her men approach the house, entirely unharmed]
The crack of gunfire erupts outside, rhythmic and steady, cutting through the night. Each shot is a reassurance, a reminder that your men know what they're doing. It gives you a moment to steel yourself as you move, your body slow but your mind as sharp as ever. You can't afford to be caught off guard. Not now. If they breach the house, you'll defend it as long as you can, but you've already run through your contingencies in your mind. If it comes to it, you'll flee. You always have a way out.
The stairs creak beneath you as you descend, cane in one hand, rifle in the other. Every step is a struggle, your legs stiff with pain, your breathing tight from the strain. But you push through it, knowing you need to be ready, knowing that every second counts. You're halfway down when you hear it—a loud thud, followed by the unmistakable splintering of wood. The front door. They're inside.
Mentally, you swear, the plan shifting again in your mind. Your rifle is already up, the cold metal steady in your grip as you pause midway down the stairs, waiting, listening for any sound that might give you an advantage. Your heart beats in rhythm with the gunfire still echoing outside, a grim metronome to the chaos unfolding.
One of the men turns the corner, a face you recognize from the warehouse—rough, unshaven, and determined. He's quick on his feet. The moment you raise your rifle, he ducks instinctively, and your shot hits the floor behind him with a sharp crack, sending a spray of splintered wood flying into the air. The man doesn't stop. He keeps moving, barreling up the stairs, each footstep heavy and urgent, his breath coming in ragged bursts. You grimace, reaching for your cane with one hand as you backpedal, steadying yourself. You fire again, the rifle's recoil jarring your shoulder. This time, the bullet grazes him, a thin line of blood blooming across his side, but he pushes through the pain.
Before you can take another shot, two more figures round the corner. One is familiar—Alicja, her smirk as sharp as ever, and beside her, a nameless thug, just another hired hand in the chaos. Alicja's eyes lock onto yours, and she raises her shotgun with a gleam of amusement.
"I see you're still all busted up," she sneers, her voice dripping with condescension as she fires a blast toward the ceiling. The sound is deafening, and dust and debris rain down, momentarily obscuring your vision. You curse under your breath as you try to keep your focus. By the time the dust clears, one of the men has reached the top of the stairs, advancing on you, his eyes wary but intent.
You don't have time to think. Instinct kicks in as you grab one of your quills, the sleek weapon sliding into your grip with practiced ease. You jab it forward in a warning, the sharp tip gleaming under the light. The man falters for a moment, hesitation flickering across his face. He doesn't want to get close—not with that in your hand—but he's clearly weighing his options, looking for an opening.
You take another step back, your body protesting every movement, your chest screaming in pain with each breath. You can't see what's happening below, but from the sounds of grunts and gunfire, you know your mercenaries are still holding off the rest of the attackers. You just need to hold the line and keep these three at bay long enough for your men to finish their fight and come to your aid.
"Stay back," you growl, your voice rough and laced with pain, the vibration of your own words reverberating painfully through your chest. You lunge forward with the quill again, forcing the man to take a hasty step back, his face pale with uncertainty. Down the stairs, Alicja watches with a cruel smile, enjoying the struggle as she slowly aims her gun.
"You really think you can hold out like this?" Alicja taunts, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Look at you. You're practically falling apart."
You ignore her, focusing on the man in front of you. His hesitation is your only advantage right now, and you have to press it. Another quick swipe of the quill, and he stumbles back again, his grip on his weapon tightening nervously. You can see the fear in his eyes now, a flicker of doubt. He doesn't want to get too close, not when you're so desperate, so ready to strike.
But that won't last forever, and you're tiring your wounded body; it's failing you.
The man's eyes hardened, and then he lunged. You react instantly, slamming your quill deep into his shoulder. The sharp tip splintered on impact, and he let out a sharp gasp, stumbling as his blood began to flow freely, staining his shirt a deep crimson. You took a quick step back, your feet pounding against the floor, your heart racing as adrenaline surged through your veins. The man collapsed to one knee, his knife still clutched in his hand, though his strength was clearly fading. He pushed himself back to his feet, staggering slightly, the knife trembling as he struggled to maintain his grip. But it was obvious—he was bleeding out. He wouldn't last long and so he was debating fleeing.
