Call of C'Handler

"Ah!" November gasped as Tyce released the pipebomb. The hairs of the nape of her neck rose with tension before she hightailed it after him, not wish to get caught up in the destruction he just wrought. Light on her feet despite her alarmed state, the dog girl bound over the desk, risking a glance back towards the door that lead to the abomination that was once Mr. Comic. Whatever that was, she could only hope that this was the last she would see of it.

Thumping echoed in her ears as she scrambled out the door, arms flailing as she set foot outside. November let out a soft sound as she stumbled and face planted onto the ground, scrapping the palms of her hands upon contact. A groan escaped her as she pushed her upper body up off of the ground as the squealing tires of the "Tycemobile" neared along with the blaring headlights.
 
Lots and lots of rolls! They'd clog up the action if I typed them as normal, but you're smart people - I'm sure you know where they come in.

The flash from Toadvine's revolver illuminates the room for a brief second, allowing you to see the creature bearing down on you, mouth agape, as a bullet strikes it in the chest. The monster continues unabated. It's as if it hasn't even noticed. The abomination slams straight into Toadvine, bearing it's teeth to bite down on his neck...

A brave, foolish battle cry erupts from behind the grizzled veteran. "TYYYYYYYYYCED!" Tyce's #prankbomb rolls slowly across the floor, it's fuse fizzling and sparking, before the #prankmaster himself parkours out of the room.

November scrambles out of the door as quickly as she can. Fortunately, this means she is well clear when...

[BOOM]

Toadvine is thrown clear of the creature as the blast of Tyce's pipe bomb rips it and him apart. He lands on the gravel drive, coming to as the Tycemobile's headlights shine in his eyes before the engine shuts off.

Tyce and November watch Caleb, Derek and Big Jim climb out of the grape-purple motor travesty, and stare glassy-eyed at the ruined cabin.

There, in the smoking wreck, standing tall, is the creature that used to be Mr. Comic, half of his face destroyed by the blast, his yellow clay spines glowing red-hot, and his eyes fixed on the floor. The slack-jawed goons instantly turn and run, screaming something incomprehensible.

There's a lot of activity from the building site, as well. Most of the workers are running aimlessly, trying to get away from the ensuing madness in the pitch black. There is, however, a recognisable and coherent voice among the maelstrom of shouting. Overseer Wesly.

"You! Come on, round up the others! Forget these peons, just get those of us who are Chosen and get down on the crane. We can't let this opportunity be ruined by a little disruption like this!". A few construction workers begin moving purposefully towards the crane over the pit.

The monster that used to be Comic raises his head to look at you. The half of his face that still has skin on it is sporting a demented grin.

Toadvine, you are severely wounded - The blast almost crippled you, and that thing managed to get it's teeth into your shoulder - Not too deep, but enough to hurt. Badly.

What do you do?
 
