kateydidit:

revengecrew:

And dear lord did they FAIL! They managed to get one person caught in the sewer grates, forgot some of their most powerful weapons again and they almost died because they kept trying to charm the enemy trying to kill them.

That enemy was a legion of spiders. 

HOW???????

Okay, to be fair, ZETA was the one who tried to charm the enemy! *I* was busy trying to kill the sons-of-bitches and yelling at Zeta for sabotaging us.

And Zam decided to die and become Drake. So I kinda wanna punch that boy, since he won’t be living long.

And dear lord did they FAIL! They managed to get one person caught in the sewer grates, forgot some of their most powerful weapons again and they almost died because they kept trying to charm the enemy trying to kill them.

That enemy was a legion of spiders. 

HOW???????

Next weekend is Clockwork Alchemy and Fanime! :D

radiumradiator:

The Story That Never Starts - Abney Park

(via only-i-remember-krennel)

Steampunk Revolution - Abney Park (by abneypark)

There is never NOT a reason to share this amazing video :D

only-i-remember-krennel:

RP tokens.
The empire (star trek Terran empire), the crew, and the knights Templar (top to bottom)

Mechanics: Wits +1, Resolve -1
The Inca are a mysterious people from deep in the heart of South America, hailing from an underground city called the Maze of Life. For whatever reason, you decided to leave your underground home: perhaps you were curious about the Land of the Dead that was just above you, or you couldn’t stand the stifling air and the great brass pipes that were supposed to circulate it, maybe you committed a crime against the God-King. For whatever reason you were outside of your home during the great extinction and now you will wander the Earth as one of the last of your kind. 

Backgrounds (Canon Name):

Administrator, Agitator (spy), Artist, Beast Dancer (Jaguar Warrior), Clergyman (High Priest), Criminal, Doctor, Hunter (Quechua), Inventors, Musician, Prostitute, Shaman

New Background: Survivor

Athletics, Conceal, Hide & Sneak, Intimidate, Animal Handling, Engineer (Clockwork), Martial Arts (Jaguar Warrior), Navigation, Specialized weapon (Quechua), Survival, Tracking

New Weapon: 

Quechua (Specialized weapon)

The Quechua is a three foot wooden paddle with sharpened rocks, obsidian, or metal teeth on both edges. 