That's when you heard her. Alicja. She appeared at the top of the stairs, calm, almost predatory, her eyes gleaming with harmful intent. She took in the scene before her with a slow, calculating gaze, assessing the situation as the man in front of you wavered. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, but he was already stepping back, retreating into the shadows. He didn't want any part of this anymore. He was wounded, tired, and smart enough to know that taking another step forward would mean his death. He was letting Alicja take center stage, and you knew this was where the real fight would begin.
Behind her, another man appeared at the top of the stairs, flanking her like a silent shadow. You could hear the gunfire below continuing, the rapid bursts echoing through the house like a metronome counting down the seconds. Your men were holding the line, but you didn't know for how long. You just prayed they could hold out long enough to come to your aid.
"End of the road, ain't this?" Alicja sneered, her lips curling into a predatory grin, revealing her teeth in a way that was almost feral. Her eyes scanned you, and you could see the calculations running through her head. She wasn't underestimating you—not after all the times you'd tangled with her before. You were crippled, hobbled by your injuries, but she knew better than to mistake that for weakness.
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sounds of battle downstairs. Alicja's gaze never left yours, and you could feel the weight of her attention bearing down on you like a predator sizing up its prey. You gritted your teeth, tightening your grip on the quill, your chest throbbing with pain. You couldn't let her see that, couldn't give her even the slightest hint of vulnerability.
There was a minute shift in her posture as she raised her shotgun.
You lunged forward-
BANG
Ending: Consumed by Violence
"There are worse deaths than this, many have wished for a death in glorious battle. It doesn't matter now, for you will be lowered down, first in soul, then in body and lastly in memory."
Apologies for those who wished to see this continue, but the dice have been very poor and resulted in Michael's death. Death is not something easily cheated in CS so there will be no such option Because this portion of the quest is over, if you have questions go ahead and ask, big lore ones I likely won't answer until I've settled on what I want to run next but most other things are fair game.
This book wasn't the usual fare. No treatise on warfare or political maneuvering, no dense tomes of strategy or occult theory. It was something lighter, something easier on the mind, almost leisurely. You needed that now, a brief moment to unwind. The fortifications for the house had fallen through, but at least you had three competent men keeping watch. They knew their job, and if anything happened, you trusted them to handle it—or at least give you enough warning to act.
[Staying on Guard DC: 72/92]
[Roll: 92+8(Intrigue) = 100]
You had just turned a page when the sharp, unmistakable sound of shattering glass cut through the night. Immediately, the acrid scent of smoke filled the air, thick and pungent, wafting up from the lower level of the house. A moment later, a shout echoed inside the house, confirming your worst suspicion—fire.
With a grimace, you snap the book shut and rise to your feet, your chest protesting the sudden movement with a dull, familiar ache. Reaching for your cane where it rested beside your bed, you grab it in one hand while hobbling toward the closet with the other. You can feel your pulse quicken, that old familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through you, sharpening your senses even as the pain threatens to slow you down. In the closet, your rifle waits for you, along with a set of quills you've kept prepared for such emergencies. There's no time to fully suit up, but this will have to be enough. It always has been.
"Sir, we've got six inbound!" the leader's voice calls out, slightly muffled through the walls but still clear enough to reach your ears.
You grit your teeth, every step sending a jolt of discomfort through your body as you make your way toward the door.
"Then light them up!" you bark in response, feeling the fire in your chest, not just from pain but from readiness—old instincts flaring back to life.
[Defending the House]
[Your roll: 21+18(Martial)+10(EDGE)+10(Attention of the Laws) = 59]
[Her roll: 100+??(???) = ???]
[She and her men approach the house, entirely unharmed]
The crack of gunfire erupts outside, rhythmic and steady, cutting through the night. Each shot is a reassurance, a reminder that your men know what they're doing. It gives you a moment to steel yourself as you move, your body slow but your mind as sharp as ever. You can't afford to be caught off guard. Not now. If they breach the house, you'll defend it as long as you can, but you've already run through your contingencies in your mind. If it comes to it, you'll flee. You always have a way out.