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"AWWWWWSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT"
The goons dropped their weapons and broke rank, flailing spasticly as they attempted to parkour away from danger. Unfortunately, Tyce still had his Tycinator.
Tyce fires off a blast above the fleeing goons heads. They squeal like children and huddle on the ground.
"YO, WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU FUCKS THINK YOU'RE GOING? yOU'RE LEAVING RIGHT WHEN THE FUCKIN RACE WARZ STARTIN!"
Big Jim mannages to sputter "b b but Tyce, d d d did you see that thang?"
"What, that big weazl nigger? Fuck him, we'll fuck his shit up, it's the race war yo! This is what we're all about yo! Or are you tryn ta piss me off? You all remember what happened ta Elbert when he tried to piss me off!"
A look of trauma and fear spreads like mold across the goons faces.
Nick begins sobbing.
"Nick, you fuckin fag. I kew you'd disrespckt me!"
"Tyce, I I I wasn't tryn ta...."
Tyce hefts up the shotgun and takes a step towards Nick, his face cracked into a grin of anticipation.
"NNNNNONONONONOOO, NOT THE VASELINE! "
"IF YEW FUKIN FAGS DON'T WANT ME TO ELBERT YEW, GET YOU FUCKIN ASSES IN THE VAN AND HELP ME PWN SOME FAGS AND NIGS RIGHT FUCKIN NOW!"
The Goons look at each other. If they ran, they'd be away from... what ever the hell Tyce just blew up. But if they stayed, they'd remain on Tyce's good side...
The Goons reluctantly gather their weapons and jump back into the van, silently praying that the engine wouldn't start.
It did.
Tyce bellows as he slams his foot on the gas pedal, attempts a drive by on the monster, and speeds off towards the crowds of workers.
"Fuck Yeah niggers, RACE WAR 2014!"
The van swerves to run over a fleeing worker as Tyce slams the horn, playing the Königgrätzer Marsch. The familiar bump of a human body being crushed under the vans tires causes something to register in Big Jim's jenkim fogged brain.
"hey, the shit's down! Hey lookit, that un thar's a nigra! 10 points!"
Big Jim grabs his BAR, leans out the window, and starts firing at a random construction worker. The others, encouraged by the gunfire, Tyce and Big Jim's cackles of glee, and the mix tape of Tyce's rapping and Insane Clown Posse blaring on the speakers, quickly join in. The Tycemobile swerves through the construction site, honing in on the biggest concentration of victims, the group moving to the crane...
 
Oh man, things are popping off! Of course, it figures that my character gets critically wounded almost immediately. Oh well, such is the inexorable will of the d20.

"The ringing Toadvine heard as he opened his eyes was immense in its harshness. A visceral pain had seized his body and he now lay inert on the ground, half-buried in the gravel. He looked to his shoulder and saw that his coat there was wet with blood. A single, yellowish canine jutted out of his shoulder like a nithing pole. A dull red glow illuminated the enamel barb.

Toadvine lift his head up from where it had laid. He saw the flaming remnants of the office building, now a desolate ruin consumed by a vast and merciless fire. The air sizzled and cracked from the heat emanating from the conflagration. A darkened figure stood against the raging inferno. He stood motionless among the flames as though they had no effect on his being. He was staring at the desperado silently, like a giant of biblical proportions gazing upon a downed Israelite. Toadvine could not see the figures face amid the darkness but he intrinsically knew that it was so.

The outlaw, in spite of the pain in his appendages, began to crawl away, a terrible new-found fear inspiring his flight. He rose to his knees and began to limp away, not knowing where his comrades were or where he was going."
 
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November immediately covered her head as the explosion ruptured behind her, bits and pieces flying past and striking the ground all around her, her ears ringing as she shook for a moment. All seemed silent as she lifted her gaze to see the Tycemobile swerve this way and that and eventually the commotion of rumbled words accompanied by crude mishmash sounds were blaring into the nice--which she could only assume was supposed to be music. The sound was unpleasant and was pounding away at her throbbing headache as it entered her ears. There was no time to rest though.

She staggered to her feet, swaying as her world spun. November felt as though she were trapped in a fish bowl, her entire world was distorted. With an uneasy shake of her head, the dog girl turned to face the house, or at least the remains of it.

"Oh no," she murmured, remembering that the desperado had been in the house, causing a spark of alarm to rise. As the thought struck her, a figure had gradually emerged from the debris, their stature seeming worse for wear. A shiver of discomfort crawled up her spine as she feared for the worse. "Toadvine?" the dog girl pipped up, seeing his battered and beaten form stumbled from the debris. Hesitantly, she jogged over to him, seeing how blood splattered he was from the destruction of the bomb. The sight made her cringe. It was a miracle he was still standing. "W-we need to get out of here." November's voice was shaky as she set a nervous hand on his shoulder.
 
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"The desperado looked up through the haze of smoke and debris that had clouded his vision and saw the dog woman. The same woman who had tried to steal his possessions, the same woman he had intermittently quarreled with for the past two days now. She had set her hand upon his intact shoulder. A look of profound worry was present in her single eye. Toadvine had never been so glad to see her in his life.