6 Damage (1 fortitude damage per hit of 3 or more damage)

Nerf steampunk is cliche, but I’m working hard dammit

It wasn’t a drastic change from the mountains to the Jungle. It might not even have been a Jungle, just a really wet forest. The path was made slippery and muddy by rain water and run-off from the mountains. By the time I caught up to Jesus, stopped in a clearing that would fit maybe eight people standing shoulder to shoulder, he was standing there, looking around, eyes half crazed into the shadows.
The raindrops made wet little splashes on the brim of his cap. Quickly they were overcome by footfalls, I turned to see the other half of our party. Charleston was taking up the rear, panting heavily, with Clarence in front. Clarence was careful of where he stepped, dogging errant branches and dry leaves with ease. He looked like he hadn’t been in a fight, then ran three kilometers, then yelled down a bigot with nothing better to do than complain.
“I still say-” Charleston started as his hands fell to his knees and sweat dripped down his face, “Say that we should have-” Standing up again he wiped his arm across his brow, looking into the woods and squaring his posture, “Where are we anyways?”
Clarence was the first to react, studying the surrounding he declared, “We’re about a half hour from our destination.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Well, we’re still on the trail and we’ve been running for a good fifteen minutes.”
“So what?”
“Would you rather me say we’re lost?” Clarence got Charleston to shut his trap.
“I don’t like this place, man.” Jesus muttered to me as we turned to continue walking. What else should we have done?
“How? It’s so green.” I was awestruck, at this pace I could actually look at the trees and run my hands over the leaves. In the distance there was a growl, like a roar of thunder. We never saw what made it, but every now and then we could feel it spread out from just ahead of us in waves. Something was on the hunt, and we were wary of becoming its prey.
We moved as silently as we could manage, with Jesus muttering his uneasiness,
Charleston voicing every little discomfort, and dry leaves crunching under my feet. Clarence was the only one who was as silent as the blackest night.
That was something else, I had never been anywhere this quit. Even the ship had people moving about at all hours. Now though, it was dead silent, other than the occasional growl of that unseen predator. I have never grown accustomed to that feeling.
Where the mountains had been open, the trees were stifling. Only small shafts of sunlight came through, and those were rapidly waning as the sun slipped behind the mountains. It could have been setting to every side, because even in the jungle the mountains surrounded us. I could feel them drawing closer to us, shutting us in as the trees split us from each other. Every few second one of the others would disappear from my line of sight, as I did from theirs, like a flashlight being flicked on and off. The oppressive night was green, not black, and it was far more terrifying.
My adrenaline had been pulsing in spikes for a while, as everything put me on edge. Sometimes I would notice my smashed nose, or the cut on my chin, my lip still hurt like hell. However I kept moving, as there was no going back. Not unless we got attacked.
I was thinking, “Who is going to attack us anyways? More of those pirates? Surely they are in the air, and we are safe in the forest? Why even deploy marines to fight those who called themselves ‘Skyfolk’? The name meant they had to live in the sky, right?” These thoughts lead to others, thoughts that could have me thrown in the Change Cage for being too radical. Being such dangerous thoughts, I could find myself conjuring no other images.
By the time we reached the end of our journey I had populated the outside world with a vast and varied people, one that would be found in a child’s story book. I was still a child by any measure, but this was going a bit far. I later found out my imagination was severely lacking in creativity.
The Neobedouin were a dangerous people, brutish, savage, warriors who fought animals with their bare hands, beat women, and danced around roaring fires of burning civilization. I am disgusted now by these thoughts, having believed myself superior to people like Charleston and yet I fell into their stereotyping. However it did not end there. In my mind the Skyfolk were more refined, more important in the grand scheme of things. They lived all their lives in their ships, never touching the ground or making communities. No, perhaps they had massive communities, ships the size of cities that roamed the world. There would only be a few, or the Emperor would try and put them in the cities, obviously. Emperor Hypocrates would not willingly leave a single soul outside of the Sanctuaries of the Change Cage Cities.
The hiss and rattle of multiple steam rifles went off to my left, “I saw it move!”, shouted Jesus as he and Clarence put round after round into the dense underbrush. Charleston and I rushed over under the pretense of assistance, although we could have been shooting at anything. The rifles we used leaked, and the more our party shot, the thicker the steam around us became.
Finally we stopped, checked our rifles and drew straws to go check out the bullet riddled foliage. Of course we didn’t actually have straws, so instead we all grabbed Clarence and shoved him forward with more than a little effort. His tattooed form was incredibly heavy, and I was almost afraid to touch his back. I could see the Grim Reaper poking out from under his left sleeve on the back of his arm. A part of me thought if I touched him I would be sucked into him.
Clarence stumbled forward, and having no other option, looked at us uncertainly before stepping past a large leaf, like a holey emerald door way. Beyond was the unknown, and whatever had moved.
That whatever happened to be a small yellow and black frog that leaped out at Clarence like a rocket, smacking him in the face and landing in his hands. He stumbled backwards as he yelped in surprise. The rest of us had no idea what to make of the whole situation as Clarence stood up and wiped his mouth and nose with his hand, the frog darting off into the wilderness, so we laughed. We laughed as hard and as loud as we could, each gasp for breath relieving a little of the tension until we were entirely relaxed and once again comfortable. It was much needed for the three of us, though Clarence was much less satisfied than us.
“Not funny! What if it had been a Neobedouin Beastmaster, huh? then I’d be dead, and you’d be dead, and we’d all be dead!” He roared, but that just made us laugh harder as his face turned red with anger and embarrassment. We turned and continued down the path, no longer keeping our distance from one another. Why should we? This was turning out to be a great little excursion, and I found myself liking Jesus and Clarence more and more with each passing minute. Charleston was still a prick and a racist, but at least he was not a coward, and that I could respect.
Not long after even Clarence was laughing at the situation, slapping Jesus on the back and mimicking his overzealous treatment of such a small situation, aiming his rifle into the brush and occasionally firing off a round.
It was Jesus’ time to turn into an apple, his narrow cheeks brightening and his peach fuzz face smiling like it was his birthday. Such mistakes were only natural on one’s first tour of duty, and we were enjoying every minute of it.
We did not know then, but under and behind that emerald door lay an Inca warrior who had also been overzealous in his attempt to deal with the enemy. Unlike Jesus, his method had not been nearly as successful, and his fellow warriors watched this flock of Imperial Eagles, too dumb for their own good, lazily float down the road. They would get their revenge, that much was decided before we were outside spitting distance. Eight of them huddled around a cocoa plant, chewing the leaves and muttering about us in their sing-song language.
There are many kinds of killers in the Jungle, and we were only one incarnation.