The stairs creak beneath you as you descend, cane in one hand, rifle in the other. Every step is a struggle, your legs stiff with pain, your breathing tight from the strain. But you push through it, knowing you need to be ready, knowing that every second counts. You're halfway down when you hear it—a loud thud, followed by the unmistakable splintering of wood. The front door. They're inside.
Mentally, you swear, the plan shifting again in your mind. Your rifle is already up, the cold metal steady in your grip as you pause midway down the stairs, waiting, listening for any sound that might give you an advantage. Your heart beats in rhythm with the gunfire still echoing outside, a grim metronome to the chaos unfolding.
[Michael Donovan has invoked Attention of the Laws]
[Michael Donovan's current health: 1/4]
[Alicja's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 1's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 2's current health: 2/3]
[Multi-combatant fight. Michael will only "compete" to wound the nearest enemy, but may be wounded by all other combatants]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 0, Alicja – 0, Minions - 0, 0]
[Michael:43+43(Personal Combat)+10(Attention of the Laws)-10(Outnumbered) = 86]
[Alicja:61+25(Personal Combat) = 86]
[Guard 1:20+9(Personal Combat) = 29]
[Guard 2:65+9(Personal Combat) =74]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 12, Alicja – 0, Guards - 0, 0]
[Michael: 56+48(Personal Combat)+10(Attention of the Laws)-10(Outnumbered) = 99]
[Alicja: 43+25(Personal Combat) = 68]
[Guard 1: 59+9(Personal Combat) = 68]
[Guard 2: 49+9(Personal Combat) = 58]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 31, Alicja – 0, Guards - 0, 0]
[Michael attempts to escape...]
[Alicja successfully intercepts]
[Michael Donovan's current health: 1/4]
[Alicja's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 1's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 2's current health: 2/3]
[Multi-combatant fight. Michael will only "compete" to wound the nearest enemy, but may be wounded by all other combatants]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 0, Alicja – 0, Minions - 0, 0]
[Michael:43+43(Personal Combat)+10(Attention of the Laws)-10(Outnumbered) = 86]
[Alicja:61+25(Personal Combat) = 86]
[Guard 1:20+9(Personal Combat) = 29]
[Guard 2:65+9(Personal Combat) =74]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 12, Alicja – 0, Guards - 0, 0]
[Michael: 56+48(Personal Combat)+10(Attention of the Laws)-10(Outnumbered) = 99]
[Alicja: 43+25(Personal Combat) = 68]
[Guard 1: 59+9(Personal Combat) = 68]
[Guard 2: 49+9(Personal Combat) = 58]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 31, Alicja – 0, Guards - 0, 0]
[Michael attempts to escape...]
[Alicja successfully intercepts]
[Mercenary 1's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 3's current health: 3/3]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 1– 0, Minion 3 - 0]
[Mercenary 1: 47+20(Personal Combat) = 67]
[Minion 3: 80+9(Personal Combat) = 89]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 1– 0, Minion 3 - 22]
[Mercenary 1: 43+20(Personal Combat) = 63]
[Minion 3: 95+9(Personal Combat) = 104]
[Mercenary 1 suffers one wound (-50 to Minion 1's overflow)]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 1– 0, Minion 3 - 13]
[Nobody wishes to do anything]
[Combat continues as normal]
[Minion 3's current health: 3/3]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 1– 0, Minion 3 - 0]
[Mercenary 1: 47+20(Personal Combat) = 67]
[Minion 3: 80+9(Personal Combat) = 89]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 1– 0, Minion 3 - 22]
[Mercenary 1: 43+20(Personal Combat) = 63]
[Minion 3: 95+9(Personal Combat) = 104]
[Mercenary 1 suffers one wound (-50 to Minion 1's overflow)]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 1– 0, Minion 3 - 13]
[Nobody wishes to do anything]
[Combat continues as normal]
[Mercenary 2's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 4's current health: 3/3]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 2 – 0, Minion 3 - 0]
[Mercenary 2: 84+20(Personal Combat) = 104]