I second that motion, he sputtered weakly. The acidic smoke of burning plastic and fiberglass swirled through the air lazily, causing the two outlaws to cough and cover their mouths. I took a hit or two as yuh can see. Toadvine motioned to the lacerations on his shoulder as he said this, glossing over the damage dealt to the rest of his body. As he said this, he limply tried to raise his revolver but to no avail. It weighed down his fatigued arm considerably and he was forced to concede and place in back in his coat."
 
Tyce's #tycemobile makes slow, stready progress along the debris-littered ground. By the time Big Jim had successfully manoeuvred the offensively purple van towards the large group led by Wesly, however, the group had already rapidly descended on the wooden platform attached to the crane's arm.

With an inhuman trill of glee, the monster standing in the rubble of the cabin ran into the target-rich chaos of the aftermath if Tyce's #prank, dragging an unfortunate worker running for the exit into one of the still-standing cabins. It doesn't seem to be interested in you...for now.

Toadvine, your shoulder is a mess and you feel like your back almost broke from the impact with the ground, but you can still stand, and your other arm is fine.

As the #tycemobile skids to a halt just shy of the hole, Big Jim jumps out. The site is eerily quiet now...bereft of the shrieking chaos that erupted only minutes ago, the workers having either gone down on the crane, fled, or...whatever is happening to that one in the other cabin.

"HEY MAN WHAT'S THAT FAGGOT-ASS CHANTING?" asks master wordsmith Big Jim, staring over the edge of the hole.
 
Tyce and co stand around the pit, listening to the chants of a language man was not meant to hear and wondering what to do.
And the Tyce notices the small Caterpillar bulldozer. It had been used to haul rocks away from the pit. Now, it's a weapon in the arsenal of the Prankmasta.
"Dude, check it out, I'm gonna prank these faggots!"
Tyce runs over to the bulldozer. The keys are still in the ignition. In fact, the bulldozer is still running, having been abandoned by one of the fleeing workers.
"Dude, Derrick, get this on camera, this is gonna be, like, the prank of the, like, forever!"
Tyce graps a rock and jumps into the cockpit. He rifles through the service box until he finds what he's looking for: a canister of motor oil that reads "flammable".
Tyce jams the rock under the gas control, aims the bulldozer towards the where the crane cable disappears into the pit, lights up the motor oil, leaps out and face plants into the dirt, and watches in slack jawed amusement with his friends as the flaming bulldozer plunges into the pit.
Derrick films all of this.
 
[Rolls dice]

Tyce, as you jump out of the flaming bulldozer, you land hard on the ground at just the wrong angle. You're knocked unconscious by the impact, and anyone close enough would have heard a sickening *CRUNCH*.

The bulldozer falls down into the chasm, illuminating the smooth, uniform walls that were hidden by the darkness. Striking the bottom, the vehicle explodes in a blossom of fire.

The chanting continues unabated, the strange words echoing from somewhere within the odd, grey, uniform chasm.

http://vocaroo.com/i/s1FLrTuSrdrq
 
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Alright, we get to hear more of Quote's tantalizing accent!

"Men had gathered in a circle on the far end of the site. They stood intoning in unison, their voices undulating dully among the crackling of the unkempt flames. The chanting reminded Toadvine of the old days, when conductive yellow beasts multiplied unchecked and the land was consumed by strife. He had ridden upon the plains with a group of men not unlike himself. They had hunted the beasts for a living, tearing their flesh and scorching their land for pay. They bore down on the beasts without remorse or second thought, painting the earth in great strokes with their gore.

Perhaps this current predicament was a punishment for his past. This pain Toadvine felt was his way of paying for his history of bloodshed he thought. It pained him to recall and dwell on things. He set his fingers to his temple, hoping to rub the pain residing there away.