[Minion 4: 54+9(Personal Combat) = 63]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 2 – 31, Minion 3 - 0]
[Mercenary 2: 9+20(Personal Combat) = 29]
[Minion 4: 19+9(Personal Combat) = 28]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 2 – 32, Minion 3 - 0]
[Nobody wishes to do anything]
[Combat continues as normal]
[Minion 4's current health: 3/3]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 2 – 0, Minion 3 - 0]
[Mercenary 2: 84+20(Personal Combat) = 104]
[Minion 4: 54+9(Personal Combat) = 63]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 2 – 31, Minion 3 - 0]
[Mercenary 2: 9+20(Personal Combat) = 29]
[Minion 4: 19+9(Personal Combat) = 28]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 2 – 32, Minion 3 - 0]
[Nobody wishes to do anything]
[Combat continues as normal]
[Mercenary 3's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 5's current health: 3/3]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 3 – 0, Minion 3 - 0]
[Mercenary 3: 2+20(Personal Combat) = 22]
[Minion 5: 57+9(Personal Combat) = 66]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 3 – 0, Minion 3 - 44]
[Mercenary 3: 22+20(Personal Combat) = 42]
[Minion 4: 76+9(Personal Combat) = 85]
[Mercenary 1 suffers one wound (-50 to Minion 4's overflow)]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 3 – 0, Minion 3 - 37]
[Nobody wishes to do anything]
[Combat continues as normal]
[Minion 5's current health: 3/3]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 3 – 0, Minion 3 - 0]
[Mercenary 3: 2+20(Personal Combat) = 22]
[Minion 5: 57+9(Personal Combat) = 66]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 3 – 0, Minion 3 - 44]
[Mercenary 3: 22+20(Personal Combat) = 42]
[Minion 4: 76+9(Personal Combat) = 85]
[Mercenary 1 suffers one wound (-50 to Minion 4's overflow)]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Mercenary 3 – 0, Minion 3 - 37]
[Nobody wishes to do anything]
[Combat continues as normal]
One of the men turns the corner, a face you recognize from the warehouse—rough, unshaven, and determined. He's quick on his feet. The moment you raise your rifle, he ducks instinctively, and your shot hits the floor behind him with a sharp crack, sending a spray of splintered wood flying into the air. The man doesn't stop. He keeps moving, barreling up the stairs, each footstep heavy and urgent, his breath coming in ragged bursts. You grimace, reaching for your cane with one hand as you backpedal, steadying yourself. You fire again, the rifle's recoil jarring your shoulder. This time, the bullet grazes him, a thin line of blood blooming across his side, but he pushes through the pain.
Before you can take another shot, two more figures round the corner. One is familiar—Alicja, her smirk as sharp as ever, and beside her, a nameless thug, just another hired hand in the chaos. Alicja's eyes lock onto yours, and she raises her shotgun with a gleam of amusement.
"I see you're still all busted up," she sneers, her voice dripping with condescension as she fires a blast toward the ceiling. The sound is deafening, and dust and debris rain down, momentarily obscuring your vision. You curse under your breath as you try to keep your focus. By the time the dust clears, one of the men has reached the top of the stairs, advancing on you, his eyes wary but intent.
You don't have time to think. Instinct kicks in as you grab one of your quills, the sleek weapon sliding into your grip with practiced ease. You jab it forward in a warning, the sharp tip gleaming under the light. The man falters for a moment, hesitation flickering across his face. He doesn't want to get close—not with that in your hand—but he's clearly weighing his options, looking for an opening.
You take another step back, your body protesting every movement, your chest screaming in pain with each breath. You can't see what's happening below, but from the sounds of grunts and gunfire, you know your mercenaries are still holding off the rest of the attackers. You just need to hold the line and keep these three at bay long enough for your men to finish their fight and come to your aid.