The resounding boom that shook the foundations of the site interrupted Toadvine's train of thoughts. Through the echoes of the explosion, the workers continued uninterrupted in their hideous singing. He began to limp towards the source of the chanting. Come on, he gurgled to the Dog woman. Those sons-of-bitches are up to somethin' sinister over there."
 
"Hey, hey stop that fucking rackit! Y'o moths fucking niggers hear me?"
Big Jim fires his BAR wildly into the pit. Derrick drags Tyce's unconscious body back to the van.
"Dude, Big Jim, I think Tyce like got all fucked up and shit. Should we like, take him to Kyle's or sumthin?"
Big Jim reloads the BAR and goes over to the van.
"Nah, he'll be fine. We'll just, like hang here and huff some Jenkim and toke up until he comes to."
Tyce's goons all proceed to smoke weed and huff Jenkim.
 
November's attention turned towards the ominous chatting, the words chanting throughout the air in a hypnotic mannerism. Her single eye searched frantically, seeking for some answer to what this was. This ritualistic event taking place before them confused her greatly as they spoke in their monotonous linguistics, captivating her to an extent. She moved away from Toadvine, eye transfixed onto the chanters, head cocked to the left. Tuning out the rise of the world surrounding her, all her attention was on the ritual taking place. The desire to know more, to participate, to better understand the predicament arose within November, eager to become one in a sense.

"How curious," the dog woman murmured beneath her beneath her breath, moving closer towards the commotion. Such voices allured November with a bitter sweet tone, pleasing to her ears. "So curious."



"
 
As a matter of clarification, the chanting is coming from within the chasm Tyce just drove a bulldozer down. I'm interpreting "Getting closer" as "Getting closer to the chasm and trying to see what's down it".

You peer over the side of the chasm, looking for the source of the chanting...

The burning wreck of the bulldozer throws it's harsh light around the visible part of the deep chasm. From where you stand, you can see ruined buildings at the bottom, buried under the city you currently live in. There's also a crooked sign, standing at a 45 degree angle to where it presumably once stood tall.

MAL-WART DISTRICT

The light from the bulldozer bounces around the cavern, throwing shadows on the walls. But there's another source of light, from somewhere within the subterranean streets. It throws shadows on the walls. Long shadows of men, one of them wearing strange, spiky headgear...

Tyce, you wake up. Your wallet, which had $47 in it, is missing.

What's your plan?

As the construction site is completely deserted now, you may use anything you could reasonably find on a large construction site. If you would like more information about what's possibly going on, you could try and make a Sonichu Mythos Check, or read that book you found...but you may not like what you find out. Maybe it's best to not think too hard about it, for the sake of your sanity.
 
Quick question, can Tyce go back for the fertilizer bomb that he and his crew were planning to blow up the Department of Agriculture with because "Farmurz r fagz", or is that too much of an ass-pull? I already feel like I've been too ass-pully with Tyce.
With a grunt that heightens his resemblance to an orangutan, Tyce wakes up and struggles to his feet.
"Dude, that was totally fuckin chill dude. We blew it up with fire-ow, what the fuck?"
Tyce grabs one of the aching spots on himself and groans. He reaches into his fanny pack and huffs some jenk from a small bottle that contains something much worse than poor quality alcohol.
"Dude, that's better.....wait, the fuck? Dude, dude, those faggots didn't shit up? I, like, dropped a fuckin bulldozer an shit on em, how the fuck did that not kill 'em?"
He looks around at his stoned crew and the rapidly approaching Toadvine and November.
"Yo, anyone gots an idea? Brokeback, you're old, do you have, like, any old person knowledge about this fucked up shit?"
 
The fertiliser bomb would probably be a bit of an asspull, but more to the point, you might not have time to get it...

You feel the ground shake violently, but the cult below doesn't stop their chanting. In fact, they're getting faster.
 
"Toadvine's head was tilted forward slightly. He looked up at the junkie from beneath his eyebrows. Do I look old to you boy? The two stood staring at each other silently for a few moments, the demoniacal chanting growing more feverish with each refrain.