"Stay back," you growl, your voice rough and laced with pain, the vibration of your own words reverberating painfully through your chest. You lunge forward with the quill again, forcing the man to take a hasty step back, his face pale with uncertainty. Down the stairs, Alicja watches with a cruel smile, enjoying the struggle as she slowly aims her gun.
"You really think you can hold out like this?" Alicja taunts, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Look at you. You're practically falling apart."
You ignore her, focusing on the man in front of you. His hesitation is your only advantage right now, and you have to press it. Another quick swipe of the quill, and he stumbles back again, his grip on his weapon tightening nervously. You can see the fear in his eyes now, a flicker of doubt. He doesn't want to get too close, not when you're so desperate, so ready to strike.
But that won't last forever, and you're tiring your wounded body; it's failing you.
[Michael Donovan has invoked Attention of the Laws]
[Michael Donovan's current health: 1/4]
[Alicja's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 1's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 2's current health: 2/3]
[Multi-combatant fight. Michael will only "compete" to wound the nearest enemy, but may be wounded by all other combatants]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 31, Alicja – 0, Minions - 0, 0]
[Michael:42+43(Personal Combat)+10(Attention of the Laws)-10(Outnumbered) = 85]
[Alicja:92+25(Personal Combat) = 117]
[Minion 1:72+9(Personal Combat) = 81]
[Minion 2:17+9(Personal Combat) =26]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 71, Alicja – 32, Minions- 0, 0]
[Minion 1 suffers one wound (-50 to Micheal's overflow)]
[Michael: 18+43(Personal Combat)+10(Attention of the Laws)-10(Outnumbered) = 61]
[Alicja: 77+25(Personal Combat) = 102]
[Minion 1: 51+9(Personal Combat) = 90]
[Minion 2: 46+9(Personal Combat) = 55]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 33, Alicja – 61, Minions - 0, 0]
[Micheal suffers one wound (-50 to Micheal's overflow)]
[Micheal has been defeated]
[Michael Donovan's current health: 1/4]
[Alicja's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 1's current health: 3/3]
[Minion 2's current health: 2/3]
[Multi-combatant fight. Michael will only "compete" to wound the nearest enemy, but may be wounded by all other combatants]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 31, Alicja – 0, Minions - 0, 0]
[Michael:42+43(Personal Combat)+10(Attention of the Laws)-10(Outnumbered) = 85]
[Alicja:92+25(Personal Combat) = 117]
[Minion 1:72+9(Personal Combat) = 81]
[Minion 2:17+9(Personal Combat) =26]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 71, Alicja – 32, Minions- 0, 0]
[Minion 1 suffers one wound (-50 to Micheal's overflow)]
[Michael: 18+43(Personal Combat)+10(Attention of the Laws)-10(Outnumbered) = 61]
[Alicja: 77+25(Personal Combat) = 102]
[Minion 1: 51+9(Personal Combat) = 90]
[Minion 2: 46+9(Personal Combat) = 55]
[Current overflow (damage occurs on 50): Michael – 33, Alicja – 61, Minions - 0, 0]
[Micheal suffers one wound (-50 to Micheal's overflow)]
[Micheal has been defeated]
The man's eyes hardened, and then he lunged. You react instantly, slamming your quill deep into his shoulder. The sharp tip splintered on impact, and he let out a sharp gasp, stumbling as his blood began to flow freely, staining his shirt a deep crimson. You took a quick step back, your feet pounding against the floor, your heart racing as adrenaline surged through your veins. The man collapsed to one knee, his knife still clutched in his hand, though his strength was clearly fading. He pushed himself back to his feet, staggering slightly, the knife trembling as he struggled to maintain his grip. But it was obvious—he was bleeding out. He wouldn't last long and so he was debating fleeing.
That's when you heard her. Alicja. She appeared at the top of the stairs, calm, almost predatory, her eyes gleaming with harmful intent. She took in the scene before her with a slow, calculating gaze, assessing the situation as the man in front of you wavered. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, but he was already stepping back, retreating into the shadows. He didn't want any part of this anymore. He was wounded, tired, and smart enough to know that taking another step forward would mean his death. He was letting Alicja take center stage, and you knew this was where the real fight would begin.