The desperado exhaled heavily, like that of a man with much weighing down on his conscience. I was a chu hunter back in the day. That word probably don't ring any bells with you, does it boy? Things were different back then. There were these pokeyman things, chus we called 'em, running around. They were mean bastards and I put them down for a livin'. He glanced towards his medallions with a look of unease. Taking a slightly chipped yellow one, he held it out for the junkie to see. It's from them that I got these.

He then gestured towards the initials that had been carved into his forehead without care or precision. I got this from the sonufabitch that created them, some fat bastard who called himself a Christian but was anything but. He looked angrily into the distance for a moment and spat aimlessly before turning back to the junkie. He disappeared though. So did the chus. We reckoned we had hunted 'em into extinction. I think we were wrong. I think him and his god damn chu rats have somethin' to do with this. Folks forgot about him and now he's coming back.

The desperado's face grew grim, as if some eldritch knowledge had been bestowed upon him. He's risen. By God, that's what it is. He's returned somehow. I know it. It's got to be it. He's going to come for me. He's going to come for all of us. Toadvine began to gaze off into space, not talking to anyone in particular. He began to lurch over to the crevice from which the chanting was emerging from. He looked down into it to get a better reading of the situation."
 
The chanting below has been becoming ever-faster, and as Toadvine peers over the edge, the beginning and end of the strange, familiar chant has merged together into an inseparable maelstrom of noise. However, a new chant has joined it. Slowly at first, then becoming quicker…

“Kri’Shun…Kri’Shun…Kri’Shun…”

The sky above the pit has changed – Where it was a clear, moonlit night before, stormclouds have gathered above the chasm, forming a spiral pattern with a deep, black hole in the centre. Lightning arcs between the clouds.

You all begin to hear a voice on the breeze. It sounds ephemeral, as if blown here from a time long past.

“Errybody…at my command…MY HOUSE…GET IT RIGHT…My electric hedgehogs…CRAYOLA FUCKIN MODEL MAGIC…I’LL STRANGLE THAT CLYDE CASH…”

So familiar…[Toadvine fails his Sanity check, and loses 8 Sanity! November and Tyce each lose 2].

The shadows cast by the cultists in the chasm begin flickering as the light source casting them begins to falter, but you think you can make out some of them begin holding their heads, and dropping to their knees. The chanting doesn’t stop.

What do you do?
 
Tyce begins drooling more heavily.
His brain hurts as he struggles to come up with and idea.
"Dude, like, everyone start driving more shit into the pit and try and fuck there shit up. Nick, Derrick, Big Jim, go grab some of the, like, trucks and porta-Johns, and shit and fling 'em inta the pit. I'm tryin that think of summin over here!"
Tyce's caveman like brow wrinkles in pain as he picks through his drug stewed grey matter for anything other than "Fling more shit into the pit".
 
November seems dumbstruck as she admires the scene that lies before them, the cultists rambling on with their unbroken chanting. She absentmindedly adjusts the beanie upon her head before shifting her hips so her faux tail wagged aimlessly, until an idea struck her. A Cheshire cat like grin etched itself upon her features as she slips her single colt action army firearm from its holster.

"I guess we have to take care of business one way or the other," she mused, before taking aim at the nearest cultist. Her single eye narrowed, her sight a little obscured due to her missing eye, but she was still a decent shot. As she readied her aim, her finger rested upon the trigger before she gave a squeeze and fired, the blast echoing throughout vicinity.
 
"Toadvine put his hands to his temples and begin to rub them. His memories of the old days had begun to subside and were now replaced with a stinging headache. I need something for my head, he said tiredly. He glanced at the junkie. Boy, he said tersely. The stringy-haired desperado pulled a sallow piece of rolling paper out of one of his interior pockets. You got anything I can smoke? 'Bacco? Ganja? Opium? I'm out I'm afraid."
 
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