Behind her, another man appeared at the top of the stairs, flanking her like a silent shadow. You could hear the gunfire below continuing, the rapid bursts echoing through the house like a metronome counting down the seconds. Your men were holding the line, but you didn't know for how long. You just prayed they could hold out long enough to come to your aid.
"End of the road, ain't this?" Alicja sneered, her lips curling into a predatory grin, revealing her teeth in a way that was almost feral. Her eyes scanned you, and you could see the calculations running through her head. She wasn't underestimating you—not after all the times you'd tangled with her before. You were crippled, hobbled by your injuries, but she knew better than to mistake that for weakness.
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sounds of battle downstairs. Alicja's gaze never left yours, and you could feel the weight of her attention bearing down on you like a predator sizing up its prey. You gritted your teeth, tightening your grip on the quill, your chest throbbing with pain. You couldn't let her see that, couldn't give her even the slightest hint of vulnerability.
There was a minute shift in her posture as she raised her shotgun.
You lunged forward-
BANG
Ending: Consumed by Violence
"There are worse deaths than this, many have wished for a death in glorious battle. It doesn't matter now, for you will be lowered down, first in soul, then in body and lastly in memory."
Apologies for those who wished to see this continue, but the dice have been very poor and resulted in Michael's death. Death is not something easily cheated in CS so there will be no such option Because this portion of the quest is over, if you have questions go ahead and ask, big lore ones I likely won't answer until I've settled on what I want to run next but most other things are fair game.
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Oh boy, time to check the fascinating Cultist Simulator/Worm crossover, hope nothings happened to my favourite character!
Wow. We really should have had the Master handle it. Mistakes were made!
@Witherbrine26 I do think this world, the master, and some of the other characters are quite interesting. Is there no way we could continue in it?
…Playing as Alicja would be pretty cool. Sorta like a Detective legacy.
I'm sorry… WHAT???
Wow. We really should have had the Master handle it. Mistakes were made!
@Witherbrine26 I do think this world, the master, and some of the other characters are quite interesting. Is there no way we could continue in it?
…Playing as Alicja would be pretty cool. Sorta like a Detective legacy.
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Maybe, honestly I'm shocked at the dice and need to think what I would want to do going forward if I continue this. Any suggestions are helpful
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] This History is wiped anew, to be redone and reweaved (This quest will start over, from Backgrounds and Beginnings)
I'm having this sneaking suspicion that you've loaded the dice against us voters. Alicja's dice rolls have been far too consistently high for the whole quest for me to not at the very least suspect it. For her to roll two nat 100s at critical moments in the quest, alongside her always managing to hit wounds before any other combatant in nearly every combat round is either the biggest coincidence in the world or someone's finger is on the scales.
I'm having this sneaking suspicion that you've loaded the dice against us voters. Alicja's dice rolls have been far too consistently high for the whole quest for me to not at the very least suspect it. For her to roll two nat 100s at critical moments in the quest, alongside her always managing to hit wounds before any other combatant in nearly every combat round is either the biggest coincidence in the world or someone's finger is on the scales.
I think exploring the idea of a cultist simulator/worm hybrid has a lot of potential and is very interesting. Would be nice to do see another quest in this universe
I swear I'm not loading the dice, that would defeat the purpose of running a quest with dice. You've just had abysmal luck in combat.
Sometimes you get unlucky. Sometimes you get really, really unlucky. Truly, Michael Donovan followed in the footsteps of John Wick in more ways than one.
We took risks, risks with deadly stakes. Sometimes you fail your gamble, and I'm at least glad that we got a dignified ending, and witherbrine didn't keep rolling dice to "revive" us or somehow cheapen the ending.
If you do decide to do another quest in this universe, maybe we could start out a bit more powerful, such as being a cape or in the Know, so that it doesn't feel like we are just trying to catch up back to where we were or re-tread old ground.
If you do decide to do another quest in this universe, maybe we could start out a bit more powerful, such as being a cape or in the Know, so that it doesn't feel like we are just trying to catch up back to where we were or re-tread old ground.